f.l.ff THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE BRITISH REGISTER LITERATURE, SCIENCES, AND THE BELLES-LETTRES. JULY TO DECEMBER 1827. -— PRESENTED VOL.IV. S8DEC1949 LONDON: PUBLISHED BY GEO. B. WH1TTAKER, AVE-MARIA LANE. 1827. L o N n o N : 81IACKKI.L AND BAYLIS, PHINTKIIS, JOHNSON VCOURT, FLKfcT- STREET INDEX TO VOL. IV. ORIGINAL PAPERS, &c. Page .ACCOUNT (some) of a Lover 261 Affairs in General at Paris 500 Adventures of Naufragus 138 Agricultural Reports..... 101,213,325,437, 549, 655 Adventures of Prince Hassan, an Oriental Tale 368 Anecdotes (Characteristic) of the leading Fashionables of Berlin 268 Anecdotes and Conversations of the Rev. Thomas Botherham, S.T.P., Arch- deacon of Leatherhead, &c 254 Beards (a Dissertation on), Historical and Literary, by an Emeritus Professor of Shaving 593 Boys's (Captain) Escape from a French Prison 482 Books, on reading New 17 Biographical Sketch of Mademoiselle Sontag 268 Bordeaux Diligence 241 Bristol Public Charities 353 Bankrupts 104, 215, 328,440,552,657 Biographical Memoirs of Eminent Persons 95,211,321,433,545 Camp of St.Omer, a Day at the. 613 Cervante?, Birth of 621 Coalheavers, Priises of. 345 Chanties, Public 1, 353 Carlton-House Pictures 35 Cabinet Novel, the 160 Clergyman, the Ship 463 Croonian Lecture, Receipt for a 204 Canons of Criticism 473 Calais—Travelling Particularities 4(17 Commercial Reports 103, 215,327, 439,551, 656 Dozing, on 11 Di. agreeable People, on 129 Daily Paths, our 352 Discipline Society (Prison) 416 Dust, on "...... 608 Ecclesiastical Preferments 105, 2i7, 529, 441, 553, 659 Embarrassments of a Shepherdess 16 Emigration Committee, Third Report of 561 Ends and Means 225 French, Lines from the 10 Fined, You're— a Tale of the 19tli Century 26 First of Spring 137 Full-Lengths, No. VI 463 Fame? What i? 480 Genevieve, Pauvre — a Continental Tale .. 123 INDEX. 1'age Great Britain and Ireland, Population of 561 Hayti, Sketches of 113 Hermes, Midnight, by 366 Kitchiner's( Dr.) Traveller's Oracle 382 Laudes Carbonarium i1 345 Linesfrom the French 10 Lines to a Lady 394 Letter from Paris, on Affairs in general 500 Lunatics, Pauper 449 Language, Origin of 248 London Incidents, Marriages, Deaths, &c 106, 218, 330, 442, 553, 659 Man with the Appetite, the 590 Modern Philologist, Toils of a 49 Means and Ends, on 225 Midnight, by Hermes 366 Mother's Monitor, the 462 Mammalinga-Voda, the 30 Medical Reports 100, 212,324, 436,548, 654 Meteorological Report? ....112, 224,336,448,558, 666 Newspaper Press of Ireland 337 Notes on the Month . 57, 169,275,395,505,626 Our Daily Paths, by F. H ; 352 Our Maying 155 Origin of Language, the , 248 Pauper Lunatics 449 Public Charities 1,353 Prison Discipline Society 416 Pauvre Genevi^ve 123 People, 'on Disagreeable .'. 129 Pyram'us arid Thisbe, an Operatic Tragedy 236 Political Appointments ...';'. 329,441, 553, 659 Pocket Books, the :. 585 Provincial Occurrences 107,219,330, 442, 554, 661 Proceedings of Learned Societies 87, 203, 310, 426, 437, 650 Patents, New and Expiring 94,210,320,433,544 Reading New Books, on 17 Receipt for a Croonian Lecture 204 Reports, Agricultural 101, 213, 325, 437, 549, 655 'Commercial 103,215,327,439,551,656 Medical V 100,212,324,436,548, 654 Meteorological 112, 224,- 336, 448, 558, 666 Theatrical 201,315,422,534,645 Spring, the First of 137 Sketches (Village \ No VIII. 46, 155 Sontag, Sketch of Mile 268 Some Account of a Lover 261 Song (a Parting), by F. H 472 Stocks, Prices of 112, 224, 336, 448,558, 666 Travelling Sketches 241 Particularities 467 Traveller's Oracle 382 Theatrical Report 201,315,422, 684, 64 Varieties, Scientific and Miscellaneous 89,204,311,426,537 Village Sketches 46, 155 Voda, the Mammalinga 30 Whitsun Eve 46 World in the Open Air, the 55 Works in the Press, and New Publications 91, 207, 317, 430, 541, 652 Zephyrs, to the 266 INDEX TO WORKS REVIEWED. Page Andrews' (Capt.) Travels in South Ame- rica — 297 Agineourt, Nicholas' History of the Bat- tle of 521 Aylmers, the 196 A maud's Glorious Recovery by the Vau- dois of their Vallies 529 Barriugton's (Sir Jonah) Personal Sketches of his own Times, <$rc "76 Bernard Barton's Widow's Tales, &c.. . 83 Bredow's Elements of Universal His- tory .* 420 Clarke's (S. R.) Vestigia Anglicana, or Illustrations of the more interesting and debateable Points of the History and Antiquities of England, Potter produces all the effect that he is capable of producing, 'is such a one as the following, for example: — a broken fore-ground, with a horse looking over the paling of a little farm-yard on the right ; a cow or two feeding on a bit of rising ground beside a shallow water on the left; with a few pollard willows standing along this first division, and throwing their shadows, distinctly and slantwise, towards the front, so as to mark out the bright sunshine that would otherwise cover the whole picture. Then a middle distance of level pasture-land, green as an emerald (as perfectly level land — which is always more or less marshy — must always be), and extending all across the picture; with a road running through part of it, with one traveller on it, and a few cattle feeding here and there, but so distant as to be seen as part of the landscape merely, and not to attract the attention from it to themselves. Then, lastly and most dis- tant, a dimly-seen village, with its church-spire pointing to the blue sky above it, and, on either side, a faint line of open country, scarcely dis- cernible from the horizon into which it fades. In a scene of this kind, however elaborate the finishing of the fore-ground may be, it will not attract an undue share of attention or admiration from the rest, because each portion will have its peculiar charm, and each will balance the others, and they, together, produce but one impression. And it may perhaps be laid down as an axiom of art, that wherever several distinct and striking impressions are produced— however we may admire, or wonder, or feel disposed to praise, we are never thoroughly pleased ; and, on the contrary, whenever we are perfectly and entirely pleased, we are never much disposed to waste our feeling in the empty and equivocal testimonials of admi- ration and applause. Paul Potter's best pictures of the above class are the most pleasing ones in the world; and that we are disposed to covet them more than any others, is proved by the enormous prices which they obtain. And, after all, there are no other such satisfactory testimonials of merit, as pleasure received, and money paid for it : we mean, of course, so far as the taste and judgment of the parties paying and being pleased are of any value. There are two other pictures by this master — admirable, and indeed perfect in their way. One consists of Travellers stopping at the Door of a little rural Alehouse. The scene is completely shut in by trees, &c. ; and the horses of the two travellers are remarkable for the extraordinary truth and distinctness of character which are given to them. The other is a much more elaborate scene ; but less perfect in its execution, because other things are attempted than mere natural and ordinary appearances and expressions. This picture consists of a stable on the left, with two horses inside, and a boy at the door running away with a puppy from its mother —while the latter is chasing him, and has caught hold of the tail of his coat. The boy is hallooing with fright, and squeezing the puppy, which is squalling too ; while a woman milking a cow just by is enjoying the hit of fun. Near this cow there are other cattle, &c., occupying the middle of the picture ; and the left opens to a distant landscape, through which a man is riding on horseback. The scene altogether is elaborate, and, in many respects, admirably executed. In particular, there is a cock scampering out of the way of the frightened boy, and a blind puppy crawl- ing along the ground, which are capitally done. But we cannot help feel- ing all these extraneous and accidental matters to be out of place in a work of Panl Potter, — which should exhibit Nature under her most ordinary M. M. New Series,— VOL. IV. No. 10. G 42 The Car hon- House Pictures. [JULY, anc1. (so to speak) common-place aspects only. His works are, in painting, what pastorals are in poetry ; — which, to produce their most perfect effects, must avoid all that is in the slightest degree forced, exaggerated, or outre. It was for other painters to improve upon their models, and add to them, and heighten, and embellish, and contrast, and collect half a hundred incompatible things together, to increase the effect of their productions. It was enough for him to paint Nature as he found her; and whenever he departs from this system, he shews beneath himself. We have some admirable specimens of Cuyp — ten in number ; forming perhaps, upon the whole, a better and more characteristic selection than that from the works of any other master, except Rembrandt. One of the best is a large landscape, in that peculiar style of the master which unites the airy and elegant pencilling of Both, and the soft and rich tenderness of Claude, to an imaginative and almost mysterious character belonging to Cuyp alone. It has none of those large, solid figures and cattle in the fore-ground, which are in their way so fine, and which also produce so admirable an effect in throwing into distance the landscape portion of the scene. The front is occupied, and the distance produced, by means of a dark and broken fore-ground, with lofty trees running all over the canvass — through and beyond which the landscape appears, dressed in a veil of woven air and sunshine. — Another, of a different description, but inimitably fine, represents a black boy holding the horses of two cavaliers, in front of a dark landscape, in which a distant town is seen across a river, and, farther on, a misty distance. The mingled (ruth and force of this piece are the perfection of art in this line ; since they present only nature itself, and nothing either besides or beyond it. There are several others of a similar character with the last-named, and almost equally vigorous, spirited, and natural ; and there is one large river scene, in which nothing but the craft and the water are visible, which is admirable for the truth of feeling pervading it throughout. Continuing among the Flemish landscape-painters, we have, by Both, only one piece, though a very charming one, and combining the delightful characteristics of this artist's style in as great a degree as any one picture can be expected to do. It is a large landscape, with figures in front, representing the scripture incident of Philip baptizing the Euntich. By the natural, vigorous, and delightfully unaffected Hobbima we have two pictures, forming a pair. One is on his favourite subject, of a little picturesque village, seen in a distant light, through a dark net-work of intervening forest-trees. The other is a more open scene, with a water- mill. These works are not of a kind to require particular description or commendation : they are very pleasing examples of this artist's manner of treating his subject; but they are nothing more. The rest of the works by the Flemish landscape-painters need not be particularized. There are specimens, more or less perfect and characteristic, of Berghem, Ruysdael, Wynants, and Du Jardin — but none among them that we have not seen greatly surpassed in other collections. There are also a few specimens of those masters who do not exactly rank as land- scape-painters, but who devoted their efforts chiefly to the delineation of scenes and subjects connected with towns and cities ; such as Vander- heyden, Lingleback, &c. But even of these latter the present collection does not include any demanding a particular description. We shall, there- fore, at once pass on to that class of the Flemish masters who illustrated actual character, manners, and life, as they are connected with, and grow out of the society, habits, &c. of towns and cities. 1827.] The Carlton-House Pictures. 43 At the head of the class of masters just named stands Teniers ; and wo know not where else to point out to the student, in one collection, so many truly admirable and characteristic examples of this hitherto, upon the whole, unrivalled artist. We have thirteen of his works, including exqui- site specimens of all his various styles. Perhaps the finest, because the most natural, forcible, and unaffected work of Teniers in this collection, is one representing an open sea-shore, with a group of fishermen in front. Nothing was ever executed in a more spirited and efficient manner than this scene, because nothing was ever more absolutely simple and true. The handling is masterly for its happy facility; the tone and colouring give us the very reflection of nature itself; and the attitudes and characters of the persons introduced complete and perfect the illusion. In standing before the picture, you seem to taste the freshness of the sea-breeze; and may almost fancy that you smell the peculiar odour appertaining to the kind of scene before you. There is another picture belonging to the same class with the above, which is not equally fine, but still excellent for the air of natural truth which pervades it. It is a domestic landscape, with buildings, &c. ; and in the front, portraits are introduced of the artist himself, with his wife, and their favourite gardener. In a different style, we have no less than five of the same artist's admi- rable Village Fetes and Merry-makings. Every one of these may be looked upon as a chef-d'ceuvre of the master, in this peculiar style. Each of them includes such a variety of character, incident, and interest, that it would require as much space adequately to describe the five, as we are enabled to devote to the whole collection. We must, therefore, merely add that they contain some hundreds of figures, not one of which but includes something distinct and individual, and yet every one of which bears, mixed up with its natural air, a something which could only have been communicated to it originally by the hand of this artist ; and that all is expressed by meaa«; of the most masterly freedom of handling, the utmost clearness, sweetness, and natural beauty of colouring, and in connexion with a skill and facility of composition and arrangement which never have been, or perhaps can bo, surpassed. In addition to the above, we have two most admirable specimens of this master's still-life interiors — in which ease and labour are blended in a won- derfully efficient manner. One represents a Woman peeling Turnips, and surrounded by vegetables of every kind, culinary utensils, &c ; and the other, an Alehymist in his Study. Besides these, we have two or three exquisite little gems, almost on a miniature-scale, yet retaining all the truth and spirit of the larger works. Upon the whole, the extraordinary talents of Teniers are done full justice to in this collection. The rest of the Flemish painters of what may be called real life-^-such as Ostade, Jan Steen, G. Dow, F. and W. Mieris, Metzu, Terburg, Schalken, Slingelandt, &c., are represented respectively by two or three of their most pleasing works, but assuredly not by any of their chef-d'&uvrcs. We have certainly seen much more striking and cha- racteristic works by all the above-named artists, than those which we meet with in this collection. Indeed, there are but very few of such surpassing merit as to claim particular mention. Jan Steen has two or three excel- lent Merry-makings, and a brilliant Interior of a Lady's Dressing- Room. There is one admirable specimen of Ostade — of Travellers Regaling at an Inn-Door. Metzu has several — in particular, a Gentleman playing on a Violoncello, and an interesting portrait of himself; but not one which seems to us adequately to illustrate that exquisite freedom and facility of G 2 4-4 The Carlton-House Pictures. hand which he united in so admirable a manner with his high finishing. By Da Hooge, however, we have perhaps at least as fine a work as the artist ever painted. It represents the Interior of a Room, with persons playing at cards ; and through the door, at the extremity of it, is seen another building, and figures across a court-yard, into which the sun is shining brilliantly. Nothing can be more perfect than the illusion of this scene. The effect of it on the spectator is magical. There is also another belonging to the same class, which is full of merit : it is by Maaes, and represents a woman descending a staircase with a light, and listening to the conversation of some other figures that are in an obscure corner behind the staircase. But of oil the attempts at creating scenic illusion, by means of the arrangement of light and shade, without exception the most successful we have ever witnessed, is one in this collection, by Granet, representing the Inside of a Convent, with Monks at their Devo- tions. There is but little general merit in the picture ; but the effect pro- duced by the arrangement of the light and shade is managed with extreme cleverness. The scene includes merely the aisle of a chapel, lighted by a single square window at the farther extremity ; with the inferior monks ranged in a row on either side, while the officiating ones are standing in the; centre, beside a pulpit, and performing the service of the hour. The light of a bright sun pours in at the small window opposite to, but raised some- what above, the black pulpit; and the effect is produced by this light fall- ing on the extreme edges only of the pulpit, the profiles of the monks, the religious vessels which they are using, the books, &c., — and also by the manner in which it spreads and diffuses itself, and at length blends with the darkness, on the side-walls of the apartment. As a mere single effect of skill in the management of light and shade, this picture is very curious and striking : but in other respects it has little or no merit or interest, and is con- sequently to be looked upon as of small value and importance as a work of art. We must now take leave of the Flemish school by stating, that the pre- sent collection is by no means rich in the admirable sea-pieces of that only school of real, unaltered nature — especially in the class of works just named. Here are three pieces by Vandevelde, and one by Backhuysen ; all of them excellent, as far as they go, but none of them of a sufficiently striking character to claim or bear a particular description. The only masters, not of the Flemish school, whose works form a noticeable, feature in this collection, are Sir Joshua Reynolds and Zoffani. Indeed it is confined exclusively to the above masters, with the exception of a Landscape by Titian ; and a little gem, said to be by M. Angelo and Venusti. The works of Sir Joshua Reynolds are seven In number — three belonging to the historical class, and four portraits. The defective reputation of Sir Joshua, in regard to his treatment of poetical or historical subjects, will have led most persons to suppose him incapable of producing such a picture as the Cymon and Iphigenia, in this collection. It is a very fine work. The female is designed with infinite ease and grace, coloured with great richness and truth, and expressed with that mixture of purity and voluptuousness which is among the highest and rarest attainments of art in subjects of this nature. She is lying asleep in a secluded nook of a landscape, to the brink of which her lover is led by Love himself, arid suffered to gaze for a moment on the rich treasures of her beauty. There is a peeping, prying look about the Cymon, which is the fault of the picture. In other respects, the figure is well designed and expressed. The Cupid, too, is charmingly given. The landscape part is also very vigorously, as well as poetically executed ; and the 'whole is kept in due subservience to the prin- cipal object of fascination — the .sleeping nymph. 1827.] The Carlton- House Pictures. 45 The other original piece of the historical class, by Sir Joshua, is greatly inferior to the above. The subject is the Death of Dido ; but all is forced, exaggerated, and theatrical, when compared with the unaffected repose and simplicity of the one just described. The third historical work is a fine and vigorous copy from Guido's Saint Michael. The portrait* by Reynolds are the well-known ones of Count La Lippe, the Marquis of Gran by, the Marquis of Rockingham, and the Duke of York. They are all admirable productions, full of life, spirit, and indivi- duality ; and, like all this artist's portraits, and w^-like nearly all his other works, totally free from any thing extravagant, affected, or theatrical. This collection includes four exceedingly curious, amusing, and, in. many respects, valuable works, by Zoffarri. Those two of them which are, no doubt, most interesting and valuable in the eyes of their royal possessor and his family, are, — one, representing the Interior of a Room at Kew. Palace, with portraits of the late Queen Charlotte, and his present Majesty and the Duke of York — painted about 1768 ; and another, repre- senting a room in Buckingham House, with portraits of the Duke of Clarence and the Queen of Wirtemberg, painted shortly after. But the twTo which are most intrinsically valuable and interesting are pieces of a very elaborate and singular kind, the style of which has been successfully adopted in several instances since, representing the Interiors of the Florence Gallery and the Royal Academy, with a multiplicity of portraits intro- duced into each, depicting all the most conspicuous artists and patrons of art who lived at the time the pictures wore painted. In the Royal Aca- demy picture, the time chosen is during the delivery of an anatomical lecture ; so that a sort of dramatic interest and expression are given to al the characters introduced. The Florence Gallery is still more curiously and elaborately enriched by imitative miniatures of many of the well- known chef-d'azuvres of the old masters, — the peculiar style of each being very cleverly preserved. Zoffani cannot properly be looked upon as an artist, in the highest and best sense of that term ; since he was entirely without the faculty of invention or original conception, of any kind what^ ever. He was, in fact, not capable of imitating the productions either of nature or of high art ; but these two amusing works prove that he could copy them with great cleverness and effect. He was, to a real artist, what a clever mimic is to a fine original actor. It only remains for us to notice the two works in this collection, which, meeting with them in the company we do, come upon us a species of grand and beautiful anomaly. We allude to a landscape by Titian, and a pretty little gem, on the subject of the Taking down from the Cross, said to be painted by M. Angelo and Venusti. The last-named of these, though very beautiful, is so small as to prevent it from including anything characteristic, even if ar.y portion of it be from the hand of Michael Angelo. But the Titian landscape is a fine production — full of force, grandeur, and, truth. It is a dark, sombre scene — seeming to depict the shades of even- ing, closing over an irregular landscape, through which, towards the front, a shepherd-boy is driving his flock home to fold. Finding this work in the company we do — admitting, at the same time, that company to be the very best of its class — we must not trust ourselves to dwell upon it further, lest we should be tempted into observations w7hich might be neither pro- fitable nor in place, as to the judiciousness (or otherwise) of admitting any work by Titian into a collection, the characteristic merit of which may be almost said to be opposed to every thing Titian ever did, and even to the very principle on which he worked. [ 46 3 VILLAGE SKETCHES I No. VII. Whitsun-Eve. THE pride of ray heart and the delight of ray eyes is my garden. Our house, which is in dimensions very much like a bird-cage, and might, with almost equal convenience, be laid on a shelf, or hung up in a tree, would be utterly unbearable in warm weather, were it not that we have a retreat out of doors, — and a very pleasant retreat it is. To make my readers fully comprehend it, I must describe our whole territories. Fancy a small plot of ground, with a pretty low irregular cottage at one end ; a large granary, divided from the dwelling by a little court running along one side ; and a long thatched shed open towards the garden, and supported by wooden pillars on the other. The bottom is bounded, half by an old wall, and half by an old paling, over which we see a pretty distance of woody hills. The house, granary, wall, and paling, are covered with vines, cherry-trees, roses, honey-suckles, and jessamines, with great clusters of tall hollyhocks running up between them; a large elder over- hanging the little gate, and a magnificent bay tree, such a tree as shall scarcely be matched in these parts, breaking with its beautiful conical form the horizontal lines of the buildings. This is my garden ; and the long pillared shed, the sort of rustic arcade which runs along one side, parted from the flower-beds by a row of rich geraniums, is our out-of-door drawing-room. I know nothing so pleasant as to sit there on a summer afternoon, with the western sun flickering through the great elder tree, and lighting up our gay parterres, where flowers and flowering shrubs are set as thick as grass in a field, a wilderness of blossom, interwoven, intertwined, wreathy, gar- landy, profuse beyond all profusion, where we may guess that there is such a thing as mould, but never see it. I know nothing so pleasant as to sit in the shade of that dark bower, with the eye resting on that bright piece of colour, lighted so gloriously by the evening sun, now catching a glimpse of the little birds as they fly rapidly in and out of their nests — for there are always two or three birds' nests in the thick tapestry of cherry- trees, honey-suckles, and China roses, which cover our walls — now tracing the gay gambols of the common butterflies as they sport around the dah- lia's ; now watching that rarer moth, which the country people, fertile in pretty names, call the bee-bird ;* that bird-like insect, which flutters in the hottest days over the sweetest flowers, inserting its long proboscis into the small tube of the jessamine, and hovering over the scarlet blossoms of the geranium, whose bright colour seems reflected on its own feathery breast ; that insect which seems so thoroughly a creature of the air, never at rest; always, even when feeding, self- poised, and self-supported, and whose wings in their ceaseless motion, have a sound so deep, so full, so lulling, so musical. Nothing so pleasant as to sit amid that mixture of the flower and the leaf, watching the bee-bird ! Nothing so pretty to look at as my garden ! It is quite a picture ; only unluckily it resembles a picture in more qualities than one, — it is fit for nothing but to look at. One might as well think of walking in a bit of framed canvass. There are walks to be sure — tiny paths of smooth gravel, by courtesy called such — but they * Sphinx ligustri, privet hawk-moth. 1827.] Whitsun-Eoe. 47 are so overhung by roses and lilies, and such gay encroachers— rso over-run by convolvolus, and heart's-ease, and mignonette, and other sweet strag- glers, that, except to edge through them occasionally, for the purposes of planting, or weeding, or watering, there might as well be no paths at all. Nobody thinks of walking in my garden. Even May glides along with a delicate and trackless step, like a swan through the water; and we, its two-footed denizens, are fain to treat it as if it were really a saloon, and go out for a walk towards sun-set, just as if we had not been sitting in the open air all day. What a contrast from the quiet garden to the lively street ! Saturday night is always a time of stir and bustle in our village, and this is Whitsun Eve, the pleasantest Saturday of all the year, when London journeymen and servant lads and lasses snatch a short holiday to visit their families. A short and precious holiday, the happiest and liveliest of any ; for even the gambols and merrymakings of Christmas offer but a poor enjoyment, compared with the rural diversions, the Mayings, revels, and cricket- matches of Whitsuntide. We ourselves are to have a cricket-match on Monday, not played, by the men, who, since their misadventure with the Beech-hillers, are, I am sorry to say, rather chap-fallen, but by the boys, who, zealous for the honour of their parish, and headed by their bold leader, Ben Kirby, marched in a body to our antagonist's ground the Sunday after our melan- choly defeat, challenged the boys of that proud hamlet, and beat them out and out on the spot. Never was a more signal victory. Our boys enjoyed this triumph with so little moderation that it had like to have produced a very tragical catastrophe. The captain of the Beech-hift youngsters, a capital bowler, by name Amos Stokes, enraged past all bearing by the crowing of his adversaries, flung the ball at Ben Kirby with so true an aim, that if that sagacious leader had not warily ducked his head when he saw it coming, there would probably have been a coroner's inquest on the case, and Amos Stokes would have been tried for manslaughter. He let fly with such vengeance, that the cricket-ball was found embedded in a bank of clay five hundred yards off, as if it had been a cannon shot. Tom Coper and Farmer Thackum, the umpires, both say that they never saw so tremendous a ball. If Amos Stokes live to be a man (I mean to say if he be not hanged first), he'll be a pretty player. He is coming here on Monday with his party to play the return match, the umpires having respectively engaged Farmer Thackum that Amos shall keep the peace, Tom Coper that Ben shall give no unnecessary or wanton provocation — a nicely-worded and lawyer-like clause, and one that proves that Tom Coper hath his doubts of the young gentleman's discretion ; and, of a truth, so have I. I would not be Ben Kirby's surety, cautiously as the security is worded, — no ! not for a white double dahlia, the present object of my ambition. This village of our's is swarming to-night like a hive of bees, and all the church bells round are pouring out their merriest peals, as if to call them together. I must try to give some notion of the various figures. First, there is a groupe suited to Teniers, a cluster of out-of-door cus- tomers of the Rose, old benchers of the inn, who sit round a table smoking and drinking in high solemnity to the sound of Timothy's fiddle. Next', a mass of eager boys, the combatants of Monday, who are surrounding the shoemaker's shop, where an invisible hole in their ball is mending by Master Keep himself, under the joint superintendence of Ben Kirby and 48 Whitsun-Ew. [J ULY, Tom Coper, Bon showing much verbal respect and outward deference for liis umpire's judgment and experience, but managing to get the ball done liis own way after all ; whilst outside the shop, the rest of the eleven, the less-trusted commons, are shouting and bawling round Joel Brent, who is twisting the waxed twine round the handles of bats — the poor bats, which please nobody, which the taller youths are despising as too little and too light, and the smaller are abusing as too heavy and too large, Happy critics ! winning their match can hardly be a greater delight — even if to win it they be doomed ! Farther down the street is the pretty black- eyed girl, Sally Wheeler, come home for a day's holiday from B., escorted by a tall footman in a dashing livery, whom she is trying to curtesy off before her deaf grandmother sees him. I wonder whether she will succeed ! Ascending the hill are two couples of a different description, Daniel Tubb and Sally North, walking boldly along like licensed lovers ; they have been asked twice in church, and are to be married on Tuesday ; and closely following that happy pair, near each other, but not together, come Jem Tanner and Susan Green, the poor culprits of the wheat-hoe- ing. Ah ! the little clerk hath not relented ! The course of true love doth not yet run smooth in that quarter. Jem dodges along, whistling " cherry- ripe," pretending to walk by himself, and to be thinking of nobody ; but every now and then he pauses in his negligent saunter, and turns round outright to steal a glance at Susan, who, on her part, is making believe to walk with poor Olive Hathaway, the lame mantua-maker, and even affect- ing to talk and to listen to that gentle humble creature as she points to the wild flowers on the common, and the lambs and children dis porting amongst the gorse, but whose thoughts and eyes are evidently fixed on Jem Tanner, as she meets his backward glance with a blushing smile, and half springs forward to meet him; whilst Olive has broken off the con- versation as soon as she perceived the pre-occupation of her companion, and began humming, perhaps unconsciously, two or three lines of Burns, Whose " Whistle and I'll come to thee, my love,'* and " Gi'e me a glance of thy bonnie black ee," were never better exemplified tVian in the couple before her. Really it is curious to watch them, and to see how gradually the attraction of this tantalizing vicinity becomes irresistible, and the rustic lover rushes to his pretty mistress like the needle to the magnet. On they go, trusting to the deepening twilight, to the little clerk's absence, to the good humour of the happy lads and lasses, who are passing and re-passing on all sides — or rather, perhaps, in a happy oblivion of the cross uncle, the kind villagers, the squinting lover, and the whole world. On they trip, linked arm-in-arm, he trying to catch a glimpse of her glowing face under her bonnet, and she hanging down her head and avoiding his gaze with a mixture of modesty and coquetry, which well becomes the rural beauty. On they go, with a reality and intensity of affection, which must overcome all obstacles ; and poor Olive follows with an evident sympathy in their happiness, which makes her almost as envi- able as they ; and we pursue our walk amidst the moonshine and the nightingales, with Jacob Frost's cart looming in the distance, and the merry sounds of Whitsuntide, the shout, the laugh, and the song echoing all around us, like " noises of the air." M. r A* 1827.] [ 49 THE TOILS OP A MODERN PHILOLOGIST. My father had determined that I should be a very eminent classical scholar. His veneration of the classics partook almost of adoration. The Grecian language, of course, occupied the highest station in his mind; yet the Latin, though he was forced to acknowledge that it owed its roots to the Pelasgic, and had become mixed with other dialects, was always con- sidered by him of primary importance, and he used to say, that no one ignorant of that language could pretend that he had received the educa- tion of a gentleman, and, a fortiori, could never claim the title of learned, however great his attainments might be in other languages, or in the sciences. Almost every literary fault and offence against good taste, he ascribed to the neglect of that language, regretting that the days of the Aschams, the Lilys, &c., had passed away. . With these precepts constantly repeated, and my father's example always before me, it might appear extraordinary that I did not attain the highest eminence in the classics, were it not a fact too notorious to require illustra- tion, that the human mind seldom proceeds in the course indicated by the wisdom and experience of others. When parental control, and academical tutors, no longer directed my pursuits, and I felt myself independent of all but my own inclinations, I began to compare my own acquirements with those of other men, and felt, or fancied 1 felt, the ground for distinction amongst the ancients already occupied. I, therefore, determined to abandon the often contested fields *of Greece and Rome, and to direct my steps into other regions. I wished not for " The languor of inglorious days j" nor had I any disinclination from the species of pursuit which I had fol- lowed ; but I felt a desire to abandon only the old high road of learning, to search my way, amongst roses or thorns, in flowery paths or briery hedges, to the same temple of fame. Inspired with all the ardour of a scholar for a new literary pursuit, f determined to trace the origin and peculiarities of the modern languages of Europe, and to select that language for peculiar study which should be found most entitled to pre-eminence. In this new course, instead of being overburdened by the help of others, I felt so much difficulty in proceeding at first, that my ardour was greatly repressed, and I almost might have merited Tacitus's observation, of being acribus initiis, incurioso fine, it not having occurred to me to consider beforehand the difference between a distant prospect and ,the actual entrance into a large city : " Remotely we see nothing but spires of temples, and turrets of palaces, and imagine it the residence of splen- dour, grandeur, and magnificence ; but, when we have passed the gates, we find it perplexed with narrow passages, disgraced with despicable cot- tages, embarrassed with obstructions, and clouded with smoke." I was much surprised to learn that the languages of Europe are upwards of thirty in number. They appear to have been divided by the most eminent philologists, into four principal families : — The Celtic, or Celtic-Cimbric ; The Latin, or Greco- Latin ; M.M. New Series.—VoL. IV. No. 19. H 50 The Toils of a Modern Pk-ilolagistf. The Teutonic, or Gothic, or Scythian ; The Slavonic, or Sarmathian. The CelUb are the oldest known inhabitants of Europe. They came originally from Asia, and settled principally between the Rhine and the Pyrenees; but at what precise period our historical records have not named. They called themselves Gail, or Gael, which the Romans converted into into Galli^ and the Greeks into Kelte. The Cymri^ a German race, drove the Celta, subsequently, out of the north of France, and they fled to Eng- land, where they were again dispossessed, at a later period, by the Cymri, when these had in their turn been expelledfrom Gaul. The Cymri were the nation chiefly in possession of the south parts of Britain, when Julius C&sar invaded this island, and whose ultimate settlement, when the Teu- tonic tribes obtained the predominance, was chiefly in Wales, the inha- bitants of which country still continue to call themselves Cymri. The Irish and Scotch are the descendants of the Celtae who first inhabited the southern parts of this island, and are in fact the most ancient Britons, con- ceding the title of ancient Britons to the Welch. The Gaelic, the Erse, and Welch, being the principal languages of the Celtic-Cimbric, I felt no inclination to cultivate an acquaintance with that branch of the family of European languages ; and the Russian, Polish, &c., being equally unattractive, I was not disposed to transfer my phi- lological affections on the Slavonic tribe, which was the last race that established settlements in Europe. I, therefore, had the choice left of the two other branches, the one descending from the Latin, and the other from the Teutonic ; and of these it was natural that I should adopt the first, for which my previous studies had prepared me. Of this branch, the French was the language to which my attention was first directed ; and, on consulting the native writers, I congratulated myself on the choice that I had made, as they all agreed in a universal concord of praise, not only of the beauties of the language itself, but of the eminence of the French writers, as having, in every branch of litera- ture, excelled those of other countries. Experience convinced me, how- ever, that their statements were dictated by national vanity and ignorance, and I believe that the following summary will be found extracted from truth. The French language is of very ignoble birth. Its chief progenitor was that branch of the Latin, called the Romana rustica. This, subsequently, became incorporated with the Celtic and Cimbric, and from this union was formed the Romance language, which took its rise with the Trouba- dours, about the eleventh century. The present French language rose by slow degrees, and the national writers ascribe its perfection to the si&cle de Louis XIF., which period they also distinguish as the most celebrated for the literary productions of their country. What the language is wanting in antiquity, is not compensated by richness. Having the defect of a nasal intonation, and being monotonous for want of accent and quantity, and moreover, abounding in mute syllables, it can never be harmonious ; and, having, in a word, no prosody, and being incapable of transposition, it can never be the true language of poetry, though many fine verses have been produced by Corneille, Racine, Voltaire, &c. Perhaps the only French writer who is really deserving of the title of poet is La Fontaine, who is a writer perfectly per se, admitting jno competitor in fable amongst modern 1827.J The Toils of a Modern Philologist. 31 writers. To all Gay's simplicity, he adds delicacy— to his truth, grace—- and to his ease, the happiest lightness and variety of diction. Besides Jay- ing claim to poetry in its exclusive sense, the French claim for it, in its connexion with theatrical subjects, the first rank among modern nations. To this they can have no just title, not only from the defects of their lan- guage, which have just been enumerated, but also, from their frigid imita- tion of the ancients, the fictitious rules with which they have embarrassed themselves, and the exclusion of true passion and romantic sentiment. Voltaire s productions, and particularly his Zaire, have appeared to me nearer approximations to tragedy, than the higher- vaunted statelinesses of Corneille and Racine. When I next say that Molieres comedies do not, in my opinion, rise to a higher rank than that of farces, I congratulate myself on not being personally known to any Frenchman, as I should cer- tainly tind a challenge on my table the day after these memoirs appear in print. That the French are particularly weak In productions of legitimate history, I believe may be named without giving them deadly offence; and, on the contrary, it is but just to state that, in memoires pour servir & Vhistoire, they are abundant, though they have not yet had any master- head to arrange and select these chaotic treasures. With all its defects, the French language is a sine qua non of every man who wishes to pass current in the world, for it is the language par excellence for conversation of elegant society, for epistolary intercourse, and for diplomacy : in a word, it is la langue sociale et politique de r Europe. At the period when I experienced the disappointment of my expecta- tions of French poetry, my heart became affected with that tender passion, which has ever exercised the most powerful influence on the happiness and destinies of mankind. Irritated at the frigidity of the authors that I was reading, and unable to find in our native writers poetic sentiments at all adequate to the warm conceptions of an enamoured heart, I naturally turned to the language of song, of poetry, and of love, and commenced the study of the Italian, inspired by the most powerful incentive to its acqui- sition. This language may be called the eldest daughter of the Latin, united to a barbarian descendant of the Goths. Though this union gave birth to the inflections and many new words of its northern parent, it has retained many of the virtues of its maternal origin, and has superadded the loveliest graces. Rich in vowels, and possessing a fixed quantity, its powers of harmony are unrivalled ; and it is of all languages best adapted to musical compositions. Nor are its merits confined to euphony, but it possesses also the rich variety of transposition, of augmentives, of diminu- tives, and of capability of expression of every shade of sentiment. With .such advantages, it is much to be regretted that its literature has not equalled its intrinsic capabilities. On the revival of learning, it was the first that distinguished itself, and it soon became pre-eminent both in poetry and in prose. In the latter it is well known for its tales, which have proved the sources from which authors of all nations have drawn their subject-matter, not to exclude even our own immortal Shakspeare. Though less generally known, it deserves not less honourable mention, that their prose writers have greatly distinguished themselves in history, though they have, unfortunately for the diffusion of their reputation, treated on subjects of a local nature, and of events when modern Europe H 2 52 The Toils of a Modern 'Philologist. was yet in its infancy, and its politics unformed. The reputation of its literature rests chiefly on its poetry; hut even in this the productions of the Italian writers fell far short of ray expectations. Dante, though without compare their greatest poet> is obscure and diffuse; and, to those who cannot go into the depths of Italian learning, the majestic correctness of Tasso, and the wild sweetness of Ariosto, often prove more attractive. With their two most celebrated lyric poets I felt the least of all satisfied. Petrarch's feelings appear to have been the invention of his head, and never to have been the natural overflowings of his heart; and Metastasio> who restricted himself to the use of only about six thousand words, being less than a seventh part of the words in the Italian language, appears further to have restricted these words to a proportionately small number of ideas. Imagination and delicacy characterize the amatory poetry of the Italians, but we look in vain for profound impressions and soothing reve- ries, and we feel convinced that " the Italians are ignorant of characters like the English, where the profoundest sensibilities are habitually re- pressed, and a surface of ice is spread over a soil of fire." The romantic wishes of my heart now turned to the language of Spain, in hopes that I might find some vibrations in consonance with my feelings ; and here I was not disappointed. Calderon, Lopez* de Vega, Garcilaso, Boscan, and Montemazor add to sweetness and delicacy that plaintiveness and melancholy which ever prevail where the heart is most sensibly touched. The tales of this nation also contain more richness, interest, and variety than those of Italy, though few others are known in this country than Don Quixote and the Novelets Exemplares of the same author. The literature of this nation is also rich in history, particularly about the period of Charles V., when Spanish was almost the universal language of Europe, having in the preceding reign been introduced into South America, over which continent it by degrees became generally extended. The language itself has the Rotnana rustica for its foundation, on which superstructures have been erected by the Carthagenians, Suevi, Visigoths, and Arabians; and, notwithstanding the guttural sounds; derived from the last, it is rich, harmonious, majestic, and sonorous. Since the sixteenth century the Spanish literature has been undeservedly neglected. The last language of Latin descent to which my attention was directed was the Portuguese, but I did not feel induced to pursue the study of it with much attention. I could not but regard it a dialect of the Spanish, though the Portuguese themselves are particularly anxious that it should be considered a perfectly distinct language. They also pride themselves on having produced original writers in every department of human know- ledge, though in its literature we hardly appear to know the Portuguese but as the language in which Camoens wrote. In its pronunciation it is distinguished from the Spanish by having more softness, by being free from the guttural sounds, and by being disfigured by a nasal intonation. I must acknowledge that I did not do perfect justice to the last language, being anxious, after such a long course of visits to every branch of one family, to extend my acquaintance to others, though I should, by such means, be thrown amongst strangers, and find myself obliged to study t characters very distinct from those with which I had hitherto been asso- ciated. In directing my mental steps to the north, the mind rather fol- 1 827.] The Toils of a Modern Philologist. 53 lowed than led the physical progression which has obtained of late years, many European travellers. having apparently expected that greater gratifica- tion or novelty would be found in exploring these less accessible recesses than in pursuing an easy course, *' with the undistinguished heap," down the soft declivities of the south. The Teutonic, Gothic, or Scythian, is subdivided into two principal branches, the Scandinavian and Germanic languages. The first is con- sidered the more ancient, and it includes four languages, the Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, and Icelandic. The Swedish is the most musical of all the Teutonic dialects, being rich in sonorous vowels, and abounding in liquid combinations; and it has also the advantage of possessing a perfect passive verb, without requiring the aid of the auxiliary.* The peculiarity which it also has of incorporating the article into the end of the substantive, would be too trivial to mention, did we not trace in it the origin of the same operation in the Italian, with the article and preposition, and with the pronoun and the verb."}* The Danish, Norwegian, and Icelandic, may be regarded rather as dialects of the Swedish than as distinct languages, though the first and the last have many original writers, and the Danes in particular may lay claim to productions of considerable merit. I could not succeed in finding any Norwegian books, and I believe it is merely a spoken language. To the Icelandic we owe the Sagas, which have so greatly contributed to illustrate that part of our history which precedes the Norman Conquest. Though the presses of Sweden and Denmark teem with productions, I found more than half of the works which I procured, translations from the German, English, and French ; and as the best pro- ductions of these countries have been written in Latin, I feel persuaded, after having bestowed on these languages considerable study and application, that their acquisition can only be valuable to the etymologist : to him they are indispensably requisite. The rising reputation of the productions of Germany invited my most earnest and eager exertions to the mastery of its language. The variety of its grammatical inflections rose up in formidable array, supported by all the unhappy associations of early days of toil at Latin and Greek ; but I was in some degree consoled by finding the syntax comparatively easy. And, after having first become freed from that sense of vagueness and in- distinctness which always attends the commencement of the study of a language, and having subsequently passed to the capability of judging of its merits, I am convinced that it deserves the praise which has been bestowed on it. It must be acknowledged that it is harsh, from the constant occur- rence of the guttural ch, and from its abundance of consonants ; but this defect kicks the beam in the scale of its value, when weighed down by its richness and inexhaustible resources, which are all within itself, and are never borrowed from foreign sources ; and it is, therefore, not only the richest of all European languages, but its treasures are in progress of con- stant increase by those internal powers, which give it faculties that were enjoyed by the Greek language alone to the same extent. It is the only modern language that can translate Homer word for word. Though during a long period but little known to the rest of Europe, it has become the rival of the other principal languages, and, in the number and value of its * I love, Jag, alskar. I am loved, Jag alskas. • t A youth, yngling. The youth, ynglingen* 61 The Toils of a Modern Philologist. [Ju-tt, productions, bids fair to surpass all but English. As the Germans also translate almost everything from all European languages, it may be con- sidered as forming the general and most complete depdt existing of all human knowledge. It would be in vain to offer observations, within the limits to which this sketch is restricted, on the general literature of a nation of such multifarious productions, to which new additions and fresh characteristics are daily added. But, though the Germans have done so much, many of their works are but raw, though valuable, materials, which still require modelling by the hand and chisel of Taste. In fact, she will have to make great excisions in their works of Fancy, as regards both poetry and romance, where imagination is distorted by exaggeration, sensibility is sullied by coarseness, and good sense, truth, and delicacy are as yet strangers. Dutch is the only remaining language in the course which I proposed to pursue. The words of the Earl of Chatham on another subject, may almost be applied to this language : " It need only be mentioned that it may be despised." Being composed merely of derivatives from Frankisb, Flemish, German, and other dialects, it cannot interest the etymologist ; having attained no reputation in literature, it cannot attract the man of letters; and having a pronunciation particularly uncouth, with even more gutturals than the German, without any of its redeeming qualities, its application must be restricted to the purposes of Commerce, which " looks at the use and not the ornament of things." The history of my literary course being now completed, I find myself once more " alia paterna riva" delighted at the prospect of enjoying the invaluable productions of " Old England." Our native tongue, the sim- plest of all European languages in its construction, is next to the German in richness ; but it is even below the Dutch in point of purity of origin, having on its Saxon foundation erected the most incongruous combinations of Danish, Norman, French, Latin, and Greek; and it is not able to claim a greater antiquity, as a language of public affairs, than the time of Ed- ward III. But it is the language of MAN, in the noblest acceptation of the word, and the impress of MIND is stamped on every feature. Deep and con- vincing in its philosophy, noble and overpowering in its eloquence, mas- terly and comprehensive in its history, harmonious and tender in its poetry, England has no rival in the combined treasures of its literature, which is universally characterized by good sense, deep sensibility, and manly energy of language and thought. It must not be urged, however, that, because an Englishman is born to such a noble inheritance of mind, he should confine his knowledge to his native language, any more than that he should confine his person to the paternal acres which he equally inherits. " Quiconque ne voit guere '• N'a guere a dire aussi." and the acquisition of foreign languages, as well as travels in foreign coun- tries, must have the happiest of all results, if they extend our knowledge, improve our hearts, and bring to our minds the conviction, that " Where'er we roam, " Our first, best country ever is at home." 1827.] The Toils of a Modern Philologist. 66 It is not to be expected, or desired, that every man should attain to the acquisition of so many languages as Sir William Jones,* or that he should even study all those that have here been enumerated ; for every one should make such selection as may best suit his particular taste, feelings, and pursuits. It is hoped that the remarks now presented may be of some utility in such selection, or that they will be found to exhibit a con- centrated view of the existing principal languages of the literature of modern Europe. They must, however, be considered as forming a mere outline, which would require volumes to fill up ; and it is, therefore, hoped, that its defects will be considered as owing, in great measure, to the limi- tation of space within which it is sketched, and that they be not ascribed solely to the deficiencies and inabilities of B. THE WORLD IN THE OPEN AIR. " I have learned To look on Nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth — but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of Humanity ; Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue." — WORDSWORTH. COME, while in freshness and dew it lies, To the world that is under the free blue skies! Leave ye man's home, and forget his care — There breathes no sigh on the dayspring's air. i Come to the woods, in whose mossy dells A light all made for the poet dwells; A light, coloured softly by tender leaves, Whence the primrose a mellower glow receives. The stock-dove is there in the beechen-tree, And the lulling tone of the honey-bee ; And the voice of cool waters 'midst feathery fern, Shedding sweet sounds from some hidden urn. There is life, there is youth, there is tameless mirth, Where the streams, with the lilies they wear, have birth ; There is peace where the alders are whispering low : Come from man's dwellings, with all their woe ! * The following is a copy of a memorandum in Sir William Jones's hand-writing, of his own acquisition of languages :— " Eight languages studied critically, English, Latin, French, Italian, Greek, Arabic, Persian, Sanscrit ; "Eight languages, studied less perfectly, but all intelligible with a dictionary, — Spa- nish, Portuguese, German, Reinic, Hebrew, Bengalic, Hindi, Turkish ; " Twelve languages, studied least perfectly, Tibetian, Pali, Phalavi, Deri, Russian, Sy- riac, Ethiopia, Coptic, Welch, Swedish, Dutch, Chinese. In all, twenty-eight languages." Lord Teignmouth's Lifcof Sir W. Jones, 4fo./>. 376, 5(5 The World in the Open Air. [JULY, Yes ! we will come— -we will leave behind The homes and the sorrows of human kind ; It is well to rove where the river leads Its bright blue vein along sunny meads : It is well through the rich wild woods to go, And to pierce the haunts of the fawn and doe j And to hear the gushing of gentle springs, When the heart has been fretted by worldly stings: And to watch the colours that flit and pass With insect- wings through the wavy grass ; And the silvery gleams o'er the ash-tree's bark, Borne in with a breeze through the foliage dark. Joyous and far shall our wanderings be, As the flight of birds o'er the glittering sea ; To the woods, to the dingles where violets blow, We will bear no memory of earthly woe. But if, by the forest-brook, we meet A line like the pathway of former feet ; — If, 'midst the hills, in some lonely spot, We reach the grey ruins of tower or cot j — If the cell where a hermit of old hath prayed Lift up its cross through the. solemn shade j — Or if some nook, where the wild flowers wave Bear token sad of a mortal grave, — Doubt not but there will our steps be stayed, There our quick spirits awhile delayed ; There will thought fix our impatient eyes, And win back our hearts to their sympathies. For what, though the mountains and skies be fair, Steeped in soft hues of the summer- air, — 'Tis the soul of man, by its hopes and dreams, That lights up all nature with living gleams. Where it hath suffered and nobly striven, Where it hath poured forth its vows to Heaven ; Where to repose it hath brightly past, O'er this green earth there is glory cast. And by that soul, amidst groves and rills, And flocks that feed on a thousand hills, Birds of the forest, and flowers of the sod, We, only we, may be linked to God ! F. H. 1827.] NOTES FOR THE MONTH. THE Divorce bill, in the case of Miss Turner, has passed through both houses of Parliament in the last month. This proceeding winds up the measure of compensation, which, as it was most richly due, it has given us great pleasure to see dealt out, to the exploit of the two Messrs. Wakefield ; and those persons have now nothing left to do, except to congratulate them- selves on the extraordinary leniency of their sentence ; to wear out their respective terms of imprisonment with such salutary studies and reflections as may guard them against falling into similar difficulty a second time ; and, finally, if experience can make them wise, as soon as possible after their liberation, to quit a country, in which their names, long before that period arrives, will have been forgotten, but in which they never can be revived but to become the subjects of animadversion and contempt. Be- cause there are limits within which even the least worthy or scrupulous members of society, in thought and Reeling, are accustomed (and compelled) to confine themselves ; men of integrity and principle hold the gamester, who conceals his skill in order to win the money of his antagonist, a cha- racter unfit for their association ; but all the world concurs, that the fellow who passes these bounds of villainy, and slips a card, or substitutes false dice, for the purposes of plunder, shall be kicked, as a thief and a gambler, out of doors. The adventurer who can plead even the vulgar excuse of a *' passion" for the person of my daughter, and marries her against my con- sent — his conduct cannot be justified ; the man who simulates a passion for a woman which he does not feel, in order to obtain possession of her wealth, is guilty of a sordid act, and an act of disgraceful moral wrong; but the ruffian who, by force or direct fraud, inveigles my daughter from my house — who accomplishes this object, not even by a misrepresentation of his own feelings, or desires, or intentions, but by forging the authority t)f those relatives or protectors, whose directions she lawfully and unhesi- tatingly recognizes as commands — that man is as essentially a swindler and a robber as the fellow who knocks at the door of my house in my absence from home, and obtains possession from my servants of my horse, my silver spoons, or my gold watch ; his is an imposition against which I look to the Old Bailey to secure me ; and to that tribunal, as a felon who has robbed me — not as a fellow-citizen who has injured — I hand him over accordingly. That this is the view, and the only fit view which can be taken of the conduct of Mr. Wakefield and his brother, we conceive can scarcely admit of doubt. The common principle which, in all questions of " obtaining property," distinguishes the criminal act of " fraud," or " false pretence," from the contraction of a civil " debt," applies to their case directly and en- tirely. The law permits a man, in many transactions of common dealing — (that is, it refuses for such a course to proceed criminally against him)— to use misrepresentation to those with whom he deals, as far as his own objects or intentions are concerned ; but it hangs the same man without mercy, or at least sends him as a robber to Botany Bay, the moment he compasses his fraud by assuming the character, or counterfeiting the authority, of a third •person. If a swindler purchases plate or diamonds from a goldsmith , upon the most flagrant mis-statement of his own ability or intention to pay for them, still the law calls this a peril against which the dealer's own caution may protect him, and the purchaser has only incurred a civil debt ; but if M.M. New &ne»v— VOL. IV. No. 1 9. I 58 Notes for the Month. he obtain the same goods from the tradesman, on the pretence that he has come from Mr. A. or Mr. B., (that tradesman's known customer) with orders that they shall be delivered to him on the account of those parties, then he becomes a robber within the view of the criminal law ; and, instead of going to the Fleet, or the King's Bench prison, he goes to Van Dieman's Land for the offence. This distinction is so clear, that it can need no pressing. The actual villainy in both the above cases perhaps is pretty nearly the same. But the first belongs to a class of crimes which the law (criminally) would be unable to deal with — because the very mis- statement (which constitutes the whole offence) would become a question of degree — it is not a simple, distinct fact, which can be given in evidence, but a matter of inference, which it is difficult, with sufficient exactness, to prove. But the second case stands upon a different, and upon a tangible footing ; the offender has passed the line which the mercy and caution of the law (rather .than its justice) has said shall be established for his pro- tection ; and it is not because the knave, who has robbed me to-day, by becoming a bankrupt with 3000/. of my property in his possession, happens to leave me — according to the usages of the community — without a remedy, that the rogue who forges a check for the same amount upon me to-morrow — although in either case, I am but cheated of so much money — shall be suffered to escape. The legal propriety of the conviction of the Messrs. Wakefield, therefore, stands beyond a question. Of their moral guilt, it is unnecessary to sprak ; a more heartless or cold-blooded act of violence than that which they have committed, induced by no motive beyond that of the mere de- sire of gain, it would be difficult to conceive. And, if we try them by that spurious sort of equitable jurisdiction under which they have set up a miserable claim to be adjudged — by the law that gives a civic wreath to the hat of the highwayman, who goes up Holborn-hill with his boots well cleaned, and a nosegay in his bosom, or places an urn over the cross- road grave of the forger, who closed his career by his own hand to escape that of the executioner — even under this tf cutter's law" — the Brummagem code of honour — the case of the Messrs. Wakefield becomes more inde- fensible still; because its immunities extend "only to crimes which are redeemed by some shew of talent or qualification ; and theirs has not a single trait of spirit or gallantry about it — not a single bright spot — from the beginning to the end. It is an unlucky feature, indeed, in the practice of this court of " cas- sation,*' to which the Messrs. Wakefield, in the desperation of their course, have attempted to appeal, that it is a tribunal which is never favourable to unsuccessful gamesters : and, moreover, as lawless as it appears, it is still guided by some principles in its decisions, which find no holding or application to their case. The sort of illegitimate complacency with which we dwell upon the unhallowed exploits of Turpin or Jack Shepherd, is not wholly without a foundation in reasonable feeling, or a reference to the real interests and advantage of society. It is not that we are disposed to excuse, or palliate crime ; but, that, where the same picture that exhibits an act of offence, displays at the same moment an evidence of power, we do not refuse to " look at both indifferently." Where a high- wayman beats off, single-handed, half-a-dozen police officers — or a de- serter from the army shoots an equal number of the soldiers, who are sent to apprehend him — we are not rejoicing in the bloodshed, nor do we hesi- 1 827.] Notes for the Month. 5 9 tate to hang the man — because we cannot refuse to see that the same strength and courage merited a more fortunate direction. In the same way, where a coiner, or a stage-coach robber, compasses his violation of the law by some process of great dexterity, and escapes with the plunder, we are not pleased that the law is baffled ; although we feel that the offen- der has shewn a rare ingenuity — admitting that ingenuity to have been misapplied. But then, while we may laugh, under the influence of this mixed feeling, at the steady eye and delicate touch of a pick-pocket, like Barrington, who would cut off a fine gentleman's watch-chain, or abstract his wig, while he was discussing politics with him — or excuse the clever humbug with which an active young man of five-and-twenty years of age (and of one shirt) gulls a widow into a second marriage at sixty years of age,twho has " purple and fine linen" in abundance — yet we have no grain of sympathy for the rascally footpad who waits for a passenger in a dark alley with a bludgeon, and plunders him securely, after a blow from be- hind which stuns him, or perhaps (for the striker's more perfect security) beats out his brains ; and even still less with the ruffian of Connaught or Gal way, who aided by an armed force, carries off some female whom he knows holds him in horror or detestation, on the chance that she may buy redemption from disgrace, by consent to " a marriage," which puts him in possession of her portion. In every possible point of view, therefore — this is the first time that we have adverted to this transaction, and we are already anxious to wash our hands of it — the case of the Messrs. Wakefield seems to us to be a hopeless and a disgraceful one. As far as the law is concerned, the escape of the parties with the sentences which they have received, may be considered to be a fortunate one. Upon the moral guilt of their conduct — or upon the penalties which, in moral justice, ought to have followed it, it would be loss of time to bestow a word. But, in the character of a " cavalier" — the r<*le which the elder of these gentlemen has affected to assume — in the claim to be treated, as it were, as air" adventurer," stepping forward to execute a feat in the public eye the success and splendour of which should draw away attention from its criminality — taken in this light (which it was an evil hour whenever he pretended to appear in), the failure of Mr. Edward Wakefield has been so ludicrously complete, that it becomes worth while just to record the cir- cumstances and extent of it ! — He obtained possession of Miss Turner's person — using a device, which every footman in England could have used as competently and successfully as himself — but he had possession of the lady, and undisturbed possession. Being ashamed to talk of " love," he courted her, not so well as a footman would have done, but like an attor- ney's " pay" clerk — talking about debts, and bills, and bonds, and bailiffs, and pleas, and pounce boxes, and skins of parchment. After an opportu- nity of seven whole days to propitiate a girl of fifteen — who the deuce could it be that deluded this gentleman to set up for a gallant, and a for- tune hunter! — all the lady's desire is to get away from him. And he winds up this display of rapacity, of fraud, and miserable insufficiency, by a wretched attempt — after she has renounced him — to blacken her reputation ! It is not an ounce of civet, but a whole apothecary's shop full, that a man would need to sweeten his imagination after even talking about this last offence. The effort at slander is as hopeless and absurd, as it is dis* creditable — but, in this circumstance, it only tallies with all the other features I 2 60 Notes for the Month. [J ULY, 'of Mr. Wakefield's enterprise. The fact attempted to be insinuated, were it true, would have been no circumstance (at the time when it is said to have occurred) of denial, or concealment ! if it were fact, it would be capable, not of being hinted or asserted, but of distinct and satisfactory proof. But, besides that the mere act of a man's coming voluntarily for- ward as the utterer of a charge like that in question, deserves to stamp him as unworthy of belief, there is still a stronger obstacle to credit in the way of the accusation, as it is got up by Mr. Wakeficld ;— - most men will be of opinion that his word could have very little worth one way or the other in the question, whether the statement was true ; but every man will know that, if it were true, the occasion would never have arisen for its being uttered. We abstained, as our readers will have noticed, from commenting upon this case, until the last point m it was finally determined. We should, probably, not have adverted to it at all, but from something like an attempt at its extenuation, which has appeared (we do not very well understand upon what principle) in a publication, where (to say the least for it) a bolder and more manly style of policy and feeling had been commonly displayed. It is unnecessary for us. after what we have already said, to go into any expression of personal opinion upon the merits of the parties concerned. But certainly, if it were possible to forget the disgust which -one of the last circumstances connected with their case excites, the ridicu- lous discomfiture which their "spirit and gallantry" has received through- out the rest of it, would almost be entitled to our pity. Politics for the month have produced nothing either very entertaining, or very important. Every measure proposed — good or bad — has been "put off," lest " discussion should embarrass the New Ministry :" upon which lhe Exa- miner, of Sunday, the 17th June, has some lively remarks. The likening of the New Administration to the lady en famille, is carried a little too far for good taste — some people never can give up a tolerable thought till they have ridden it to death, if once they get hold of it ; but the idea — -among other measures of tenderness and precaution — of " the knockers being tied up, and Joseph Hume being thrashed for making a noise in the street," is comical. The general discussions which have taken place, have demon- strated with singular felicity, the proposition which we took the liberty of submitting last month, as to the very guarded assent which ought to be given to the declarations of statesmen, while they are in opposition. Sir James Scar- lett, the other night, in the House of Commons, having come (with his new seat, as the King's Attorney General) to a cautious and constitutional mode of thinking befitting that high office, defended, or, as Mr. Peel expressed it, " did tardy justice to," one of the late Lord Londonderry's " Six acts ;" and Mr. Brougham lets out the fact in his dinner speech at Liverpool — which certainly no one, who has been in the habit of listening to him for the last five years, would ever have suspected — that he has, all along, been (notwithstanding his incessant attacks both on the private feeling and public conduct of that noble and learned personage), most particularly the personal and professional 'friend of Lord Eldon ! The scene which followed the announcement of this truth, by the honourable and learned Member, at Liverpool, was rather whimsical; and reminds us of the result of an attempt that Mr. Listen, the actor, once made to play " high tragedy" in London. When Mr. Liston appeared on the stage as Octaviau, the house, almost before he spoke, was convulsed with laughter;-— upon which he 1827.] Notes for the Month. 6 1 came forward. — " Ladies and Gentkmen ! I am serious." (This was thought a better joke than the other, and there were shouts from all sides of " Bravo !" with increased laughter). — " Ladies and Gentlemen ! I beg to say this is a mistake." (Peals of incessant laughter). Once again, with his indescribable face, the actor tried—-" Ladies and Gentlemen, I beg to assure you, that this is meant to be a serious performance]" But the house could not fancy it serious. The more solemn and impassioned the performer became, the more inextinguishably they laughed ; and he wsa eventually compelled to give the effort up. Mr. Brougham's case was not quite so bad as this. In the end, he did, we believe, persuade his audience that he was Lord Eldon's " friend," — although they did not perceive altogether how he could be so. But the conviction was not uni- versal. Several of the good people of Liverpool came away from the dinner, muttering as they made their way homewards — " Friend ! — Friend !" And rather inclined to exclaim with Falstaff, when they recol- lected, the speeches of the honourable and learned gentleman in every Chancery question for the preceding five years — " Call you this backing of your friends ? A plague of such backing," &e. &c. Mr. Hume, however, who sticks fast to his seat on the opposition bench, reserving to himself the power of canvassing the measures of the new ministry, while their general principles of policy have his support, brought forward a motion, a few nights before the close of the session, on the subject of the promotions in the navy. And on that occasion something like notice of an intention to attempt instituting the practice of selling commissions in tho naval service — or at least of trying the chance of some measure to that effect • — was given by Sir George Cockburn. Without taking the trouble to argue the question, how far the practice of selling promotions, may have been advan- tageous or hurtful in the British army, the whole of the circumstances con- nected with the two services are so essentially different, that we should he •extremely loth to see it attempted in the navy. In the first place, wholly apart and distinct from his trade — if a trade it maybe called — olfighting) the naval officer has the trade of a seaman to learn, which is one of infinite nicety and difficulty, and one, the importance of which ought to form one of the first circumstances for consideration, when we speak of allowing men, by any other course than that of actual service, to qualify themselves for command. Every naval officer must be a sailor : it is not absolutely necessary that every officer of the army should be a soldier. Five years of service in barracks, or at Brighton, may qualify an officer of the array to go into the field as a captain of a company ; and it is not impossible even that with that very limited experience, he might get very well through all the duty that would be required of him; but in what a condition would any man find himself, who, after twenty years spent at Gravesend or Woolwich, were suddenly called on to fill the place of lieutenant on board a man-of-war ! A gentlemen fresh from Bond-street, may charge, with abundant courage, at the head of a hundred bayonets, and, therefore, there may be no great mischief in allowing him to buy the right of occupying such a place ; but it is utterly impossible that all the gold which ever was expected to come from South America, should qualify,; a gentleman fresh from Bond-street, either to fight or manoeuvre a ship. There is an objection, however, to allowing meH to purchase rank in the navy, beyond this — an objection which arises out of the entire and absolute trust and power, which are necessarily confided to almost 62 Notes for the Month, [JULY, every officer of the navy, but whk>) only attaches in the army to offi- cers of a rank to which purchase gives no access. We allow officers in the army to purchase up to a lieutenant-colonelcy : an officer in the navy would be allowed to purchase up to a post-captaincy : and here the power of purchase, on both sides, would cease. But, whatever apparent equality there may be in the rank, there is no parity at all in the degrees of trust and authority, which we should be allowing the parties in the two services, by their money, to become possessed of; for the post-captain of a frigate — or even the master and commander, who commands a gun- brig or a sloop — these persons are placed in situations constantly, where their power is as absolute, as paramount, and as free from all guidance of superior authority, direction, or control — not as the power (in the army) of a captain or of a lieutenant-colonel — but of a general officer entrusted with the command of twenty thousand men. It very seldom happens, in the army, that a major, or other officer at the head of a regiment, acts independently, for any length of time, and upon his own command. His regiment forms part of a brigade, which is commanded by a brigadier-gene- ral ; who, in his turn, is commanded by the general of division ; whose move- ments are again directed and controlled by the commander-in-chief of the forces. But the commander of a ship of war — though but of a third or fourth-rate — the moment his anchor is up, is, half his time, an independent agent. It sometimes happens that his ship forms part of a fleet, but quite as often that a particular duty is singly and specifically committed to him. Brigs of war, if we recollect right, are commanded by officers who have the rank of lieutenants in the navy ; this rank is equal to that of a captain in the army. But, although there may be no great mischief in allowing a raw man, by money, to obtain the latter commission, where no duty of difficulty or nicety will devolve upon him, and no duty at all in the per- formance of which he will not be subject, five or six deep, to control and surveillance, yet it would be a little too much to allow an individual no better qualified to take upon himself the entire command and disposal of a ship of war and her crew — with all that despotic authority which is claimed and exercised by the commanders of vessels of war at sea — and tho onus of maintaining for us that reputation for superior skill and talent in the naval service, which is so deeply important to the honour and interests of the country. There are other objections, and numerous ones, to the system of selling commissions in the navy, into which our limits do not enable us at this moment to go. But it is whimsical to observe how liable our views of practicability and policy are to be guided by our personal convenience. The use of the impress system has been defended — in preference to the system of bounties and enlistment — in the navy, upon the plea that the service required peculiar men — sailors of skill and experience — whom money could not purchase : and now we discover that money may be a fit and admitted circumstance of qualification, in the selection of the officers by whom these sailors, whom money, cannot purchase, are to be com- manded ! A Morning Paper notices, as a matter of surprise, that " a corps of artillery" has arrived from Dublin at Woolwich, in the short space of seven days. The journalist's statement as to the time is correct ; but his surprise is the effect of inadvertence ; he does not perceive that the corps which has made this rapid transit, is a corps of the " Flying Artillery." A Complete Outfit. — The haberdashers in Cornhill aud Fenchurch- 1827.] . Notes for the Month. 63 street, who «' make up" the cadets for India, have a pleasant notion of " purveying in general." From a saddle to a soap-box — a sword to cut one's fingers with, to sticking plaster to heal them — every appliance that " frail humanity" (we would think) could want, comes within the limit of their ministry. But we never (proverbially) can tell when we have reached the north ! — there are a set of constituted authorities, who, in their providence, beat these calculators of man's necessities hollow. The overseers' contracts, for the parish of St. Mary, Rotherhithe, advertised last week to be taken u by the lowest bidder," request that " tenders" may be made for the supply (for the benefit and consolation of the inhabitants of the workhouse of the said parish) of the following commodities. To wit, " good ox beef, at per pound." "' Salt butter — duly wired and scraped — at per cwt." " Glo'ster cheese — or ditto of equal quality." " Small beer, worked clear of yeast." " Coffins and wool shrouds, from two to four feet each — at per C. and S. !" '* Ditto — from four to six feet — at per ditto /" There is a delicacy in this style of giving a hint to people in a work- house— ordering in their small beer and their coffins at the same time ? But manner in the present day is every thing. We speak now, " for our grace," as Master Stephen did, when he termed the cudgelling with which Downright threatened him, <( the bastinado." So, a journeyman artisan becomes, by courtesy, an Operative. A fellow who teaches greater fools than himself to play at leap-frog, or climb up a pole, is a " Professor of Gymnastics." An Irishman making speeches in a public-house is a " Defender of his country's rights." And a flea — is a practitioner of phle- botomy. A Sunday paper, now, for further example, before us, contains the following parabolical advertisement, under the head of " Newspaper chat :" — ( " Pistrucci and some Italian Refugees have been getting up a dramatic representation at the King's Concert-room ; and we are glad to see men in their unhappy, but yet honourable situation, occupying, by so elegant and agreeable an amusement, some of that time which must hang heavily upon their hands. Italian literature has become fashionable of late — it is lucky that fashion, in this instance, has taken so useful a turn ; and we recom- mend all those who wish to take the most agreeable kind of lesson in the language, to attend these exhibitions. There are three more, and they take place on the Wednesday evenings." Now we have not the slightest objection to the success of Signor Pistrucci, and think him on the contrary rather an entertaining exhibitor; but people who perform in a theatre for hire, are not in general spoken of as seeking an agreeable amusement to occupy the time which might hang heavy on their hands ! But again, in the advertisement of a rehearsal of some music at St. Paul's, on the occasion of" The Festival of the Sons of the Clergy," we find — " The Committee, with the view of promoting the benefit of this charity, respectfully beg leave to express their hope that, for admission into the church and choir, no person will contribute less than half-a-crown."— " Contributions of gold will admit each person to the galleries and closets, &c." This expedient of fixing the amount of an alms is decidedly a modern invention. Our ancestors would certainly have said — «' Admission to the body of the church, half-a-crown : to the galleries, closets, &c., half-a- 64 Notes for the Month. [JULY, guinea." Apropos, however, to the mention of our ancestors — this very charity reminds us that a " reformation" may be sometimes a sort of jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire. The Catholic clergy had no sons : so that our ancestors, on this score, paid neither half-a-crown nor half-a-guinea. The advertisements of common traders — in an effort to be attractive and eloquent — sometimes contain similar whimsicalities of expression. As, for instance, an auctioneer advertises the sale of some unredeemed pawn- broker's pledges, in the Herald of this morning, as — "'a short, but grati- fying collection.'' And a pastry-cook of Dean-street, Soho, in The Times, recommends his " plum cakes" as "an agreeable recreation!" The hot weather being now " hourly to be expected," the magistrates of Bow-street have issued their notice to the dogs to keep themselves duly tied up for the next two months, and muzzled. Abundant lapping of cold water, and a little brimstone (where it can be had) are recommended ; and all who neglect these cautions are liable to be summarily punished with death. Two actions against periodical publications for libel have been tried since our last : one against Knight's Quarterly Magazine, by Mr. Soane, who seems desirous that people who laugh at his architecture should be in a condition to laugh at himself into the bargain : and a second against the Examiner newspaper, by Mr. Parry, the author of a work called " The last Days of Lord Byron," in which a verdict, with small damages, was obtained for the plaintiff. People seldom have patience to be prudent, when their own foibles, or those of their connections, are attacked ; and the Examiner certainly was ill-advised in publishing the charges that Mr. Parry complained of. Mr. P., it will be recollected, wrote a book, or got a book written, called " The last Days of Lord Byron," about two years ago (some time prior to the exposures in the affairs of the " Greek Committee") which contained, among a good many other light, pleasant, readable, and not always uninteresting matters, a very laughable story of a ** breakfast and morning's walk," which the writer went through with Jeremy Bentham. Now, whether it is fair to breakfast with a man first, and quiz him afterwards, may be a point perhaps for dispute ; but, at any rate, Mr. Parry's story contained nothing beyond quizzing; and, if Mr. Bentham's friends had laughed at it (as other people did), in three weeks it would have been forgotten. But, unluckily, laughing was beyond the patience of the little party at the back of St. James's park : the Times newspaper copied Mr. Parry's " breakfast" into its pages, which of course sent the affair all over the kingdom ; and out came the Examiner in a fury in reply ! — after threatening vengeance upon the Times (with which it had about as much chance in quarrel as a Millbank wherry would have in trying to run down a Glasgow steam boat) — with two paragraphs, in the first of which it called Mr. Parry " an exceedingly ignorant, worthless, boasting, bullying, and drunken individual, late a caulker, but calling himself a Major;'* and in the next describing him, in still more direct terms, as (" not to repeat the worst of his character") " a slanderer, a sot, a bully, and a poltroon." Now these were hard terms, to use against a man for no offence beyond that of laughing at Mr. Bentham, and a few of his friends, without conveying any imputation against their moral characters ; .and the Examiner forgot, while it applied them, that this person, who is J327.J Notes for the Month. £5 a " caulker," « sot," " slanderer," " bully," and " poltroon," after lie has quizzed Mr. Bentham and a few *of his acquaintance, seems, prior to that event, to have been an " engineer/' formally engaged and •employed by the Greek committee ; a " Major," (as far as titles so con- ferred'are worth talking about) in the army of the Greek government ; a gentleman " introduced," (according to the account of the Examiner itself) " to Mr. Bentham's table, an honour which the late Sir Samuel Romilly, an-d other similar spirits, always duly appreciated;" and a habitual guest (according to Mr. Leicester Stanhope's evidence) at that gen- tleman's own table, as well as at that of the late Lord Byron. So that one would say, either Mr. Parry is something wronged in the description that the Examiner gives of him and his pretensions, after the quarrel about " The last Days" or the patrons of the Greek cause, prior to the perpe . tration of that work, must have chosen their agents and companions very unguardedly. A similar infelicity as regards the balance of statement and proof, occurs again (to shew the disadvantage under which men fight when they are wroth) in the Examinees comment upon the trial, in the paper of the 17th instant. In noticing the evidence touching the attack on the Turkish brig, by which the Examiner had proposed to prove the fact of Parry's cowardice, Lord Chief Justice Best, who tried the cause, observed to the jury that this event, whatever was the effect of it, took place in the middle of February ; and that a letter was in evidence, written by the Greek committee to Mr. Parry, dated on the llth of May (three months after that occurrence) in which the committee, instead of charging him with cowardice, express the greatest confidence in his zeal and conduct. The learned judge then remarks that this letter must have been written after the affair of the Turkish brig was within the knowledge of the committee — when he is corrected by Mr. Bowring, and informed that " two mvnths is the minimum of time in which intelligence is received from Greece." This fact of •' two months" being the 4< minimum" of time for intelligence to arrive, is printed in words of large Capitals in the account of the Examiner; and a subsequent observation in the charge to the jury, treating the fact to be otherwise, is given in italics, to mark the partiality of the judge; while the " Foreign news," in the very same paper, only three pages from the column in which this statement appears, contains an account of intelligence received from Greece, and through the medium of the French papers — after two months is stated to be the minimum — in a less period than six weeks ! The Liverpool Mercury states, that a newspaper has just been started at New York, which is " edited by two gentlemen of colour ," and " intended to circulate among the black population of the United States ;" we understand that this publication is called the Jonkanoo Jour- nal', but we have not yet been so fortunate as to secure any numbers of it. A Fact accounted for.— -In the discussion which arose in the House of Commons, on Friday night last, on the expediency of making parochial provision for the poor of Ireland, a well-known member for one of the Caledonian boroughs, was pressing upon an English gentleman, who sat near him, the impropriety of such an arrangement, and instanced the case of Scotland, where there were no poor laws, and none were wanted. "The enormous expence which you are at in England,." said the honour- able member, " we entirely avoid ; and yet you never hear of any persoa, I M.M. New Series,— VOL. IV. No. 19. K 66 Notes for the Month. [JULY, think, dying of hunger in the streets of Edinburgh ?" — «' Why, I grant that/' returned the party addressed; " but then look at the difference of the two countries ! You don't consider the impossibility of starving a Scotchman !" The leak which broke out some weeks since in the Thames Tunnel, and which has, of course, for the time interrupted the progress of that work, is reported, at length, by the engineers, to be entirely stopped ; and no doubt is entertained (by the same authorities) of their being able to proceed securely with the excavation to the other side of the river. When the tunnel is completed — if ever that event happens — we take it that the work will amount to a triumph of practical skill rather than to a production of any real usefulness ; but it may fairly be doubted, even yet, we suspect, how far its completion is to be relied on. If it should happen to be true that there was but one point in the whole river on which the soil, was likely to give way, why then, no doubt (taking all the matter touching the stoppage of the leak to be fully maintainable that is stated), we have arrived at the point of danger and surmounted it ; but what evidence is there — we don't perceive — that such is the case ? or that our having come to a weak point at the spot where the present accident has happened, is not rather an omen, that, as we advance, we shall be likely to come to one or two more ? Tha1>— - with all the assured statement which is now put forth, of " the accident having been anticipated," &c. — " not at all a surprise," — but " looked for" — the managers of the undertaking are but very imperfectly informed as to the real condition of the bed of the river, we think must be pretty clear; because, had the late accident really been " foreseen," it would be supposing them insane to believe that they would not have taken the same steps to prevent, which they eventually were compelled to use to repair it — especially, as independent of getting rid of a horrible danger, such a course would have saved nineteen-twentieths of their late expence. It is impossible, therefore — unless we are to assume that the engineers are mad — to believe that they did anticipate that, at the point just mended, tho bed of the river would give way under them ; and, if they have been misled in their opinion as to its security so far, there seems to be no reason why it is impossible that they should find themselves in error again. As regards the value of the property, perhaps it would be a matter of little importance whether the scheme were proceeded in, or left where it lies ; because the work will probably do well, if, when completed, it pays the charge of its own keeping up. A very great number of carts and waggons must suddenly begin crossing where now no carts or waggons cross at all, to pay the expences of a road, which will have to be lighted and watched night and day, in addition to the ordinary burthens to which such enter- prizes are subject. We recollect, that not long back, the Southwark-bridge speculators were reduced to such economy, that, even in the winter, they only lighted their bridge on one side. This is putting aside, too, the very decided possibility — for we argue a little uncertainly when we talk from the surface of a river of all that is going on at the bottom — that the same cause which operated in producing the present mischief, may not lead to damage of a similar description hereafter. If the soil in the centre of the river be generally of a spongy, loose, oozy nature, and it is the action of the tide that has made it thinner and looser in the place where the late accident has occurred — (which seems more than likely) — what certainty is there that the same action may not operate hereafter, so as to sweep the 1827.] Notes for the Month. 67 soil away— in parts— even from the crown of the tunnel altogether ? No danger to human life, probably, could result from such an event, because the symptoms of mischief would shew themselves long enough beforehand in an increasing and gradual leakage. But there can be little doubt — unless the cause which has occasioned the flimsiness of the soil in that part of the river at which the work has now arrived has been of human production or origin (and no evidence to that effect appears) — that the same state of things which has arisen may arise again ; and although the measures which have been takon lately to strengthen the bed of the river, may have answered the purpose so far as to enable the cutting of the tunnel for the present to proceed, yet a far more operose and costly process would be necessary, we suspect, to give it anything like soundness and security of a permanent description. We noticed in our last number an account, given in the French Globe j of the death of a man of the name of Drake (an exhibitor of serpents, wild beasts, &c.) by the bite of a rattlesnake. It is singular that a second accident, nearly of the same fatal description, has occurred within the last fortnight, in the collection formerly belonging to the same indi- vidual. A young man, belonging to the caravan, holding a small rattle- snake in water, to assist it in casting its skin, the venomous monster sud- denly turned round, and bit him in the fore finger. The lad had suffi- cient presence of mind to prevent the immediate escape of the serpent ; and, twisting a ligature round his wounded finger, snatched up a cleaver, and desired two by-stauders to strike it off upon the spot. Both the men who were present — though partners, we believe, or assistants, in the con- cern— hung back, and were unwilling to strike the necessary blow ; but Mrs. Drake, who had arrested the offending reptile in its attempt to make off, and succeeded in confining him again in his cage, with great presence of mind, took the cleaver, and — as a Morning Paper expresses it — " per- formed the operation.'* The wounded man lived, and has done well. The theatres, — " summer," or " winter," — have presented nothing very striking within the last month. New books have been abundant, and more interesting. Robins has published a second series of " Mornings at Bow-street," with illustrations by Cruikshank ; the plates of which are among the very best that this very ingenious artist has produced, Lady Morgan has a new novel, called " The O'Briens and the O' Flaherty s/' forthcoming, by Colburn ; the latter novels of this lady have been second in merit to none but those of Sir Walter Scott ; and no one who has read " O'Donnel," and «' Florence M'Carthy," but will look for her production with curiosity and interest. Miss Emma Roberts's work — the " Memoirs of the Houses of York and Lancaster" — is out, and a more detailed notice of it will be found in our Review Department. The subject of the book reminds us of what used to be done by Miss Benger ; but Miss Roberts is the more pleasing writer of the two ; her style is purer and more simple ; and she deserves equal praise for the caution with which she has examined her facts, and the activity and patience with which she has elicited them. Altogether fruitful as the history or legends of the time in question are in romantic incident and recollections — we scarcely expected that Miss Roberts could have produced a book so well calculated to interest all classes of readers. Her work deserves to be, and will be, popular : it conveys considerable knowledge and instruction, at the same time that it cannot fail to afford amusement. K 2 6S Notes for the Month. Lord Redesdale has a bill in progress through the House of Lords, the object of which is to regulate the business of banking. Two important provisions which it contains, are clauses which will compel bankers to publish their accounts periodically, and to give security for the amount of all notes that they may issue. There can be no doubt that if any branch of our commercial system wants consideration and regulation, it is that of banking. It is a trade, the direction and management of which has been very little canvassed ; and of which the operation and effect, we take it, are very imperfectly understood. The long-eared portion of society will do well to attend to a reso- lution, promulgated by the new Vice-chancellor, Sir Anthony Hart, upon an application to his Honour, the other day, for an *' injunction" in the case of " Hunter v. Bell." The proceeding arose out of an affair some- thing similar to the late dirty business of " Mr. Auldjo" and his fashion- able acquaintances. The plaintiff, who is so fortunate as to be encum- bered more with money than with wit, was benoodled into making a bet of 2,0007. upon the St. Leger ; and, losing it, was compelled (after a desperate effort to back out) to give a bill for the amount. The bill, however, was given certainly under circumstances of some duress ; when at a distance from the coaxing ways of the winner, the dislike to pay revived ; and the losing gentleman accordingly applied to the Court of Chancery, for an injunction against his note being negotiated. Sir An- thony Hart said that he should not interfere. If the bill had actually been given for a gambling debt, that fact could be shewn, and it was of no value, no matter how often negotiated, or into whose hands it might fall. And, for the guidance of gentlemen who betted at races in general, it was his opinion (founded upon mature consideration), that the best way of protecting monied ninnies from imposition, was to let them understand that they must learn to keep out of ill company, and to protect them- selves. We mention this decision, because it is important that it should be known in Pall Mall and St. James's Street. French Politesse* — An ingenious writer observes somewhere — but so many have copied or imitated the dictum since, that to trace it to its ori- ginal owner would hardly be possible — that it is practicable, by the mere difference of manner, to grant a request in such a way as shall make it offensive — and, on the contrary, to refuse in such terms as shall make the party denied feel that he receives a favour. A French officer at the battle of Spires, when the ill blood ran very high between the troops of JFrance and Germany, and orders had been issued to give no quarter in- the field, seems to have had great reliance upon this writer's opinion. A Hessian officer of infantry having been cut down and his sword broken, just as the sabre was raised which was to terminate his earthly career, entreated the victor to " spare his life." "Ah, Monsieur!" returned the Frenchman — with a shrug, which alone certainly ought to have re- conciled the most unreasonable man to the thoughts of death — " Ask any thing else ; but life is impossible !" If the theatres, however, (as we observed above) have forborne to be pre-eminent in attraction during the last month, VAUXHALL has pre- sented the town with an exhibition that makes amends : — no less than a representation, by armed men and real horses, of THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO ! An erroneous impression prevailed when this entertain- 1827,] Note* for the Month. < pop" — produced by the incessant opening of soda-water and ginger-beer bottles. The clashing of two thousand pairs of knives and forks, it was imagined, would aptly enough represent — especially when eked out by the jingling of spoons — the give and take music atten- dant on a " charge of sabres or with bayonets;" and the too clamorous guests marched oii^ from time to time, to the watch-house, would act the part, to the life, of " prisoners taken on the occasion." All this suspicion of " allegory," however, was matter of mistake. When the night — " big with the fate" of Mr. Gye, the member of parliament, and his friends — arrived, it was found to be the REAL battle — at the expense of, Heaven knows how many pounds of gunpowder fired off — that was to be per- formed ; and perhaps, as we are rather pressed for room, we can hardly convey, to those of our readers — if there be any such — who have not visited the " gardens," a more just impression of the interest of the scene, than by presenting them with some passages of the " bill" — premising that all the expectations which that document holds out may be taken to be realized to the uttermost. The " entertainments commence," exactly at nine o'clock, with a comic opera called Actors al Fresco ; after which the " BATTLE OF WA- TERLOO takes place" in front of the " fire-work tower;" — the "shrubs, &c." having been te removed and cleared away for that purpose." The scene forms " an exact representation of the field of Waterloo," (which the gardens of Vauxhall are demonstrated to possess incomparable advan- tages for realizing) — vis. " La Belle Alliance on the right of the centre of the British line :" " in the rear of their left, a small wood," &c. : " all erected in the same relative situations as on the plains of Waterloo." The battle then commences by " Buonaparte ordering the troops on the left to attack the wood and chateau of Hougomont !" The assault (of course) is " most furious and sanguinary," The walls of the gardens of Hougomont are " loop-holed by the British troops," and every means of defence adopted!" During the struggle, an interesting scene occurs. — The " French cavalry'' make a " desperate rush, to surround the Duke of Wellington .'" fortunately, they are " prevented by a quick movement of our troops" who form a diamond square, " which encompasses him, and baffles all their attempts." At this moment — the fight having lasted full seven minutes — victory begins to declare for the allies; as " the French line" is *' making a quick movement through the wood" from "the right of the hill, the Prussian flag is suddenly seen waving!" the troops of Bulow "cover the British:" and "their united forces" (with incredible celerity) begin to put the French to the route !" The consequences of a single waver are such as might be expected. A " general attack of cavalry and infantry is made !" The enemy is forced to retreat in disorder ! " And the whole becomes a complete scene of havoc and slaughter; during which various accidents occur — in parti- cular that of an ammunition waggon blowing up ! which is drawn over 70 Notes for the Month. [JULY, the field in flames, by the terrified horses !" The ruin is now decisive. Buonaparte, seeing his attempt to recover his lost ground ineffectual, and his whole army in confusion, betakes himself to his chariot, and is seen driving across the field, pursued by the British cavalry I *'• Whole heaps of men and horses lie expiring on the ensanguined plain !" The chateau of Hougomont is in flames ! And upon this terrible state of things the curtain falls : the whole " forming a terrific (but glorious) picture of the memorable 18th of June!" Immediately after the battle, Mr. Cooke " mounts his celebrated charger, Bucephalus;" and, " at full speed, rides up a perpendicular rock to the Temple of Fame, at the sum- mit of the fire-work tower ;" and " there deposits the British and French colours (as an emblem of amity) in the Temple of Concord ! — a feat uneqaalled in the annals of horsemanship !" The " concert" com- mences " as soon as possible after the battle." The doors are " to be open at seven ;" and the " admission" is 4*. The affiche contains nothing more that is entertaining or material — except the printer's name ; but, for the entertainment, it is only justice to say that, since the sham fights at Acton and Hornsey by the " loyal London Volunteers," we don't recollect to have seen any thing so terrible or so true. Most of the characters in the military drama were admirably sustained. The Duke of Wellington, in particular, was so well hit off, that some of the visitors, from the country, believed that it was his Grace in person ; and cried out — in allusion to the business of the Corn Bill — " Who moved the amendment ?— Why don't you let us have a big loaf?" &c. &c. When Mr. Waterton published his " Wanderings in South America/' the story of his riding upon the back of a " cayman," or crocodile, in the operation of catching and killing the brute, was put down pretty generally as a " wandering" of the writer's fancy. The whole adventure, indeed — as a pleasant specimen of the Munchausen style — went, we be- lieve, through pretty nearly every newspaper and periodical publication in England. As there is no feeling, however, more natural — so there is no effort more gratifying — to the mind of man, than scepticism ; and certain it is, that the idea of " riding upon crocodiles," or, to speak more strictly, perhaps, of mounting upon their backs, as a measure of destroying them — the notion of executing this feat — whatever might have been the extent on which it was performed — was no invention of Mr. Waterton's — but was spoken of, and in print, fifty years before Mr. Waterton was born. Po- cocke, an Eastern traveller (of the last century), of undoubted cha- racter, who wrote his voyages in three folio volumes, in the year 1744, speaking of the crocodiles that infest the banks of the Nile, says that the following is an account which he received from the people of that country, of the manner of catching and killing them. " They make some animal cry at a distance from the river, and when the crocodile comes out they thrust a spear into his body, to which a rope is tied (this is in fact a common harpoon) . They then let him go into the water to spend himself, and afterwards drawing him out, run a poll into his mouth, and jumping on his back, tie his jaws together." Now, Mr. Waterton's cayman, it will be remembered, was only ten feet and a half long — not much larger than a good sized sturgeon ; so that Mr. W.'s mastering such an antagonist, after he was tied to a rope, and with a huge and barbed hook in his stomach, could hardly be an effort of very particular impossibility. Not to advert to the fact (nevertheless incorn- testible), that a man once upon the back of a crocodile, thirty feet long, 1 827.] Notes for the Month, 7 1 instead of ten, would, from the shape of the animal, so long as he could keep his seat (which, alarm apart, could not be very difficult), be as safe from any attack as if he were in the bowels of the earth. We adverted a little way above to the " Notice to Mad Dogs," or dogs likely to go mad, published by the magistrates of Bow-street. The Times of Tuesday, the 26th instant, contains a sensible letter on the subject of precautions for preventing the hydrophobia, by a writer who calls himself " Medicus." This gentleman very justly observes that the practice commonly advised, of muzzling dogs during the hot weather, is likely^ instead of doing good, to drive a great many dogs mad who would not otherwise become so. The dog does not (like the horse) perspire through the skin from the effects of heat ; but the relief is obtained through the mouth — whence the habit which the dog has of hanging his tongue out, in hot weather (after very little exertion, and sometimes without any) ; as well as the free secretion of water, which may be observed at the same time, from the glands in the vicinity of the jaw. The practice of muzzling, therefore, which prevents the dog from relieving himself by opening the mouth and throat freely, and also prevents him from drinking continually, which he is inclined to do, is a course perfectly well calculated to worry him into fever ; while in fact, it does not take away from him (every one con- versant with the matter will be aware of this), the power to bite, where he is angry and disposed to do so. The remedy, or rather precaution against danger, which the writer in the Times points out, seems to us to be a far more just and efficacious one. He proposes that all dogs found wandering in the streets, without collars (bearing the owner's name, and place of abode) — say in the months of June, July, and August — shall, invariably, be taken up and destroyed, by officers appointed for the purpose; and that the owners of those dogs who are found abroad in the streets with collars, shall be fined in a fixed penalty for each offence of leaving them in that situation. It may appear, looking at the thing in the abstract, that this would be a harsh and a despotic law ; but we have no doubt that it is one which would have very great efficacy in preventing the accidents which are constantly occurring from the bite of rabid animals; and we see no good reason why, under such circumstances, it should not be carried into execution. One of the " Pavement acts," only a few years since, put a stop, without the slightest scruple, to the practice of keeping pigs in the metropolis, and allowing them to run about the streets ; a habit, the in- convenience of which was perfectly trivial, compared with that of which, in the present case, we seek to get rid, and where the animals prohibited had a sort of utility to be pleaded in their favour. An arrangement like that proposed, would not merely have the effect of protecting the lives of the public ; but, inasmuch as it would thin the shoal of wretched dogs, which are reared by the lowest and most rascally part of the London population, for their sport and amusement, would in that second view become a circumstance of considerable amendment and advantage. A furious struggle has been raised among the evening newspapers, by the exertion and speculating temper of the proprietors of The Sun ; who have lately extended their paper nearly to as large a size as The Times ; retained a regular body of reporters ; and now publish " Second Editions" almost every evening, giving the debates in the House of Commons, &c» up even to seven or eight o'clock. At the Westminster dinner, about a month since, Sir Francis Burdett's speech — which he did not rise to de- liver until after seven o'clock — was put into the honourable baronet's hand in print, in The Sun, at ten ! and very well reported, by the way, into the 72 Notes for the Month. bargain. This system is threatening annihilation to all the second-rate London Evening Papers, which find their circulation chiefly in the coun- try ; and the leading ones are not likely to regard the contrivers of it witii a particularly charitable eye. An essay upon the subject of procuring " subjects" for the London schools of anatomy, with which we had absolutely proposed to visit our readers this month, must, for want of space, be put off—" like Dr. Drowsy's sermons," as Mrs. Hardcastle has it—" to some fitter opportu- nity." The matter was agitated in parliament, in the course of the last week, in a debate upon some measure proposed to regulate the arrange- ments and powers of the College of Surgeons ; but we are afraid that none of the expedients suggested in the course of the discussion, are likely to be valuable in real practice. Mr. Peel's proposal for adding to the list of parties now liable by law to be dissected — (the persons who are executed for particular descriptions of felony) — the farther amount of all criminals, who, being convicted of such felonies, die in prison previous to their execution — this source of additional supply would hardly assist us much ; inasmuch as the utmost it could afford would be about one supplementary subject in a century. The anatomising of people who chose to commit suicide, would — at the first blush — seem a more likely project than this ; but then there is the objection — the offenders would get over that pe- nalty, as they do over all the rest that attach to them, by the coroner's inquest finding verdicts that they were " insane." Giving up all the people who die in the hospitals to be anatomized, would be a proper course, and unobjectionable — for no people of any consequence die in hospitals *? but, then, the rabble of this country are so obstinate and prejudiced, that, if they thought they were sure to be anatomized when they came out of the hospitals, they would die at home rather than go into them ! One com- fort is, that (unless our professors are abominably belied) we have the practical benefit of the cantanckerous rogues, without any law, already, Allowing people to sell their friends — (this was Sir Joseph Yorke's sug- gestion, if we recollect right) — but we are afraid that it would be con- sidered as rather violating public feeling. Living relatives would differ whether or not a sale should take place ; or there would be bills filed in the court of Chancery to decide which of several claimants was enti- tled to the proceeds. The Times proposition comes nearest to the mark — That all surgeons should, at their deaths, devise their own persons to the purposes of science. But then this would furnish grown male subjects only — we must have women and children; and such professors would hardly be induced to adopt the second branch of the arrangement sug- gested, and make a gift of the earthly tabernacles of their wives and children. So that, upon the whole (subject to more detailed consideration, in our next, or some following, number) we rather suspect that the mat- ter— must remain as it is ; i. e. that the surgical schools must still be supplied by robbery — there is less of general feeling violated by that course than there could be by any other ; — and that the " resurrection- men" must continue to be punished when they are caught — not for having stolen the subjects found in their custody, but for having offended public decorum by not stealing them more secretly and discreetly. Pro- vided always that, in the mean time any person willing to bestow himself for the benefit of his fellow-creatures shall be competent to do so ; and that his word, in articulo mortis, shall be taken as tantamount to a will and testament made to that purpose. I-S27.] [ 73 ] MONTHLY REVIEW OF LITERATURE, DOMESTIC AND FOREIGN. Memoirs of the Houses of York and Lancaster, by Miss Roberts, 2 vrfs. 8ro. 1827.— The period which these well-writ- ten volumes embrace iscertainly one of the most eventful and important of English history: — eventful, for it presents such thick-springing and surprising changes as almost mock description ; and important, we add, because the results of those changes were of so enduring a character that the advantages of them are still felt by ourselves, — and long may they be en- joyed by posterity ! The country for more than a century was split into hostile and heated factions, the alternate and frequent defeats of which broke a power which spell-bound its energies, and, by breaking that spell, developed the strength of the Commons, and drew them forth from ob- scurity. In these tumultuous days it was, when the imperious barons were conflict- ing for pre-eminence among themselves — when the maguificos of the land were en- gaged in intrigues and in struggles— when their home-concerns were of' secondary consideration — whea the great properties of the country were every year changing masters — and when every change, by shaking attachments, shook the authority of the possessors ; — in these days it was that the Commons suddenly emerged, and rapidly — their vigour, left to its native ex- pansion,— shot up into strength compara- tively commanding. The newlords,strang- ers to their vassals, were, change after change, shorn of the rights of prescription ; the old retainers lost their respect and de- votion for them; from the wants or weak- ness of the one, the other wrested fresh privileges ; and thus the successive embar- rassments of the lord and the growing im- portance of the vassal enabled that vassal at once to secure his new privileges, and establish an independent power. The power which, by the contentions of the great, the Commons thus successfully seized, they were wise enough never to let go again. They felt their importance, and naturally clung to it. The appetite grew by what it fed on , and, from that time forth, the great sunk and the little rose, till universal law spread and confirmed the rights of equality over the whole surface of society. To some we may seem, in our days, to be gradually returning under the sway of baronial dominion; but though it be true enough that the potent families of the country are sufficiently disposed to overawe legitimate authority, they can no longer carry that disposition into public practice. Violence would fail, for none will aid them; even influence, if foreseen, may perhaps be counteracted. A breath MM. New SmW.-rVuL. IV. No. 19. has made them, and a breath may unmake them. Nothing but the sword could have cut away the lords of the middle ages, and nothing but the sword of civil war— dou- ble-edged, effective either in triumph or defect — could have made a clear stage. Of these turbulent times, so full of per- plexing events, and many of them for ever inexplicable, has Miss Roberts ventured on the perilous task of giving another narra- tive. It was a task to tax the best powers of the best narrator ; but the lady has not sunk under its dangers and difficulties. She possesses, indeed, the narrative " or- gans" very conspicuously. The tale, di- versified and entangled as it is, she .has unfolded with distinctness and effect. The storyflows equablyand agreeably — always full of animation, and occasionally exhibit- ing no inconsiderable vigour. There is no flagging, at all events, from beginning to end ; nor know we of any Memoirs which bid fairer to be read, or better deserve to be read. Though putting herself in direct competition with more than one successful writer of historical memoirs, she will suffer from no comparison. Her's, too, it deserves to be considered, was a task of still greater difficulty than that of any of her predeces- sors. Miss Aikin, Miss Bsnger, Mrs. Thompson, each of them had one indi- vidual s character and reign to illustrate, with whotn every thing and every body were more or less connected. There was th us an unity of object, and consequently more of a dramatic interest could be easily pre-, served. All bore naturally upon one point,, or was with facility made to converge to- wards it. James, or Henry, or Mary were constantly before the writer, and formed the point cTappui of the story, and gave consistence and union to the whole. No such advantage could Miss Roberts, by possibility, possess. Her heroes and he- roines are perpetually changing — the scenes incessantly shifting ; she has seven several reigns to contemplate, besides no- bles without number, all greater than their masters. Amidst such crowds, the first was likely to be forgotten before the last could be described. Nor were cotempo- rary materials so abundant, so minute, or so safely to be confided in. Of many once- conspicuous personages with whom she deals, little is known, and less of their mo- tives of action ; and, when effects are bet- ter known than their causes, the narrative is necessarily wrapt in obscuritj', unless the imagination be allowed to fill up the gap; and the character of historical me- moirs refuse that accommodating indul- gence. She has made the best use of her abundant but imperfect materials, and ge- 74 Monthly Review of Literature , [JULY, nerally has consulted the dictates of a very sound understanding, and kept her imagination in check. Assuredly Miss Roberts's performance is a very creditable one. It is not merely Hume's admirable sketch dilated ; she has searched for herself. The British Museum has opened to her its precious stores j the Archicologia, possessing1 many curious ar- ticles, very ably discussed, and little known to the reading world, has been enlisted in her service; Mr. Nicholas has lent his aid in the battle of Azincourt j and Dr. Meyrick has drilled the fair writer in the mysteries of ancient armour, till he has impressed her with a deep sense of its ^i-e-eminent importance, and taught her to talk of it with the zest of an antiquarian, and the skill of a knight-errant. The printed materials, accessible to every one, she has also diligently consulted, from the cotemporary chronicles of our own coun- trymen to the foreign memoirs of Froissart, de Comines, and Monstrelet. The Paston Papers also have furnished useful and un- expected information. But though, acting with a laudable in- tegrity, she has stuck close to her autho- rities, the very different aspect given to the circumstances of some events — we are not speaking generally — from what they have usually borne, will naturally excite some inquiry ; and the result of such in- quiry will sometimes shew the new ver- sion originating not in superior accuracy on her part, nor in the superior authority of her materials ; but because, finding dif- ferent representations, she has hastily adopted them, more on account of that very difference than because they were of higher value. Of this, her representa- tion of Joan of Arc is a conspicuous in- stance. '« In the village of Domremi," says Hnme, " near Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Lorraine, there lived a country girl, of twenty-seven years of age, called Joan d'Arc, who was servant in a small inn, and who, in that station, had been accustomed to tend the horses of the guests, to ride them without a saddle to the watering- place, and to perform other offices which, in well-frequented inns, commonly fall to the share of the men-servants. This girl was of an irreproachable life, and had not hitherto been remarked for any sin- gularity ; whether that she had met with no occasion to excite her genius, or that the unskilful eyes of those who con- versed with her had not been able to dis- cover her uncommon merit." The Maid of Orleans (says Miss Roberts, giving the whole a touch of romance, and stripping it of it* coarseness) was born at Domremi, a small ham- let situated between Neufchateau arid Vaucoleurs, in Champagne; her youth was spent in tending »heep for her Barents, who were poor mid simple people. From the earliest age she had mani- fested great sweetness and gentleness of disposi- tion, a taste for the beauties of nature, and the warmest and most unaffected piety. She shunned the joyous revel, the song and the dance, when all the village poured out its rustic throng into the street, and would retire to a holy edifice to chaunt hymns to the virgin. Constant in prayer, when her occupations did not permit her to attend the bell, which summoned her neighbours to church, she would kneel down and offer up her fervent orisons in the fields. At a short distance from Domremi there was a magnificent beech-tree, which had long been an object of veneration to the surround- ing villagers. It was called the fairy-tree, and every year in the month of May, it was the custom for gay troop? of tlie young of both sexes to hang wreathes of spring flowers on its boughs, and to dance beneath its luxuriant foliage to the music of their own voices : a fountain welled .up beside it, -and tue bright waters and the green shade were reported to have been in elder times the syl- van haunts of fairies, who it was believed even now still lingered, though invisible, around the spot. This delicious place, and a small chapel dedicated to the virgin, called the Hermitage of St. Mary, often> invited Joan to their solitudes, when her neighbours sought relaxation from toil 'in social converse with each other; and here at the age of thirteen she first gave the reins to an imagination, which shaped out glorious visions in the sun-beams, and heard voices in the sighing gales and rippling waters, &c. Hume refers to Hall, Monstrelet, and Grafton ; while Miss Roberts reliessolely on the " Mem. de Jeanne d'Arc" — where the author's fancy was evidently in con- stant activity. But with regard to a multitude of per- sons, Miss Roberts has been indefatigable ; and her account of Sir John Holand, the elder uterine brother of Richard II. ; of Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick ; of Cardinal Beaufort, and Whittington and Walworth — are very agreeable results of her diligence. Sir John Falstolfe, parti- cularly, of whom nothing would ever proba- bly have been known, but for Shakspeare's use of his name — a circumstance which has long excited the curiosity of critics, and the Paston Papers have at last luckily gratified it. Owen Tudor, again : rt Ca- therine of France, Henry V.'s widow,'7 says Hume, " married, soon after his death, a Welch gentleman, Sir Owen Tu- dor, said to be descended from the ancient princes of that country : she bore him two sons, Edmund and Jasper, of whom the eldest was created Earl of Richmond, the second Earl of Pembroke." This is all Hume tells us. Queen Catherine (says Miss Roberts) who with the characteristic gaiety of her country, mourned not long for her gallant and accomplished hus- band, suffered her admiration of the personal beauty of Owen Tudor, a simple Welch knight, to subdue the pride of birth ; the fair and royal matron became the wife of a commoner, who had charmed her eye* at a ball : for it i» said, that 1827.] Domestic and Foreign. - « being a courtly and active gentleman, he was commanded once to dance before the queen, and in a turn, not being able to recover himself, fell into her lap as she sate on a little stool, with many of her ladies about her.1— Drayton's Epist. Sandford bears witness to the excellence of Catherine's taste in the selection of a husband thus singularly intro- duced ; the person of Owen Tudor, he tells us, was so absolute in all the lineaments of bis body that the only contemplation of it might make a queen forget all other circumstances. Three sons were the fruit of this union; the two, Edward and Jasper, were created Earls of Richmond and Pem- broke, by their half-brother, with pre-eminence, §ays Fuller, to take place above all earls, for kings have absolute authority in dispensing houours ; the younger entered into a religious community, and died a monk. After the death of Catherine, which happened in 1437, the government thought tit to punish the temerity —[we may be sure we have not th« right story here]— of the bold knight, who had dared to match the hand of a queen, and Owen Tudor was committed to the Tower ; but not of a disposition to submit tamely to confinement, the hardy Welchman, either by fraud or force, con- trived to effect his escape. A cotemporary writer, in recording the prisoner's attempt, make? an as- iertion which goes far to disprove the ostentatious accounts so industriously circulated by Henry VII., Hud his partizans, respecting the royal descent of that monarch's paternal ancestor. The passage in the chronicle runs thus — ' This same year one Oweyn, no man of birth, neither of likelihood, broke out of Newgate against night at searching time, through help of his priest, and went his way, hurting foule his keeper. The which Osveyn had privily wedded the Queen Catherine, and had three or four children by her, unweeting the common people, till that she was dead and buried.' This is extracted from an Harleian MS., the author of which is entirely unknown, and therefore, historically, of little autho- rity— perhaps a Yorkist ; at all events, not well informed ; for he talks of Newgate, instead of the Tower, and denies not only the birth, but the beauty of Owen — mali- ciously, it may seem. But the industrious spirit of the author of these volumes, which \v 3 warmly recommend, to our younger readers especially, is worthy of all praise. Richmond, or Scenes in the Life of a Bow-street Officer. 3 vols. I2mo. ; 1827. — Richmond, very early in life, gave mani- festations of an adventurous disposition. He was the son of a small farmer, and associated with the peasant boys and girls of his native village. A little damsel of about twelve or thirteen attracted his childish devolion •, and as that young lady — pursuant, we suppose, to village custom —was already provided with an humble servant, of corresponding age, it soon be- came Richmond's sole and worthy em- ployment to plague his unfortunate rival, and render him ridiculous in tlie eyes of the fair oue. For this object, indefati- g-ably and successfully pursued, he plan- ned sortie manoeuvres not unworthy his maturer years. These mischievous pranks coupled with the frequent rumours in the village of his intermeddling with the neighbouring orchards, operated upon his father's fears, and our hero was at length removed to school, in the hope, which fond parents are led to entertain for their comfort, that the prognostics afforded by the little darling of becoming a future rogue and vagabond, will quietly vanish, arid the man belie the auguries of the boy. Richmond, however, appeared by BO means carved out for a thief. Oh noj the discriminations of character are most decided between the plunderer of orchards, fish-ponds, and preserves, and the pick- pocket or housebreaker ; and though Richmond appeared on his entrance into life to partake of many of the qualities of the first, he did not at all share those of the second. Nor indeed was the poaching line of life his real bent, but rather a tem- porary expedient only, resulting from the untowardness of circumstances, which, when they decidedly thwart our instincts, induce us to tack, and to follow those pur- suits, which may draw out our native powers in the best way fortune admits of. His talents and tendencies seemed to lie in ferreting out and balking other people's purposes and plans — sometimes in work- ing on their follies, or virtues, or difficul- ties, for the sake of making them instru- ments in aiding his operations upon others ; by dint of practice he acquired extreme facility in turning any given complexity of circumstances to account — following up his game through every sort of let or hindrance, gathering strength from defeat and discomfiture, and making his very failures bear him on, in the long run, to- wards final success. He had some genius, but no application for science, and none for monotonous labour of any kind. His mind was active and various, and wanted objects to act upon, wide as the universe. One might have prophesied he would turn out a traveller. No; that was uot the thing. Yet he took French leave of the counting-house desk at Liverpool, where his plodding parent had intended he should sit for some years, and set off to roam, he knew not whither, with a reckless companion. Destiny threw him among some strolling players; and while the scene was new, he swam in ex- citement, and was so fascinated by the prospect of the Thespian style of travel- ling through life, that he must needs in- troduce among the set, his little village- love, to whom his heart had still steadily turned. She was grown a beautiful young woman, and loved him with a deep sin- cerity. His enterprising character, aided by his frequent and assiduous, but stealthy attempts upon her affections, had done it» 76 Monthly Review of Literature, [JULY; work. Her mind was completely withdrawn from sober views. The stolen meetings — the gentlemanly air of her admirer — the notoriety (unfavourable as it was) which he had gained in the village — the floating prospect of an unknown and beautiful world, free for their feet to wander over, free from parents' controul, and unaccom- panied by dull needle-work, or house- work, or the confinement of regular hours — the dresses — the compliments — the lights — the poetic fascinations of a thea- tre,— these were altogether far more than sufficient to bring the enthusiastic girl to his arms. There is a good deal of very pleasing naivete in the account of this connexion, and in the tender but light-hearted affec- tion which he bore to this young woman from first to last— going about with her as a kind brother till they should be able to muster money enough to be married •with. This, however, they could never accomplish ; but, followed by the unre- lenting law of poverty, which ever pur- sues a wandering life, were reduced to straits innumerable — thrown sometimes among gypsies, sometimes among thieves, and occasionally exposed to damp, and cold, and want. The delicate village lass was unequal to the sustainment of these hardships, and soon died — leaving an agreeable impression of her beauty and simplicity, unspoiled even by the very scum of human society among whom she had herded. Our hero stands alone again. He leaves the stage, and goes a gypsying for a while, and engages that grave and respectable fraternity in a few rather dull pranks, quite at variance with gypsy dignity. Their society, however, turned out uncon- genial— notwithstanding the- vagabond life and reckless habits, which were quite in his way. His sphere of activity was not expansive enough. His spirit ga?ped to try its powers among all ranks of society ; but what door was open for one whoss days had been spent as his had been t One there was — and the master-key was with in his reach — to lay open to his ken draw- ing-rooms, theatres, routs, courts, closets, studies, kitchens, boudoirs— aye, even the penetralia of human bosoms of all ages, ranks, sexes, and principles. The honest and the vile, the murderer, forger, child- stcaler — lords and ladies —men and maids might all be made in turn to spread cut their hearts, and expose the secret springs of action and courses of conduct for his peculiar gaze and study. He had only to become a Bow-street Officer, and prove himself able and zealous in his vocation. The requisites for such a post are not dissimilar to those of the statesman. A thorough knowledge of human nature, and of the worst part or parts of it is equally in demand for both. And probable it is", that an inaptitude for any specific branch of study, engross) ve of the faculties, may be characteristic of each, while, at the same time, each must be gifted wilh a prompt acuteness of perception — a power of rapid and practical deduction — a ta- lent for drawing out others — a seeming facility and pliability, and a real unre- lentingness of purpose. The statesman's plans, however, stretch out to the end of life, while the catchpole looks only to bringing up his man before the magis- trate j and is ready again to plunge into the thickets of a new entanglement — to unravel its details, and apply his acquired and native treasures of wisdom to new objects — which objects are extensive con- sidered collectively, while separately viewed, their bearings are few, and the ultimate aim much more bounded. So far as these volumes exhibit the habits, modes of thought, and ways of pro- ceeding incident to the kind of life which the writer professes to depict, the whole possesses an air of probability ; and the style of composition is for the most part in happy correspondence with the hero's life and character as he describes it. There is a smattering of learning exhibited — of fashionable slang — of worn-out plays — of vulgar songs — of mawkish romance, — with some just but rather heavy remarks upon the various classes of society, as they are beheld from his peculiar point of view — bearing a resemblance to Harriette Wil- son's pert but pertinent observations, scat- tered up and down her book. Through a good deal of clumsiness, stupidity, and vulgarity, there is, however, enough of the romantic and vagabond-spirit infused into the story to render it decidedly agree- able, and sketches of character, we sus- pect, true enough to make it worth the reading. Personal Sketches of his own by Sir Jonah Barrinylon, Judge of the Court of Admiralty, Dublin, 2 rofo. Sro.; 1827. — Sir Jonah Bavriagton is a gentle- man of a good Irish family. He was born about 1760: educated at Dublin and the Temple; called to the Irish bar; early and and well introduced to common- law prac- tice, and the leading business of a circuit ; made king's counsel, with a fair prospect of professional honours, which honours were nipped in the budding by his kick- ing at the Union; and finally sunk into insignificance and the Admiralty judge- ship. This gentleman's name has been fre- quently mentioned as engaged in the writ- iugofa History oftheTJnion; and the long delay, nerer till now publicly accounted for, has given rise to reports, not often started in this country, of its suppression, 1827.] Domestic and Foreign. by the authority, open or covert, of the government. This report, it seems, as it \vas probable indeed it would, proves to be unfounded; the sole cause rests with the booksellers. Sir Jonah has been sin- gularly unfortunate ; three publishers, who undertook to produce his perform- ance, have successively failed ; and he has had some difficulty, first in discovering his lost or forgotten labours, and next, in recovering them. At last, however, they have been rescued from oblivion or peril, and are safely deposited in the hands of the most enterprising aud successful publisher of the day — we need not add Mr. Colburn's. They are of considerable busk, and will appear quickly in parts. We look forward to them with some im- patience. We have much to learn about the Union — the author had singular op- portunities; and being himself hostile to the measure, and suffering from it, and garrulous and indiscreet withal beyond all repression, he will tell all he knows, without sparing- the contrivers or the exe- cutors of that disastrous scheme. • The sketches before us are of a gossipping rambling description, but frequently very amusing — better at all events, and more bearable than the theatrical memoirs with which we have of late been deluged. The author, though aiming at a dashing, off- haud, careless, rattling kind of manner — very unbecoming the dignity of any bench but the Irish — has more the air than the reality of the coxcomb, and is essentially of a serious and thoughtful turn — suscep- tible of grave impressions, and capable of observing the distinctions of human cha- racter, and of tracing the effects of poli- tical changes. He has some very decided opinions — many of them of a liberal and benevolent cast — with some, the mere re- sult of unlicked prejudice. The Union, he thinks, and justly thinks, the ruin of Ireland— the fruitful parent of Abseii- -teeism, and all its wide-spreading and de- pressing consequences. Before that fatal event Ireland was an Irishman's home; he lived on his estate, and knew his tenants, and his tenants knew him, respected him, loved him, and mutual kindness and inter- course prevailed. Coarse and intempe-r rate indeed was the Irish landlord of old, but he was kind and a countryman; now he is refined, and careless, and a foreigner — and the poor are without their natural friends or protectors. Sir Jonah is no advocate for emancipation ; but neither is he a partisan of orange violence. The • book however is a hook of anecdotes — not intended to inculcate opinions — it is full of persons, once more or less, for good or for ill, generally known in the political and legal world — most of them have long since quitted the scene ; but some survive ; and with respect to the survivors, Sir Jonah's indiscretion, to say the best of if, is very remarkable. His account of Sir Richard Musgrave-the orange fanatic of the days of the Union— but particularly the tale of Lady Musgrave. whatever an Irish court might think of it, would at least by an English one, be deemed a libel. We do not think it safe to quote. Sir Jonah has been a duellist in his day, and duels seem to occupy much of the thoughts of his old age. We know not how many duels— remarkable ones too— he has detailed. They seem to fill at least a tenth of the pages. He gives the particu- lars of one especially between his younger brother and Captain Gillespie, afterwards General Gillespie, wlio was killed at the storming of Bengalore, and to whom a monument was built in Westminster Ab- bey. He tells the story with much indig- nation. His brother, not twenty years of age, and a Mr. McKenzie had quarrel- led, and, as usual in Ireland, ' went out.' After firing four shots, young Barrington offered his hand to his antagonist. Gil- lespie, McKenzie's second, interfered, and said his friend should not be satisfied. Barrington persisted in his pacific inten- tions ; Gillespie grew warm, and suddenly throwing his handkerchief towards Bar- rington, asked him if he dared take the other corner. The unhappy but high- spirited boy snatched the handkerchief, and at the same moment received Gilles- pie's ball through his heart. Gillespie was tried for the murder, but acquitted. His death in India, Sir Jonah regards as retributive. The cooler reader will see noihing but the results of the same im- petuosity. He led the storming party at Bengalore, contrary to orders ; he was re- pulsed ; he knew the consequences of dis- obedience; he renewed the attack in des- peration, took the fort, and fell. "Requies- cat in pace," says Sir Jonah ; " but never will I set my foot in Westminster Abbey !" But more agreeable scenes abound in the volumes. One of Lord Redesdale's first dinners to the Irish bar may serve as a specimen. It is introduced by some anecdotes of Lord Norbury. Of him, the author says : — He had more readiness of repartee than any man I ever knew, who possessed neither classical wit nor genuine sentiment to make it valuable. But he had a fling at every thing ; and failing in one attempt, made another — sure of carrying his point before he relinquished. his efforts. His ex- treme good temper was a great advantage. The present Lord Redesd ale was much (though unin- tentionally) annoyed by Mr. Toler (afterwards Lord Norbary) at one of the first dinners he gave to the judges and king's counsel. Having heard that the members of the Irish bar (of whom he was then quite ignorant) were considered extremely witty, and being desirous, if possible, to adapt him- self to their habits, his lordship had obviously got 78 Monthly Review of Literature, [JULY, together some of his best bar remarks (for of wit he wag totally guiltless, If not inapprehensive) to repeat to bis company, as occasion might offer ; and if be could not be humorous, determined at least to be entertaining. The first of his lordship's observations after din- ' Well, my lord, I'll explain the thing without mentioning these birds of prey,' &c. Before the year 1784 the judges were entirely dependent on the crown ; and no English barrister, who could earn his ner, was the telling us that he had been a Welsh bread ai^d cheese at home, would accept judge.andhad found great difficultyin pronouncing the double consonants, which occur in the Welsh pro- per names. ' After much trial,' continued his lord- ship, 'I found that the difficulty was mastered by moving the tongue alternately from one dog-tooth to the other.' Toler seemed delighted with this discovery ; and requested to know his lordship's dentist, as he had lost one of his dog-teeth, and would immediately get another in place of it. This went off flatly enough — no laugh being gained on either side. Lord Redesdale's next remark was— that when he was a lad, cock-fighting was the fashion ; and that both ladies and gentlemen went full dressed to the cock-pit, the ladies being in hoops. 'I see now, my lord,' said Toler, 'it was then that the term cock-a-hoop was invented.' A general laugh now burst forth, which rather discomposed the learned chancellor. He sat for a while silent; until skaiting became a subject of conversation, when his lordship rallied— and with an air of triumph said, that in his boyhood all danger was avoided ; for, before they began to •kait, they always put blown bladders under their arms ; and so, if the ice happened to break, they were buoyant and saved. 'Ay, my lord,' said Toler, 'that's what we call blatheram-skate (nonsense) in Ireland.' His lordship did not understand the thing at all; and, though extremely courteous, seemed to wish us all at our respective homes. Having failed with Toler, in order to say a civil thing or two, he addressed himself to Mr. Garrett O'Farrell, a jolly Irish barrister, who always carried a parcel of coarse national humour about him ; a broad, squat, ruddy-faced fellow, with a great aquiline nose, and a humorous eye. Independent in mind and pro- perty, he generally said whatever came uppermost. • Mr. Garrett O'Farrell,' said the chancellor so- lemnly,' I believe your name and family were very respectable and numerous in county Wicklow. I think I was introduced to several of them during my late tour there.' ' Yes, my lord,' said O'Farrell, ' we were very numerous ; but so many of us have been lately hanged for sheep-stealing, that the name is getting rather scarce in that county.' His lordship said no more &c. &c. I never saw Lord Redesdale more puzzled than at one of Plunkett's jeux d'esprit. A cause was argued in Chancery, wherein the plaintiff prayed that the defendant should be restrained from suing him on certain bills of exchange, as they were nothing but kites. « Kites ?' exclaimed Lord Re- deKdale— ' kites, Mr. Plunkett? Kites never could amount to the value of those securities. I don't understand this statement at all Mr. Plunkett,' • It is not expected that you should, my lord,' answered Plunkett ; * in England and in Ireland kites are quite different things. In England, the wind raises the kites; but in Ireland, the kites raise the wind.' ' I don't feel any way better informed yet, Mr. Plunkett,' said the matter-of-fact chancellor. a precarious offer in a strange county, and at a paltry salary. The bench was in con- sequence curiously manned with judges. Baron Monckton is recorded as under- standing black letter, and red wines, and being very much vino deditus (this is Sir Jonah's mag-pie style) he habitually de- scribed the segment of a circle in making his way to the seat of justice. Judge Boyd was another drunkard, eulogized by the newspapers for his singular tender-heart- edness-so great was his humanity, that when he was passing sentence of death upon any unfortunate criminal, it was ob- servable that his lordship seldom failed to have "a drop in his eye." I remember, says Barrington, a barrister being raised to the bench, who had been previously well known by the ingenious surname of Coun- sellor Necessity — because necessitas non legem habet; and certainly to do him no more than jus- tice, he consistently melted the cognomen, after his elevation, as well as before. Old Judge Henn (a very excellent character) was dreadfully puzzled on circuit, about 1/89, by- two pertinacious young barristers (arguing a civil bill upon some trifling subject) repeatedly haran- guing the court, and each most positively laying down the • law oi the case' in direct opposition to his adversary's statement thereupon. The judge listened with great attention until both were tired of stating the law and contradicting each other, when they unanimously requested his lordship to decide the point. How, gentleman, said judge Henn, how can I settle it between you? You, Sir, positively say the law is one way, aud you, turning to the oppo* site party, as unequivocally affirm that it is the other way. I wish to God, Billy Harris (to his registrar, who sat underneath) I knew what the law really was.' ' My lord,' replied Billy Harris most senten- tiously, rising at the same moment, and casting a despairing glance towards the bench — 'if I pos- sessed that knowledge, I protest to God I would tell your lordship with a great deal of pleasure.' ' Then we'll save the point, Billy Harris,' ex- claimed the judge. A more modern Justice of the Irish King's Bench, in giving his dictum on a certain will case, absolutely said—' He thought it very clear, that the testator intended to keep a life interest in the estate himself.' The bar did not laugh outright ; but Curran soon rendered that consequence in- evitable : ' Very true, my lord,' said he, 'very true f testators generally do secure life-interests to them- selves. But in this case, I rather think your lord- ship takes the will for the deed' His parliamentary anecdotes, are often very good — though many of them are well known. Mr. Egan (one of the roughest-looking perso»t possible) being at one time a supporter of govern- 1827.] Domestic and Foreign. 79 ment, made virulent philippics, in the House of Commons, against the French Revolution. Hi8 figure was coarse and bloated, and his dress not over-elegant witha)!,' &c. One evening this man fell foul of a speech of Grattan's, and amongst other absurdities, said in his paroxysm, that the right honourable gentleman's speech had a ten- dency to introduce the guillotine into the very body of the house: indeed he almost thought lie could already perceive it before him, (Hear him, hear him! echoed Sir Boyle Roche). Grattan good- humouredly replied, ' that the honourable member must have a sharper sight than he had. He cer- tainly could see no such thing ; but though, added Grattan, looking with his glass towards Egan, I may not see the guillotine, yet methiuks I can per- ceive the executioner.' This Sir Boyle Roche — Egan's sup- porter— was eminently the butt and bull • maker of the House. His bulls are, how- ever pretty well known— such as the one he made, when some one said the house had no right to load posterity with a debt. — * What, said he, and so we are to beggar ourselves for fear of vexing pos- terity. Now I would ask the honourable gentleman, and this still more honourable House, why we should put ourselves out of our way to do any thing for posterity ; for what has posterity done for us ?' — Sir Boyle was puzzled by the roar of laughter which followed, and supposing the House had misunderstood him, he assured them, that by posterity, he did not at all mean our ancestors, but those who were to come immediately after them.' — On another oc- casion— a bill for the Suspension of the Habeas Corpus, we believe — ' it would surely be better, Mr. Speaker, to give up not only apart, but, if necessary, even the whole, of our constitution, to preserve the remainder.'' Another, of a somewhat different cha- racter— quite new to us— was made on the petition of Dennis M'Carthy, who had been Lord Lisle's postillion, and had been cast in an action of damages for crim. con. •with his lady. Not being able to pay the excessive amount (£5,000) he lay in pri- son many years. And what, Mr, Speaker, said Sir Boyle, in presenting the petition, was this poor servant's crime ? After all, sure, Mr Speaker, it was only doing his master's business by his mistresses orders ; and is it not very hard to keep a poor ser- vant in gaol for that which if he had not done he would have deserved a horse- whipping?' This way of putting the case had the desired effect — the fellow was released. Sir Jonah professes over and over again to be very superstitious — by which he means, that he believes in the reality of ghosts •, several stories are told, Irish like, some to invalidate and some to establish. One, a very laughable one, was the ap- pearance to one David Lander, of a man, whom the said David knew to have been hanged. Being greatly alarmed, and thinking there was no better protection than a prayer — he endeavoured to recol- lect; but being unable to recal one, he started with the catechism — question and answer — What is your name? David. Who gave you that name ? My godfathers, &c. &c. Sir Jonah, however, and his lady, and his lady's maid — all three of them, heard a most unearthly voice, in the dead of the night, under their window, cry Rossmore ! Rossmore! Rossmore! — and the first thing they learnt in the morning was Lord Ross- more's death, who had died at half past two, precisely the time he, his lady, arid his lady's maid, heard the dread sound of Rossmore! Rosmore! Rossmore! Vestigia Anylicana, or Illustrations of the more interesting and debatable Points of the History and Antiquities of Eng- land, from the earliest Age» to the Ac- eession of the House of Tudor, by Stephen Reynolds Clarke, 2 vols. Sro.; 1826. — Multitudes of bulky histories of our own country as we have, scarcely any one but Hume's is now ever glanced at, nor has- been for the last half century. The con- sequence is a pretty general unacquaint- ed ness with whatever is not to be found in his elegant volumes; and of the earlier periods those volumes confessedly present a mere outline — vigorous and effective no doubt, and adequate perhaps to the com- mon purposes of the general reader, but productive of very little satisfaction to the more minute inquirer. The object of Mr. Clarke, then, is in some measure to fi^l up this outline — to furnish a supplemen- tary volume or two, embracing the more important omissions of the national his- torian up to the accession of Henry VII. ; and to this undertaking he has brought considerable industry, and some judg- ment. He professes to have gone, on all occasions, to the original sources of facts, and certainly characterises the several authorities with a discrimination and pro- priety, that shews some familiarity with them •, but for any fresh information which his researches have discovered, he might almost as well have spared his labour. We assure him nothing new will strike the reader, who has any acquaintance with Mortimer, orTurner,or Henry, or the com- mon "Chronicles." The general credu- lity of the authorities to which he appeals required the exercise not merely of sound judgment, but of severe criticism ; and had they been thus dealt with, we should surely never have heard again of Boadi- cea's killing 70,000 Romans, nor of the Romans retaliating by the slaughter of 80,000 Britons ; nor of Alfred's hanging up gold bracelets in the highway, secure 80' Monthly Review of Literature, [JULY; of their safety either from the virtue of the subject, or the vigilance of the. police. It is however only iu the earlier periods that he is so little scrupulous of receiving things just as he fiuds them; — but num- bers at no period startle him — and he can coolly record, in the Crusades, the muster on the shores of the Bosphorus of 100,000 caralry, and 600,000 infantry. But though we have been rather inte- rested by Mr. Clarke's book, and think it not wholly valueless, we can say nothing for the mode i.u which he has chosen to convey his communications. This mode is that of dialogue, and surely never were talkers more stupid and unawakening, and destitute of character than the three gen- tlemen, who sustain the part of dialogists, under the names of Author, Friend, and Pupil. The author makes the longest speeches ; the friend, as behoves a friend, comes occasionally in aid; and the pupil puts questions, pertinent arid impertinent, and draws conclusions sometimes cor- rectly to spare the author, and sometimes incorrectly to give him the cue for fresh observation. But they might any of them change places at any time. The induce- ment to this round-about course was, it seems the advantage of digressing — an advantage that might have been secured in twenty more agreeable ways — few wri- ters find any difficulty in this respect. The whole period which he has sur- veyed he has split into eleven divisions, under the title of dissertations. In imita- tion, or as he phrases it, in adherence to a rule of the ancients, he plants the dia- logists in some spot, calculated by its local history, to give a natural introduction to the discussion he contemplates. Thus, for the Britons, we find the talkers standing among the piles and ruins of Stonehenge ; the origin and peculiarities of these con- structions are minutely discussed ; and after assigning them to the Britons, it becomes, of course, the most obvious thing in the world to talk of the Britons them- selves. Dover Castle is a good position for the Romans ; Barfreston Church, in Kent, for the Saxons ; Canute's Tower, St. Edmondsbury, for the Danes ; Colches- ter Castle for the Normans; the Temple Church, Salisbury Cathedra', Waltham Cross, Windtor Castle, King's College, and Crosby House, for successive pe- riods of the history of the Plantagenets. The style of these several buildings enables the writer to speak of the changes in the progress of English architecture — nothing however but what is of every- day occurrence is to be looked for in this matter. In the early account of the Saxons, we are treated with the whole story of the British Arthur, and Merlin, and Mor- gana, gathered professedly from Nennius and Geoffery of Monmouth; with sundry reasons for substantiating the actual ex- istence of Arthur at least. In Athelston's reign, we meet with Guy of Warwick, of whose existence, however, Mr. Clarke is very doubtful ; but the " pupil" concludes that, as some excava- tions on the banks of the Avon are still called Guy's Cliff, no argument could invalidate, in that neighbourhood, the truth of the story — meaning, among other things, Guy's killing a dragon, a wild boar, the dun cow, and Colbraud the Danish giant. For our parts, we never, heard in that neighbourhood of any thing but the cow and Col brand ; and of these the relics still exhibited imperatively si- lence incredulity itself. About the same period follows a long account of St. Dunstan and the devil — a story which Hume delighted to particu- larise, and which therefore required no supplying; and Mr. Clarke has nothing fresh to communicate about them. But Mr. Clarke thinks very little of his en- gagement to confine himself to the sup- plying of what he terms Hume's defi- ciencies. Of Edward the Confessor he tells us, he was the first to touch for the king's evil — a fact mentioned by Hume. Mr. Clarke states, indeed, from Aiired's life of Edward, that the custom originated in a young woman's dreaming that she was cured of a scrofulous disease by the king's touching her. Edward's succes- sors, he adds, regarded this privilege as a part of their estate, and went touching on till William, who refused the office ; it was resumed by Anne; but her succes- sor finally dropped it. Speaking of Editha, Edward's wife, who was a sister of Harold's, and a woman of extraordinary vigour of intellect, one of the dialogists quotes from Ingulph : — I saw her, says Ingulph, many times in my child- hood, when 1 went to visit my father, at that time employed in the palace : if she met me returning from school, she questioned me iu the progress I had made in grammar and logic ; and when she had entangled me by some subtle argument, she never failed to bestow upon me three or four crowns, and to order me some refreshment. Of William the Conqueror, Mr. Clarke tells us, as Hume does, that he was the son of Harlotta, the daughter of a tanner at Falaise, whose name, he adds, on his own authority, has since been , so invidious- ly applied. What say the etymologists to this? But William's courtship of the daughter of the Count of Flanders is of a very extraordinary description, and re- minds us of Bennilong of New Holland : — The lady at first refused William's addresses, objecting that she would never marry a bastard ; which giving great disgust to the lover, he lay wait for Matilda as she returned from mass at Bruges, and seizing her, tore her clothe?, and both beat and 1827.] Domestic and Foreign. 81 kicked her— pugnis, calcibu«, calcaribns verberat. Having performed this feat, lie rode off with im- punity. The damsel of course took to her bed ; but when interrogated by her father concerning the matter, such is the unaccountableness of ladies' tastes, she declared she would never have any other husband than the Duke of Normandy. Mr. Clarke questions the story of the Curfew, because no writer speaks of it earlier than Polydore Virgil, in the time and haying married her, by the aivice of six bishop t assembled at St. Paul's, she assumed the Christian faith, and was baptised by the name of Matilda, and became the mother of Thomas a lieckct. The most intolerable parts of the vo- lumes are the details of Irish aud Scotch kings ; and the best and most agreeable his reviews of the original sources of our history, and his examinations of Shak- speare's historical plays. The internal of Henry VIII. But this was a law of evidences he produces that Falsfaff's name police, says Hume correctly, which Wil- liam had previously established in Nor- mandy. See Du Moulin, Hist, de Nor- mandie, p. 160, The same law had place in Scotland. L. L. Burgor, cap. 86. 7'he monuments which remain of Wil- liam Rufus, according to the historians, are the Tower, Westminster Abbey, and London Bridge. William added, replies Mr. Clark, a spacious hall to the palace at Westminster, which remained three centuries ; but the present structure was erected by Richard II. The account of the other edifices is not much more correct : the London Bridge constructed by William Rufus was of wood ; the first stone bridge, consisting of nineteen arches, being begun by King John ; and the " Towers of Julius, London's lasting shame," as a truly learn- ed and elegant poet most absurdly calls them, were commenced by the conqueror. The principal tower or keep, being injured by a violent storm, was re- paired and completed by William Rufus ; its mo- dern casing is of the age of Charles the first. Queen Eleanor's offer of the dagger or the bowl to poor Rosamond, vanishes at the touch of such criticism as depends upon contemporary and existing documents: was originally Oldcastle, but with no reference to Lord Cobham, and changed to Falstatf without reference to the wealthy knight ot'that name, are very satisfactory. His review of Macbeth, too — with the descent of the Stuarts from Bungro, — and, generally, his exhibitions of Shakspeare's complaisance to Elizabeth and James. Of almost all the original writers of English history he has given apparently a ve;y faithful account. We do not pre- tend ourselves to any very extensive ac- quaintance with them, but so far as we have at different times dipped into them, our conceptions correspond pretty closely with the author's estimate. He has given a very full, and we have no doubt an accurate account of the different collec- tions of them from Parker's in 1547, to Gales in 1691, and Baron Maseres in 1807. But we have no complete and uniform collection — nothing like the Recueil des Histoires des Gauls et de la France, — though that is yet very far from complete — the 18th volume, folio, was published in 1822, and reaches only to the thirteenth century. A resolution passed the House The old chroniclers never allude to the tragical of Commons about three or four years ago, or violent death of Rosamond, further than by re- lating that the furious menaces of the queen pro- duced such an effect upon her spirits, that she did not long survive. Her tomb being adorned with various pieces of sculpture— one of them a cup — probably an accidental ornament, might suggest the notion that she was poisoned. At the same touch flies the romance of the queen of Edward the First sucking the poisoned wound of her husband. Mr. Clarke produces from the Old Chronicles a curious account of Beckett's family: — Eeckett, the first man of English descent who, after the Roman Conquest, rose to any considerable recommending such a publication to the care of the government; and steps, it is said, have been taken for the accomplish- ment of this object. We only pray the publication may move at a quicker rate than the French one; and, above all things, be printed more for use than show — that is, at an approachable price. Dramatic Scenes, by Miss Milford ; 1827. — Our general experience of similar attempts was little likely, we must confess, to make us sanguine with respect even to the particular instance of Miss Mitford. Besides most readers, we feel convinced, are conscious of a misgiving— almost an preferment,, was the son of Gilbert Beckett, a citi- expec{atjoa of disappointment, on open- ing books of a miscellaneous character, whether those books be the productions of a single mind in its different moods, or the contributions of many. Few persons, in these days of universal authorship, are so ignorant of the process by which Ge- nius effects her best productions, as not to know that strong conceptions have a tendency to dilate rather than contract their dimensions — that images crowd and accumulate by meditation — that the fancy and the feeling become microscopic ; and zen of London, who, travelling into the Holy Land as a pilgrim, was taken prisoner, and became the slave of a Mahometan chief. In .his captivity he had the fortune to acquire the affections of his master's daughter, who aided him to escape ; but the lady, unable to endure the absence of her lover, speedily followed him. The only English words with which she was acquainted were London and Gilbert ; and arriving in the metropolis, she ran from street to street, repeating Gilbert, Gilbert, to a deriding crowd. But true love, ever faithful to his votaries, at length directed her steps to Beckett's house : he received her with the utmost affection ; M.M. New Scries,— VoL.IV. No, 19. M Monthly Review of Literature, [J that the simplest incidents, which have once taken hold of a mind truly poetical, soon become the nucleus — the central point of gravitation, around which a world of thoughts and subordinate incidents be- gin to revolve. The inventive mind, •whence all this universe of fancy arises, so loves to contemplate its own creation, t bat it will not and cannot, without pain- ful efforts, disengage itself from the em- ployment till the work be made a perfect whole. In plain terms, we mean, the powers of genuine inspiration are com- monly thought to be competent to whole dramas at least ; and a tacit persuasion exists in the minds of most people, that short productions of imagination are either the fruits of very inferior writers, or if they issue from the better kind, are only shreds and patches of their higher facul- ties— so intimately blended in human na- ture are the ideas of greatness of power and tenacity of object. We were well pleased, therefore, to per- ceive that Miss Mitford — a favourite of ours confessedly — can effectually stir our hearts to any variety of emotion, even in the narrow compass of a single scene. Considering how much time is generally required before the matured, the hack- nied, the world - worn reader can be brought into a state to be moved, no slight degree of power is evinced by a writer, who so rapidly tunes our minds to her own purposes. Her genius reminds us of the quality of machinery, where the less the time the greater the power. We have no space to speak of each piece separately. "Cunegunda's vow" fixed our attention. The Duke of Mantua's speech, •when describinghis own wife, and contrast- ing her with Cunegunda, possesses the high- est dramatic beauty. The " Bridal Eve " is full of the deepest and most touching ten- derness— we recollect reading it in one of the New Year Souvenirs. But we must not forget " Fair .Rosamond." The detail of her first interview with her royal se- ducer, as given by herself to oue of her attendants, on that last fatal day, when they were expecting the king, and dis- covered too late that Queen Eleanor had penetrated into their asylum, is well worth extracting : — Rosamond.— 'Twill soon be even. Did I never tell thee The story of his wooing ? Listen, girl, Sit here and listen. Twas a glorious day, A glorious autumn day, as bright and clear As this, the small white clouds now softly sailing Along the deep blue sky, now fixed and still As the light western breeze arose or sank, By fits— a glorious day ! I and my maids Sat by the lakelet in my father's park, Working as we do now, right merrily. For young and innocent maids are in their nature Gay as the larks above their heads. The scene Was pleasant as the season, not a spot Of the Lord Clifford's wide demesne could vie With this in beauty. Woods on every side, Ash, oak, and beech, sloped downward to the clear And quiet waters, overhung by tufts Of fern and hazel, and long wreaths of briar* ; Only one little tufty bank was free. From that rich underwood — there we sat bending Over a tapestry loom, until we heard A horn sound right above us, and espied A hunter threading the rude path which wound To our sequestered bower. Oh what a sight It was ! The managed steed, white as the foam Of some huge torrent, fiery, hot, and wild, Yet reined into a lameness by his bold And graceful rider, winding with slow steps His way 'mid those huge trees; now seen, now lost, Now in bright sunshine, now in deepest shade ; The red autumnal tint of those old woods Contrasting well the huntsman's snow-white steed And garb of Lincoln green. No sign bore be Of prince or king, save in the sovran grace Of his majestic port, his noble brow, His keen commanding eye. My maidens fled Soon as they saw the stranger. Mabel.— And thou, lady ? Rosamond.— Why I too thought to fly, but loitered on, Collecting the bright silks and threads of gold, Careful excuse that to myself I made For lingering there till he approached ; and then When I in earnest turned to go, he stayed me With such a smile and such a grace, and craved My aid so piteously, for he had lost Comrades, and hounds, and quarry, and himself In that morn's chase, that I was fain to proffer Guidance to our old castle. Mabel.— He went with thee ? Rosamond. — No. At Lord Clifford's name he started. — Mabel, shun thou the lover that shall start to hear Thy father's name. — With slight excuse he rode To seek his partners of the chase. But oft From that day forth we met beside the lake ; And often, when November storms came fast, Driving against the casement, I have wept Drop for drop with the sky, if my dear father, In his fond care, forbad his Rosamond To brave the raging tempest ; all my heart Was in that bare damp wood, and on the bank Of that dark water, where my lover stood To wait my coming, patiently as sits The nightingale beside his drooping mate. How could I chuse but love him ? Mabel. — Didst thou know thy lover for a king? Rosamond. — Not till my love had been con- fessed ; then he in turn confessed The fatal secret. What a coil of wild And desperate passions broke within my heart — Fear, shame, and pride, and anger, but true love O'ermastered all ; we fled, and I am here. Mabel — Alas I Rosamond. — Nay, wherefore cry alas! — my father— I must not think of him— out on thee, wench ! That sigh of thine hath saddened me, hath brought Fond thoughts of days of old — the blessed days When I was innocent and happy! Girl, J827.J Domestic and Foreign. Thou hast a lather, an old white-haired man, Who loves thee. Leave him not, I charge thec, Mabel! Bring not those white hairs to the grave with shame For thy foul sin I The Widow's Tales, and other Poems, by Bernard Barton ; J82T. — We are glad to see Mr. Barton again — sure of finding good sentiments and sound sense in every line he writes. This little volume com- mences with the story of a shipwreck — no new subject to be sure — of a party of mission- aries, wilh their wives and children, on their outward voyage. The entire crew and com- pany of the vessel perish, with the single ex- ception of one missionary's widow, who lives to tell the tale of destruction— a tale delivered with extreme simplicity, and in the true spirit, which we must suppose a missionary's wife to possess — standing aloof as missionaries must seem to do from the common ties and associations, that exert so strong a power over bosoms yet unwearied with the world and its concerns. She tells of the storm's rise, and growth, and fury, and devastation, and subsidence— of the few that lingered after the many that were over- whelmed, in a tone of monotonous melan- choly— the constant concomitant of such as sternly resolve not to let their affections rest on any thing below. This melancholy be- comes for a moment, or two absolutely pa- thetic, when she describes the fate of the children struggling in violent and helpless terror against irresistible destruction ; and, again, the condition of her husband, who dies, sustained in her arms that are scarcely able to support him the while on the frag- ment of the ship to which she clings. We will not mutilate the poem by an extract ; for indeed there is not a passfige that would appear with any advantage iu an insulated state. In another part of the volume are some verses, entitled " Sea-side Reverie," the language of which is more melodious than is usual with Mr. Barton ; for though he writes easily, he certainly does not write musically. The piece is more unexcep- tionable too, than the rest of the smaller poems, from the entire absence of the phraseology of the conventicle, while, never- theless, religion and poetry seem to reign with equal dominion over the soul of the writer. There is a pretty large class of rea- ders who approve of the exclusive appropria- tion of poetry to religious topics. For our- selves, though we shall always be eager to do justice to Barton's gentle/devout, chaste, and truth-worshipping mind, yet, we confess, our taste, our longings, have a wider range — we think there is a time to be grave, and a time to be gay. He seems to contem plate the extended and complex universe in one single point of view only — taking to the very letter the religious advice oi seeing God in all things— of reading death and the grave iQ stones and everything; and thus he is obliged, like all who unnaturally and need- lessly circumscribe their views, to employ the microscope for the purpose of enlarging his favourite points. And this is done too, to a degree painfully wearisome to such as would lain look about in every direction — imbibing all those beauties of the moral, in- tellectual, and physical world, of which we seem to ba the free and natural heirs — an inheritance, for the relinqinshraent of which there appears to us to be no rational ground. The Living and the Dead, by a Country Curate; 1827..— The scribblings of a Coun- try Curate, relative mainly to certain eccle- siastics of some reputation, but jumbling oc- casionally the secular with the clerical, in a verj7 odd manner — none of any worth to any soul breathing, unless it be in the single chance of their proving productive to the writer himself, who must not be supposed to throw out his panegyrics, nor even his cen- sures, at random. Mr. Benson, the late Mr. Rennel, arul Archdeacon Daubeny are co- vered with the froth of his laudations. The Dean of Salisbury is the dedicatee — "the able supporter'' — the dedicator informs him arid the world — " and eloquent advocate of our pure and apostolical (what does this mean?) church— happily combining energy in action with sobriety in precept, and pour- traying all that is glowing in piety, without the least leaven of fanatical zeal" — all which, for any thing we know, may be very true ; — but of what value is anonymous evi- dence? To be sure the Dean — with a bishoprick in immediate prospect — will never be suffered to burst in ignorance. But now and then, the writer en- counters and disserts upon laymen and wo- men. Mrs. Joanna Buillie and her sister " Grizzle,'' are met at table, and must both be shewn up— the brilliancy arid ma- jesty of surpassing genius — the subser- viency and unenvying good-humour of con- tented inferority. Mrs. Baillie was exceed- ingly eloquent (how easy it is to use these fine words) upon divers topics ; unluckily for us the writer is no " reporter," and we are left without a specimen. Some " professor" thought the Waverley novels would not go down to posterity ; Mrs. Baillie thought they would; but on what grounds either of them thus opined, appears not ; and of course, there is no judging from this quarter, whether they will or will not. Then comes Francis Jeffery in the scene; but he is a whig (by the way, a "whig" is now, it seems, according to an official declaration in the last Edinburgh, a go-between, neither more nor less), bilious to a mortal degree, mentally and bodily— " disappointed man " stamped in large cha- racters upon every feature; his sneer, wither- ing ; his sarcasm, cutting : " let him," says the writer, in deep and solemn humility, " pride himself in both — there is no peace or harmony within." Poor Mr. Jetfery ! could not you, Sir, transfuse, and thus dispose of a little of your superfluous bile ? — or has this divine, think you. enough of his own? M 2 Monthly Review of Literature, 84 Among other tittle-tattle, we have Lady Byron's conduct relative to my Lord's MS., and Mr. Moore's surrender of it, talked over again, with the strange and unwarrantable insinuation that the lady made the offer of indemnification to Mr. Moore, in full se- curity it would not be accepted. The money, in the opinion of this meddling per- son, should have been settled on Muster llussel (Moore's son), for whose benefit the JJS., it is asserted, had been originally given ; and then his papa could have have had no power to refuse. "LadyB. is rich — very rich, it seems ; and the transaction says mwch for her pride, and little for her feeling.'' Now, manifestly, the writer knows no more of the matter than we do — his sole authority, the partial and suspicious intelligence of the public prints. How dares he then — with all his professions too — to judge of that lady's motives in this way ? Is this in consistency with the wish, so p.ousiy expressed in the preface, that the volume may breathe no sentiment, which his spiritual avocations must condemn — contain no expression, which may appear hostile to the interests of true morality and true religion? Truly, to preach is one thing, and to practise another. The Pioneers, by the A uthor of the Prai- rie,2fc.; 1827.— A second edition of this tale, — very little known in this country, but writ- ten, as every body knows who attends to these matters, by the author of the Prairie, of which we gave a notice last month — has just appeared, and chronologically precedes it. The central parts of the State of New York, which now count nearly a million and a half of inhabitants, were, so recently as 1785, an untenanted wilderness. The prodigious transmutation, therefore, is in our own times, and distinctly traceable by living witnesses. The purpose of the author, in his own words, is to give some idea of the manner in which this magical change has been wrought, of the state of society which existed during the process of alteration, and of the means that were employed to' effect it. The story is quite a subordinate matter, though always strictly subservient to this main purpose — to exhibit the progress of a ( clearing.' One Marmaduke Temple, and the son of a Major Effingbam, form an early intimacy «.t school. The Temples are quakers, and commercial people ; the Effirighams mili- tary. The elder Effingham resigns his estate rnto his son's hands, and the first act of the son is to aid his early friend. He enables him to set up a house of business in Phila- delphia, and himself becomes a sleeping and clandestine partner, to avoid shocking the prejudices of the lather, who disdains the pedlar principles of trade. Under Temple's inarmgetiK'iit the concern thrives to admira- tion, till the breaking out of the revolution. The Efliiiglutms, before the buttle of Lex- ington, quit the colony, but previously de- posit in Temple's hands all their valuable [JULY, effects and papers for security. Soon after, the war commenced in good earnest, and the friends take opposite sides — the Effinghams, of course, are loyalists. On the peace, at the sale of the loyalists' lands. Temple pur- chases Effingham's property, on very advan- tageous terms, and resolves to withdraw from business, and attend to the settlement of his newly acquired territory. To this place — the interior of the State of New York, he accordingly, in 1793, goes, accompanied by an only daughter, the heiress of all his pro- perty, armed \iith the authority of judge; and through his interest, a cousin ot his is also invested with the office of sheriff. The great purpose of Temple is to introduce something like police into the wild district, to check the waste of trees, and deer, and game, and fish, which abundance generates among new settlers. On the settlement were three conspicuous persons, an old Indian chief of the extin- guished Delawares ; a young man, called by the old chief the Young Eagle, and reported to have Delaware blood in him, and an old American, Natty, of Indian and independent habits. These are living apparently as hun- ters, and evidently consider Temple and his associates as usurpers. On his very first ar- rival, Temple, shooting at a buck, acciden- tally hits the Young Eagle in the shoulder, withoat any very serious consequences; and in concern for the injury he had thus unwit- tingly done him, he labours t.o conciliate, and finally succeeds in persuading him to come to his house. The young man is full of mys- tery and reserve. He proves to be a person of high intelligence and cultivation, and suf- ficiently haughty and ungracious, attribu- table apparently to his Indian blood ; but he gets on for some time pretty harmoniously with the judge's family, and officiates as a sort of secretary — still, however, keeping up an extraordinary degree of intimacy with his old friends of the woods. With them, too, there is some mystery —nobody ever saw the inside of their wigwam, and a good deal of curiosity is of course excited. In the mean while, the sheriff, who is of a bustliag, fidgetty, disposition, is intro- ducing measures of civilization — among others, that of the church service — and en- forcing the observance of the laws of tbes United States, particularly those which pro- hibited the killing of deer in the breeding season. Old Natty, the American, of Indian habits, in contempt of this and all other laws, which are not, he conceives, made for the woods, kills a buck. A busy fellow gets scent of this — there were already lawyers on the settlement, — and a resolution is taken to make an example of Natty, and enforce the penalty. Just at this period Nutty rescues the judge's daughter from the jaws of a panther, and, of course, makes her his friend for ever. The judge, in common consis- tency could not, on being appealed to, decline issuing a warrant to search Natty's hut for the forbidden venison ; but Natty defends his 182?.] Domestic and foreign. castle stoutly, and bandies the busy-body' informer, himself a magistrate, who also executed, lor the nonce, the office of constable, pretty roughly ; but eventually the case comes before the new court under two in- dictments ; and Natty being found guilty of assaulting a magistrate, is sentenced to fine and imprisonment. The judge, on a prin- ciple of Roman justice, resists the appeals of his daughter, and his own feelings in favour of her preserver, but directs her to enable Natty to pay the fine. To the prison she flies ; the old man refuses to accept assis- tance, and resolves to go and shoot beavers to make up the sum. He and a companion, an old sailor, in the judge's service, who, in the course of the story, furnishes some coarse but humorous scenes, and who had need- lessly thrust himself into Natty 's embarrass- ments, are preparing to break prison; and lie begs here as the only favour he will ac- cept, not to betray them, and to bring him, the next morning to a particular spot, a canister of powder. In his flight from the prison he is aided by the mysterious Young Eagle, who had previously shewn, in indig- nant terms, his contempt for what he con- ceived the judge's unfeeling conduct to Natty, and renounced his service. The next morn- ing, in fulfilment of her engagement, Miss Temple goes to meet old Natty, when, sud- denly, she finds herself wrapped in a circle of flame, and presently the youngster comes in sight. He is astounded at the sight — he him- self had, it seems, kindled the flame, and now makes every attempt for her rescue. The fire strengthens and advances ; the lady re- signs herself to her inevitable fate ; he makes n hurried and passionate declaration of his admiration of her, and refuses to despair. Just, however, as all hope, even with him, was vanishing, Natty appears, and with his usual promptitude rescues them both. The eclaircissemeut quickly follows. The youth's grandfather had been concealed in Natty's hut — for what purpose is not explicitly stated- he now comes forth, and proves to be the father of Temple's friend. That friend himself was dead, and Temple had believed the family extinct. Temple had, however, been honest, and in his will had given to his executors, in trust, one half of his estate for the Effinghams, should any survive. He now promptly resigns that portion of his pro- perty to the Young Eagle, who has not a drop of Delaware blood in him ; he was Indian only 03- adoption ; and the young lady can no longer resist. They are, of course, happy. Though inferior, very decidedly, we think, to the Prairie, here are some capital scenes of description — such as the pigeon shooting, when the air is darkened by their numbers, and dragging the lake for fish ; and the con- flagration. The attempts at humour are of the Smollett cast, and not unsuccessful. The Linguist, or Instructions in the French and German Languayes, calcu- lated to enable the Student to acquire a Knowledge of these two most useful Lan- guages without the Assistance of a Master. 2 vols. 8vo. — These volumes were pub- lished some time ago in weekly numbers, and have been found to promote the pur- pose for which the indefatigable writer- Mr. Boileau, a man of considerable expe- rience and success in teaching — destined them. For this reason, we willingly con- tribute, what we can to their publicity. The plan upon which the author pro- ceeds is to take a small portion — a fable, for instance, or a song — from some writer of established reputation, and translate it first into plain idiomatic English. Then, going- over the whole again, step by step, he gives the exact meaning- of each im- portant word, and describes besides — if a substantive, its gender and number, with occasional notices relative to the gender of words of similar termination ; if an adjective, its gender and number, what it agrees with, and why, with the reasons for deviations from general rules ; if a pronoun, in like mariner its gender and number, and mode of declension — and whether definite or indefinite; if a verb, its person, tense, mood, and conjugation ; and if irregular, he partially conjug-ates it — adding- the particular prepositions that usually accompany each verb. Thus the present work possesses all the advantages of Mr. Hamilton's method, with the additional benefit of the free translation, which precedes the analysis of each piece — all idiomatic phrases being- rendered there by English ones of cor- responding- import, with an explanation, besides, of the origin of such phrases, and of the figurative application, which time brings about in expressions, originally applicable only to objects of sense. The first fable in the book is the Le Coq and La Perle of La Fontaine, the translation and analysis of which occupy about four pages. Then comes a German lesson, with the same view, and of the same length. Then French again, and so on, alternately — each succeeding- portion exhibiting' some peculiarity of the lan- guage unnoticed in the preceding lessons. The work is the very thing of which hundreds of adult persons in the middle ranks of life stand iu need. All the books iu the world indeed will not communicate the pronunciation of a foreign language, and certainly not enough so to enable the student to speak it correctly ; but the author, in his introduction, points out very sensibly several modes, by which, in the metropolis, those, who are really ardent in the pursuit may acquire a very tole- rable French pronunciation, free of ex- pense ; and for the rest, the Linguist fol- lows the only course, by which people ar- rived at maturity can bear to learn a Ian- Monthly Review of Literature, guage — that is, by leading them gradually, through the medium of agreeable stories impressed upon the memory, up to the general priuciples of its grammar, instead of adopting the old process of keeping them for months among the cloudy heights of those principles, uncheered by any acquaintance with their familiar appli- cation. The Spirit and Constitution of the Church, in their Relation to the general Welfare of the State, by the Rev. Charles Mackie, M.A., Hector qfQuarley, Hants; 1827. — The " Church " is of course the hierarchy by law established. To demon- strate the utility of this venerable insti- tution beyond all dispute, is the purpose of Mr. Mackie ; but to judge of the va- lidity of the demonstration, we must first glance slightly over his argument. He takes a long reach, and begins with a laborious confutation of a very senseless objection which he thinks it worth while to anticipate. First, does Christianity countenance the distinctions and grada- tions of society? Assuredly she does — Christianity and society have the same divine origin. Society cannot exist with- out some to rule, and some to be ruled — some to work, and some to be worked for. Inevitably, and if so designedly, some become rich and some poor. There- fore Christianity sanctions these inequa- lities of station, and shapes her directions in accordance. There are virtues for the rich, and virtues for the poor. She is no enemy, therefore, to civilization — none to the farthest heights of which our nature is capable ; for, in favourable positions, progression in refinement is the course of nature ; and Christianity springing from the author aud source of nature, as was said, sanctions, and applauds, aud acce- lerates the career of refinement. Well, but looking to the records of history, has not the course of civilization been first to culminate, and then rapidly to decline; and what but the same cycle of events have we to expect ? We have now risen to a height of refinement, per- haps beyond the point, which any nation the world ever saw has reached. May we not then — must we not expect a declen- sion even more striking, and more rapid ? No, says Mr. Mackie, with unhesitating confidence ; — like causes produce indeed like etiects ; but like causes are not ope- rating now ; at least, if like causes are operating, another and a powerful cause is operating also, which must of course have a powerful influence on the complex effect. In the declensions, to which his- tory refers us, the check, which Chris- tianity, or rather the Church, for that is Mr. Mackie1!* point, presents, did not exist. The church then it is — consisting, as it does, of a myriad of most learned, most moral, most active, most influential persons — which spreads the conservative principle through the corruptible mass of society, and must for ever obstruct the ebbings of prosperity. The church then it is, which it is the paramount interest of society to support — the church, in its integrity, unentrenched upon in power, and privilege, and emolument. To preserve this sacred institution in its most effective state is an object wor- thy, nay, demanding the most solicitous attention. It is the sheet-anchor of so- ciety ; and on the strength and tenacity of its hold the wise statesman must wholly, and then he may securely, confide. But is it really the church of these happy realms, that is to work this salvation for us ? Why, what is the characteristic of an efficient church ? Is it not an order of men set apart for the service of reli- gion, and not only a body so set apart, but a body consisting of different grada- tions of rank — of bishops and archbishops, priests aud prebendaries, deacons aud archdeacons — of persons calculated, some by their acquirements, and some by their purses, to influence every rank and sta- tion of life — bishops for the great, priests for the middle ranks, and curates for the poor? Does not the English church con- sist of these gradations — corresponding to the gradations of society ; and if each be conservative of each, will not the whole be conservative of the whole ? The thing is beyond dispute. Christianity demands a church — a church of gradations ; such a church is the sole protection against the relapses of civilization ; we have this pro- tection— an efficient church, and so long, of course, as this church exists, we are insured against ruin. Let us guard it then as the apple of our eye — as the sine qua non of existence. Now assuredly we are not the persons to deny the moral efficacy of the establish- ment, but we have long felt deeply the conviction, that this establishment — what- ever might be its merits, and we are ready to allow them, in spite of all counter balances, to be great — was not so perfect as to admit of no possible amendment. In our simplicity, we had rashly supposed the inequalities of the church — looking at it as a body of teachers, all of equal preten- sions, from all of whom certainly the same qualifications were demanded — were al- most intolerable; we looked with a jea- lous eye on pluralities; and thought it hard, peculiarly hard, that no access to advancement existed, but through the gates of political influence, or private and family interest — especially when the doors of other professions were barred against the unsuccessful candidate for ecclesias- tical distinctions. Little did we expect to find the tables turned upon us, as Mr. 1827.] Domestic and Foreign. 87 Mackie turns them, and to find that these thing's, which we considered as defects, as corruptions, were all advantages, studied, foreseen, decided — the fruits of the highest and most comprehensive policy — the pro- duce of the soundest wisdom. What is cha- racter, talent, learning-, without money ? Therefore we must have princes in the church with princely incomes, to enforce good morals among- princes and nobles. We must have pluralities, or what free space will be left for the curates — the very order of curates would be extinguished-— and then what would become of the popu- lace? We must have men in the church with no hope or prospect of preferment, to preserve a large moral mass of moral influence, free of ambition, mingling among the poor — where there is no hope there can be no ambition. Close the gates of the bar and the senate against disap- pointed churchmen, and you keep them in the church, and compel them to throw their pearls before swine. All is then as it should be, and we are answered— Mr. Mackie is irresistible. The short of the matter is, the book before us is \\ritten for the purpose of de- fending things as they are. The thought of innovation is manifestly horror to the writer, and he canuot but think it criminal and atrocious in others. As a matter of composition the book is wretchedly writ- ten, with such involved and .complicated sentences, and such a load of verbiage, that frequently the reader will find him- self obliged to go over the phrased three or four times before the sense has any chance of reaching his brain — and yet occasionally there are passages of con- siderable energy and vivacity. We look ourselves oa mere style — except in works of imagination — as a matter of very .infe- rior consideration: but we do like direct- ness and intelligibleuess. Take a slight specimen — merely as a curiosity : — Chap. V. — Of oar national prosperity, as unat- tended by a d?generating influence, ascribed to the nature of our established church. — Wherever we must place the consummation of the wishes, which philanthropy has formed, being sanctioned by rea- son, and confirmed by revelation, from the bright- ness of the destiny that awaits our nature in the scene of their fulfilment, there comes a ray not only cheering to its more distant prospects, but which throws a light on all the intermediate por- tion of futurity, and renders us so prescient of its nature, that, assuming the alternative of contin- gent circumstances, we may, if so permitted to ex- press it, see into the coming fortunes of our country almost with the clearness of prophetic eye. This is manifestly a phraseology that indicates familiarity enough with the writ- ings of the seventeenth century, but an absolute ignorance of the common style of expression of his contemporaries ; and we may pretty safely conclude, from this fact alone, that his ignorance with respect to the actual state of society, and the pre- vailing opinions of the age, is equally complete. PROCEEDINGS OF LEARNED SOCIETIES. DOMESTIC. ROYAL SOCIETY. March 29. — Viscount Malion and the Rev. C. Mayo were admitted Fellows of the So- ciety, and the reading was commenced of a paper on the compounds of chromium, by Dr. Thompson. — April 5. The reading of the above paper was resumed and concluded. The principal object of it is to give an ac- count of a singular compound of chromic acid and chlorine, discovered some years since by the author. In the investigation to which it gave rise, he was led to a more careful examination of the oxides of chromium than they had before undergone, and to a know- ledge of their composition. — 20. Dr. J. Blackman was admitted, and the Duke of Clarence elected a Fellow of the Society ; and a pnper was communicated from Pro- fessor Woodhouse, of Cambridge, on the de- rangement of certain transit instruments by the effects of temperature. ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY. The weekly lectures at this society, dur- ing the past month, have been eminently at- tractive. On Wednesday, the 30th ultimo, Mr. Vigors, in an interesting and eloquent lecture, illustrated the affinities that connect the birds that leed by suction on vegetable juices. This lecture was honoured by the presence of a number of ladies distinguished for rank and elegance. On the 13th instant, Mr. Brookes concluded his scientific dis- courses on comparative anatomy, by demon- strating the thoracic and abdominal viscera of the ostrich. Various interesting and im- portant facts were illustrated in this lecture, which Mr. B. concluded, by expressing his readiness to continue his observations when- ever an opportunity might offer itself for pro- moting the views of the society. Mr. Vigors delivered the final lecture, for the present season, on the 20th instant, by continuing his remarks on the affinities of birds. Among the company assembled on the occasion, we may mention the prince of Musignano (Charles Lucian Buonaparte). Mr. Vigors, after addressing the meeting on the prospects of the society, and the increased success at- tending upon its plans, entered upon his immediate subject, by pointing out the cha- racteristics that distinguished the five orders of birds, as described in a diagram, exhibited 88 Proceedings of Learned Societies. [JOLT, for that purpose ; viz., the perching birds, that take their food on trees ; the gallinace- ous birds, that feed exclusively on the ground ; the wading birds, existing partially on Irnd, and partially on water ; the oceanic birds, those exclusively of the water ; and the birds of prey that support themselves alike on trees and in the air. Of these, the gallina- ceous birds formed the subject selected on this occasion for particular illustration ; and Mr. V. clearly traced the leading affinities and analogies that connect the groupesoftbis order. A variety of interesting and beautiful specimens were exhibited, illustrative of the peculiar structure and character of these birds. ASTRONOMICAL, GEOLOGICAL, HORTICUL- TURAL, AND LINN^AN, SOCIETIES, &C. To none of these societies have any com- munications of peculiar interest, been made since our last, and for the insertion of their routine business, election of members, journal" — had assailed him with " opprobrious epithets," had '< mentioned him in a gross manner,'' " attacked his cha- racter as a gentleman," and overwhelmed him with " a torrent of spleen.'' " On m'as- sassine,'' cries this worthy personage — why, as yet, they are not even whipping him ! Thus stands the case. There are in the Phi- losophical Transactions for 1824, some pa- pers of Mr. Ivory, on the attraction, of sphe- roids— papers whose merit has been since acknowledged by the award of the first royal medal in the gift of that institution. Of one of the conditions of equilibrium given in these papers, Mr. Airy (in a me- moir published in the Philosophical Trans- actions for 1826) remarks that " the reason- ing upon which Mr. Ivcry has founded the necessity of such a condition, appears to me altogether defective.'' M. Poisson, whose scientific attainments are assuredly beyond all doubt, had thought the same condition (though so entirely beneath Mr. Airy'sconsideration) as worthy of a profound and laborious investi- gation. Mr. Ivory, aware of the space which a Lucasian Professor of Mathematics must occupy in the eyes of the world, complains of Mr. Airy so " flippantly finding fault" with his law ; and adds, " what a difference between the supercilious importance of the Cambridge Professor and the " candid expo- sitions of M. Poissou.'' These are the ob- servations which Mr. Airy denounces as " an offensive note," as " unhandsome treat- ment,'' as injurious to his " character as a gentleman,3' unparalleled in the annals of critical invective ; "gross," ''opprobrious," *' a torrent of spleen,'' " unworthy of the re- spect which a gentleman ought to have for himself, as well as- for any other who claims that title." Were the author of this last tirade un- known, we should consider it merely as the splenetic effusion of a weak, vain, irritable, ordinary man, who was conscious of having given offence, and apprehensive of chastise- ment; but he is an official personage, and his advancement is the pledge of his ability. Had Mr. Ivory hinted that the conditions which entered into the problem lay far be- yond the grasp of Mr. Airy's comprehension ; had he insinuated that, from the practice of dogmatizing to boys, he was not aware of the courtesy that wusdue to men ; that, elate with the applause of an university, he had mistaken his character in the estimation of the world ; and that an opinion delivered M.M, New Series.— VOL. IV. No. 19. e cathedrd, though extolled by youth, might be ridiculed by age ; we should have under- stood and have partaken Mr. Airy's indigna- tion— as it is, we only surmise that the nerves of a professor are of exquisite sensibiliiy. *' I console myself,'' says Mr. Ivory, " be- cause I know with the certainty of demon- stration, that Mr. Airy's problem, admitting that any practical utility could be attached to it, is not solved, and that it cannot possibly be solved except by my theory, and indirectly with the help of that law, with which he (Mr. A.) so flippantly finds fault." " I con- sole myself,'' replies Mr. Airy, " by think- ing that Mr. Ivory has not reasoned with his usual accuracy upon a point which is some- what abstruse, and by believing that my prob- lem is solved (as far as such a problem can be solved) without the assistance of Mr. Ivo- ry's equation." Here are wo opposite opi- nions, of which one is maintained by John Ivory, simply A.M., with nothing but his public character as a mathematician to up- hold him ; the other is supported by G. B. Airy, Esq., A.M. and Lucasian Professor of Mathematics in the University of Cambridge. Who can hesitate in determining the ques- tion ? Why, it is three to one, and the very titles bring conviction. Beside, when we reflect on the annual Newtons whom Cam- bridge brings to light, when we see the re- corded contempt in which Borda, and Biot, and Kater are held, by professors to whom practical knowledge belongs by intuition, there can be no room for doubt — to be pro- fessor in so wonderful a place— Lucasian professor — there is something imposing in the very sound ; the spirit of academic phi- losophy rises before us — we see the wisdom, and the wig. A word or two as to profes- sors. Let us suppose, then, by way of illus- tration, that there are five professorships, Astronomy, Botany, Divinity, Mathematics, and Mineralogy, and A, B, C, D,E, &c. resi- dent members of the University, are desi- rous of sharing these places among them — the first step is to mystify the public with regard to their merits ; so every place within their reach is made to re-echo their mutual praises. " You tickle me — I tickle you.'' Then to business; A. desires the botanical chair, but it is that of mineralogy, which is vacant; still, to the latter he is elected, be- cause ultimately he may be transferred to the former ; and so long as the appointment is but kept in " the family" the instruction of youth is only of secondary importance. Again, a professor of mathematics is required — • among a host of candidates, of superior ability, B. and C. appear : it is clear that both cannot succeed — possibly both may be defeated — they coalesce : B. obtains the situation through the influence of C. united to his own, and with the understanding that when the chair of astro- nomy becomes vacant, his whole interest shall be assigned to C., who thus carries the place N Varieties. [JULY, without a question being raised ns to the propriety oi the appointment, or any proof required of his practical knowledge : — E. would make the professorship of geometry a ladder to the chair of divinity, and F. of chemistry a stepping-stone to something else, nndso on ; " one foot in the stirrup, and I nm soon in the saddle." What results from this system ? Why, that local cabal, and petty intrigue, and boisterous pretension, and fatu- ous self-sufficiency prevail over modest and unassuming ability ; that men of honour and of real talent retire with disgust from a con- test which degrades them ; that the title of professor is sneered at as synonymous with charlatan ; and that in the scientific annals of Europe, for the nineteenth century, En- gland enrols such discoveries, as that Grego- rian telescopes cannot be made of glass ; that the mean density of the earth exceeds that of gold ; and that the human body, even when in no state of unnatural excitement, evolves so much caloric as to derange the operation of a transit instrument. French AchromalicTeleseope. — The mag- nificent achromatic telescope which we no- ticed, some time since, as having been con- structed by the late M. Fraunhoper for the observatory at Dorpat, has awakened a strong spirit of emulation in France; and M. Cau- choix, a Parisian optician, has nearly com- pleted an achromatic telescope, about nine- teen feet focal length, and of twelve inches and three-quarters aperture, from some flint glass of the late M. Guinaml. It is reported that some remarkable appearances h;ive been observed with this instrument, in the ring of Saturn, by M. M. Arago and Mathieu, of the Royal Observatory at Paris ; an account of which will be published when they shall have been fully verified . Have they seen the phenomenon remarked last year by Captain Kuter, viz. that the external ring consists of several concentric ones, of which an account appeared in this journal at the time ? Spiders. — To our readers in general, and to entomologists in particular, we conceive that the following instance of ingenuity in a spider, which was witnessed by the writer of this article, will not be uninteresting.- A web was observed to be tightly stretched across a garden path, about five feet in breadth, the reticulated portion occupying the centre, and one of the principal threads to which this part was attached, had a vertical direction ; upon examining in what manner this was fastened to the ground, it was found that the ingenious insect, instead of having permanently fixed it to the gravel path, Lad coiled it round a stone a little larger than its own body, and had raised this about a foot from the walk, where it was swinging in the air, giving the neces- sary degree of tension to the net- work of the web, but not affording a sufficient resis- tance to the wind to occasion its destruc- tion. Sugar from Melons. — To render France icJt pendent of tfce co'ooies for a Mipply of sugar, was a favourite object with Buona- parte, and the extraction of it from beet, in some measure justified his hopes : it would seem that, nt the present time, the subject, is not altogether overlooked by the chemists, as M. Payen has succeeded in extracting from one hundred parts of the juice of the melon, 1,5 of well crystallized sugar, pos- sessing all the properties of that from the sugar-cane. Bugs. — A sort of prejudice exists in Eng- land, in London especially, that while all. ohl houses swarm with bugs, the newly-built ones are exempt from this execrable annoy- ance. Without stating the reverse to be the fact, it will be found, that in no part of the metropolis are these noxious insects to be met with in such abundance as in the rie\v houses erected in the Regeut's-park, into which they have been introduced in the American timber employed in their con- struction. On examining this timber, ys if comes from the ship, it will be found that the bugs absolutely fill up the crevices. Could no prohibitory duties be laid upon their importation ? Steam, Boilers. — In our last number, or in the one which preceded it, we gave an ac- count of the various causes which had been assigned of the explosion of steam-boilers, by Mr. Perkir.r, in the London Journal of Arts, and by Mr. Taylor and others in the Philosophical Magazine ; in the number for June of the last mentioned work, Mr. Moore, of Bristol, has stated, that steam-engines have often exploded on their being stopped ; and that the immediate cause of explosion in these cases is, probably, an additional strain on the boiler from within, produced by the steam, which previously had a free passage, being prevented from escaping any where but at the safety valve ; the aperture of which, compared with the content of the cy- linder into which the steam passed before, is very small. Mr. Moore also suggests, for the purpose of obviating accidents from such a cause, the application of a large valve on the tube adjacent to the part where the stearu is prevented from passing to the engine. Zooloyy.— No where is the difference re- sulting from the public museums being in the hands of government as in France, and of private individuals as in England, more, apparent than in the Zoological collection m the Jurdin ties Plantes at Paris. To this unrivalled collection, an American condor was added in the course of last year ; and, after great apprehension that it could not. survive the winter, this, we believe, unique specimen, is in perfect health, und in full plumage. Discovery of an ancient Monument in Sicily. — In constructing a bridge near Syra- cuse, and at some distance from the church of Saint John, where the ancient catacombs are found, an ancient stew or warm-bath has been discovered. It is in breadth 10 palms, about 8-5 feet English. In height, to the springing of the vaul^ 7 palms, uliout 182 7. J Varieties* 6 feet English, and in length. 12 palms, or 10-31 feet English measure. The interior is ornamented with paintings ; two children are represented on the roof, flowers and birds on the walls. The structure of the vaulted roof is extremely curious, it being composed of square channels interwoven with great skill. A door which' has been disco- vered, has given rise to a hope, from the manner in which it is placed, that it leads to a suite of chambers and monuments, which may prove worthy of interest. Egyptian Mummies. — An eminent French chemist, M. Julia Fontenelle, in a discourse, pronounced at the opening of an Egyptian Mummy in the Amphitheatre of the Sorbonne at Paris, has delivered an opinion regarding (he cause of embalming in Egypt, which is worthy of attention : it is, that the Egyp- tians were led to it from physical necessity ; and he supports this opinion by the following reasons. During four months of every year, the inundations of the Nile cover almost en- tirely the whole surface of Egypt which is under cultivation ; it is, therefore, evident, that the villages, towns, and cities, must be placed in elevated situations. Now, if this country be examined at the epoch of its greatest prosperity, under the reign of Sesos- tris, it will be found, that for an extent of territory of about 2,250 square leagues, ac- cording to D'Anville, there would be a popu- lation of 0,232 per square league, which would allow in the whole 350,000 deaths per annum, reckoning, as usual, one death to forty living persons. These corpses must be gotten rid of either by burning or by inter- ment ; methods equally impracticable iti Egypt, for they must be buried around the inhabited spots, or in tho^e which were inun- dated by the Nile, and then the decompo- sition of these bodies, it must be evident, in affecting the purity of the air, would have been to the population at large, a source of destruction— as to the cremation of the dead, the insufficiency of wood would have ber,ii an insurmountable obstacle. A more avail- able resource was open to the Egyptians—- the soil of their beautiful country abounds iti springs of natron (subcarbonate of soda), and as this substance is a perfect antiseptic, the inhabitants were naturally led to pre- serve with it the corpses of the dead. In support of the opinion that sanitary views alone were the cause of embalment down to the third century, before the Christian a?ra, when the practice was abandoned, the pro- fessor observes — ihat during the whole of this period, the plague was unknown in Egypt, where, according to the opinion of M. M. Desgenettes and Saverey, it is now endemic. WORKS IN THE PRESS, AND NEW PUBLICATIONS. WORKS IN PREPARATION. The Reasons of the Laws of Moses, from the More Nevochim^of Maimonides, with Notes, Dissertations, and a Life of the Au- thor, by James Townley, D.D. The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies, Hero and Leander, Lycus the Centaur, and other Poerns, by T. Hood. A Translation of the Life and Writings of the German-Patriot acd^Poet, Koerner, with Engravings. A Narrative of the Capture, Detention, and Ransom, of Charles Johnston, of Bo- tetourt County, Virginia, who was made Prisoner by the Indians, on the River Ohio, i« the year 1790, is nearly ready. Lieut.-Gensral the Marquis of London- derry's Narrative of the late War in Spain aud Portugal, is in the press. Dr. Moseley is preparing for publication, a Dictionary of Latin Quantities ; or, Proso- dian's Guide to the different Quantities of every Syllable in the Latin Language ; al- phabetically arranged, with Authorities from the best Poets ; to which is prefixed a Trea- tise on Prosody. . Mr. J. . R. Young, Author of an Elemen- tary Treatise on Algebra, will shortly pub- lish Elements of Geometry, containing a New and Universal Treatise on the Doctrine of Proportion, together with Notes ; in which are pointed out and corrected some important errors that have hitherto remained unnoticed in the writings of Geometers ; also, an Exa- mination of the various Theories of Parallel Lines, that have been proposed by Legeudre, Bertrand, Ivory, &c. A new edition of the Butterfly Collector's Vacb Mecum ; or a Synoptical Table of English Butterflies. With Directions for collecting and preserving them ; the peculiar character of the Eggs, Caterpillars, and Chrysalises of each kind ; and a minute De- scription of each Butterfly, with coloured Plates, is nearly ready. A Series of Views in the Isle of Wight, illustrative of its Picturesque Scenery, Na- tural Curiosities, and Seats of Nobility and Gentry, is on the eve of publication, from Drawings made during the last Summer, by Mr. F. Calvert, accompanied with descrip- tions. No. III. of Robson's « Picturesque Views of English Cities,' '' containing eight En- gravings of Lincoln, York, Canterbury, Ox- ford, Ely, Gloucester, Bath, and Peterbo- rough, will be ready in a few days. "The Architectural Antiquities of Nor- mandy ;>' No, IV., to finish that Work, will be published in the ensuing month ; and, at the same time, Mr. Britton announces his intention of giving to the Subscribers a vo- lume of letter-press. Now publishing, the History and Antiqui- ties of the Cathedral Church of Peterborough, illustrated by a Series of Engravings of Views, Elevations, Plans, and Architectural N Z List of New Works. [JULY, Details of that Edifice ; including a History of the Abbey and See ; an Architectural De- scription of the Church, Biographical Anec- dotes of the Bishops, and of other Eminent Persons connected with the Catl4edr.il, by John Britton, F.S.A. F.R.S.L., and Member of several other Foreign and English Socie- ties. The pleasant History of Thomas of Read- ing, or the Six Worthy Yeomen of the West, by the celebrated ballad-maker, Thomas De- lany, will form the Third Part of Mr. W. J. Thorn's early Prose Romances. LIST OF NEW WORKS. FINE ARTS, &C. A Series of Practical Instruct ions in Land- scape-Painting in Water- Colours. By John Clark, complete in. Four Parts. Illustrated by fifty-five Views from Nature, descriptive Objects, all conspired to form a gratifying picture, highly creditable to Mr. Arnot, under whose superintend- ence the medical department of the hospital is placed. The scene would have beea interesting, even to the common observer. On one side were seven or eight natives of the South Sea Islands, one of them most curiously and beautifully tattooed, suffering severely from the cold and changeableness of our climate. In a different part of the ship might be seen the slender but graceful form of the Hindu. Here was the true scurvy, and beside the bed a huge bowl of salad. The peculiarities in national man. uers were exemplified in the different modes of amusement which the convalescents were following. Such an institution deserves to be better known to the country at large ; and it is in the hope of contributing to this desirable end, that the Reporter has ventured to exceed the usual limits to which his communication extends. GEORGE GREGORY, M.D. 8, Upper John Street, Golden Square, June 25, 182T. MONTHLY AGRICULTURAL REPORT. REPORTS are still fortunately a mere recital of the prosperous state of the growing- crops, the improved condition of live stock, and of the activity and forwardness of cultivation. To compare the present luxuriant deep-green and waving masses of vege- tation upon the bosom of the earth with the withered, yellow, and scanty covering; which gave it such a parched, dreary, and un-English appearance during the drought of last summer, forms a most delightful and exhilarating contrast. Not that the late proved the most mild, and, as might be supposed, genial spring ; for the weather was subject to constant vicissitudes throughout, and the occasional prevalence of the east and north east winds could not fail to have, in a considerable degree, its usual effect on vegetation. But this effect was not so severe and excessive as it sometimes proves : the malignancy and force of the east wind was frequently tempered by an inclination to its southern side; and when the winds had continued so long in an easterly direction that the course of vegetation became impeded, and blight was obviously advancing, the vigilant and anxious cultivator of the soil,; at his 'uprising, exulted to find that the wind had suddenly shifted to the genial west ; the incipient blight was happily arrested in its course, and the healthful and growing state succeeded. These fortunate turns have not failed during the spring ; and thus far lave the crops escaped. From the 102 Monthly Agricultural Report. [JULY, fete frequency of the easterly winds, and the quantity of rain which has fallen, we may indulge the hope of a mild and fortunate blooming season for the wheat, and of exemp- tion from excess in the summer rains. Wheat, on the best lands, is said to be so rank and luxuriant, that, should it fail in grain, there will be no lack of straw. The lands, however, were so thoroughly pulve- rized and mellowed by the latter frost, that it may be well hoped they will be able to carry a heavy crop both of straw and corn. The Lent corn and pulse, universally, are said to have an appearance as promising as is expected in the most fruitful season. Par- tial complaints have been made of damage to the oats, from the grub and wire- worm j and it is to be regretted that we hear too much of foul tilths, and of crops of weeds equally luxuriant with the corn. This has always been a blot in the escutcheon of British agriculture. To make the most of land, surely it ought to be restricted to one, the profitable one, and not to be exhausted by a double crop ; and, in rational proba- bility, those farmers who are so extremely solicitous for wide drilling and cleaning their root crops, would not find their attention misapplied if directed also to their per- haps equally important crops of corn. Getting in all the root-crops is by this time finished, and most successfully ; the breadths extensive, beyond all former experience — one of the best features in our present Husbandry. The high prices which butchers* meat has borne gives a full sanction to this extended culture. Indeed we are now in the state which the old French economists represented as the acme of national prospe- rity— exuberant plenty and high price. Some suspicious hints have reached us, respecting the number of labourers even yet unemployed, and on the parish lists. The weather has been thus far propitious to the hay harvest, and a heavy burden may be expected, with plentiful aftermath. The hops have suffered most from the north-east malady, but to what degree cannot be yet ascertained. The clip of wool has not been heavy 5 but the quality fully answers expectation, considering the difficulties and short keep of the past winter. Fat cattle, and fat things of all kinds, find extraordinary prices j and stores are improved in price, excepting where money and keep run short. More complaints since our last, of " the uncommon scarcity of money causing a stag- nation in all country dealing." But this, however correct, must not be lugged into the hacknied subject of currency, with which it has no more connexion than with the lunar influences. There is money plenty, in both town and country, for those who can produce a title to it, which many an unfortunate farmer cannot. By accounts from the north, wool is at last making a start, although at a low price. Two of our Essex landed gentlemen, Mr. Tower and Mr. Westerne, have, as we conceive, rationally and meri- toriously, persevered in the breeding and improvement of Merino sheep— two of which, the property of Mr. Westerne, have lately been slaughtered in London, of the weight of eleven stone, at three years old, the animals wearing their wool unshorn to that period. The weight of mutton obtained is probably of most consequence in the case, since length of staple is not the prime object in fine wool. Mr. Tower, with a sound judgment, has adopted the plan of winter sheltering and well feeding his Merino sheep — the mode, and the only mode, which has enabled the sheep- farmers of the Continent to excel us in the fineness of clothing- wool. This seems to have been so prolific a season for fruit, the grape more especially, and for all garden productions, that the tax of spring blight will not be felt. The metropolis was never more early or more plen- teously supplied with every necessary. The horse markets are overdone with numbers —not, indeed, of good ones, which was never the case, even in England. The Corn 1 827.] Monthly Agricultural Report. \ 03 Bill has suffered an unexpected side-blow, the effect of which will be the introduction of a new bill. This proceeding is viewed by the people at large as an impolitic engrossing of the precious time of the legislature, so greatly in request for a multitude of the most important national objects. Smithfield.—Eeef, 4s. to 5s. 4d. —Mutton, 4s. to 5s. 2d.— Veal, 5s. to 6s.— Pork, 5s, to 6s. -Lamb, 5s. to 6s. 4d.— Raw fat, 2s. 7d. Corn E xc hange.-~ Wheat, 54s. to 74s. — Barley, 44s. to 50s. — Oats, 21s. to 42s.— Bread, 9£d. the 4 Ib. loaf.— Hay, 70s. to 140s.— Clover ditto, IOOs. to 160s.— Straw 38s. to 48s. Coals in the Pool, 28s. to 38s. 9d. per chaldron. Middlesex, June 18, 1827. MONTHLY COMMERCIAL REPORT. Sugar. — The Sugar Market continues brisk, and there is a good demand for Muscovadoes for town trade. The grocers have purchased freely during this last month, and the stock in the West-India Dock is considerably reduced. The prices of Jamaicas may be quoted at 46s. to 66s. per cwt. Cotton. — The Cotton Market, both here and at Liverpool, continues very dull. Prices are nominal, and no sales of any consequence have been effected. Coffee — Remains dull and heavy in the market, for want of orders from the Continent ; and the home consumption, at this season of the year, is very dull ; therefore, prices are nominal. Rum, Hollands, and Brandy. — The former article is in demand, for fine old Jamaioas are worth 4s. per gallon; Leward Islands, 2s. 6d. ; but Hollands and Brandy are dull of sale, and prices nominal. Hemp, Flax, and Tallow — Are without alteration in price ; and sales continue very dull, particularly in Tallow. Course of Foreign Exchange.— Amsterdam, 12. 7. — Rotterdam, 12. 7. — Antwerp, 12. 8.— Hamburgh, 37. 6.— Altona, 37. 7.— Paris, 25. 85.— Bordeaux, 25. 85.— Berlin, 0. — Frankfort on the Main, 144^. —Petersburg, 9£. — Vienna, 10.21. — Trieste, 10.21.— Naples, 38|.— Palermo, 4 4|.— Lisbon, 58|.— Oporto, 58|.— Gibraltar, 34.— Cadiz, 34. — Bilboa, 34.— Seville, 33|. — Barcelona, t34.— Buenos Ayres, 43. Bullion per Oz. — Foreign Gold in bars, £3. 17s. 6d.-— New Doubloons, £3. Os.— New Dollars, 4s. 9d.— Silver in bars, standard 4s. 1 Id. Premiums on Shares and Canals, and Joint-Stock Companies, at the Office of WOLFE, BROTHERS; 23, Change Alley, Cornhill.— Birmingham CANAL, 295/.— Coventry, 1250J. — Ellesmere and Chester, 1051.— Grand Junction, 31 11. — Kennet and Avon, 251. 5s.— Leeds and Liverpool, 395J.— Oxford, 700J.— Regent's, 2SJ. 55.— Trent and Mersey, 1,800/. —Warwick and Birmingham, 285J.— London DOCKS, 84*. 1 0*.— West- India, 200/. 10s.— East London WATER WORKS, 1237. — Grand Junction, 63/. — West Middlesex, 66J.— - Alliance British and Foreign INSURANCE.— 1£ dis.— Globe, 151/. — Guardian, 19/. 10s. — Hope, 5^. — Imperial Fire, 93Z.— GAS-LIOHT, Westminster Chartered Company, 611. — City Gas- Light Company, 165/.— British, n^dis.— Leeds, J95J. [JULY, ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BANKRUPTCIES, announced between the 2lst of May and the 2lst of June 1827 ; extracted from the London Gazette. BANKRUPTCIES SUPERSEDED. Ailsup, G. Holy well, Flintshire, maltster Allan, J. Truro, Cornwall, tea-dealer Barnes, T. Wittershain.Kent, linen-draper Bowman, R. late of Boughton-Malherbe, Kent, • grocer Crofts, G. Wycombe-marsh, Buckinghamshire, paper-maker Gregson, E. Habergamheaves, Lancashire, cotton- spinner .Harrison, H. Knutsford, Chester, merchant Heill, G. Compton-street, Clerkenwell, baker Randall, S. Ilminster, Somersetshire, victualler BANKRUPTCIES. [This Month 119.] Solicitors' Names are in Brackets. Bancks, C. Latebrook, Staffordshire, dealer. [Ro- binson and Co., Dudley; Wimburn and Co., Chancery-lane Bracewell. J. Liverpool, coal-merchant. [Foster, Liverpool ; Jayes, Chancery-lane Bailey, J. late of Horncastle, Lincolnshire, iron- monger. [Eyre and Co., Gray's-inn ; Selwood, Horncastla Berthon, J. late of Liverpool, merchant. [Had- field and Co., Manchester ; Hurd and Co., Tem- ple Bretton, H. Oxford-street, woollen-draper. [Phipps, weaver's-halt, Basinghall-street Brimmell, J. Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire, rope- man uf a cturer. [Boustield, Chatham - place ; Winterbotham, Tewkesbury Brockbank, J. junior, Whitehaven, Cumberland, spirit -dealer. [Falcon, Elm-court, Temple; Hodgson and Son, Whitehaven Burridge, R. Chenies - street, Bedford -square, builder. [Beverley, Garden-court, Temple Barnes, T.Wittersham, IsleofOxney, K-ent.linen- ' draper. [Hoar and Co., Maidstoue ; Egan and Co., Essex-street, Strand Burgess, R. late of Rainham, Kent, brick-maker. fGresham, Barnard's-inn, Holborn Beswick, G. and I. Beckley, Dover-street, Picca- ' dilly, hotel-keepers. [Gates, Lombard-street Barham, J. T. Bread-street, Cheapside, lace-dealer. [Evans and Co., Gray's inn-square Badnoll, R. Leek, Staffordshire, banker. [James, Charlotte-row, Mansion-house. 'Bellchambers, E. Gloucester, printer. [King and Co., Gray's-inn square ; Reed, Cheltenham Baynard, E. Deptford, wine-merchant. [Wil- liams and Co., Gray's-inn Eidmead, W. Cheltenham, plasterer. [Packwood, Cheltenham; King, Hatton-garden Cook, W. Exeter, saddler. [Adlington and Co., Bedford-row ; Furlong, Northinghay, Exeter Cleminson, J. Salford, rope-maker. [Perkins and Co., Gray's-inn-square ; Thompson, Manches- ter Cosserat, J. N. P. Torquay, Devonshire, money- scrivener. [Kitson, jun., Torquay ; Bicknell and Co., Lincoln's-inn Collis, G. Romford, Essex, ironmonger. [Fair- thorne and Co., King-street, Cheapside Cross, G.Chalcroft -terrace, Lambeth, corn chand- ler. [Elgie, Old Jewry Clarke, F. alia ias Clerk, Great Yarmouth, Norfolk, butcher. [Worship, Great Yarmouth ; Frances, New Bosw ell-court. Cousins, S. W. Norton - falgate, linen - draper. [James, Bucklersbury. Campion, J. Guisbrough, Yorkshire, grocer. [Lowe, Temple; Clarke, Guisbrough. Cole, T. East Stonehouse, Plymouth, plumber. [Pontifex, St. Andrew's-court, Holborn Croft, R. and S. Cheapside, lacemen. [Brooking and Co. Lombard-street Demaine, J. Preston, draper. [Hurd and Co., Temple ; Buckley, Manchester Daniel, G. jun., Birmingham, merchant. [Amory and Co.. Throgmorton - street ; Parkes, Bir- mingham Davis, .F and P. Woodnorth, Whitehaven, earthen- ware-manufacturers. [Perry, Whitehaven ; Clen- nell, Staple-inn Edwards, H. Cheltenham, brick-maker. [White, Lincol»'s-inn ; Whitley and Co., Cirencester. English, F. Birmingham,' draper. [Burman, Bir- mingham ; Walker, Lincoln's-inn-fields Finney, C. Derby, cabinet-ma'ker. [Moulsey and Co., Derby ; Fen and Co., Henrietta-street, Co- vent-garden. Ford, J. Reading, Berkshire, bricklayer. [Bart^ lett, Reading; Ford, Great Queen-street, Lin- coln's-inn-fields Fox.G. R. Blatkheath, merchant. [Swin and Co., Frederick's-place, Old Jewry Femvick, T. Gateshead, Durham, woollen-draper. [Bell and Co., Bow-church-yard ; Willis and Co., Gateshead. Fernihougli, J. Frognell, Staffordshire, timber- merchant. [Barber, Fetter lane ; Brandon and Co.,Cheadle Fisher, J. Birmingham, draper. [Holme and Co., New-inn ; Slater, 'Birmingham Fairbotham, J. otherwise J. Fairbothams, Naffer- * ton, Yorkshire, coal-merchant. [Ellis and Co., Chancery-lane ; Scotchbum, Great Dufficld Greaves, W. H. New -court, Crutched - friars, druggist. [Richardson, Ironmonger-lane, Cheap- side Gregory, J. Sun-street, Bishopsgate-strcet, gro- cer. [Adlington and Co.,' Bedford-row Goddard J. and A. F. Cope, Walworth, sugar- refiners. [Lloyd, Bartlett's buildings, Holborn Gunson, R. Buck'lersbury, warehouseman. [Fowel and Co., Nicholas-lane Garese, D. Hackney-road, merchant. [Bown'.an, Union-court, Broad-street Graves, I. Richmond-place, East-street, Wal- worth, sugar-refiner. [Lloyd, Bartlett's-build- ings, Holborn. Haldy, F. Craven-street, Strand, wine-merchant. [Isaacs, Bury-street, St. Mary-axe Hedges, C. Aldermanbury, warehouseman. [Tho- mas and Co, New Basinghall-street Howell, T. and I. Howell, junior, Bath, uphol- sterers. [Jones, Crosby-square, Bishopsgate- street ; Hellings, Bath Hetherington, H .Kingsgate-street,Holborn, printer. [Green and Co., Sambroke-court, Basinghall- street Killer, F. T. Dover, Kent, builder. [Shipden and Co., Dover,; Abbott and Co., Pecks-buildings, Temple Haslem, J. Bolton-le-moors, Lancashire, tripe- dresser. [Adlington and Co., London ; Cross and Co., Bolton-le-moors Hunt, — Blakenham Parva, Suffolk, lime-burner. [Rodwell and Co., Ipswich ; Bridges and Co., Red-lion-square Holliug, J. Nether Knutsford, Chester, dealer. [Cole, Serjeant's-inn, Fleet-street ; Dumville, Knutsford Hay, E. W. Oxford-street, tobacconist. [Ford, Great Queen-street, Westminster. Jeffreys, I. Lambeth, ironmonger. [Webb and Co., Dean-street, Southwark Jefferies, I. St. Phillip and Jacob, Gloucestershire, victualler. [Keene, Furnival's-inn ; Frankis, Bristol Jones, E. Compton-street, Soho, grocer. [Amory and Co., Throgmorton-street Joyce, I. and I. HouSman, Smith-street, Northamp- ton-square, colour-manufacturers. [Dax and Co., Holborn-court, Gray's-inn Jennings, J. W. Birmingham, factor. Norton and Co., Gray's-inn-square ; Wills, Birmingham Jackson, J. St. Swithin's-lane, shipowner. [God- mond, Nicholas-lane, Lombard-street Jones, E. W. Tewkesbury, Scrivener. [Platt, New Boswell-court ; Beale, Upton-upon-Se- vern Kenyon, J. Blackburn, glass dealer. [Holme find Co, New-inn ; Meredith, Birmingham 182?.] Bankrupts. 105 Kieran, W. Great George-street, Bermondsey, but- ter-merchant. [Keene, Furnival's-inn Leaker, G. F. Bristol, earthenware-dealer. [King, and Co., Gray's-inn-square ; Gary and Co., Bris- tol Latham, J. Liverpool, wine and spirit-merchant. [Jones, Liverpool ; Jones, Pump-court, Temple Loveland, W. Bermondsey, shipwright. [Whiting, London Bridge-foot, Southwark Lee. J. Leicester, corn-dealer. [Milner and Co., Temple ; Cape, Leicester Lomax, J. Stockport, bookseller. [Back, Veru- lam-buildings, Gray's - inn ; Newton and Co., Heaton-norris, near Stock-port Lloyd, A. Dolgelly, Merionethshire, grocer. [Clarke and Co., Chancery-lane; Williams, Shrewsbury. Mera, J. L. Market-row, Oxford-market, vic- tualler. [Turner, Clifford's-inn Miller, W. late of Roehampton, Surrey, butcher. [Turner, Percy-street, Bedford-square Moiton, W. Great Carter-lane, Doctor's Commons, plumber. Hewitt, Tokenhouse-yard Mclntyre, — Stockwell-park, Surrey, schoolmaster. [Ewington, Bond-court, Walbrook Manington, T. Hastings, ironmonger. [Parker and Co., Sheffield ; Bishop and Co., Hastings ; Walter, Symonds-inn Nightingale, E. Manchester, porter-dealer. [At- kinson, Manchester; Makinson and Co., Tem- ple Nightingale, E. and G. Worthy, Manchester, por- ter-dealers. [Hurd and Co., Temple; Had- iield and Co. .Manchester Nathan. I. Wellington-place, Shepherd's-bush, music-seller. [King, Hatton-garden Pullan, S. P. Knaresborough, Yorkshire, money- scrivener. [Adlington and Co. Bedford-row ; Watson and Co., Liverpool Plunkett, W. and I. Whitechapel-road, iron- monger. [Ashley and Co., Tokenhouse-yard Pearson, T. Mitre-court, Fleet-street, wine-mer- chant, [Robinson, Walbrook Parsons, W. Melksham, Wiltshire, rope-maker [Moule and Co., Melksham; Frowd and Co., Lincoln's-inn Price, T. St. Clement's-lane, victualler, [Bean, Friar-street, Blackfriar's-road Pimiinger, W. and W. Pinninger, junior, Calne, Wiltshire, clothiers. [Parker, Dyer's-buildings, Holborn Phillips, H. Stepney-house, Yorkshire, merchant. t Edmonds, Exchequer -office, Lincoln's -inn ; age, Scarborough Phillips, G. Brighthelmstone, confectioner. [Free- man, Brighton; Freeman and Co., Coleman- street Pinnington, D. Queen-head-yard, Great Queen- street, Lincoln's-inn-fields,horse-dealer. [Smith, New Clement's-inn Chambers Pasheller, C. and I. Huntingdon, bankers. [Sweet- ing and Co., Huntingdon ; Lowe and Co., South- ampton-buildings, Chancery-lane Parkis, J. Regent-street, oilman. [Duncombe, Lyon's-inn Paraguen, J. Francis - street, Tottenham-court- road, baker. [Routledge, Furnival's-inn Robinson, R. Hastings, Sussex, grocer. [Mil- ler, Rye, Sussex ; Miller, Great James-street, Bedford-row Robson, E. Newcastle-upon-Tyne, saddler. [Py- bus, Newcastle-upon Tyne ; Swain and Co., Frederick's-place, Old Jewry Rutherford, T. Agnes-place, Waterloo-road, m«r- [chant. Burn, Raymond-buildings, Gray's- inn Richards, G. Argoed, Monmouthshjre, grocer. [Smith and Co., Red-lion-square ; Franklyn, Bristol Ross, G. and W. Hammond, Strand, wine-mer- chants. [Paterson and Co. Old Broad-street Regnardin, A. Great Winchester-street, wine- merchant. [Ogle, Great Winchester-street Reynolds, H. Cheltenham, saddler. [Watson and Co., Falcon-square ; Smollenge, Cheltenham Rose, W. Strand, music-seller. [Drawbridge, Arundel-stieet, Strand Ralph, T. Crutched-friars, surgeon. [Fitzgerald and Son, Laurence Poultny-hill, Cannon-street Rich, J. Lime-street, merchant. [Owen, Mark- lane Rcdpatb, 0. Greenwich, Kent, builder. [Atkins and Co., Fox Ordinary-court, Lombard-street Smith, S. Hastings, Sussex, innkeeper. [Kell, Battle ; Ellis and Co., Holborn-court, Gray's- inn Stratford, D. W. Ripley, Derbyshire, grocer. [Hall, Alfreton ; Hall and Co. New Boswell- court Spooner, C. Chelsea, linen-draper. [Ewington, Bond-court, Walbrook Strubell, R. East Moulsey, Surrey, carpenter. [Guy, Hampton-wick, Middlesex ; and King- ston, Surrey Smithers, I. H. Liverpool, provision-merchant. Mawdsley, Liverpool ; Adlington and Co., Bed- ford-row Sadler, J. Jermyn-street, wine merchant. [Score, Copthall-buildings Salmon, W. Rltham, Kent, victualler. [Cookney, Bedford-row Stockall, I. Bedford-street, Covent-garden, wool- len-draper. [Scarth, Lyon's-inn Scholetield, W. Wardleworth, Rochdale, shop- keeper. [Norris, John-street, Bedford - row ; Sweet and Co.,Basinghall-street Smith, M. H. Little Chester-street, Grosvcnor- place, stone-mason. [LJurgoyne and Co., Duke- Street, Manchester-square Tilston, T., Tilston, T. and I. Jones, Mold, Flint- shire, ironfounders. [Roberts, Mold ; Milne and Co., Temple Tarralst, T. Bath, haberdasher. [Hamilton and Co., Berwick-street, Soho Watlin, J. Leicester-place, Leicester-square, piano- forte maker. [Gangrave, Leicester-place, Lei- cester-square Walke, A. and J. Sanders, King-street, Cheapside, victuallers. [Quallelt and Co., Prospect-row, Dockhead, Bermondsey Waters, W. Luton, Bedfordshire, baker. [Au- brey, Tooke's-court, Chancery-lane ; W illis, Luton Wren, T. Preston, Lancashire, ironmonger. [Hurd and Co., King's Bench-walk, Temple ; Trough- ton and Co., Preston Webb, J. Stioud, Gloucestershire, draper. [Green and Co., Sambroke-court, Basinghall-street Woffall, W. C. Worcestershire, glove-manufac- turer. [Holdsworth and Co. Worcester ; White, Lincoln' s-inn Wortley, N. W. Uppingham, Rutlandshire, dealer. [Clowes and Co., King's Bench-walk, Temple Worrall, T. H. St. John's-street, West SmithneM, wine-merchant. [Hindmarch and Co., Crescent, Jewin-street, Cripplegate ECCLESIASTICAL Rev. I. H. Seymour, to the Prebend of St. Mar- garet's, Leicester.— Rev. T. H. Elwin, to the Rec- tory of East Barnet, Herts.— Bev. R. G. Harris, to the Rectory of Letterston, Pembroke. — Rev. J. Griffith, to he Domestic Chaplain to the Lord Chancellor. — Rev. J. Morris, to he Domestic Chaplain to Lord Lynedock. — Rev. W. Levett, to be Sub-dean of York Cathedral.— Rev. E.T.Bid- MM. New Series.— Vol.. IV. No. 19. PREFERMENTS. well, to the Rectory of Orcheston, St. Mary, Wilts. —Rev. H. Roberts, to the Rectory of Baxterley, Warwick. — Rev. G. Evans, land Institution for promoting the Fine Arts has been recently opened, and has displayed a variety of good pictures. The Newcastle Sunday School Union Society held its anniversary meeting on Whit-Tuesday; when upwards of 3,000 children, and 300 teachers were present. By the report, it appeared that the society has under its fostering care 117 schools, 12,818 children, taught by 2,161 gratui- tous teachers! !! Friday, June 8, theHylton Jolliffe steam-packet, arrived at Newcastle from London, being her first voyage. She left the metropolis on Wednesday morning at 7, and reached Shields at 5 on Friday morning. She has two engines of 100 horse- power, and is 300 tons burthen. The railway from Witton to Stockton, a distance of 25 miles, was formed for the conveyance of coals, and such has been its effect in lowering the expence of carriage, that coals, which formerly sold at 18s. per ton, in Stockton, are now sold there for 8s. 6d. The railway passes through Darlington, which is at a distance of 12 miles from Stockton, and two coaches now travel the road daily, conveying great numbers of passengers, at the rate of a penny per mile each. These ve- hicles are the bodies of old six-inside coaches, placed upon new and lower wheels, fitted for th# railway : they are drawn by a single horse, which often draws 20 to 30 passengers, at the rate of 10 miles an hour, with quite as much ease as a horse moves in a gig; indeed the traces are generally loose, and his principal effort is to maintain his speed. On the 2/th of May, a thunder-storm visited Newcastle, and the eJectric fluid struck the house of Mr. Swan, shattering the chimney, and passing (being conducted by the bell-wires) along the edge of the ceiling and a bed room beneath, leaving traces of its fiery progress in the tinged papering of the room. There were twelve persons in the house, none of whom were hurt. The lightning also struck a goose dead, which was swimming with others at the White-mare Pool, between New- castle and Sunderland ; its under jaw was split, and it was burnt down the belly. A new Roman Catholic Chapel was opened at Durham on the 31st of May; and one at Darling- ton on the 29th. Married.'] At Cheter-le-street, E. Wylam, esq., to Miss Bird.— At Newcastle, Mr.Tulloch,to Miss Hirst.— At St. Helen's, Auckland, Mr. J. Quart, to Miss Routledge. Died.] At Sunderland, 101, W. Geddes.— At Northallerton, Miss P. Gabrielli.— At Alnwick, 92, Mrs. Wilson.— At Glanton, 88, Mrs. B. Wake. — At Newcastle, 82, J. Thompson, esq. — At Gates- head, 76, Mrs. Randyll.— At Esh Loude, Rev. J. Yates, who for 40 years bad been a zealous minister of the Roman Catholic religion. — At Birch's Nook, 101, Mr. J. Green.— At Ayton, near Stokesley, the Rev. W. Deason. YORKSHIRE. As an undoubted proof of the improvement which has recently taken place in the Sheffield trade, we are enabled to state, that the applications to the overseers for relief, have for some time past been rapidly decreasing, and in a late week only eight were applied for ; whereas for some time past the average was eighty per week. We are likewise happy to state that trade is improving at Leeds also. As two persons were lately walking along the shores of the Humber, in the township of Welwick, south-west of the church, they discovered, at the foot of the clay cliff, about 60 yards from the foot of the present bank, which is not a modern one, and 13 inches under the general surface, some- thing like the corner of a wooden chest or coffin, which the tides had recently laid bare. Curiosity induced them, with much labour, to uncover it, when it proved to be a coffin of strong oak plank, which had been originally two inches think, well joined together, battened across both above and below in three places, and made double at the ends. It was a perfect parallelogram or long square, measuring 7 feet 1 inch long, and 1 foot 10 inches wide within— a space which the corpse seems to have fully occupied, as the bones of the skeleton extended very near the whole length. The skull (which is in the possession of a profes- sional gentleman at Patrington), is large, and re- markably prominent about the eyebrows. About a P 2 108 Provincial Occurrences : Stafford, Salop, $ c. [JULY, yard without the spot where the corpse had been deposited, is the site of an ancient bank, and it may be supposed that the body was buried when that bank was in existence ; but at what period it is not easy to say. The teeth were good and per- fect, and it is conjectured the person had been a man of middle age, and, from the strength and goodness of the coffin, to have been no ordinary personage. After a diligent search, nothing was found likely to lead to further discovery, and the remains, except the skull, were re-interred. Pro- bably this is the site of the abbey of Burstall, part of which was standing not a century ago. In the night of the 23d of May, three men en- tered the house of Mr. Shackellton, a lone man- sion, at Greave, in the parish of Wadsworth, a wild and uncultivated part of the county of York. After having plundered the house, one of them shot Mr. Shackellton in the back, who almost im- mediately expired. They got off, and have not ytt been apprehended. At the review of the Yorkshire Hussars, on the 28th of May, upon Knavesmire, near York, the officers presented Lord Grantham, their com- mander, with a splendid piece of plate, of the ralue of .£450, and weighing 300 ounces, as a mark of their respect and esteem. A singular circumstance occurred at Mr. John Bulmer's, of Lane House, near Bedale, on Sunday last, the 10th June. A hive of bees cast for the third time within twelve days ; and another swarm, which had lived during last summer in the bole of an old tree, cast upon the top of the tree, from whence they were safely brought down, the per- sons employed escaping without a single sting- It was curious to observe a new swarm of bees on the top of this tree, whilst there was an old swarm in the bole, and a duck sitting on her eggs at the bottom. Married.] At Eastrington, J. Farrar, esq., to Miss E. Robinson.— At Rotherham, F. Holcombe, esq., to Miss Walker.— At York, Hugh Powell, esq., to Miss Wilkes; Hale Munro, esq., to Miss Mac Dowgall. — At Leeds, M. Langdale, esq., to Miss Barhill.— At Swine, J. Aldorson, esq., to Miss Harrison.— At Northallcrton, N. Smith, esq., to Miss Irvine.— At Sirsayingham, the Rev. C. Binns, toMissW.i' -a. Died.'] At Redcar, J. Maddington, esq.— At York, M. Botterill, esq. — At Middlesmoor, the Rev. T. Lodge.— At Leeds, Mrs. Kirkley,and Mrs. Granger.— At Leeds, W. Petty, esq.— At York, 90, Mrs. Gelson ; she received the sacrament at church in the morning, went home rather unwell, and died before eight o'clock in the evening. — At Lawley-hall, C. Norton, esq.— At Halifax, 91, Gamaliel Breary ; he served in the army 33 years, and was at the battle of Minden : he had been a pensioner 26. — At Gisburn-park, Miss Lister, sister to Lady Ribblesdale. STAFFORD AND SALOP. The disbursements of the public stock last year for the county of Salop, amounted to .£10,406. 8s. Id. in which .£3,267. 5s. 8d. was charged for the Jail and House of Correction, and .£2,329. 10s. 5d. for bridges and roads. A petrifaction, resembling part of the trunk of a tree towards the butt, was recently found in the Moat Colliery, Tipton, Stafford. It measured in length 2 feet 4 inches, and in circumference 4 feet 10 inches, with the bark formed into coal ; it was in nearly an upright position among the strata of ironstone, at the depth of upwards of 200 yards below the surface, and which, in the exit action of it was broken from the upper part of the trunk, which still remains in the earth. On the exposure of this fossil to the atmospheric air, the coal formed from the bark shivered from the trunk. The proprie- tors of the colliery mean to send it to the British Museum. The new church at Bilston has recent'y been opened for public service, when nearly .£300 was collected. Married ] At Highley.T. Rose, esq., to Miss A. Evans.— At Ellesmere, the Rev. T. Golightly, to Miss F. Boydell.— At Dudley, Mr. Bloxedge, to Miss M. Bond.— At Bromneld, W. Lloyd, esq., to Miss Tench. — At Wolverhampton, B. Gardner, esq., to Miss Glover. Died.'] At Quinton-house, S3, A. Foley, esq. —At Pipe-gate.T. Latham, esq.— At Bridgnorth,66, Mr. J. Pugh, supposed to be the heaviest man in the county, his weight being twenty score pounds ; his body was borne to the grave by 16 men. — At the Wyie-cop, 86, Mrs. Hughes.— At Madeley, 75, W. Yonee, esq.— At Little Eaves, Bucknall, 105, Mr. W. Willett. LANCASHIRE. We are glad to state that the recent Improve- ments In trade have not been confined to Man- chester alone, but that they have extended to Wigan, Blackburn, Burnley, Colne, &c., where the weaver*, we are informed, are all in full employ. Died,\ At Manchester, 84, I. Touchett, esq.— At Walton-hall, Liverpool, T. Leyland, esq., be- lieved to be worth .£1,500,000. NOTTINGHAM AND LINCOLN. A new workhouse, for the parish of St. Mary, Nottingham, has been commenced. The Methodists of the New Connexion, at Bos- ton, have purchased a piece of ground for the site of a new, large, and commodious chapel. The Primitive Methodists are erecting a chapel at New Radford. By the annual report, recently made, of the Not- tingham Auxiliary Missionary Society, it appears that the number of members on station of this society, amounts to 33,152; the receipts for last year to .£45,380. 17s. 2d.; and that 12,000 children are educated in their schools. Died.] At Mansfeld, 77, Mr. E. Clifton; 83, Mr. J, Shipham ; 84, Mrs. Sykes.— At Notting- ham, 83, Mr. Heron. — At Beeston, 81, Mrs. Good- all.— At Nottingham, 79, D. Love; he was well- known as a poet in his neighbourhood. DERBY AND CHESTER. By the abstract of the account of expenditure under the Derby improvement act, it appears that from March 31, 1826, to March 31, 1827, it amount- e*d to the sum of .£6,522. 6s. 2^., out of which sum upwards of.£3,500 were expended in foot-pave- ments, carriage-roads, scavengers and labourers, wages, watering and lighting the streets. Married.] At Doveridge, F. B. Page, esq.. to Miss M. Smith. Died.] At Edge-hill, Chester, T. C.Dod, esq.— At Hulland, 74, T. Borough, esq. — At Spondon, 74, Mfs. Rowbotha.n.— 85, W. Cox, esq., of Culland- hall, Derby.— At Tabley-hall, Lord de Tabley.— At Nantwich, 70, the Rev. J. Smith.— At Codnor- park, 81, C. Royston, esq. — At Little Brompton, 72, Mr. J. Hutchinson ; he had been in the em- ploy of Messrs. Smith and Co., of the Brompton Foundry, upwards of half a century. LEICESTER AND RUTLAND. Coal has lately been discovered on some land at Ibstcck, within 12 miles of Leicester, and also on 1827.] Warwick, Northampton, Worcester, Hereford, fyc. 109 Bagworth Heath, making the fourth discovery of this useful article which has been made in the same neighbourhood within the last few weeks. Lord Maynard's workmen have been employed in boring for more than twelve months, but their efforts were not crowned with success till the other day, when the gratifying fact was commu- nicated to the neighbouring villages by the ring- ing of the bells of Thornton church. This disco- very is an event of the first importance to the in- habitants, and must prove a great benefit to all classes, especially if a rail-road should be esta- blished for the purpose of conveyance : similar advantages would thus be felt here as those speci- fied above in Northumberland and Durham. Considerable activity, we are happy to say, pre- vails in the hosiery business at Leicester. Died.] At Leicester, 85, N. Cooper, esq.; 50 years of which he held a commission in the Leices- tershire Militia; and Miss Flint.— At Earl SM1- ton, Mr. Thorneloe.— 81, Mr. W. Ellis, of Ashby- de-la-Zouch. NORTHAMPTON. Married.'] Atlsham, Mr. Manton, to Miss C. H. Norman. Died.] At Kettering, 94, Mrs. Humphrey.— -At Northampton, 62, Rev. J. Stoddart: for more than 30 years head-master of the grammar-school there. WORCESTER AND HEREFORD. The twelfth exhibition of the Ross Horticultural Society was of the most splendid description, and was attended by all the first families round the neighbourhood. The grand stand was covered with 300 geraniums (in full bloom) and green- house plants ; 350 bottles were filled with beauti- ful tulips, besides a rich variety of other speci- mens of flowers. The needle trade at Redditch, &c., we are happy to say, is on the improving state. Died.] At Mansel-lacey, 87, Mr. W. Lloyd ; 78, Mrs. Davies.— At Worcester, E. Long, esq.— At Hereford, Mrs. Ann Griffith.— At Stourbridge, 81, Mr. J. Dovey ; he was the first person who in- troduced glass-cutting into Staffordshire. GLOUCESTER AND MONMOOTH. A complete and most satisfactory trial was made last week of the improvements at the Old Passage Ferry. The steam-packet began crossing the Severn on Wednesday, and has already con- veyed several thousand passengers, besides many hundred horses and carriages of all descriptions. The cattle, which have been unusually numerous at the Ferry, in consequence of the late fairs, were carried over in the proper boats for that purpose, and occasionally towed by the steam-vessel when required by the state of the wind and tide. The oldest inhabitant at Beachley does not remember so large a concourse at the Ferry. On Wednesday, also, the first direct coach was started between Chepstow and London. The Old Passage Ferry is now separated from the inns, and placed under the management of a respectable superintendant. The fares are reduced considerably ; and the Di- rectors of the Association publicly state, that they are ready to encourage all descriptions of con- veyances on the roads communicating with the Ferry, and to accommodate the public in visiting Tintern-abbey, Wyndcliff, Piercefield, and the other celebrated attractions of the neighbourhood of Chepstow. Married.] At Ragland, Mr. Allan to Miss Chambers. — At Stroud, Mr. Randall, to Miss Hogg.— At Clifton, the Hon. J. Southwell, to Miss M. Farmer.— At Cheltenham, A. H. Hinu- ber, esq., to Susanna Elizabet-'i, daughter of Sir Rupert George, bart. Died.] At Coombhay, 86, Rev. E. Gardiner, rector of Tintern Pavva. — At Stroud, Mrs. Sandys. —At Monmoutli, Mr. Richards.— At Nailsworth, Mrs. Westley. OXFORDSHIRE. Oxford has now coaches to all parts of the king- dom; and great benefit has already arisen from the improvement of the hills and roads generally between London and Birmingham, and London and Cheltenham. The very great alterations made in Stokenchurch hill, that of Long Compton, and the whole line of road between London and Holy- head, have made it, in point of travelling, equal to any in the kingdom. Married.] At Oxford, D. V. Durell, esq., to Miss M. Le Breton.— At Iffley, W. Cole, esq., to Miss Rebecca Wootten.— At Oxford, S. Miller, esq., to Miss Barry. Died.] At Henley, 75, T. Theobald, of the So- ciety of Friends.— At Coomhe-lodge, 72, S. Gar- diner, esq. — At Hampton, 87, Mrs. A. Johnson.— At Abingdon , Mrs. Badcock. HANTS AND SUSSEX. A meeting of the inhabitants and visitors of Brighton has lately been held, for the purpose of taking into consideration the best means of render- ing the method invented by Mr. Vallance, for the conveyance of passengers and goods by atmosphe- ric pressure, beneficial to the town of Brighton ; when, after the report was read, seveial resolu- tions were entered into, expressing their strong approbation of the plan, as being entitled to the most cordial support of the town. Married.] At Clatford, H. Bosanquet, esq., to Miss Richards. Died.] At Winchester, the Right Hon. Lady Mary Murray. HERTS. Two destructive fires have lately happened at Hemel Hempstead and Cottenham. At the former no lives were lost ; but at the latter, a poor boy (W. Carrier) in attempting to save his clothes, was burnt to a mere cinder ; and another poor man is suffering from the effects of the fire. It appears no insurance was made at Hemel Hempstead ; but at Cottenham a large proportion of the property was ensured. - Died.~] At Gadesbridge, Anne, wife of Sir Ast- ley Cooper, bart. ESSEX AND KENT. The choice collection of tulips, belonging to the late Mr. Andrews, of Coggeshall, has lately been disposed of by public auction. The best bed of 80 rows (7 flowers in each) fetched .£222 ; one row, in which was an extraordinary fine Louis 16tb, sold for .£19. 15s. The whole realized upwards of .£300. Lately, some workmen, employed In digging stone at Boughton-hall, near Maidstone, disco- vered bones and teeth of several animals, some of which were transmitted to the Geological So- ciety. As they were found to be those of the hyena, considerable interest was in consequence excited, and it was determined that some of the Fellows should examine the quarry, as there seemed reason to conclude that a ca\e might be found 110 Provincial Occurrences: Cambridge, Norfolk, $c. £JuLY, there like that of Kirkdale, in Yorkshire. Ac- cordingly Dr. Buckland, Mr. Lyvell, and several other scientific gentlemen have visited Boughton, when tt was discovered that the bones in question had been found in a fissure of the rock, which had evidently been filled up by diluvial action. The bones of at least two hyenas (of the extinct Kirk- dale species), were found, together with the bones and teeth of the horse, rat, &c.; but the fissure extended so deeply in the solid rock, that it could not be traced to the bottom, and it will not be pos- sible to ascertain whether it leads to a cave for- merly inhabited by hyenas, or is merely a fissure filled up by the effects of deluge, until the quarry is considerably enlarged. The fact, however, of the bones of a race of extinct hyenas having been found so far southward is highly important , and we trust that, ere long, our own county, which the researches of one gentleman have proved to be so rich in the remains of a former world, will be found to rival the north in these more com- paratively recent savage inhabitants of our island. Married.] At Cheriton, Rev. F. Twistleton, to the Hon. Emily Wingfield, daughter of Viscount Powerscouvt.— At Westerham, J. M. Leslie, esq., of Huntingdon, to Anna Sophia, daughter of Dr. Mackie, late of Southampton. Died] At Waltham Vicarage, MissE. C. Clarke. — At Eppins, 71, Mr. J. Butler.— At Harwich, the Rev. W. Whiufield. CAMBRIDGE. The South Level Act has received the Royal assent. The defective state of the rivers has been a subject of loud and general complaint for many years; they have been found equally ill adapted for the drainage of the country in the winter, as for the navigation in the summer. The leading object of the Act is the deepening and improving them, so as to afford to the navigators an unin- terrupted passage at all seasons of the year, and at the same time to benefit the general drainage, by giving a free course for the waters, and lower- ing the surface against the banks, and other works of drainage. This is one of the greatest public improvements sought to be effected in this part of the country for many years. Married.'] At Barton-mill, Rev. C. Jenkin, to Miss E. M. Walker.— At Cambridge, Rev. R. M. White, to Miss A. Sadler. NORFOLK AND SUFFOLK. Great rejoicings have taken place at Norwich in consequence of the bill for making that place a pert having past ; and amongst the various dis- plays on the memorable occasion, during the pro- cession, thirteen men and one woman, whose united ages amounted to 1,100 years, regaled themselves at one of the public-houses in a temperate way, as becoming their venerable situations, rejoicing to have lived to see such a day. The operations of the Norwich and Lowestoft Navigation Com- pany will commence, it is understood, with the for- mation of the harbour at Lake Lothing. A petition from the operatives of Norwich has been presented to the House of Commons, and ordered to be printed, praying the House to de- vise some means for settling by law the rate of wages in the city of Norwich. A very alarming riot took place lately at Nor- wich, caused by the committal of several persona to gaol, for having destroyed looms, and committed other devastations at AshweltUurpe. The calling in of the military, and the judicious arrangements of the mayor and police at length put an end- to it ; and several of the ringleaders were incar- cerated. A correspondent from Yarmouth says, the im- provement our herring curers have manifested is so great, that they obtain the high prices in the Hamburgh market usually given to the Dutch fishermen, whose goods are now looked upon only as second best. Indeed the herring fishery of Great Britain has increased 850 per cent, in the last 10 years. This fact is obtained from the last year's report made to Parliament by the Com- missioners for the Herring Fisheries, which states that in the year ending April, 1826, 379,233 bar- rels of white herrings were cured — being an in- crease of 31,600 barrels over the preceding year ; and that the quantity exported was 217,073 bar- rels— being an increase in exportation in the same period of 15,056. In the year 1810 only 34,701 barrels were cured ; the whole of which were sent out of the country. By the fifteenth annual report recently made, it appears that during the last twelve months there have been opened in Norwich, 13 daily and 10 Sunday-schools, affording instruction to 1,600 chil- dren ; the number of schools now in union with the society is 1/5, and the total of children 9,357! Married.] F. K. Eagle, esq., of Lakenheath, to Miss S. A Blake, (laughter of Sir James Blake, bart., of Langham. — At Chattisham, Rev. F. Cal- vert, to Miss S. Hicks. Died.] At Framlingham, 86, Mrs. Bucking- ham.—At Yarmouth, 84, Mr. F. Brook; and, 77, Mr. J. Armstrong.— At Stradsett-hall, T. P. Bagge, esq.— At East Dereham, 72, Mr. W. Salter.— At Norwich, A. Browne, esq.— At Yarmouth, 74, Mr. W. Fisher. DORSET AND WILTS. Notwithstanding there is now as much cloth manufactured at Trowbridge as at any preceding period, yet there are 3,000 persons unemployed ; and the poor-rates are extremely heavy : the farmers paying 20s. an acre. Mr. Spence, of Wimborne, lately hearing a sin- gular noise behind the wainscoat of one of his chambers, removed a small portion of it, and in- stantly a flight of bats rushed out, on which an attack was made ; ninety of them were killed, and, it is imagined, nearly half as many escaped. The building is ancient, and once formed part of a religious house. Sunday, June 10, a camp meeting was held In a field near Dunclift-hill, Shaftesbury, by 11 (8 men and 3 women) of the Primitive Christians, or Ranters ; the number of persons assembled was supposed to be at least 2,000. A considerable sub- scription was made on the spot for the completion of their chapel at Enmore Green, which is nearly finished. It is calculated that no less than 2,000 deer perished in Cranbourne Chase during the early months of this year ; and if we add the probable number of 1,000 supposed to have strayed feway, or been destroyed by various means of night- hunting, and in necessary defence of the farmers' and cottagers' preduce in fields and gardens, there is reason fo believe that the decrease of deer since last autumn is not less than 3,000 ! !! Married.] At Kemblc, Capt. Bentham, R.N., and Knight of St. Michael and Louis, to Emma Pelew Parker, niece of Lord Exmouth. 1827.] Somerset, Devon, Cornwall, Wales, and Scotland. Ill Died.] At Wclla, Sir J. Galbraith, bart., of Dublin, formerly crown solicitor, and M.P.-At Lyinc, Mr«. Ro«s.— At Devizes, Miss F. Elliott.— AtTrowbridge, Mr. Buckpitt. SOMEBSET AND DEVON. On Whit-Monday and Tuesday, the Dissenters- Union School, of upwards of 1,000 children, and the National School of 800, were entertained with roast beef, plurn-cakcs, cyder, &c. &c., at Frome, after attending their respective services at meeting and church ; 300 teachers attended on the part of the dissenters. A subscription of .£50 has been sent from Fromo also, for the promoting religious knowledge in Ireland. A collection of .£30 was made at Bridgewater Church lately for their infirmary, after a sermon preached for the occasion. Glastonbury Canal Bill having passed, will give immediate employment to the labouring classes of the neighbourhood ; and a mass of population, amounting to upwards of 55,000, will be supplied with many of the necessaries of life at a less price than heretofore ; an extensive market will be opened for the produce of the country round ; and a barren uncultivated track will in a few years become highly productive land. The new bridge from Teig'nmouth to Shaldon was opened June 4, with all due ceremony of pro- cession, bands of music, feasting, &c. The ceremony of laying the first stone of the new church at W'iveliscombe, took place on June 6, .when there was collected such a concourse of people as have scarcely ever assembled in that neighbourhood on any former occasion ; and amongst the public dinners, the poor charity chil- dren were not forgot ; the town was adorned with triumphal arches, festoons of laurel, roses, and other flowers. Married.] At Bath, A. Corbet, esq , of Ynysy- maengwyn. to Julia, youngest daughter of General Garstin. — R.Anstice, esq., Mayor of Bridgewater, to Miss Boys.— At Frome, Rev. E. Wilson, to Miss King.— At Bathwick, T. Allen, esq., to Mrs. M. A. Tolfrey. Died.] At Sampford Courtenay, 72, Rev. W. Beauchamp; he had been rector of that parish 32 years.— At Shepton Mallet. Lieutenant J. Tur- ner; he had been in H.M.'s service 57 years!! — At Stonehouse, 69, J. Kent, esq. — At Exeter, Mrs. Moore.— At Taunton, 86, Miss Ball.— At Lam- bridge-house, 88, Dr. Haygarth, F.R.S.— At Brad- ninch, Mr. Dewdeney.— Near Bath, Capt. Sausse, supposed to have been the last surviving officer engaged in Lord Rodney's celebrated action with Comte de Grasse.— At Sidmouth, 93, Mrs. May.— Mr. J. Heard, for 48 years parish clerk of Bick- leigh. — At Branscombe, Rev. T. Puddicombe. CORNWALL. The deputation which was lately sent from this county, from the merchants and others interested in the pilchard fishery, had an audience with the President and Vice-president of the Board of Trade, accompanied and supported by the mem- bers for Devon and Cornwall, and several of the principal land-owners in the two counties. Though the deputation received no encouragement as to the success of the principal point of their petition —the renewal of the bounty on fish— yet the Pre- sident held out hopes of something being done next year towards its more gradual reduction. Died.] At Penzance, Mr. W. L. Matthews, architect; under the direction of Mr. Repton, he drew all the elevations of Regent-street, before a single house was removed ; 77, J. Vigurs, esq.— At Towednack, 106, Mrs. Anne Martins. WALES. The annual district meeting of the Welsh Wes- leyan Methodists has been lately held at Carmar- then, when it appeared by the report that much good had been done through the medium of the printing-press and book-room established in North Wales. The congregations were exceedingly nu- merous throughout the meeting, which lasted several days. The number of members- in their society in Wales is rapidly increasing, and now amounts to 7,000. A Mariners' Church has been opened between Newport and Pilgwenlly, Monmouthshire ; being the first place of worship erected in the principality for the accommodation of seamen. A meeting has bren held of the inhabitants of Bridgend and neighbourhood, for the purpose of forming a rail-road from the Dtrffryn-Llynir rail- road to that town, when it was resolved that the capital should consist of .£6,000, to be raised by subscription of 300 shares, at .£20 each, and a committee formed to prepare a bill for next session of Parliament. A meeting has been held at the Guildhall, Swansea, for the formation of a Savings' Bank, when it was unanimously agreed to, and the Duke of Beaufort accepted the office of patron. Married.] AtTenby, J. B Beasley,esq.,toM5s§ H. M. Boater.— At Newport (Monmouth) Mr. Ven- nor, 84, to Miss Baker, 17.— At St. George's, W. Gamier, esq., to Miss S. Thistlethwaite. — AtLlan- girrig, near Llanidloes, Mr. E. Davies, 19, to Mrs. Thomas, 70, relict of the late Mr. R. Thomas, Tynymaes ; she married Mr. Thomas 55 years ago, when 15 years old. Died.] At Swansea, 71, Mrs. Wilkins. — At Lansamlet, 81, Mrs. Davies.— At Crickhowell, Mrs. G. Hood O'Neil.— At Nantyglo (Monmouth), Mrs. M. Bailey.— At Cardiff, 82, Mr. Willett.— At Lwyncwtta (Radnor), Mrs. E. Davies.— At Cow- bridge, 75, Mr. W. Meredith.— Isabel, wife of W. Crawshay, esq., of Cyfartha-castle. — At Fynon- carradog, 78, Mr. J. Roberts.— At Neath, 87, Mrs. Miers.— At Pantglass, 97, Mr. W. Samuel.— At Syddin, 101, Mr. J. Reynor., SCOTLAND. The good effects resulting from the revival of trade are becoming more and more manifest, and extending farther among the working population of the suburbs. In Calton and Bridgeton, all the cotton-mills and power-weaving-mills, and, in general, public works of every kind, are fully em- ployed ; and as the weavers are also fully em- ployed, very few idle persons are to be seen going about the streets ; indeed, it is remarked in that neighbourhood, that, generally speaking, the great body of the population have not been so well em- ployed for the last two years. This remark ad- mits of an exception in the case of labourers, who have some difficulty in finding employment — the great number of persons who were employed at labouring work during the last year by the Relief Committee, having considerably lessened the de- mand for labourers, and exhausted the usual sources of labour in this department. It is also considerably lessened by the small number of buildings that are going on this season. Died] At Kirriemuir, 100, J. Macgregor ; when, after the battle of Culloden, Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino were concealed in the woods of Glan- tanner, he was employed in carrying them daily provisions. DAILY PRICES OF STOCKS, From the 2Qth of May to the ZMh of June 1827. Bank 3 Pr. Ct. 3 Pr. U.:3iPr.Ct. 3§Pr.Ct. N4Pr.C Stuck. Hed. Consols. Consols. "Red. Ann. Long Annuities. India India Exch. Consols Slock. Bonds. Bills, for Ace. 203*J 2033204* 204* 2033204 204 2035 204 A 204 i 2033 I 204* 204F i 204 4 204 204|205* 20a_* 205* f 205 i 206 i 206 205£20G 82* 83| 84 89J 90 jbi 90* ff 92 19 3-16 £ 19ft ~ 3-16 9 3-16 5-16 19 5-16 7-16 19 5-16 19 5-1 19 19 | 7-1 19 § 7-16 19 | 7-16 19 7-16 | 19 5-16 9-16 19 11-16 13-16 19 3 13- 19 13-16 19 11-16 13-16 19 11-16 13 16 80p 83 84p 8270{r 8286p 7780p 7879p 7678p 7678p 79 80 78p 8485p 8385p 83p 84 85p 86p 5253p 52G3p 41 49p 444/p 5o59p 44 50p 48 50p 4749p 4648p 4547p 45 46p 4446p 454/p 4750p 4951p 5051p 50 51p 5051p 5051p 5052p 51 53p 52 54p 83* SIT E. EYTON, Stock Broker, 2, Cornhill and Lombard Street. MONTHLY METEOROLOGICAL REPORT, From. May ZOth to 19th June inclusive. By WILLIAM HARRIS and Co.. 50, High Holborn. 8, Therm. Barometer. De Luc's Hygro. Winds. Atmospheric Variations. 3 o g *s S' £ c "S I •< a n 9A.M. 10P.M. < p-' 9A.M. 10 P, M. 9AM. 2P.M. 10 P.M. s r S at S i o o 20 63 70 53 29 93 29 94 77 76 E W Fair Fine . Fine 21 60 72 55 30 00 30 03 73 74 NE W _ _ 63 64 55 2!) 99 2!) 94 80 89 wsw W Clo. Rain Clo.' 23 20 64 69 52 29 88 21) 59 83 92 wsw sw Rain 24 57 60 45 29 31 29 27 87 88 \v wsw Clo. 25 55 € 52 60 48 29 24 29 28 90 87 w sw Rain Rain Clo. 26 53 64 49 29 33 29 41 90 87 sw sw __ Clo. — 27 10 59 66 54 29 46 29 54 82 88 wsw ssw Fair Rain 28 60 67 56 29 58 29 69 88 92 sw sw Clo. Clo. _ 29 60 66 '52 29 6tt 29 67 85 90 sw sw — 30 63 70 57 29 75 29 69 84 78 sw sw __ __ Fine 31 63 70 52 29 67 29 67 78 83 ssw sw — ! Fair — June. 1 55 66 52 29 5/~ 29 68 88 73 sw w S.Rain _ Clo. 2 12 3 56 65 45 29 54 29 .''5 92 85 ssw w Rain Rain Fine 3 51 64 51 29 67 29 76 82 76 w wsw Fair Cio. 4 r>6 66 54 29 78 29 85 76 78 w WNW- — — — 5 59 62 48 29 75 29 50 78 82 sw w Clo. __ — 6 10 54 61 49 29 53 2d 75 82 76 WNW NW _ — _ 7 56 63 49 29 83 29 94 75 81 NNW NE Fair Fair Fine 8 54 63 52 30 07 30 16 80 76 NE . SB — Fine 9 Q 63 70 54 30 18 30 18 75 77 E NNE _ — 10 V— ' 60 71 51 30 18 30 11 77 73 NE NE • — — — 11 60 73 53 30 06 30 02 71 79 NE NE — — _ 12 59 73 53 30 01 30 03 76 82 NNE NE — _ 13 59 71 52 29 98 29 92 74 80 E\E KNE — — — 14 61 75 58 29 82 29 68 81 77 NE ENE _ _ S.Rain 15 59 69 60 29 64 29 63 92 88 E S Clo. Clo. Clo. 16 € 62 67 59 29 61 29 64 90 89 SSW SE _ _ 17 67 74 60 29 69 29 78 85 79 w SW Fair Fair — 18 63 73 57 29 85 29 85 87 87 w SW — Clo. — 19 63 71 56 29 82 29 71 76 76 w SW — — — The quantity of Rain fallen ip one day was 2 inches 12-100ths. THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Nefo Series. VOL. IV.] AUGUST, 1827. [No. 20. SKETCHES OF HAYTI.* A MOMENT'S reflection cannot fail to excite astonishment, that the history of modern Hayti has been thus long disregarded. We say disre- garded, because, most unquestionably, if there be one important part of the history of our own time on which the English reader in general is more ignorant than another, it is the transactions which have occurred in .that island during the last thirty years. Barbarities, almost unprece- dented, have been perpetrated ; a new nation has started into existence, even within sight of our own colonies ; has effected a total revolution in the most fertile of the West-India Islands ; and still no record of its progress, acknowledged to be accurate, has yet appeared. Wre con- cur, therefore, in the opinion, that a good account of the internal con- dition of Hayti, written from personal observation, appears to be one of the greatest desiderata in modern geography ;t arid we are glad to find that in the Sketches of Hayti, an attempt has been made to supply some- thing of the deficiency complained of. Before, however, we investigate the merits of Mr. Harvey's volume, it may be worth while to inquire what causes have operated during so long a period to continue the public in comparative ignorance, upon a subject which is highly interesting, both as it affects the great question of the abolition of negro slavery, and the security of our possessions in the West Indies. Has the torpor of the press been occasioned by some insuperable difficulty opposed to the ac- quirement of information ? We apprehend not. Mr. Wilberforce and many other distinguished persons in this country have long been in corres- pondence with natives of Hayti, and English residents there, and have, from time to time, been supplied with a great mass of memoires pour * Sketches of Hayti ; from the Expulsion of the French to the Death of Christ ophe. By. H. W. HARVEY, of Queen's College, Cambridge, pp. 416. 8vo. London : Seeley and Son. 1827. f Encyclopaedia Metropolitans. M.M. New Series— VOL. TV. No. 20. Q J 1 1 Sketches of Hayti. [AUG. servir d Ihistoire. Has it then proceeded from policy ? We should answer, yes. There are two great contending parties, for such they really are, who are especially interested in the subject, the planters, and the most active of the abolitionists ; and we believe that their silence has proceeded, not from a dearth of knowledge of the facts, but from the impracticability each party has experienced of giving to many of the occurrences that complexion which would forward its particular views. It is not to be supposed that the most enthusiastic abolitionists have avoided shuddering at the numerous wanton and atrocious cruelties which have been perpe- trated by the negroes ; nor can it be imagined that the planter would be so blind to his own interest as to invite the public discussion of the ques- tion, without the certainty of attaining an overwhelming triumph. His position was the defensive. If, indeed, the progress and the condition of Hayti had been referred to and enforced as an argument for the hasty abolition of slavery in our own West-India islands, then the planter might have appeared " ten thousand strong" by the use of tbe very same statements, which, if advanced without provocation, would have made him seem desirous, not so much of protecting his own property from destruction, as of advocating that horrid system of personal bondage, which in the abstract cannot be too bitterly condemned. Interest has, therefore, trammelled the parties who are most conversant with Hayti ; and thus the details of its progress have not received that attention which they seem to require. It is true, that short occasional notices have been inserted in different periodical journals ,* and in addition to several publi- cations in France,* an anonymous work was sent forth in Edinburgh in 1818, entitled " History of the Island of St. Domingo, from its disco- very by Columbus to the present period ;" still, nothing satisfactory has appeared ; and as it is high time that the veil of mystery should be thrown aside, we agree with Mr. Harvey in thinking, " that any information, however imperfect, will at this time prove peculiarly acceptable." The author informs us in his preface, that " the materials of the volume are principally derived from printed documents, procured in Hayti, and from short notes made during my residence there ;" and he adds, " I beg to state most distinctly, that I undertake to furnish nothing more than brief and imperfect sketches of Hayti, such as, I hope, may be found in- teresting to general readers." The precaution taken in the last sentence, was not unnecessary ; but we shall not quarrel with Mr. Harvey from the scantiness of his information. We regard his endeavour as likely to prove the precursor of many more, and as it is the first, so, in all probability, will it rank among the weakest. The first revolt in Hayti occurred in August, 1791; but it is wrong to attribute it principally, as the volume before us does, "to the impolicy and injustice of the planters and colonists themselves." It was the work of the French revolutionists ; and, from its commencement to its close, it ex- hibited an appalling picture of the influence of their diabolical machinations. The French system of colonization might have been bad, and, as it affected the wealth of the mother-country, it was most decidedly so. Its leading features were these : — The French planter generally looked upon his settle* * As Gregoire, de la Litter at ure des Negres, 1808; Guillernim, Precis Historigue df.s derniers Evenements de Saint Doming uet 1811 ; Regis, Memoir ~e Historique sur Touissaint UOuverture, suini d^une Notice Historique sur Petion, 1811; Civique de Gastine, Histoire de la Itfpubliqve de Haiti, 1819, Vateiloo ;' speaking of which, he observed — ' De Duke of Vellin^ton's army was all in confusion : de Duke vas all in de wrong ! and he vould lose de battle, if von vary clever Hollander had not come in de vay, and told him vat to do ; if it vas not fur dis man— dis very clever man, 1827.] Adcentures of Naufmgits. 153 Vaitderbenholdcrstein, de Duke of Vellington would have lost every ting in de vorld •' At that instant dinner was announced, and I bent my steps towards the dining-room, marvelling greatly at the profound wisdom of the said Vanderbenhol- derstein, but still more that I had never before heard mention even of his name." A tavern riot occurs here, which is laughably related ; but we like the quarrels of the little French landlord at Serampore, Monsieur Darlow, better : — " This singular character was so very irascible, as to be continually fighting, chiefly with Englishmen. In one of his contests, which were usually pugilistic, he had the ill luck to lose his right eye, and in another, the whole of his front teeth ; but sfill he remained as untameable as the hyaena j and seldom did he leave his billiard-room when any English officers were there, without having to endure the inconvenience of a temporary loss of his other eye. On these occasions he was not idle in his execrations of the * diable Anglais /' in which he indulged until his recovery was complete, when he would content himself by seizing the first opportunity of having another set-to, and, in all probability, a fresh beating. His disputes usually arose from espousing the cause of Napoleon, of whom he was an ardent admirer. To me, however, he was remarkably assiduous, from the circum- stance of my having a French lady for my wife; but not unfrequently would I find him beginning on his weak point — politics, and then Napoleon ; and when he did so, as 1 knew his real temperament so well from report, I did not feel at all dis- posed to argue the matter. When he found I did not dispute, or contradict his rhapsodies, he was in an ecstacy of joy ; and hugging me in his arms with all the fervour of a polar bear, declared — * I was, be Gar, de best Anglais dat he ever before see — a very proper Anglais ! and dat he would give me is leetel finger/ holding it up at the same time, * vit all de pleasure in de vorld P Telling him I did not require such abundant proofs of his regard as that which he proposed, but would prefer a bottle of his claret, he immediately ran down stairs, soon returning with one under each arm. and one in each hand ; the contents of which always proved so delicious, that I have sat enjoying myself very contentedly, while he began upon the achievements of Napoleon, the whole of which he used to rehearse from the beginning of his career, to the end. speaking very loud, in broken English, and with a volubility that produced an effect extremely ludicrous. To all his dis- course I listened attentively, nodding occasionally a sort of affirmation, and with as much patience as if I had been in the hands of my hairdresser. At last, how- ever, his wife supposing, from the noise he made, and guessing also from the subject of his dialogue, that he waa going to fight, gently tapped at the door, and in a shrill tone of voice called out, Monsieur D. / These mellifluous tones no sooner saluted the sensitive ear of Monsieur, than he started, paused, and turning suddenly pale, rose up ; and after apologizing for his abrupt departure, at the same time reminding me of the precise situation in which he left Napoleon, he glided quickly down stairs. I afterwards understood that he actually lived in constant terror of this lady (his wife), a little delicate Hindoo girl, and the only person in Serampore who could manage him. I was not sorry for having got rid of my troublesome companion ; but reserving what remained of the wine for another occasion, I retired to rest." The cup, however, of the afflictions of Naufragus is not yet full. Fail- ing in his expectations of employment at Batavia, he sails for Padang, where he arrives — as he had arrived at Pulo Penang, seven years before — with one dollar in his possession ! — but, Jess fortunate now than on tho former occasion, he brings one possession beyond his single coin along with him — the very fever which has struck him with so much horror in Batavia, and which in six weeks reduces him to the verge of the grave. To tell the story in his own words — he had found a friend, who was ready to assist him ; his situation had been considered and canvassed ; and the words of his patron were, " Cheer up, Naufragus ! Nil desperat-idum, and all may yet be well." M.M. New Series.— VoL.IV, No.20. X 154 Adutnlures of Naufragtts. [AUG. " I was about to reply, when a cold aguish fit set my teeth chattering. I found, too soon, it was the Batavia fever, the latent cause of which I had unconsciously brought with me from that pestilential place, and which had now broken out upon me. Endtfield instantly hired a bungalow, and procured me every requisite- assistance ; but, for the space of six weeks, I was totally unconscious of surrounding objects. The only sensation I was susceptible of, was that of burning with thirst, and being stretched on a mossy bank beneath a waterfall, gaping wide to catch a drop to cool my parched tongue, — but the tormenting liquid rolling down, turned asides and still deceived me. My constitution got the better of the disease, and the first day I was able to walk, I attempted to reach the habitation of my friend Endtfield ; but, on my way, a Malay horseman, at full speed, knocked me down, and galloping over me, continued his course. The natives flocked round, and assisted me with the feelings of true Samaritans; but so great was the injury I had sustained, that it was not until the expiration of another month, that I could again venture abroad, when my appearance exactly resembled that of the Europeans I had first seen on landing at Batavia." At this point, the groat length to which our review has gone compels us to quit Naufragus; who, after a series of disappointments and miseries, suddenly and unexpectedly acquires a competence — (not, ho informs us, from any kindness on the part of his relations) — upon which ho is content to live in England, and tempt fortune and the sea no more. Whoever he is, and who he is, we don't at all know : he has written a very curious and interesting work — which, moreover, ho very unpretend- ingly prints in one volume — while works of not a tithe of its value walk about the world in three. There are some errors in the descriptions which he gives of places and objects, and some statements he has taken too hastily upon trust ; but the wonder rather is, in such a multiplicity of trans- actions as he records, that he should have kept his account so evenly as he has done. Our decided belief is, that the relation is a genuine one : there are facts contained in it which an author, making a book, would not have introduced; and some even which a man who was varnishing a real tale would perhaps have been inclined to suppress. Over a great deal of enter- taining matter we have been obliged entirely to pass ; but the accounts of the chase of the elephant and the tiger — of the impostures of the Indian magicians — of the marriage-ceremonies of the Hindoos — of the victims left to perish in the Hooghlv — the tales of Kishen Doss — " The Story of the Skull"— " The Deaf Indians "—and "The Sailor of all Work "—with many other notices, to which want of space prevents our even referring, will be found acceptable to readers of all tastes and classes. On the whole, we consider the book to be one which, as it becomes known, will certainly be popular. It contains a great deal of information relative to India — - mixed, as we have before observed, with some error, but never with offence • — and always given in a style that pleases, because, it is easy and unpre- tending. It is a book particularly suited to be put into the hands of young persons ; they will derive a great deal of instruction from it, and will be very nearly as much amused as in reading Robinson Crusoe, 1827.] • [ Io5 '] • • - • VILLAGE SKETCHES : No. VIII. Our Maying. As party produces party, and festival brings forth festival in higher life, so one scene of rural festivity is pretty sure to be followed by another. The boy's cricket-match at Whitsuntide, which was won most triumph- antly by our parish, and luckily passed off without giving cause for a coroner's inquest, or indeed without injury of any sort, except the demo- lition of Amos Stokes's new straw-hat, the crown of which (Amos's head being fortunately at a distance), was fairly struck out by the cricket-ball; this match produced one between our eleven and the players of the neigh- bouring hamlet of Whitley ; and being patronized by the young lord of the manor and several of the gentry round, and followed by jumping in sacks, riding donkey-races, grinning through horse-collars, and other diver- sions more renowned for their antiquity than their elegance, gave such general satisfaction, that it was resolved to hold a Maying in full form in Whitley- wood. Now this wood of our's happens to be a common of twenty acres, with three trees on it, and the Maying was fixed to be held between hay-time and harvest; but "what's in a name?" Whitley-wood is a beautiful piece of green sward, surrounded on three sides by fields and farm-houses, and cottages, and woody uplands, and on the other by a fine park ; and the May house was erected, and the May-games held in the beginning of July; the very season of leaves and roses, when the days are at the longest, and the weather at the finest, and the whole world is longing to get out of doors. Moreover, the whole festival was aided, not impeded, by the gentlemen amateurs, headed by that very genial person, our young lord of the manor ; whilst the business part of the affair was confided to the well-known diligence, zeal, activity, and intelligence of that most popular of village landlords, mine host of the Rose. How could a May- ing fail under such auspices ? Every body expected more sunshine and more fun, more flowers and more laughing, than ever was known at a rustic merry-making — and really, considering the manner in which expec- tation had been raised, the quantity of disappointment has been astonish- ingly small. Landlord Brown, the master of the revels, and our very good neighbour, is a portly, bustling man, of five-and-forty, or thereabout, with a hale, jovial visage, a merry eye, and pleasant smile, and a general air of good- fellowship. This last qualification, whilst it serves greatly to recommend his ale. is apt to mislead superficial observers, who generally account him a sort of slenderer Boniface, and imagine that, like that renowned hero of the spiggot, Master Brown eats, drinks, and sleeps on his own anno domini. They were never more mistaken in their lives; no soberer man than Master Brown within twenty miles!' Except for the good of the house, he no more thinks of drinking beer, than a grocer of eating figs. To be sure when the jug lags he will take a hearty pull, first by way of example, and to set the good ale a going. But, in general, he trusts to subtler and more delicate modes of quickening its circulation. A good song, a good story, a merry jest, a hearty laugh, and a most winning habit of assentation; these are his implements. There is -not a better com- panion, or a more judicious listener in the county. His pliability is asto- X 2 J 56 Our Maying. [Aec. Dishing. Ho shall soy yes to twenty different opinions on the same subject, within the hour ;. and so honest and cordial does his agreement seem, that no one of his customers, whether drunk or sober, ever dreams of doubting his sincerity. The hottest conflict of politics never puzzled him : Whig or Tory, he was both, or either — " the happy Mercutio, that curses both homes.'* Add to this gift of conformity, a cheerful, easy temper, an alacrity of attention, a zealous desire to please, which gives to IMS duties, as a landlord, all the grace of hospitality, and a perpetual civi- lity and kindness, even when lie has nothing to gain by them ; and no one can wronder at Master Brown's popularity. After his good wife's death, this popularity began to extend itself in a remarkable manner amongst the females of the neighbourhood ; smitten with his portly person, his smooth, oily manner, and a certain, soft, earnest whispering voice, which he generally assumes when addressing one of the fairer sex, and which seems to make his very "how d'ye do" confidential and complimentary. Moreover, it was thought that the good landlord was well to do in the world, and though Betsey and Letty were good little girls, quick, civil, and active, yet, poor things, what could such young girls know of a house like the Rose ? All would go to rack and ruin without the eye of a mistress? Master Brown must look out for a wife. So thought the whole female world, and, apparently, Master Brown began to think so himself. The first fair one to whom his attention was directed, was a rosy, pretty widow, a pastry-cook of the next town, who arrived in our village on a visit to her cousin, the baker, for the purpose of giving confectionary lessons to his wife. Nothing was ever so hot as that courtship. During the week that the lady of pie-crust staid, her lover almost lived in the oven. One would have thought that he was learning to make the cream- tarts without pepper, by which Bedreddin Hassan regained his state and his princess. It would be a most suitable match, as all the parish agreed ; the widow, for as pretty as she was, and one shan't often see a pleasanter, open countenance, or a sweeter smile, being within ten years as old as her suitor, and having had two husbands already. A most proper and suit- able match, said every body ; and when our landlord carried her back to B. in his new-painted green cart, all the village agreed that they were gone to be married, and the ringers were just setting up a peal, when Master Brown returned alone, single, crest fallen, dejected ; the bells stopped of themselves, and we heard no more of the pretty pastry-cook. For three months after that rebuff, mine host, albeit not addicted to aversions, testified an equal dislike to women and bracelets, widows and plum-cake. Even poor Alice Taylor, whose travelling basket of lolly- pops and gingerbread he had whilome patronized, was forbidden the house ; and not a bun or a biscuit could be had at the Rose, for love or money. The fit, however, wore off in time ; and he began again to follow the advice of his neighbours, and to look out for a wife, up street and down ; whilst at each extremity a fair object presented herself, from neither of whom had he the slightest reason to dread a repetition of the repulse which he had experienced from the blooming widow. The down-street lady was a widow also, the portly, comely relict of our drunken village black- smith, who, in spite of her joy at her first husband's death, and an old spite at mine host of the Rose, to whose good ale and good company she was wont to aserihe most of the observations of the deceased, began to 1827.] .Our Maying. 157 find her shop, her journeymen, and her eight children (six unruly obstre- perous pickles of boys, and two tomboys of girls), rather more than a lone woman could manage, and to sigh for a help-mate to ease her of her cares, collect the boys at night, see the girls to school of a morning, break the large imps of running away to revels and fairs, and the smaller fry of birds'-nesting arid orchard-robbing, and bear a part in the lectures and chas- tisements, which she deemed necessary to preserve the young rebels from the bad end which she predicted to them twenty times a day. Master Brown was the coadjutor on whom she had inwardly pitched ; and; accordingly, she threw out broad hints to that effect, every lime she en- countered him, which, in the course of her search for boys and girls, who were sure to be missing at school-time and bed-time, happened pretty often ; and Mr. Brown was far too gallant and too much in the habit of assenting to listen unmoved ; for really the widow was a fine tall, pomely woman ; and the whispers, and smiles, and hand-pressings, when they hap- pened to meet, were becoming very tender; and his admonitions and head- shakings, addressed to the young crew (who, nevertheless, all liked him) quite fatherly. This was his down-street flame. The rival lady was Miss Lydia Day, the carpenter's sister, a slim, upright maiden, not remarkable for beauty, and not quite so young as she had been, who, on inheriting a small annuity from the mistress with whom she had spent the best of her days, retired to her native village to live on her means. A genteel, demure, quiet personage, was Miss Lydia Day; much addicted to snuif and green tea, and not averse from a little gentle scandal — for the rest, a good sort of woman, and un tres-bon parti for Master Brown, who seemed to consider it a profitable speculation, and made love to her whenever she happened to come into his head, which, it must be confessed, was hardly so often as her merits and her annuity deserved. Loveless as he was, he had no lack of encouragement to com- plain of — for she *' to hear would seriously incline," and put on her best silk, and her best simper, and lighted up her faded complexion into some- thing approaching to a blush, whenever he came to visit her. And this was Master Brown's up -street love. So stood affairs at the Rose when the day of the Maying arrived ; and the double flirtation, which, however dexterously managed, must havo been, sometimes, one would think, rather inconvenient to the enamorato, proved on this occasion extremely useful. Both the fair ladies contributed her aid to the festival ; Miss Lydia by tying up sentimental garlands for the May-house, and scolding the carpenters into diligence in the erection of the booths ; the widow by giving her whole bevy of boys and girls a holiday, and turning them loose on the neighbourhood to collect flowers as they could. Very useful auxiliaries were these light foragers; they scoured the country far and near — irresistible mendicants ! pardonable thieves ! coming to no harm, poor children, except that little George got a black eye in tumbling from the top of an acacia tree at the park, and that Sam (he's a sad pickle is Sam !) narrowly escaped a horse-whipping from the head gardener at the hall, who detected a bonnet of his new rhodo- dendron, the only plant in the county, forming the very crown and centre of the May-pole. Little harm did they do, poor children, with all their pilfery ; and when they returned, covered with their flowery loads, like the May-day figure called " Jack of the Green," they, worked at the gar- lands and the May-houses, as none but children ever do work, putting all their young life and their untiring spirit of noise and motion into their 158 ~ . , Our Maying. .[Au<; But, L'Elegant — the premier — he is a connection of the Duke of Oporto; I was a schoolfellow of his eldest son, the poor man who died ; and ho told me that his uncle, Thundergust, would, most assuredly, be at the head of every thing, and this was five and twenty years ago." "A charming person that Thundergust, upon my soul ; my dear," said the Countess St. Elio to Lady Laura, " the soul and saviour of the country, beyond a doubt." — " Poor Lord Wilderness !" returned the Lady Laura ; " Poor jackanapes, my dear; hear what my Lady Cunningtongue will say of him.'* At these words a most reverend person near uttered a very deep sigh. — " Aye, there now — there is a fellow preaching about learning and integrity." — " If — a — what is that ?" said L'Elegant, who had lounged to the spot — " Nothing that we have any concern with, Marplot," returned the lady, and she flirted off. " He must be kept up to the mark," said a dignified woman, in a half whisper, to a gentleman, with just sufficient jocosity to denote a grandee; " highly irritated you see, and circumbendibus no part of his family doctrine -—very wrong of these big wigs to desert Rex — mind that, mind that." — " But I don't know whether we are right in going such lengths — the liberal policy of tho country — the temper of the times" — and she touched the 1827.] The Cabinet Novel. 105 nobleman's buttonhole.—" George is an inimitable person — a most shrewd clever being — [the Lord High Navigator was announced] — only these people who are so hot about the poverty.'* — " A few more gudgeons and ." — " Hish ! hish ! — stupid — we're overheard.'"-— " No, we're no said the peer, with the most horrible consciousness, at the time, that the room was a whispering gallery. — " A — a — what is that," said LT Ele- gant, strolling up. — " Then I'm sure all is safe," said rny lady, " or that busy fellow would have found it out." He was soon rumped, and the evening stole away with much eclat. VII. GLEE. "Well all get drunk together."— Old Glee. Lord WILDERNESS, Mr. ANTIPOPE, fyc. fyc. 1. Antipope. — The days have got too mellow For us, my good Chancellor ; To wit, the lost umbrella !* Sing heigh, sing ho, sing heigh. CHORUS f pointing to each other). You're a Tory fellow — And you're a Tory fellow—- And you're a Tory fellow — Sing, fyc. So we'll all go out together — We'll all go out together — We'll all go out together : Sing, 8fc. 2 Generates. — I wish some Colonello Would mildly please to tell her She'll kill the good Chancellor : Sing, 4-c. And you're a Tory fellow, fyc. So we'll all, 4-c. 3. Antipole. — Blue's better now than yellow : Generates. — I wish he was in — 11 O ! Lord W. — I'll go roar and bellow ; Sing heigh, fyc. But you're a Tory fellow, fyc. And we'll all go out together, *.— VOL. IV. No. 20. 7 210 Notes f of the Month. [Ai:e. many other of the whims and fancies of our grandfathers and grand- mothers, has long since been *>ut of date, and disused, and forgotten." As regards the application of this foolery to boys' schools, perhaps it i* not worth talking about. Those who think it necessary to pay for having; their sons taught to turn head over heels, probably, if they did not employ' the:r money in that way, would apply it to some other purpose equally useless — perhaps have " professors" to teach the " young gentlemen," after their small clothes had been put down in order that they should be whipped, the fittest and readiest manner of buttoning them up again. But the quackery of attempting to extend the same description of humbug to female schools, is mischievous as well as impertinent; and people who do happen to possess a single particle of brains, ought to resist it — in plainer terms, to kick it out of doors. By what process, for example, it would be pleasant to know, did Sigiior Voarino discover — " That the labouring classes of society are superior in general health and bodily conformation to those of a more fortunate position in life? ' Or how, supposing him to be even as guiltless of science as those who would listen to him must be of common sense — how is it that he has contrived to keep himself ignorant that the fact is directly the reverse ? and that any thing like " labour," or violent exertion — more especially when resorted to at an early age — tends directly to the deformity and distortion of the human frame, rather than to its improve- ment? One would think there was nobody that walked about the streets of town with his eyes open could fail to have perceived, that almost every species of labour, and every species in which children are employed— produces, instead of improvement, its peculiar and distinctive deformity. That bakers are knock-kneed; butchers round-shouldered; post boyi diminutive; chimneysweepers (who begin their exertions the youngest) crooked and dislocated in every limb, almost without an exception ; and the tumblers and jugglers, who perform feats of activity at shews and fairs, the most ricketty and unhealthy people in the community. The labour which females perform, being of a more varied character, does less mischief; while the garb which they wear, prevents any deformity of shape from being so readily perceived ; but where is it that we find hand- some limbs or well formed figures among the females who live by hard labour ? — or who in his senses, in this country, or, as a result of bodily labour, in any country, would think of looking for such a thing ? But the best answer, as far as science is concerned, to this description of rubbish, appears in Mr. Shaw's paper [the surgeon of Middlesex Hospital] on " Gymnastics," published in the last number of the Quar- terly Journal of Science and Literature ; and as the essay (which is of considerable length) has abundant entertainment as well as instruction to secure, from whoever once takes it up, an entire reading for itself, we shall venture to fortify ourselves with a few paragraphs from its pages. Mr. Shaw begin his argument by a reference to the known effect of early exertion upon labouring animals. " The bad effects of working a young horse too early, and so as to call for occa- sional violent exertion, are so generally known, that a valuable animal is seldom put to a trial of its powers before it has attained its full growth. But children, and especially those of the poor, are often put upon tasks beyond their natural powers ; and the bad consequences are soon apparent ; for children who are thu* treated, seldom grow up vigorously, but are stinted in their growth, and often .1827.] Note* for the Month. 21 1 have some bodily defect, or the elasticity and tone of their muscles are lost, long before the period at which they would have attained their full strength." In Portugal and Spain, where the lower classes of people are com- pelled to work their ponies and raules very early, and the load is not drawn, but carried upon- the back, the animal is constantly seen walking with the back of the fetlock joint almost resting upon the ground. " When muscles are gradually increased in strength, the ligaments become strong in proportion ; but the ligaments are as likely to be hurt from the muscles being suddenly called into violent action, and at an early age, as by any accidental twist or strain. They are in this way liable to become spongy and relaxed, so as to produce weakness, or a condition similar to the joints of a young horse which has been galloped hard, or obliged to take great leaps, before he has acquired hi* full strength. Indeed there is much resemblance in the condition of a joint with the ligaments strained, to that of a horse which is broken down or hard galloped. Small bunyons or ganglions, which are similar to what the farrier calls wind-galls, are sometimes found about the ankle joints of delicate girls, who have over exerted themselves in dancing." We have seen the same affection upon the wrists of girls, who were the pupils of professional musicians, and passed a great portion of their time in practising the piano -forte. 4< If any exercise, however good, be continued for a long time, and regularly repeated while a young person is growing, certain ligaments may become unnatu- rally lengthened and elastic. As for example, we may observe, that in the bolero dance upon the stage, some of the performers can nearly touch the floor with the inner ankle, which no person with a fine and strongly formed ankle can do. • " The ligaments of the foot, and especially the lateral ligaments of the ankle, become so unnaturally long, that the foot may be turned in every direction as easily as the hand. The bad consequences resulting from this looseness of the joints, do not appear when the performer is dancing, or strutting along the stage ; but the effect is quite obvious when the dancers are walking in the street, for then^ while attempting to walk naturally, they have a shuffling gait. This is particularly the case with old dancers who have retired from the stage; for the muscles having by disuse lost their tone, the bad effects of lengthening and straining the ligaments are then distinctly marked. Indeed these evils are not confined to a peculiarity of gait, for the feet of almost every opera dancer are deformed ; and even some of the dancers, while in full vigour and most admired, are actually lame. This seems a bold assertion ; but, if a high instep be important to a well-formed foot, thess dancers' feet are deformed ; for, with few exceptions, they are quite flat ; and that they are lame cannot be denied, as they have, almost all, a halt in their gait." We rather doubt whether the disposition which the ancles of girls have (too generally) to bend inwards, does not often proceed from a less violent operation of the same cause. But the fact is, that all the lament about a "want of exertion," and " superior advantage of labour — as females are educated now — is miserable nonsense : the milliner's girls of London, who sew muslin for fourteen hours a day, in shops and back rooms, are pretty nearly the finest women in Europe ; and the girls who work at farming labour in the country — both here and in France — notwithstanding the superiority of the atmosphere in which they live — are uniformly among the homeliest and the most clumsy. And, even assuming a greater quan- tity of exercise to be desirable than girls at school actually take,— wKere i$ 'the necessity for- making the taking exorcise a if sMJiehese?" Where is Z 2 212 Notes for the Month. [Aua. the value of such senseless gibberish as what here follows — even after we admit that it is beneficial that a girl should run upon a grass plat ? *« FIRST EXERCISE.— Moveme?its of the Arms. — At the word ATTENTION, the pupil must lay the left hand on the chest, the thumb and fore finger spread, and the three others shut ; the right arm is to be turned behind the back ; she right right and left alternately, and lastly with both together! /" What human creature can discover any meaning or utility in this, or in the trash that follows ? " TENTH EXERCISE. — High Step complicated.— -The pupil placed with the heels on a line, the body erect, and the arms a-kimbo, must execute this by hopping twice on the toes of the left foot, raising the right leg sideways as hiyh as pos- sible ; then hopping twice on the riyht foot, raising the left leg in the same manner, she must bring the heels on a line; the same is to be done by raising the right leg forward and the left behind ; and by a double hap change legs, bringing the left before and \hz right behind ; then return to the walking pace. This exercise is to be performed without stopping /.'" With a hundred and fifty pages more of mountebankery about— " Simple pace jumping" — " Forward and Backward" — " Skipping, and touching behind" — " Crossing legs in place"—-" Zig-zag step" — " High step" — " Double step" — " Galloping pace" — and «' Flying round I" There can be no doubt that children, left to themselves, and with opportunity for exercise allowed to them, will always be inclined to take as much exercise as is necessary or advantageous for their health ; but the fact is, that the whole system of our " Female Boarding School", education — excepting that followed in the very highest class of establish- ments, which are about as one to twenty in the whole number — is of the very worst possible description. A wretched and insufficient stipend only is "charged for the (cense) maintenance of the children, and for all the useful or necessary instruction which is to be afforded to them ; the consequence being that they are ill fed, ill lodged, and their health, or moral guidance — except so £ar as consists, for the first, in their being dragged along the dusty streets or roads, in ranks, for what is called a "" walk," three times a week ; and for the second, carried twice to church — they go and return, and that of course is all that can be desired — on a Sunday ; and the subsistence of the mistress — for " sub- sistence" it is barely — she gets no profit — is made out of her per centage upon the teaching of a long list of useless and affected " accomplishments," of which the nominal learners, notoriously, never acquire even the first rudiments, but which serve to extract some species' of payment from the parents' pockets which otherwise could not be obtained — by setting -up their vanity and insolence in opposition to their avarice and rapacity. Here is, for example — " At Birch Grove" — crammed among the soap manufactories at Clerkenwell — or among the new buildings, where not a breath of air is to be obtained since the " improvements," were made, in the Ptegent's Park — " a limited number of young ladies are received" — who are " boarded, and instructed in English, writing, arithmetic, and needle-work, for twenty-two guineas per annum !" Here is all that the creatures need learn, and a great deal more than, properly and completely, they do learn, offered, with maintenance and lodging — to tc young ladies," 1 827.] Notes for the Month. 213 for a little more than half the charge per head that would give enter- tainment to an equal number of scullery-maids ! And, directly afterwards, comes upon us a list of charges of double the same amount, for fopperies, of which the students never acquire half so much as a parrot gets of languages by living three months in Paris. — " Music, six guineas per annum !" — " Dancing, six guineas per annum !"—u French, six guineas per annum !" — " Drawing, six guineas per annum !" Here is more than the price of all the meat and drink, including the honest reading and writing, summed up already ! And we have not got a word in yet about — " Italian, six guineas !" — " Use of the Globes" (Lord defend us !) six guineas !" or " Fancy works," or " Elocution," or " Singing," or a hundred more enormities, which we absolutely have not paper to enumerate — not in- cluding the newest novelty of " Calisthenics !" with a note at the end of the advertisement, that " any young lady, the daughter of a butcher or tallow-chandler, will find an advantage in coming to learn all these fine things, as the parents will be dealt with to supply the esta- blishment!" " Good Christian women !" as Duretete,in the play, says, — Do forbear these absurdities ! The escape of the atrocious culprit, Sheen, upon <4 a point of form," from the indictment for the murder of his infant child, has excited a good deal of discussion in the country, and some dissatisfaction. We think the dissatisfaction is unfounded.* Sheen is acquitted, not on account of any verbal or technical error apparent" in the pleadings in his case, but simply because there has been an omission on the part of his prosecutors to bring forward that evidence which was necessary to convict him. The culprit stands charged before the court with having killed a particular individual — A. B. This is the charge that he is brought into court to meet. If the evidence then does not shew that he has killed this indi- vidual A. B., that charge fails ; we cannot convict the prisoner of having killed A. B., because we have evidence that he has killed Y. Z. This is the history of Sheen's first indictment. The second falls to the ground ; because, if it is to be supported, it must be supported by evidence which might have been tendered under the first ; and because if it were compe- tent to go on re-indicting a man, and adding fresh evidence, from time to time, for one and the same offence, that practice would speedily become an engine of the most atrocious oppression and tyranny. Still it is a strange, arid a horrible consideration, that a man known to be a murderer, and one of the most savage character, should he walking about at large — perfectly secure from molestation or punishment ! A curious instance, too, of the difference of feeling which prevails, as to the necessity for this extreme nicety of proof, where the question is not one of life and death, but of property only, appears in a case in the Court of Common Pleas a few days subsequent to the first trial of Sheen. A tobacconist in the Borough, being prosecuted under a par- ticular act of parliament, for sending out a pound of segars without the payment of a stamp, pleaded that the statute spoke of " a pound of tobacco" — and therefore he was not guilty ; for that the segars were not a pound of tobacco ; every segar had a straw in it ; so that the Weight of tobacco was not equal to a pound. The judge in this cause, summed up against the dealer, and told the jury that a pound of segars must be taken to be a pound of tobacco ; a dictum which seems a little 2 J 4 Xotef for the Month. [ A 0 bear these trials of cruel mock- ings, but to keep his attention alive, and pur- sue his official duties collectedly, through the frequent mention of his own name, and many a brutal threat from Jefferies, insultingly and emphatically addressed to Goldingham across the table, that his nephew's head should grace the ball-door of Goldingham Place, as soon as he could be caught. Soon, however, Reuben was obliged to quit his fair protectresses, but not before he surrenders his heart wholly to Helen's charms. Adeline, however, persists in re- garding him as her own dear knight ; and for many months afterwards, during his ab- sence, his subsequent capture, his escape from prison, long after his return from Holland ou the publication of the amnesty, and finally, through his many visits to her father's house, when his attentions to Helen were of too marked a nature not to undeceive anything but a fool. London, however, cures her ; and shortly, from natural caprice, she thinks of him as one that had never been : so that Helen, whose generosity had prompted her to refuse Reuben's offers, on the ground of her sister's affection, had to repent at leisure, for making sacrifices for one who had neither head nor heart. The suit at last begins again ; but Lord Trevanion must be gained. All heroines demand papa's consent at first. Papa says decidedly, no. So, like Cecilia and Delville, they are obliged to do with only mamma's. Still the fates are awkward — spinning — spinning on, for the sake of a third volume, that is yet hardly begun. A cousin, whose life he has repeatedly saved, falls desperately in love with Helen, and becomes, of course, an ingrate, and a villain, and plots impedi- ments. A neighbouring squire, too, sanc- tioned by her father, demands her hand, and being refused, prepares to kidnap her. Nay, Reuben himself is kidnapped by a party of Whigs in a cave, where he had unluckily heard them hatching more conspiracies ; and not being able to convince them that he had himself been in the mess, and was and is as great a traitor as themselves, is just sent over to Holland for a sail, while the truth of the statement is inquired into. All these things delay the marriage — but at last, of course, it does take place, and the vo- lumes end. To turn for a moment from the tale to its execution. The style is leisurely and nervous, resulting from an union of very strong com- mon-sense and moral feeling — a faculty of accurate delineation, and a stern determina- tion to make a book of it — that determi- nation being the rallying point, to which 1827.] Domestic and Foreign. 201 he summons Ms many powerful talent*. He does uot write a novel, because a novel will come into his head, but because he Las said, ' I will write novels — weigh me, I am as heavy ; conjure me, Brutus can start n spirit as soon as Caesar, tfec.,' or, as per- chance, some blacksmith looking on at a game of quoits, begins slowly to sympathize with 'the movements of the players, and awakening from a dream of admiration at the dexterity of the chief performer, looks down upon his own muscular arms, and carrying his ponderous strength quietly and modestly towards the spot, plays too — and matches the' winner. The plot is somewhat deficient in com- pactness and proportion. A long, long epi- sode about Reuben's dead parents, whom we know only by report, and care not a straw about, and who are clearly only intro- duced at all, in order to keep up a running threat that he will go to India in pursuit of them, is too impertinent to be read. We sought the conclusion of it in vain ; and found, to our vexation, (hat one short chap- ter was all that remained of the text, alter that history came to a close. But, if the construction of the plot be exceptionable, the characters bear witness to the master's hand. Never do they come short of our expectation, or deviate from it. Goldine;- ham is excellent ; so is Timothy, the coach- man ; so is Squire Hartfield ; so is Sir Har- court Slingsby ; and so, to admiration, is Jefferies. Yet we do not surrender all our souls to the book, nor does the story hang about our memories, like a song that has enchanted us. How is this ? Because the writer is not head and ears in love with his own story. MONTHLY THEATRICAL REPORT. THE summer theatres are now making their best and pleasantest efforts. The Haymarket has brought into the field probably as strong a company as the pre- sent state of the stage can fairly muster ; and the activity of the manager and the fecundity of the habitual authors of the house are put in full requisition. These are the true secrets of popularity after all ; and there is no instance where that de- fi-rence for public opinion, which makes a manager exert himself to his utmost, is not fairly recompensed by the audience Lis- ton's temporary secession from the com- pany is a formidable loss. There may h«ve been more genuinely dramatic come- dians, or happier limners of the slight and delicate pleasantries of the high comedy, or more vigorous and susceptible deliverers of manly dialogue ; but our time has not Seen Listen's superior in that interme- diate style between the breadth of farce and the interest and strength of comedy, of which Mr. Poolers writings are the mo- del. Listou has his obvious faults : he runs too rapidly into caricature j he indulges tuo freely the gallery propensity to laugh at his grimace and contortions of counte- nance j he too frequently forgets the stage, and carries" on an interchange of burlesque with the audience ; — but in his range of character he is, for the liirie, with- out an equal. Reeve, his successor, has pa'pable humour, great adroitness of VO.C3 and gesture, and — so far as imitation goes — is perhaps the best mimic on the stage. Bui he by no moans fills up a bar- ren part with the richness and variety of Listou. He suffers the laugh to die — he svitFers the jest to go off- — nnsustained by the living comment of countenance. The plaasau;ry is uttered, and well uttered j but the whole art of bye-play— that then-' J1M. New Series.— VuL.IV. Ni>.20. trical and visible echo of the author's wit — is yet. to be learned by this performer. His adoption of Listen's character is pro- bably the result of higher orders ; but this adoption must always be unlucky for an, original actor, as Reeve is. It obviously compels him either to imitate, for the i-ake of similar popularity, — or, to take a dif- ferent view of the character, for the sake of establishing his own claims. But the little Haymarket performances are not ca- pable of this subdivision ; they have not depth enough for true actors to float in, without striking across each other. There may be two Charles Surfaces, or two Lord Oyltbys ; but there can be but one Paul Pry — and that one is already Listou. A very pretty performance, "The Ren centre, or Love will find out the Way,'* has been produced by Mr. Plauche, aa ingenious writer, whose powers are evi- dently improving, and who increases the public interest in his productions by the strict absence of all that can offend public propriety. His '' Rencontre" is a little bank tissue of pleasant improbabilities — for which, however, the latitude of the stage allows. Madame de MerreiUe, a young Parisian widow — and a very hand- some and graceful one, as personated by Miss E. Tree— molested by the passion of an absurd Major Moustache, leaves the capital for her uncle's chateau. Stopping to change horses, she finds at the inn her brother, in full flight from theVe understand that, in practice, the obove receipt has been found perfectly unob- jectionable. That it has not become obsolete, is best shewn by the Croonian Lecture for 1S27, with which a correspondent has furnished us : — Harper cries, >Tis time To work some crude conjecture; And do it into rhyme For my next Croouian lecture. Critics often prate (They sha'n't say so this season) — • Your papers have of late Neither rhyme nor reason. If I catch the train, Soon I'll mould and shape her : Let UB thumb again Each musty spotted paper. 1827.] 205 Ha! I've hit the nail; Tadpoles have a tail — I'll run to Leicester-square, Mv friends who sojourn there, My worthy friend, explain us, is Why have frogs bare anuses, I've a friend at hand Then make us understand The tadpole had a tail — While frogs as seldom fail He had a tail 'tis plain, It could not cross his brain, You see my sad distress — • I've half a mind to guess I have a friend, whose sight He'll see whate'er is right, Then give my friend aud me, Tell us what to see, Ha! 1 understand — Honest friend, your hand— r A way, away to the seer — • I've such a bright idea — • My hints when I revise, Then we'll per. them as they rise, I hate the labor limce — His tail, so bright and slimy, You see each vessel's play, Quick — you see it — say? Again thsn—fugit hora — Invisible fine aura? You see beside, I'm sure, A soft, smooth aperture ?f And hear a crepitation, 'Scaped Parry's observation? The tail attenuated, Like nutmeg gently grated? You see it fast diminish, Quick— quick — it's time to finish ? But hold, my more than brother, It strikes me that another Bid this anomalous, Its whole eft'ect produce Or should we rather say, In quite another way — These doubts would best be met Oh! could we catch the jet, I'll think again of this, We'll have the analysis Then sketch away, unheeding I'll draw up the proceeding : I'll read it to the learned, Will think the job well earned Or if it double twenty Their funds suffice in plenty, A health then to the donors ! Such microscopic honours I'll score it in my pot hooks ; Frogs have but bare buttocks ! ! ! I know who'il see iny drift j I'll ask them fora lift. It hard to raise the veil, While tadpoles have a tail? With a microscopic eye j What we ought to spy. Nobody can doubt it — To do as well without if. And constantly employed it ; I think, my friend, to void it. Then teach me how to meet it ;— • The wretches take and eat it ! I can very well depend on ; Be it vessel, nerve, or tendon. Give us but a thought •, And we'll see It as we ought. One word's as good as twenty— • Verbum sapienti. Summon all jour senses ; Out with all your lenses ! I very often fast stick j A utoschediastic.* Critics, let them joke us ; Fix kin the focus. Each pulse's rise and fall ? «' Yes—I see it all !" You see a thin and small « Yes— I see it all !" From whence these vapours roll, " Oh ! yes — 1 see the whole !" Like what from Northern light « I do — distinctly — quite!" Its substance seems to lose, " Yes — I see it does !" Like ice before the sun ? a Oh ! yes — I see its gone." In writing what we've seen, Doubt may intervene. Gas-like elimination. From mechanical abrasion? It performed its execution, By chemical solution ? By an anal}' tic trial •, And stop it in a phial! While you collect the vapour ; In my next year's paper.* Who your labour is to pay j Then sketch— sketch away ! And never doubt the ninnies At the price of twenty guineas. |] For paper, plates, and printing, For such experimenting. Again shall never sly bore Bear away as you and I bore. , * An erudite word — for which see the prospectus to Valpy's Thesaurus, f Totus teres atque rotund us. — Horace. J Is there a mistake here ? For the Croonian Lectureship is annual — not perennial. J " The Croonian Lecture, founded on the donation of Dame Mary Sadlier, the late relict of Dr. Croone, of one-tifth of the clear rent of an estate on Lambeth-hill, in tLe possession of the College of Physicians (producing to the society £3 per annum), for maintaining a lecture or discourse of Jhe nature and property of local morion" [of a tadpole's tail, for instance]. — The Statutes of ths Royal Society of London, made in the year 1823, p. 42. 2CK5 / ~ Weiss's Stomach Pump. — In a late num- ber of a respectable contemporary journal, the Sporting Magazine, we savr an account of a novel application of Weiss's Stomach Pump, which cannot be too widely circu- lated ; it was to a valuable mare, suffering from inflammation of the bowels, on which occasion a very large quantity of warm soap suds were injected by this machine, and a disease which frequently proves fatal, completely removed. The construction of this simple instrument, without valves, not only prevents any liability to derangement, but insures its efficacy in the hands of every practitioner — two advantages which cannot be claimed by any similar contrivance. The same very ingenious artist has in prepara- tion an apparatus for restoring suspended animation, which, from its success upon the brute creation, promises to be of infinite value when applied to man. We shall here- after give a detailed account of the process. Columbus and his Discoveries. — Some new documents relative to Columbus, have recently been published by authority of the Spanish government, by D. Martin Fernan- dez de Navarrete, to whom access has been allowed to all the archives of the govern- ment, and of the most noble houses of Spain. Among much that is curious and interesting, we think the following remarks worthy of insertion here, as setting at rest a question which has given rise to much conjecture, viz., the island which Columbus first discovered in America. He gave it the name of San Sal- vador ; and it has generally been supposed to be the island now called St. Salvador, or Cat Island. The position of this island not agreeing perfectly with the admiral's course and description, Munoz conjectured that Wat- ling's Island was the true Guanahani. But Senor Navarrete adduces very strong reasons for believing it to be the largest of the Turks Islands. The course of Columbus, from Gua- nahani, was continually west, from island to island, till he arrived at Nipe in Cuba. Now this fact is irreconcilable with the idea, that Guanahani is Cat Island, which lies nearly due north of Nipe. Beside, the great Ba- hama bank, and a long chain of bays, called Cayos de la Cadena, stretching between St. Salvador and Cuba, interpose a most serious obstacle to holding such a westerly course as Columbus pursued. But by setting out from Nipe, and proceeding in a retrograde direc- tion along his course, as he very particularly de- scribes it in his journal, we may easily trace his path, and shall be convinced that Guana- hani is no other than Turks Island. Add to this, that his description of it accords exactly with the latter, especially in the circumstance of there being a large lake in the middle of it. This point is perhaps of no great conse- quence, but it is satisfactory to know pre- cisely what spot in America was first revealed to the eyes of Europeans. Hindoo Dwarf. — An extraordinary dwarf has recently been exhibited in India. His came it Dhunna Ram ; he was born at Be- [AUG. goo Serai, district of Monghyr *, is of the Baheliya caste, and forty-two years old. His stature, from the sole of the foot to' the crown of the head, is three feet one inch and a-half high. He is well proportioned throughout, and intelligent and pleasing in his manner. Though so diminutive him- self, his mother and father were of full growth ; and he has four brothers and sisters full grown. Indeed he was accompanied by one of his brothers, who is a tall able- bodied man. Dwarfs usually have some de- formity about them ; but the little man in question is perfectly well formed, with the exception, perhaps, of the elbow-joint being higher situated than we generally meet with. The expression of his face is pleasing, lively, and somewhat quaint. His voice is clear and strong, but partakes somewhat of a boyish shrillness, as if he had never attained the vox rauca which is observable at puberty. He has lost one of his eyes by the small-pox ; his appetite and health are good, and he is light and active. — India Gazette. Second Inventions. — At the end of the last century, the celebrated Lord Stanhope proposed an improvement on reflecting tele- scopes, by fixing both the great mirror and the eye-piece, and employing a large plane speculum, moveable in every direction, to reflect the image on the object mirror — so that the observer in his closet or elsewhere, might contemplate and examine at his leisure the objects placed before him, and no more light be lost than in the ordinary Newtonian telescope. With the able assistance of the late Mr. Varley, this design is said to have been carried into execution, and the latter has left an account of its effect. With the death of his patron, however, all further attention to the subject was relinquished in England ; but in 1812, Professor Amici, of Modena, succeeded in executing a telescope on the same principle, but on a much smaller scale than the former one ; and an Italian society rewarded his discovery with a medal. This reminds us of a travelling railway, for which an ingenious gentleman, George Hunter, Esq., has recently taken out a patent in England, when almost the very same inven- tion was submitted to the Society of Arts for Scotland, on the 27th December 1822, by Mr. Heriot, carpenter, at Duddington, under the title of " A model of a new construction of wheels for carriages, called a moveable Railway." Well may Dr. Brewster say, that the British minister who shall first esta- blish a system of effectual patronage for our arts and sciences, and who shall deliver them from the fatal incubus of our patent laws, will be regarded as the Colbert of his age, and will secure to himself a more glorious renown than he could ever obtain from the highest achievements in legislation or in politics. Botany. — An institution has been esta- blished in Germany, of which the professed aim is, to employ zealous and properly-edu- cated botanists in Germany and other Euro- 1827.] Varieties. 207 pean nations, to collect rare plants, both in a living and dried state, and seeds. Two or more collectors will be employed annually, but their number must be regulated by the means of the establishment. The members of the society will constitute two classes : 1. Honorary members; that is, such as give it their support by voluntary contributions, arising from a desire of promoting its views. To these will be granted the privilege of selecting from the annual collections (of which a public account will always be given), rare seeds, or living plants, for their gardens, or splendid specimens for their her- baria; and they will be allowed to give di- rections in regard to other objects of natural history which they may desire, but they will not share in the regular annual distributions. tt. There will be ordinary members, who will divide among themselves, according to the amount of their subscriptions, the col- lections, after the honorary members have received their portions; and the subscribers are particularly requested to specify whether they prefer dried plants, living plants, or seeds. The annual contribution is fifteen florins, Rhenish (the louis d'or being reck- oned as eleven florins), something short of thirty shillings English, and the sum must be forwarded at the beginning of each year. Persons subscribing to twice or thrice that amount, will receive plants in proportion, and will have more of the rarest kinds, of which only a few may have been gathered. The directors bind themselves to the con- tinuance of the establishment for five yearg. to come. For the accommodation of Eng- lish botanists, communications may be ad- dressed to a gentleman well known to every naturalist, " John Hunnemann, Esc[», No. 9, Queen-street, Soho ;'' and through the same channel, the annual returns can lie received. It is to be hoped that this appeal to the friends of Botanical Science in this country will not be neglected ; and for their encou- ragement we may add, that Doctor Hooker, of Edinburgh, a subscriber to the institution, being entitled to two shares in the produce of the first excursion, is in possession of a collection, which, for the number, variety, and beauty of the specimens, has much ex- ceeded his most sanguine expectations ; being such as, but for this valuable institution, no money could have purchased : all are cor- rectly named, with printed labels. To judge from the first 'collection, each member will receive about 200 species for a single annual subscription. WORKS IN THE PRESS, AND NEW PUBLICATIONS. WOBKS IN PREPABATION. Dr. Brewster of Edinburgh has announced a System of Popular and Practical Science. The object of this publication is to furnish the educated classes ; but particularly the young of both sexes, with a Series of popular work?, on the various branches of Science, brought down to the humblest capacities, an 1 yet capable of imparting Scientific know^ ledge to the best informed ranks of Society. Mr. Charles Swain announces Sketches of History and Imagination. Mr. Henry Trevanion has in the press the Influence of Apathy, and other Poems. Lieut. Col.D.L. Evans announces a Paral- lel between the Wars of Wellington and Marlborough. An Historical Narrative of Dr. Francia's Reign in Paraguay. Mr. Strutt is preparing a work, entitled Deliciae Sylvarum ; or Select Views of Ro- mantic Forest Scenery, drawn from Nature. Dr. Wm. Lempriere announces Popular Lectures on the Study of Natural History and the Sciences, Vegetable, Physiological ; Zoology, the Poisons, and on the Human Faculties, Mental and Corporeal. Messrs. Parbury, Allen, and Co., have nearly ready for publication a Memoir, rela- tive to the Operations of the Serampore Missionaries ; including a succinct account of their Oriental Translations, Native Schools, Missionary Stations, and Serampore College. An- Historical Essay* on the Laws and the Government of Rome; designed as art Introduction to the study of the Civil Law. Twelve Instructive and Familiar Lectures to Young Persons, on the Intellectual and Moral Powers of Man ; the Existence, Cha- racter, and Government of God ; the Eviden- ces of Christianity, &c. : with a concluding Address on Nonconformity. By the late Rev^ John Horsey. The Stanley Tales, 18mo. Parti. Second Series. Beautifully illustrated. The Secret Treaty, concluded in 1670, between Charles II. and Louis XIV., which has never been seen, and the very existence of which has been only surmised ; will be exhibited by Dr. Lingurd in the forth-coming volume of his History of England. The author of the " Promenade Round Dorking," has in the press, Cameleon Sketches. A Series of Original Outlines and Opinions of Scenery and Manners ; and a few Shades of Character, in illustration of some of the most popular Topics of the Study of Mankind ; with Recollections, Autobio- graphic, Literary, and Topographical. In the press, and nearly ready, a new and greatly improved edition of Mr. Gray's valu- able Supplement to the Pharmacopoeia \ in- cluding the new French Remedies, with nu- merous and important Additions. The Principles of Forensic Medicine, by J. G. Smith, M.D., Lecturer on State Medi- cine at the Royal Institution. Third edition; with the author's latest corrections. Preparing^ for publication, in 1 vol. Svoi 208 List of New Works. [AUG. The Journal or Itinerary of Thomas Beck- iflgton, Secretan to Henry VI., and after- words Bishop of Bath, Sir Robert Roos, Knt., and others, during (heir journey from Wind- sor to Bordeaux on an Embassy to negociate the Marriage between Henry Vrl. and one of the daughters of the Count Arminack, in June 14-12 ; from a contemporary MS. \Yiih Illustrative Notes, Historical and Biographi- cal, by Nicholas Harris Nicolas, Esq. F.S.A. The Influence of Apathy, and other Poems, by Henry Trevnnion, fscp. 8vo., is in the press. Mr. Southey has nearly ready for the press, annually extending. Conjoined with this cheering fact, the annual forward state of culture— the considerable quantity of wheat held, whether in stack or granary—- the 214 Monthly Agricultural Report. [Aua. several years1 clip of wool, with certain other indications of a comfortable prosperity — the whole by no means sanctions those frequent gloomy bewailings of agricultural depression and approaching ruin. On the best lands the labourers have, for some time, found full employment ; on others, many are still rounding in search of employ— too many of them compelled, by dire necessity, to take up the trade of poaching, or other means of a still higher rate of delinquency. The truth is, our national labourers are unable to bear up against Irish competition ; and as England has ruined Ireland, she is thus taking her revenge. But, according to the usual course of things, the burden and the misery fall up"o» the* lower classes of both countries. In order to the relief of both countries, a grand stroke of policy is the desideratum with regard to Ireland. Half-measures and pal- liatives can have only the usual effect of giving a somewhat longer life to an abomi- nable system. It is only on the most productive lands that wheat is very bulky ; on the inferior, though the ear be of fair size, the straw is not great. Harvest will commence with the next month, or even the conclusion of the present, in the forward districts ; and barley has been already cut in Dorsetshire. The barley crop is supposed to be the heaviest, both in ear and stem ; oats the least so ; and the complaints of foul tilth seem to attach, in the greatest degree, to the oat crop. Too many good old farmers appear yet to set much store by double crops. The hops have certainly passed through the vicissitudes of the season with less injury than was predicted; and there having been, for some seasons, a much larger stock on hand than of which the speculators were aware, the article neither did, nor in probability will, for a considerable period, reach the high prices of former days. The hay is a general good crop, well got in, with the exception of that part of the lands on which the roots of the grass perished during the drought of last year. Much grass land is in a state to receive great benefit from being harrowed or scarified, and fresh seeded, towards the end of summer. The first heavy showers, which laid the forward barley, occasioned the young grasses to be smothered, and a considerable breadth of them will fail. Thus, sometimes, the corn ruins the grasses; at others, the grasses, being very forward and luxuriant, will nearly spoil a crop of corn. Furthermore, a state of singleness is always best for both crops. But custom is ever better than best; and few farmers, but the great farming patriot of Norfolk, COKE, have entire crops of clover. The spring grasses, with tares, are a luxuriant and beautiful crop ; last year's grasses, ia course, a failure. Beans and peas hold way with other crops in prospe- rity, having resisted, with a similar degree of success, insectile attacks. That most important crop, the turnip, both white and Swedish, after some early mis- haps, is in fair progress, and, at this time, undergoing the process of a second hoeing. The late showers have been infinitely beneficial. Mr. Poppy, of Suffolk, a farmer of great respectability, has lately received a society's premium for apian, by him lately revived, of protecting turnip-plants from the flv/ ; and a very eminent patron of agri- culture congratulates the country, in glowing language, on the advantages to be obtained therefrom. Now, although we have no more faith in this than in the one- hundred-and-one other plans for the same purpose, which have been promulgated in our days — since it is evident that, if we cannot prevent blight, we cannot arrest the generation of insects, which are born to be fed-- we nevertheless do not envy Mr. Poppy for his premium, nor attempt to treat the society with disrespect for conferring it. In all such cases, it is wise in those who profess to encourage agriculture not hastily to neglect any candidate who may exhibit proofs of a mind turned to research and improvement. Enough of turnip-seed having been saved, the price, in course, has fallen greatly A considerable quantity of bad seed has been put off during the present season, to the great loss and disappointment of many farmers; but our inquiries have not produced a single instance of this kind in the seed purchased of Messrs. Gibbs ; who, as far as our experience has extended during upwards of twenty years, have always proved •worthy of dependence. Fruits promise to be a general crop, particularly apples ; with the drawback, so annoying to the taste of foreigners, of too much acid in a great part, most in the cur- rants— and the absence of that grateful saccharo-subacid flavour in the juices, which is never found in perfection in seasons when any considerable degree of blight pre- vails. Nothing of novelty has occurred respecting the cattle markets. Fat things still command a high price. Store pigs sell readily, at some advance. We may, however, look for a considerable decline in the price of flesh meat in the ensuing autumn. Ordi- nary horses, as usual, are plentiful, and not easy of disposal ; but saddle and coach cattle, of good quality, have lately increased in demand and price. The old stocks of corn on the Continent are said to be at a low ebb, with considerable quantitiea in very bad condition. Their new crops arc reported very large; and, 1827.] Monthly Agricultural Report. 215, according to the present aspect, that portion of them which may be imported into this country is not likely to be productive of very satisfactory prices. It is expected — but on what authority we know not— that the late Corn Bill will experience no material opposition in the next session of Parliament. Smithfield. — Beef, 4s. to 5s. — Mutton, 3s. lOd. to 4s. lOd. — Veal, 5s. to 6s.— Pork, 4s. 4d. to 5s. 6d. -Lamb, 5s. 4d. to 5s. 8d.— Raw fat, 2s. 4d. Corn Exchange.— Wheat, 50s. to 05s. — Barley, 30s. to 34s.— Outs, 19s. to 37s. — Bread, 9£d. the 4- Ib. loaf. — Hay, 84s. to 135s. — Clover ditto, 100s. to I50s.— Straw 40s. to 54s. Coals in ttie Pool, 28s. 6d. to 36s. 9d. per chaldron. Middlesex, July 23, 1827. MONTHLY COMMERCIAL REPORT. AT this season of the year commerce is always very dull, except in the large exports now making of English manufactured goods, &c. to the East-Indies. A vast number of vessels are loading for Madras, Bengal, &c. &c., and several for South America, &c. ; therefore our shipping are in full employ, and freights are reasonable to these ports. The inland trade is dull for our home manufactures ; and cotton goods of all descriptions are so low as to afford the speculators very little appearance of favourable returns. Sugars, and all West-Indian produce in the markets, bring a fair average price. Rum, Brandy, and Hollands are rather low, and not in much demand. Few speculations are going forward either at London, Bristol, or Liverpool ; and, until the winter approaches, we apprehend things will remain in this languid state. Since our last Report there is no variation in the prices of our imports. The discounts of the Bank of England being lately lowered from five per cent, to four per cent., we apprehend will make money more plentiful than ithas been for some months past, and we now hope to find every thing will return into its former channel. Course of Foreign Exchange. — Amsterdam, 12. 7. — Rotterdam, 12. 7. — Antwerp, 12. 6.— Hamburgh, 37. 6.— Altona, 37. 6.— Frankfort on the Main, 114^.— Petersburg, 8£. — Vienna, 0. — Trieste, 0. — Berlin, 7. — Paris, 25. — Bordeaux, 25.. — Seville, 33. — Barcelona, 0.— Cadiz, 34i.— Gibraltar, 33. — Naples, 39. — Palermo, 44|. — Lisbon, 58. — Oporto, 58.— Dublin, 11.— Cork, 11. Bullion per Oz. — Foreign Gold in bars, £3. 17s. 6d.— New Doubloons, £3. Os.—New Dollars, 4s. 9d.— Silver in bars, standard 4s. 1 Id. Premiums on Shares and Canals, and Joint-Stock Companies, at the Office of WOLFE, BROTHERS, 23, Change Alley, Cornhill. — Birmingham CANAL, 300/. — Coventry. 1250/. — Ellesmere and Chester, 1051.— Grand Junction, 305/. — Rennet and Avon, 26J.O,v.— Leeds and Liverpool, 390^.— Oxford, 700?. — Regent's, 292. Os.— Trent and Mersey, 1,800/. — Warwick and Birmingham, 2851. — London DOCKS, 84L 10*. — West-India, 200/. 05. — • East London WATER WORKS, 123/. — Grand Junction, 63±l. — West Middlesex, 651. Alliance British and Foreign INSURANCE.— l\ dis. — Globe 151 J. — Guardian, 20/. — Hope, 51.— Imperial Fire, 951.— GAS-LIGHT, Westmin. Chartered Company, 611.— City Gas-Light Company, 165Z.— -British, 17 dis.— Leeds, 1951. ALPHABETICAL LIST OF BANKRUPTCIES, announced between the 23d* of June and the 21st of July 1827 ; extracted from the London Gazette. BANKRUPTCIES SUPERSEDED. Smith, T. Kennington-lane, Lambeth, ironmonger Baker, G. F. Macclesfield, silk-manufacturer Williams, J. junior, Fenchurch - street, coffee - Burgess, R. Rainham, Kent bricklayer Devall, G Birmingham, gun-barrel rubber BANKRUPTCIES. [This Month 106.1 Manning, J Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey, cloth- a ,. ., , ,r manufacturer Solicitors' Names are in Brackets. Nightingale, E. Manchester, porter-dealer Abraham, J. Steward-street, Union-street, B5- Rice, J. L. Taunton, Somersetshire, builder shopsgate, merchant. [Lewis, Bernard-street, Rickerby, J. Burrell-green, Cumberland, lime- Russell-square burner Albra, J. Chelmsford, innkeeper. [Perkins and • ('°'' Gray's-inn-square Bullivant, J. Eaton-square, Pimlico. hay-salesman. * In our last, the Bankrupt List contained thos Smyth, Red-lion-square of the London Gazette of June 22, although mis- Benzaquen, J. Catle-street, Houndsditch, broker, printed June 21. [Abbot, Nicholae-lane, Lombard-street 216 Bankrupts. Burbidge, W. St. Paul's Cliarch-yard, general dealer. [Bousfield, Chatham -place Beuzeville, S. Henley-upon-Thames, Oxfordshire, silk-manufacturer. [Waller, Finshury-circus Beadley, J. and J. Cole, Wotton-under-hdge, Glou- cestershire, clothier. [Stone and Co. Tethury, Gloucestershire ; Dax and Co., Holborn-court, Gra)'s-1nn Birley, J. Bawtry, Yorkshire, grocer. [Brough- ton, Bawtry ; Knowles, New-inn Bastable, J. Church-street, Hackney, chemist. • [Evans, Gray's-inn-square Bill, T. Upton-upon-Severn, Worcestershire, cur- rier. [Lawrence, Droitwich ; Hodgate and Co., Essex-street Bardsley, E. Crompton, Lancashire, fustian-manu- facturer. [Whitehead, Oldham; Milne and Co., Temple Buckley, J. Oldham, Lancashire, coach proprietor. [Whitehead, Oldham ; Milne and Co., Temple Burn, A. W. Love-lane, Eastcheap, wine-merchant. [Pownall, Lothbury Boughton, I. Tewkesbury, Gloucestershire, scri- vener. [Jenkins and Co., New-inn ; Sproule, , Tewkesbury Baird, J. Manchester, brass-founder. [Smith, Manchester ; Milne and Co., Temple Bedbury, J. Bradford, Wilts, plasterer. [King and Co., Gray's-inn-square Bloadworth, C. Vauxhall-walk, Lambeth, stone bottle-manufacturer. [Wrogg, Bedford-place, Southwark-bridge-road Cohen, J. .Chelmsford, cabinet-maker. [Smith Basinghall-street Cook, J. Sun-street, drug-grinder. [Edis, Broad- street-buildings Coster, J. W. Princes-street, Spitalfields. drysalter. [Armstrong, St. John's-square,Clerkenwell Collinson, T. E, Bread-street, City, wholesale- stationer. [Richardson, Ironmonger-lane Corbyn, J. Tokenhouse -yard, master -mariner. Fawcett, Jewin-street Corbett; J. Austrey, Wr.rwickshire, cattle dealer. ' [Dax and Co., Gray's-inn Carpenter, T. Eastham, Essex, schoolmaster. [Kinder, Mark -lane Caldwell.J. Blandford-street, Manchester-square, tailor. [Wilkinson and Co., Bucklersbury Chadwick, I. Smallbridge, Lancashire, dyer. ["Dy- son, Halifax ; Strangeways and Co., Barnard's- inn Donald, W. Brighton, furrier. [Mallock, South- ampton-street, Bloomsbury-square Dunn, W. Great Dover-street, Newington, coffin- - maker. [Shepherd and Co., Cloak-lane Drew, G. Manchester, grocer. [Harris, Man- chester; Ellis and Co. .Chancery-lane Douglass, A. Bow-lane, silk-manufacturer. [Gale, Basioghall-street Edge, T. Burslem, Staffordshire, colour-maker. [Astbury, Stoke- upon -Trent ; Roe, Temple- chambers Field, C. Cranboarne- street, Leicester-square, ho- sier. [Smith, Walbvook Field, J. J., and C. Skelmanthorpe, Yorkshire, fancy cloth-manufacturer. [Fenton, Hudders- ficld ; Wiltshire and Co., Austin-friars Frost, J. W. late of Ilolborn-hill, straw-hat-manu- facturer. [Birkett and Co., Cloak-lane Griffiths, G. Wrexham, Denbighshire, printer. [Thwaites, Little Carter lane Gillies, J.' Liverpool, merchant. [Hinde, Liver- pool; Chester, Staple-inn Green, J. Drayton- in -Hales, Salop, druggist. [Warren and Co , Drayton-in-Hales ; Rosser and Co., Gray's-inn-place Grain, G. Cambridge, hatter. [Sandys and Co., Austin-friars Goddeu, M. late of Cleveland-street, Fitzroy- .• square, victualler. [Hurd and Co., King's- bench-walk, Temple Gibb, T. A. B. P. Spencer-street, Northampton- square, merchant. [Spyer, Austin-friars Holding, T. Dover-street, Hanover-square, hotel- keeper. [Vander Oucht, and Co., Craven- street Hender, F. Club-row, Bethnal-green, wool-manu- facturer.. [Cooper, Co^thall-court, Throgmorton- street [AUG. Hawes, W. Royal Harmonic Institution, Regent- street. [Bolton, Austin-friars Hiscock, J.S.rUandt'ord-forum, Dorsetshire, stone- mason. [Galpine, Blandford ; Walker, Lin- coln's-inn Hilcs, O. Manchester, baker. F^Makinson, Man- chester; Mak'mson and Co., Middle Temple Hurt, G. Kins-street, Cheapsidc, furrier. [Mun- day, Holborn-court Hobbs, W. Bristol, druggist. [Carey and Co., Bristol j King and CoJ Gray's-inn-square Hofigkinson, G. Derby, hatter. [Messrs. R. and M. Brown, Furnival's-inn ; Caught. Portsea Hooper, W. I. and C. Burrows, Adam-street, Adel- phi, wine-merchants. [Monius and Co., Essex- court, Temple Hulse, J. Worcester-street, Southwark, victualler. SRushbury, Carthusian-street Her, W. C. Salisbury, grocer. [Stephen's, Bedford-row Horley, C. Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire, victu- aller. [Smith, Manchester ; Capes, Gray's-inn Hall, F. Brighthelmstore, Sussex, corn -dealer. [Palmer and Co., Bedford-row Harrington, H. and I. Helmet-row, St. Luke's, dyers. [Overtoil and Co., New Broad-street, Bishopsgate Jatham.W. Bradford, Wiltshire, clothier. [King and Co., Gray's-inn-square Jones, T. Shrewsbury, British lace-dealer. [Fos- ter, Liverpool; Jeyes, Chancery-lane Jessop, W. Oxford street, livery stable-keeper. [Browne and Co.,Ftiraival'9finn Juland, J. Cattislock, Dorset-hire, farmer. [Meu- ly, Crewkerne ; Holme and Co., New-inn Jocelyne, W. Bishopsgate-strcet, grocer. [Al- lingham, Hatton-garden Jones, G. Bridgenorth, surgeon. [Seddon, Man- chester ; Hurd and Co., Temple Jones, L. Oswestry, Shropshire, scrivener. [Ed- wards, Oswestry ; Eyde, Essex-street, Strand Barton, J. Durham, hatter. [Hardwick, Law- rence-lane Knilt, H. and H. junior, Cheltenham, plumbers. [Haberfield, Bristol ; Evans and Co., Gray's-inn- square Lonsdale, J. H. Wigan, Lancashire, tea-dealer. [Milne and Co., Temple ; Sloprond, Wigan Lawton, K. Darlaston, Staffordshire, cooper. [Ma- son, Bilston ; Clarke and Co., Chancery-lane Lowe, T. Middlewich, Cheshire, wharfinger. [Wolston, Furnival's - inn ; Ward, Burslem, Staffordshire Ireach; S. H. junior, High - street, Kingsland, jeweller. [Ashley and Co., Tokenhouse-yard Mullinger, W. Garden-street, Whitechapel, flock- manufacturer. [ Platts, Jewin-court, Aldersgate- street Marshall, J. and T. Beakhust, Bristol, coach- builders. [Saunders, Bristol ; Jones, Crosby- square Mott, W. R. Brighton, binlder. [Palmer and Co., Bedford-row Martin, W. Nottingham, grocer. [Pa-sons, Not- tingham ; Yallop, Suffolk-street, Pall-Mali East Mitchell, J Crescent, Minories, merchant. [Davis and Co , Corbet-court, Gracechurch-street Moneyment, M. Swoffham. Norfolk, cabinet - maker. [Brightwell, Norwich ; Taylor and Co., King's-bench-walk Marindin, S. P. Birmingham, merchant. [Barker, Birmingham North, J. Wibsey, Yorkshire, innkeeper. [Alexan- der, Halifax ; Walker, Lincoln's-inn Nicholjs, G. Warminster, Wilts, linen-draper. [King and Co., Gray's inn-square Nixey,. -W. New-street, Covent- garden, tailor. [Harris, Bruton-street, Berkeley-square Gates, I. Glossop, Derbyshire, victualler. [Hutch- inson, Chesterfield, Derbyshire"; Wilson and Co., Sheffield Pharaoh, T. Carshalton. Surrey, corn-dealer. [Tad- hunter, Bermondsey-street Prior, W. Kemerton, Gloucestershire, bleacher. [Sproule, Tewkesbury ; Jenkins and Co., New- inn Potter, T. and J. Holt, Oldham, Lancashire, cot- ton-spinners. [Whitehead, Oldham ; Milne and Co., Temple 1827.] Bankrupts. '217 > Pegp. J. Woburn, Bucks, paper-maker. [Hall and Co., Salter's-hall, C annon-street Prosper, W. junior, Watling-street, wine-merchant. [Green and Co., Sambrook-court, Basinghall- street Prohert, J. Crickhowol, Breconsliire, saddlor. [A'Beck^tt, Golden square ; Ward, Gloucester Ross, R. Yeovil, Somersetshire, victualler. [Har- , vey, Sturminster-Newton ; Pearson, Temple Rilpy, E. Huddersneld, common-brewer. [Wilt- shire and Co., Austin-friars ; Fenton, Hudders- • field .Stroebling. P. E. Stratford-place, Oxford-street, artist. [Miller, New-inn .Spencer, R. Liverpool, flour-dealer. [Prest, Li- verpool ; Taylor and Co., Temple Smith, A. Mark -lane, corn -dealer. [Lewis, Crutched-friars Skyrme, W. Worcester, hatter. [Washrough, Bristol; Battye and Co., Chancery-lane Sergeaiit,J.Weston-super-mare,S<>mersetshire,gro- ccr. [Violelt ami Co., Adam-street. Adelphi Swithenbank, A. Bradford, York, straw-hat~ma= nufacturer. [Morris, Bradford ; Battye and Co., Chancery-lane Stead, J. junior, Royds, Yorkshire, cloth-miller. ' [Dunnings, Leeds ; Smithson and Co., Nevv- - inn Stone, P. Bristol, grocer. [Cornish, Bristol ; Pool and Co., Gray's-inn-square Smith, A. and T. .Kitchingman, Wood - street, Cheapside, Blackwell-lmll, factor*. [Van San- dan and Co., Dowgate hill , . . ;. Stocker, T. junior, Devonport, pawn - broker. [Church, East James - street, Bedford - row ; 'fink, Devonport Thomas, F. S. Bristol, builder. [Smiths, Bristol; Clarke arid Co., Chancery-lane ; I Tarbutt, C. B. St. Mildred's-court, merchant, [t.owless and Co., Hatton-courl, Tiueadneedle street Tarbutt; W. B. St. Mildred's-eourt, merchant. [Lowless and Co., Hatton-court, Threadneedle- stroet Wick ham, E. Islington-green, apothecary. [Top- ping, Maidstone : Hunt, Craven-street, Strand Woolley, I. Nottingham, lace - manufacturer. [Hurst, Nottingham ; Knowles, New-inn * Whittle, J. Miln-row, Lancashire, flannel-manu- facturer. [Seddon, Manchester ; Hurd and Co., Temple Woodcock, W. Preston, timber-merchant. [Blake- Jock, Serjeant's-inn, Fleet-street ; Pilkington, Preston Welsh, J. Manchester, publican. [Pickford; Manchester; Milne and Co., Temple Young, E. junior, Mundford, Norfolk, general shop- keeper. [Ballacliey, Holt, ami Bridge*, Angel- court, Throgtnorton-street Yates, J. Bolton-le-Moors, Lancashire, booksel- ler. [Knowles, Bolton-le-Moors; Milne- and i Co. Temple ECCLESIASTICAL PREFERMENTS. Rev. J. Rudd.to theHalloughton Prebend, Fouth- well.— Rev. G. B. Moxon, to the Rectory of Sand- ringharn with Babingley, Norfolk.— Rev. vV. C. .Leach, to be Minor Canon of Ely Cathedral. — Rev. J. D. Ward, to the Rectory of Kingston, Jste of Wight.— Right Rev. R. J. Carr, to the Resi- dentiary Canonship of St. Paul's. —Rev. T. Sy- monds, to the Vicarage of Stanton Harcourt, Oxon. — Rev.W. Evans, to the- Rectory of Pusey, Berks. T--Rev.W.Goodenough,to the Archdeaconry of Car-' lisle, to which is attached the Living of Great Sal- keld, Cumberland.— Rev. W. King, to the Arch- deaconry of Rochester. — Rev. Dr. Percy, to the Bishoprick of Rochester. — Rev. Archdeacon Bon- ney, to the Deanery of Stamford.— Rev. I. Blan- chard, to be Chaplain to Lord Ferrers.— Rev. R. Cockburn, to the Rectory of Harming, Kent. — Rev. W. Mitchell, to the Rectories of Barwick, Somer- set, and CotleSgh, Devon.— Rev. J. Bluck, to the Recory of Bower's Gifford, Essex. — Rev. F. Rouch, to be Minor Canon of Canterbury Cathe- dral.— Rev. J. Greenwood, to the Rectory of Gains- colne, Essex. — Rev. Dr_Millingchamp, to the Arch- deaconry of Carmarthen. — Hon, and Rev. M. J. Stapleton, to the Vicarage of Tudley-cum-Capel, and the Rectory of Mereworth, Kent.— Rev. F. W. Bayley, to a Prebendary in Rochester. — R-er. J. Fellowes, to the Rectory of Bramerton and Mantby, Norfolk.— Rev. S. N. Bull, to the Vicar- age of Harwich, and Dovercourt -cum - Ramsay. Essex.— Rev. M. Fuller, appointed to St. Peter's, Pimlico.— Rev. T. S. Buckel, to the Reetory of Brighton, Norfolk.— Rev. W. Marshall, to the Vicarage of All Saints, with St. Lawrence, an- nexed, Evesham, Worcester. — Rev. H. P. WiJ- loughby, to the Rectory of Burthorpe. — Rev. T. P. Slapp, to the Rectories of Rickinghall Inferior and Superior, Somerset.— Rev. H. Anson, to the Rectory of Lynge - cum - Whitwell, Norfolk. — Rev. T. Lloyd, to the Chaplaincy of the Coun- ty Gaol of Hertford.— Rev. J. Jenkins, to the Vicarage of Norton, Radnor. — Rev. V. H. P. Somerset, to the Rectory of Honiton, Devon. — Rev. G. M. Coleridge, to the Vicarage of St. Mary's Church, Devon.— Rev. J. Lafont, to the Rectory of St. Ann's, Sutton Bonnington, Notts. Rev. P. W. Worsley, to a Prebendal Stall in Ri, pon Cathedral Church.— Rev. J. W. Beadon, to be Canon Residentiary of Wells.— Rev. C. H. Puls- fprd, to the Vicarage of Burnhanv Somerset. The Hon. Rev. H, Watson, to the Rectory of Kettering, Northampton.— Rev. J. Brocklebank, to the Rectory of Delamere, Chester.— Rev. W. A Norton, to the Rectory of Skenfrith, Monmoutl\ —Rev. C. H. Lethbridge, to the Hyperion.— E. F. Roberts, Gloucester. — J. K. Goldney, Victory. T* Ferris, Britannia.— T. Quarles, Briton. POLITICAL APPOINTMENTS. • Lord William Bentinck, to be Governor General ctf India,— The Right Hon. F. R. Lushington, to be a member of H.M.'s Ptivy Council. — The Duke of Argyle to be Keeper of the Great Seal of Scotland, tord Binning, to be created a Peer by the name of Baron Melros, of Tvnninghame, Haddhigton. — Lord Norbury, created a Peer of Ireland, by the title of Viscount Glandine, and Earl of Norbury.— M.M. Now Series.— VOL. IV. No. 20. Sir W. J. Hope, Sir G. Cockburn, W. R. K. Doug- las, and «T. E. Denison, Esqrs,, to be Members of tl>e Council of H.R.H. the Lord High Admiral of the United Kingdom.— Marquis of Lansdowne, to be one of H.M.'s principal Secretaries of State. — Earl of Carlisle, to be Keeper of the Privy Seal. — The Ri^ht Hon. W. S. Bourne, to be Warden and JCee-per of the -New Forest.— The Right Hon. G.* 2 F 218 Political [Aufe. ranninjr, Karl Mountcliarlw, Lord F. L. Gower, gerald, and also E. A. M'Nagbten, esq., to be Lord E.G. Eliot, and tbe Right Hon. M. Fitz. Commissioners of the Treasury. INCIDENTS, MARRIAGES, AND. DEATHS, TN AND NEAR LONDON, ETC. CHRONOLOGY. sported for various periods, and several ordered te> June 25.-Mr. Hunt chosen Auditor of the City be imprisoned. William Sheen was tried ^second Accounts at Guildhall. 27.— Another accident happened at the Thames Tunnel, by which one person lost his life. 30.— The Lord Mayor, Sheriffs, &c., went from Guildhall to the King's Palace, St. James's, to deliver the Address voted by the Common Council, on the firmness His Majesty had displayed in sup- porting his just prerogative on the late change of broke> egq<> to Elizabeth, daughter of the late Mar- the ministry. To which His Majesty said,—' cus Beresford, esq., and the Lady Frances Bere*- receive with satisfaction this loyal and dutiful ad- fo].d . £ fi p0rtman, esq., M.P., Dorset, to Lady dress of the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Com- Emma Lascelles, third daughter of Earl and Coun- mons of the City of London. Whatever diffi- tess Harewood ; E. M. Lloyd, esq., to Lady Har- culties I may have experienced in the exercise of riot Scott> daughter of Lord cionmell ; Sir A. time for the murder of his own child, and again acquitted, owing to his child having been known by the names of "Sheen and Beadle!!!" 20. — An Order in Council suspended the em- bodying the militia for 1827. MARRIAGES. At St. George's, Hanover-square, Felix Lad- my just prerogative on the occasion to which that Address refers, the consciousness that I had no other objecf in view than the public good, has enabled me to meet and overcome them." — The Recorder made his report to the King Campbell, bart., to Miss Malcolm, daughter of Maj.-Gen. Sir J. Malcolm, G.C.B,— Rev. G. A. Montgomery, to Cecilia, third daughter of the late Dr. Markham, Dean of York.— G. C. Antrobus, esq., M.P., to Jane, daughter of Sir C. Trotter, in [Council of 33 prisoners lying under sentence of bait.— H. Baring, esq., to Lady Augusta Brude death in Newgate, when 3 w«re ordered for execu- tion on July 6, and the rest respited. July 2.— The Parliament was prorogued by com- mission. 5. — The Bank of England issued notice, that bills having no more than 95 days to run, would be discounted at 4 per cent. nell, fifth daughter to the Earl of Cadogan.— Major H. Dundas, to Annie Maria, second daughter, and Sir H. Willock, late Charges d'Affaives to the Court of Persia, to Eliza, fourth daughter of the late S. Davis, esq., Portland-place. — Captain A.C. Skyn- ner, to Maria Adelaide Peachey Robbins, daugl-. ter of the late Lieut.-Col. Price Robbins.— Captain G. F.Ryves, son of Admiral Ryves, and nephew 6.-A Memorial presented by H.R.H. the Lord ^ Arn'ndel]> to Charit third d'aughter of T. High Admiral to the Privy Council, approved of by His Majesty, and directed, by an Order in Coun- cil, to be carried into effect, was published for the Theobald, e*q.,of the Grays.— At H.R.H. the Duke of Clarence's, Bushey-park, the Hon. J. E. Ken- nedy, son of Lord Cassilis, to Miss Augusta Fitz- apprehension of smugglers, and the seizure of goods, clarence._At Wilite-hall-place, F. H. Cornwall, and the improved manner in which they are to be g(m flf ^ Bish Qf WorcC8ter> to Fanny> distributed. The same regulations are proposed d hu?r to Sir G Caulficl(1> bart._At St. Jameses to be applied to the rewards granted for the cap- Church> Major Digneiiey) of tie Royal Horse Ar- ture and destruction of piratical ships, and of ves- m^ tQ (hc HQ^ Mary Frcderica Law, sjster t sels engaged in the Slave Trade. Lord Ellenborough.— Vice Admiral Parker, to Miss 9.— H.R.H. the Duke of Clarence visited Ply- A Butt.— Rev. J. Galloway, to Margaret, third mouth and Davenport, as Lord High Admiral, and daughter of G Shedden, esq., Bedford-square.— inspected the Breakwater, and the various works At Mary-le-bone, J. E. Denison, esq.,M P., Hast- at those places connected with the navy; His ingS} to" Lady Charlotte Bentinck, third daughter Royal Highness went by sea in His Majesty's Of the Duke of Portland, yacht, the Royal Sovereign. The Ducless of Cla- fence also visited the above places; Her Royal Highness went by land, accompanied by her suite. 12.— The Sessions began at the Old Bailey. DEATHS. At Clapham, E. Parry, esq., one of the Directors of the East-India Company, and brother-in-law to the Right Hon. Lord Bexley.— In Queen-square, 13. — Two culprits only executed at the Old Bailey> 80, J. Dorington, esq., clerk of the fees of the the third being respited. — An action of libel was brought in the Court of Common Pleas, against the proprietors of the Morning Chronicle, for publishing affidavits im- House of -Commons.— Tn Portland-place, G. Ley- cester, esq.; and 88, R. Baker, esq.— 77, Signor Sapio, pianist to the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, Queen of France ; in feeling and expression, his puting to the plaintiff's wife, a Mrs. Scott, ad ul- style of playing never was exceeded —At Lord tery, perjury, and theft ; the defendant pleaded the Dundonald's, Hammersmith, Mrs. Dorothea Plow- general issue as to the charge of perjury, and a den, relict of F. Plowden, [esq., the " Historian justification of the charges of adultery and theft, of Ireland," and author of several literary works. After a long trial, which continued two days, the jury delivered their verdict — one farthing dama- ges, and 40 shillings costs. 17.— Sessions ended at the Old Bailey, when 17 prisoners received sentence of death, fil were Iran- —66, Lieut. Gen. Hutton, son to the late celebrat- ed mathematician, Dr. Button.— In Great George- street, 73, R. Ellison, esq., Recorder of Lincoln. At Westbourne, 74, S. P. Cockerell, esq.— G. F. Tyson, esq.— C. W. Bun-ell, esq., eldest son of Sir 1827.) Incidents^ Marriages, 219 C. M. Barrell, bart., and of Christ Church, Ox- ford.— At Sunbury, Lady Bayntun, widow of -Sir A. Bayntun, bart.— At Queenhithe, 63, Mr. T. Walker.— At Stratford-place, Frances, wife of the Hon. J. W. Stratford. MARRIAGES ABROAD. At Berlin, Prince Albert of Schwarztr'rg Rude- fctadt, to the Princess Augusta of Salms Brainfels, daughter of H.R.H. the Duchess of Cumberland. -At the Ambassador's Chapel, Paris, J. Wright, junior, csq., to Cecilia Georgiana, daughter of the late Hon. J. Byng. — At Brussels, William, son of Sir G. Pigott, bart, to Harriet, lister to Viscount Gormaneton. DEATHS ABROAD. At Dieppe, Jane, relict of the late Sir F. H. Bathurst, bart.— At Messina, Rev. C. Thurgar.— At Velletri, Right Hon. G. Knox, son of the late Lord Northland.— At Corfu, Mrs. Forest, wife of R. Forest, esq., Judge in the Ionian Islands.— At Quebec, Mr. H. A. Laurinston.— At Brussels, Miss Lydia Jubilee Gompertz, of Teigumouth. — At Montpelier, the Hon. J. Cavendish Tallot, bro- ther to the Earl of Shrewsburv. MONTHLY PROVINCIAL OCCURRENCES; WITH THE MARRIAGES AND DEATHS. KORTHUMBERLAND AND DURHAM. A committee has been appointed by the Mayor and Aldermen of Newcastle to examine into the state of the Tyne, and to report thereon what can be done towards its improvement. A rail-road is about to be formed between the city of Carlisle and Newcastle-upon-Tyne. A branch bank of the Bank of England is about to be established at Newcastle. One of the kilns at Morton Tinmouth lime-kilns, wear Gaiofovd, having, on the 5th instant, been what is termed burnt hollow, and fresh stones and coal being put upon it, two men went upon the stones for the purpose of forcing them down with a long poker, and in a moment the substance be- low gave xvay, and the unfortunate men sunk above the waist, and were suffocated by the large quantity of smoke arising from the fresh matter. Their names were William Stoddart and Jonathan Blakey. Married.'} At Ryton, Capt. F. Johnston (83d Regt.) to Miss Downing.— At Bishopwearmoutli, R. A. Davidson, to Miss Davidson.— At Yarm, J. Dale, e«q., to Miss Graves. — At Chester-le-Street, Mr. G. Curry, to Miss Ann Bland. Died."] At Bishopwearmouth, 83, H. Blythe, esq.— At Bishop-oak, 81, R. Curry, esq,— W. Met- calfe, esq., Tynemouth-liouse. — At Beaufront, 89, J. Errington, esq. — At Ord-house, W. Grieve, esq. —At Morpeth, 22, Mr. H. Walker, a native of Ja- maica. He has left the\r freedom, and £ 2 each, to all his slaves there. — At Newcastle, Robert Foster, eeq.— At Carville, the Rev. Dr. M'Allum. — At Bishop Auckland, the Rev. J. Bacon. CUMBERLAND AND WESTMORELAND. A meeting of the county of Cumberland was held at Carlisle, June 30, for the purpose of co-ope- rating with the county of Northumberland in ef- fecting the formation of a rail-road between the city of Carlisle and Newcastle-upon-Tyne, whei> the scheme was unanimously sustained, a com* mittee formed, and subscriptions entered into to carry it into effect. Died.'] At Eden-hall, Sir Philip Musgravc, bart, M.P. for Carlisle.— At Pooley-bridge, Oils- water, Mr. Russell, the obliging innkeeper, and yclept the "Admiral" of the lake. YORKSHIRE. Our accounts of the state of trade from the va- rious towns where the woollen cloth and the worsted stuff manufactures prevail, have been ex- tremely gratifying during the past month, and con- tinue so. The domestic manufacturers aie at pic. sent pretty well employed, and all the factories of the district are in full work. The demand is steady but not excessive, and the business done is safej and moderately profitable. The improvement in the condition of the labouring classes, as con- trasted with their state this time last year, cannofc be viewed without emotions of the most gratifying kind, and it will be with difficulty that workmen can be spared from the loom and the jenny to assist in gathering in the plentiful harvest by which we are surrounded. At the recent annual meeting of the members of the Sheffield Mechanics' Library, held at the Town's-hall, it was proposed to admit novels and, plays, when a majority of about ten to one negatived the proposition, adhering to the original idea, as ex- plained by Mr. Montgomery (in the chair) " that novels and plays and infidel publications should form no part of the library." Two neighbours at Hull (John Garton and David Hayneld) had each a hive of bees, which swarmed on Saturday the 16th ult., in one body on a tree, from whence they were taken and hived. The fol- lowing Tuesday, a similar phenomenon took place from the same two hives. A circumstance perhaps never heard of before. A Mechanics' Institute has been formed in York. A mushroom was gathered on the 30th June at Dring-houses, near York, which measured 3& inches in circumference. In the first week in this month, a subterraneous fire was discovered in St. Peter's-square, Leeds ; the smoke issued from the earth in such quantities as to alarm the neighbourhood ; and an excavation being made to discover the cause of this extraor- dinary phenomenon, a large body of fire was seen, which, on the accession of air, burst into a vivid flame. Engines were procured ; and it was sup- posed the fire was extinguished. The next day, however, the smoke was seen to arise again, and excavators were set to work to discover the same ; it was found to have originated in a vein of coals, over which a pipe burner's furnace had been erected ; and was supposed to have been burning1 for six months. As WombwelPs Menagerie was at Dewsbury, on its way to Leeds fair, some villain endeavoured to set tire to it, by throwing a lighted brand on one o£ the caravans ; fortunately it was discovered, and extinguished before the outer cover of the caravan was burnt throwSn> or the consequences might hav« been dreadful. 2 F2 220 Provincial Occurrences : Stafford, Salop, Lancashire, £c. £A to Married.] At North Ferriby, M. Babington, fsq., to Miss Fanny Sykes.— At Leeds, E. Hutton, esq., to Miss Luccor'hu. — At Knate'sbrough, H. Dewes,esq.,toMiss Dearlove. — At York, K. Tedlie, esq., to Miss Walsh ; the Rev. J. Wreiord, to Miss V,>ilbeloved.— At Hull, the ilev. A. Hinehclitfe, to Miss Lowers.— At Beverley, the Rev. A. Ford, to Miss Bentley; J. Bogg, esq., to Miss Beatley ; A. Cox, esq., to MissScfuton. — At Doncaster, E. Jew, esq., to Miss Hind.— At Leeds, W. Paul, esq., to Miss Whitaker; R. Bleasley, esq., to Mrs. Hargreaves. — At Great Duffield, the Rev. C. Forge, to Miss Kirkley.— At Halifax, J. C. Johnson, esq,, to Miss Greaves. Died.'] At Harrowgate, 73, Mtsa Hurton.— At Waketield, Mrs. E,gremont. — At Heworth, Miss Coupland.— At Malton, G. Wright, esq.— At Mir- field, the Rev. T. Ledgwicke.— At Kirkstall, J. Holdforth, esq.— At Tnkliill-rastle, S. Shore, esq. —At NunappL'ton, J. Shore, esq.— At Masham, J. BoIlauJ, esq. STAFFORD AND SALOP. July 19, the first stone of the New InSrmary at Shrewsbury was laid by the Right Hon. Lord Hill, with the usual ceremonies. A meeting has been held in St. Chad's Vestry- room, Shrewsbury, for the purpose of adopting measures for the erection of an additional church in Frankwell, when a liberal subscription was en- tered Into for that purpose. Married.] At Madeley, Mr. Smith, to Miss Ford. — At Shrewsbury, Rev. E. Nicholson, to Miss Rowley.— At Ludlow, G. Garrett, esq., to Miss Adarne. Died] At Stoke-upon-Ticnt, 73, J. Spode, esq. At Minton, 103, Alice MedTTcolt; she practised midwifery for upwards of 60 years... At Ludlow, Miss M. Millinchip.— At Barton-under-Needwood, 89, T. Webb, esq. ; ana the day after, 75, Alice, his sister. LANCASHIRE AND LINCOLNSHIRE. A meeting has been held at Manchester, the Boroughreeve in the chair, and very numerously attended, when it was resolved to address the1 King, praying him to enjoin on his ministers to introduce early in the next Session of Parliament such an arrangement with reference to the Cora Laws, as may satisfy the reasonable wishes, and reconcile the substantial interests of all classes of His Majesty's subjects. At the recent anniversary meeting at Man- chester of the Missionary Society, the sum sub- scribed actually netted from that place alone A dreadful Accident happened, July 6, at the new factory of Mr. Kearsley, Tyldesley Banks, near Chowbent. The engineer having neglected (as it is supposed) to open the valve of the steam-engine, communicating with the pipe running across the boiler-hpuse to the engine in the old factory, caused a tremendous explosion, which shivered to pieces the whole of the beams and pillars, both of wood and iron, &c. and caused the death of 11 unfortu- nate persons, besides wounding several others. Married] At the Catholic-chapel, Alston, and At the parish church, Preston, J. P. Anderton, esq, to Miss M. Sidgreaves __ At Birstal, Mr. J. Priestley (relative of the late Dr. Priestley) to Miss Overend. , Died] At Liverpool, 81 , Mrs. E. Miller; her death was occasioned by treading on an orantre peel. — At Bolton,74, Mr. Crompton, the inventor of the Mule spinning machine, now so much used, and for which he neglecting to take out a patent, others had the benefit of the invention. Parlia- ment granted him '.£5,000 upon petition, which he, }ost in bubinc*s. DERBY AND NOTTINGHAM. The Melbourne Infant School was opened for public inspection June 29, and afforded a respect- able audience the highest gratification ; it consists of 113 infants- It is estimated that 13,000 infants are now receiving instruction in the different schools in this kingdom! The fragments of a piece of stone, in which a live toad was found, and which, for any thing w« can tell, may Imve been its dormitory since thS flood, is now in our possession, and may be seen by any one who is curious in such matters. It was discovered last week by some persons in the employ of Messrs. Barber and Walker of Eastwood t while at work in a limestone quarry at Watnall. The stone is hard, but of a gritty texture, and its place in the quarry was 16 feet below the surface of the earth. When found, the toad was alive; it was buried by the men in its petrid cradle, they intending to remove the whole at their leisure. Some unlucky urchins, however, who it seems Ilad been watching the workmen, in the absence of the latter, went to the spot and killed the animal. The cavity in which the toad was imbedded is so confined as barely to admit of its turning round in its cell, and is coated with a crystalized or sparry substance. Married] At Clowne, R. Machell, esq., to M;ss Harriot Pawsey.— At Alfreton, Mr. Dent, to Mr?, /.vison. — At Pinxton, G. Robinson, e. 10 75 59 30 05 29 91 76 78 WXW WNW f 11 60 71 1 56 29 93 30 02 82 76 N NNB Overc. — — 63 73 57 30 05 30 07 74 78 E.VE E Fair — — 13 68 72 54 3) 07 30 09 7o 70 SE E 14 62 72 53 30 07 30 01 73 75 ENE ESE _ __ _ 15 € 64 74 56 29 96 29 93 81 74 NE ENE — — Clo. 16 ' . 64 72 56 29 93 29 94 79 78 E SSK — _ Fair 17 61 60 29 94 29 91 81 76 S SW _ — 18 65 73 58 29 87 29 93 82 69 SW W Clo. Fair — 19 35 61 69 60 29 90 29 93 79 95 WSW SW S.Rain Rain Rain The quantity of Rain fallen in the month of June wus 73-100ths of an inch. ERRATUM. — In last Journal, for the quantity of Rain fallen in one day, &c., read the quantity of Rain THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOL. IV.] SEPTEMBER, 1827. [No. 21, ON MEANS AND ENDS. " We work by wit, and not by witchcraft."— IAGO. IT is impossible to have things done without doing them. This seems a truism ; and yet what is more common than to suppose that we shall find things done, merely by wishing it ? To put the will for the deed is as usual in practice as it is contrary to common sense. There is, in fact, no absurdity, no contradiction, of which the mind is not capable. This weakness is, I think, more remarkable in the English than in any other people, in whom (to judge by what I discover in myself) the will bears great and disproportioned sway. We desire a thing : we contemplate the end intently, and think it done, neglecting the necessary means to accom- plish it. The strong tendency of the mind towards it, the internal effort it makes to give birth to the object of its idolatry, seems an adequate cause to produce the wished-for effect, and is in a manner identified with it. This is more particularly the case in what relates to the Fine Arts, and will account for same phenomena in the national character. The English style is distinguished by what are called ebauches*— rude sketches, or violent attempts at effect, with a total inattention to the details or delicacy of finishing. Now this, I apprehend, proceeds not exactly from grossness of perception, but from the wilfulness of our characters, our determination to have every thing our own way without any trouble, or delay, or distraction of mind. An object strikes us : we see and feel the whole effect at once. We wish to produce a likeness of it ; but we wish to transfer the impression to the canvas as it is conveyed to us, simulta- neously and intuitively — that is> to stamp it there at a blow — or, other- wise, we turn away with impatience and disgust, as if the means were an obstacle to tho end, and every attention to the mechanical process were a deviation from our original purpose. We thus degenerate, by repeated failures, into a slovenly style of art; and that which was at first an undis- ciplined and irregular impulse, becomes a habit, and then a theory. It * Properly, daubs, M.M. New Series,— VOL. IV. No. 21. 2 G 226 On Means and Ends. [SEPT. seems a little strange that the zealous devotion to the end should produce aversion to the means ; hut so it is : neither is it, however irrational, alto- gether unnatural. That which we are struck with, which we are enamoured of, is the general appearance or result ; and it would certainly be most desirable to produce the effect we aim at by a word or wish, if it were possible, without being taken up with the mechanical drudgery or pettiness of detail, or dexterity of execution, which, though they are essen- tial and component parts of the work, do not enter into our thoughts, or form any part of our contemplation. In a word, the hand does not keep pace with the eye ; and it is the desire that it should, that causes all the contradiction and confusion. We would have a face to start out from the canvas at once — not feature by feature, or touch by touch; we would be glad to convey an attitude or a divine expression to the spectator by a stroke of the pencil, as it is conveyed by a glance of the eye, or by the magic of feeling, independently of measurements, and distances, and fore- shortening, and numberless minute particulars, and all the instrumentality of the art. We may find it necessary, on a cool calculation, to go through and make ourselves masters of these; but, in so doing, we submit only to necessity, and they are still a diversion to, and a suspension of, our favour- ite purpose for the time — at least unless practice has given that facility which almost identifies the two together, and makes the process an unconscious one. The end thus devours up the means ; or our eagerness for the one, where it is strong and unchecked, renders us in proportion impatient of the other. So we view an object at a distance, which excites in us an inclination to visit it : this, after many tedious steps and intricate windings, we do; but, if we could fly, we should never consent to go on foot. The mind, however, has wings, though the body has not ; and, wherever the imagination can come into play, our desires outrun their accomplishment. Persons of this extravagant humour should addict them- selves to eloquence or poetry, where the thought " leaps at once to its effect," and is wafted, in a metaphor or an apostrophe, " from Indus to the Pole ;" though even there we should find enough, in the preparatory and mechanical parts of those arts, to try our patience and mortify our vanity ! The first and strongest impulse of the mind is to achieve any object, on which it is set, at once, and by the shortest and most decisive means ; but, as this cannot always be done, we ought not to neglect other more indirect and subordinate aids; nor should we be tempted to do so, but that the delusions of the will interfere with the convictions of the under- standing, and what we ardently wish, we fancy to bo both possible and true. Let us take the instance of copying a fine picture. We are full of the effect we intend to produce ; and so powerfully does this prepossession affect us, that we imagine we have produced it, in spite of the evidence of our senses and the suggestions of friends. In truth, after a number of violent and anxious efforts to strike off a resemblance which we passion- ately long for, it seems an injustice not to have succeeded ; it is too late to retrace our steps, and begin over again in a different method ; we prefer even failure to arriving at our end by petty, mechanical tricks and rules ; we have copied Titian or Rubens in the spirit in which they ought to be copied ; though the likeness may not be perfect, there is a look, a tone, a Something, which we chiefly aimed at, and which we persuade ourselves, seeing the copy only through the dazzled, hectic flush of feverish imagina- tion, we have really given ; and thus we persist, and make fifty excuses, sooner than own our error, which would imply its abandonment ,;, or, if 1827.) On Mean* and Ends. 227 the light breaks in upon Us, through all the disguises of sophistry and self- love, it is so painful that we shut our eyes to it. The more evident our, failure, the more desperate the struggles we make to conceal it from our- selves, to stick to our original determination, and end where we began. What makes me think that this is the real stumbling-block in our way, and not mere rusticity or want of discrimination, is that you will see an English artist admiring and thrown into downright raptures by the tucker of Titian's Mistress, made up of an infinite number of little delicate folds ; and, if he attempts to copy it, he proceeds deliberately to omit all these details, and dash it off by a single smear of his brush. This is not igno- rance, or even laziness, I conceive, so much as what is called jumping at a conclusion. It is, in a word, an overweening presumption. " A wilful man must have his way." He sees the details, the varieties, and their effect: he sees and is charmed with all this; but he would reproduce it with the same rapidity and unembarrassed freedom that he sees it — or not at all. He scorns the slow but sure method, to which others conform, as tedious and inanimate. The mixing his colours, the laying in the ground, the giving all his attention to a minute break or nice gradation in the several lights and shades, is a mechanical and endless operation, very dif- ferent from the delight he feels in studying the effect of all these, when properly and ably executed. Quam nihil ad tuum, Papiniane, ingeniuml Such fooleries are foreign to his refined taste and lofty enthusiasm ; and a doubt crosses his mind, in the midst of his warmest raptures, how Titian could resolve upon the drudgery of going through them, or whether it was not rather owing to extreme facility of hand, and a sort of trick in laying on the colours, abridging the mechanical labour ! No one wrote or talked more eloquently about Titian's harmony and clearness of colouring than, the late Mr. Barry — discoursing of his greens, his blues, his yellows, " the little red and white of which he composed his flesh-colour," con amore ; yet his own colouring was dead and dingy, and, if he had copied a Titian, he would have made it a mere daub, leaving out all that caused his wonder or admiration, or that induced him to copy it after the English or Irish fashion. We not only grudge the labour of beginning, but we stop short, for the same reason, when we are near touching the goal of success, and, to save a few last touches, leave a work unfinished and an object unattained. The immediate steps, the daily gradual improvement, the successive completion of parts, give us no pleasure ; we strain at the final result ; we wish to have the whole done, and, in our anxiety to get it off our hands, say it will do, and lose the benefit of all our pains by stint- ing a little more, and being unable to command a little patience. In a day or two, we will suppose, a copy of a fine Titian would be as like as we could make it : the prospect of this so enchants us, that we skip the inter,- vening space, see no great use in going on with it, fancy that we may spoil it, and, in order to put an end to the question, take it home with us, where we immediately see our error, and spend the rest of our lives in regretting that we did not finish it properly when we were about it. We can execute only a part ; we see the whole of nature or of a picture at once. Hinc ilia: lackrymcd. The English grasp at this whole — nothing less interests or contents them ; and, in aiming at too much, they miss their object alto- gether. A French artist, on the contrary, has none of this uneasy, anxious feel- ing—of this desire to master the whole of his subject, and anticipate his good fortune at a blow — of this massing and concentrating principle. He 2 G 2 228 On Means anil Ends. [SEPT. takes the thing more easy and rationally. He has none of the mental qualms, the nervous agitation, the wild, desperate plunges and convulsive throes of the English artist. He does not set off headlong without knowing where he is going, and find himself up to the neck in all sorts of difficulties and absurdities, from impatience to begin and have the matter off his mind (as if it were an evil conscience) ; but takes time to consider, arranges his plans, gets in his outline and his distances, and lays a foundation before he attempts a superstructure which he may have to pull in pieces again, or let it remain — a monument of his folly. He looks before he leaps, which is contrary to the true blindfold English rule ; and 1 should think that we had invented this proverb from seeing so many fatal examples of the viola- tion of it. Suppose he undertakes to make a copy of a picture : he first looks at it, and sees what it is. He does not make his sketch all black or all white, because one part of it is so, and because he cannot alter an idea he has once got into his head and must always run into extremes, but varies his tints (strange as it may seem) from green to red,- from orange-tawney to yellow, from grey to brown, according at they vary in the original. He sees no inconsistency, no forfeiture of a principle, in this (any more than Mr. Southey in the change of the colours of his coat), but a great deal of right reason, and indeed an absolute necessity for it, if he wishes to succeed in what he is about. This is the last thing in an Englishman's thoughts : he only wishes to have his own way, though it ends in defeat and ruin — strives hard to do what he is sensible he cannot — or, if he finds he can, gives over and leaves the matter short of a triumphant conclusion, which is too flattering an idea for him to indulge in. The French artist proceeds with due deliberation, and bit by bit. He takes some one part — a hand, an eye, a piece of drapery, an object in the back- ground—and finishes it carefully ; then another, and so on to the end. When he has gone through every part, his picture is done : there is nothing more that he can add to it; it is a numerical calculation, and there are only so many items in the account. An Englishman may go on slobbering his over for the hundredth time, and be no nearer than when he began. As he tries to finish the whole at once, and as this is not possible, he always leaves his work in an imperfect state, or as if he had begun on a new can- vas— like a man who is determined to leap to the top of a tower, instead of scaling it step by step, and who is necessarily thrown on his back every time he repeats the experiment. Again, the French student does not, from a childish impatience, when he is near the end, destroy the effect of the whole, by leaving some one part eminently deficient, an eye-sore to the rest; nor does he fly from what he is about, to any thing else that happens to catch his eye, neglecting the one and spoiling the other. He is, in our old poet's phrase, " constrained by mastery," by the mastery of com- mon sense and pleasurable feeling. He is in no hurry to get to the end; for he has a satisfaction in the work, and touches and retouches perhaps a single heed, day after day and week after week, without repining, uneasiness, or apparent progress. The very lightness and buoyancy of his feelings renders him (where the necessity of this is pointed out) patient and laborious. An Englishman, whatever he undertakes, is as if he was carry- ing a heavy load that oppresses both his body and mind, and that he is anxious to throw down as soon as possible. The Frenchman's hopes and fears are not excited to a pitch of intolerable agony, so that he is compelled, ;in mere compassion to himself, to- bring the question to a speedy issue, even to the loss of his object. He is calm, easy, collected, and takes his 1 827.] On Means and Ends. 229 time and improves his advantages as they occur, with vigilance and alacrity. Pleased with himself, he is pleased with whatever occupies his attention nearly alike. He is never taken at a disadvantage. Whether he paints an angel or a joint-stool, it is much the same to him : whether it is landscape or history, still it is he who paints it. Nothing puts him out of his way, for nothing puts him out of conceit with himself. This self-complacency forms an admirable ground-work for moderation and docility in certain particulars', though not in others. I remember an absurd instance enough of this deliberate mode of setting to work in a young French artist, who was copying the Titian's Mistress in the Louvre, some twenty years ago. After getting in his chalk-outline, one would think he might have been attracted to the face — that heaven of beauty (as it appears to some), clear, transparent, open, breathing freshness, that "makes a sunshine in the shady place ;" or to the lustre of the golden hair; or some part of the poetry of the picture (for, with all its materiality, this picture has a poetry about it) ; instead of which he began to finish a square he had marked out in the right-hand corner of the picture, contain- ing a piece of board and a bottle of some kind of ointment. He set to work like a cabinet-maker or an engraver, and appeared to have no sym- pathy with the soul of the picture. On a Frenchman (generally speaking), the distinction between the great and the little, the exquisite and the indif- ferent, is in a great measure lost : his self-satisfied egotism supplies what- ever is wanting up to a certain point, and neutralizes whatever goes beyond it. Another young man, at the time I speak of, was for eleven weeks daily employed in making a black-lead pencil drawing of a small Leo- nardo : he set with his legs balanced across a rail to do it, kept his hat on, every now and then consulted with his friends about his progress, rose up, went to the fire to warm himself, talked of the styles of the different masters — praising Titian pour les colon's, Raphael pour ^expression, Poussin pour la composition — all being alike to him, provided they had each something to help him on in his harangue (for that was all he thought about), — and then returned to perfectionate (as he called it) his copy. This would drive an Englishman out of his senses, supposing him to be ever so stupid. The perseverance and the interruptions, the labour with- out impulse, the attention to the parts in succession, and disregard of the whole together, are to him utterly incomprehensible. He wants to do something striking, and bends all his thoughts and energies to one mighty effort. A Frenchman has no notion of this summary proceeding, exists mostly in his present sensations, and, if he is left at liberty to enjoy or trifle with these, cares about nothing farther, looking neither backwards nor .forwards. They forgot the reign or terror under Robespierre in a month ; they forgot that they had ever been called the great nation under Buona- parte in a week. They sat in chairs on the Boulevards (just as they do at other times), when the shots were firing into the next street, and were only persuaded to quit them when their own soldiers were seen pouring down all the avenues from the heights of Montmartre, crying " Sauve quipeut !" They then went home and dressed themselves to see the Allies enter Paris, as a fine sight, just as they would witness a procession at a theatre. This is carrying the instinct of levity as far as it will go. With all their affectation and want of sincerity, there is, on the principle here stated, a kind of simplicity and nature about them after all. They lend themselves -to the impression of the moment with good humour and good will, making it riot much bettor nor worse than it is: the English constantly over-do or 230 On Means and Ends. [SEPT'. under-do every thing, and are either mad with enthusiasm or in despair* The extreme slowness and regularity of the French school have then arisen, as a natural consequence, out of their very fickleness and frivolity (their severally supposed national characteristics) ; for, owing to the last, their studious exactness costs them nothing ; and, again, they have no headstrong impulses or ardent longings that urge them on to the violation of rules, or hurry them away with a subject or with the interest belonging to it. All is foreseen and settled before-hand, so as to assist the fluttering and feeble hold they have of things. When they venture beyond the literal and formal, and (mistaking pedantry and bombast for genius) attempt the grand and the impressive style, as in David's and Girodet's pictures, the Lord deliver us from sublimity engrafted on insipidity and petit-maitre-ism ! You see a solitary French artist in the Louvre copying a Raphael or a Rubens, standing on one leg, not quite sure of what he is about : you see them collected in groupes about David's, elbowing each other, thinking them even finer than Raphael, more truly themselves, a more perfect com- bination of all that can be taught by the Greek sculptor and the French posture-master ! Is this patriotism, or want of taste ? If the former, it is excusable ; and why not, if the latter ? Even should a French artist fail, he is not disconcerted — there is some* thing else he excels in : " for one unkind and cruel fair, another still con- soles him." He studies in a more graceful posture, or pays greater atten- tion to his dress ; or he has a friend, who has beaucoup du talent, and conceit enough for them both. His self-love has always a salvo, and comes upon its legs again, like a cat or a monkey. Not so with Bruin the Bear. If an Englishman (God help the mark !) fails in one thing, it is all over with him ; he is enraged at the mention of any thing else he can do, and at every consolation offered him on that score ; he banishes all other thoughts, but of his disappointment and discomfiture, from his breast — neither eats nor sleeps (it is well if he does not swallow down double " potations, 'pottle-deep/* to drown remembrance) — will not own, even to himself, any other thing in which he takes an interest or feels a pride ; and is in the horrors till he recovers his good opinion of himself in the only point on which he now sets a value, and for which his anxiety and disorder of mind incapacitate him as effectually as if he were drunk with strong liquor instead of spleen and passion. I have here drawn the character of an Englishman, I am sure; for it is a portrait of myself and, I am sorry to add, an unexaggerated one. I intend these Essays as studies of human nature ; and as, in the prosecution of this design, I do not spare others, I see no reason why I should spare myself. — I lately tried to make a copy of a portrait by Titian (after several years' want of practice), with a view to give a friend in England some notion of the picture, which is equally remarkable and fine. I failed, and floundered on for some days, as might be expected. I must say the effect on me was painful and exces- sive. My sky was suddenly overcast. Every thing seemed of the colour of the paints I used. Nature in my eyes became dark and gloomy. I had no sense or feeling left, but of the unforeseen want of power, and of the tor- menting struggle to do what i could not. I was ashamed ever to have written or spoken on art : it seemed a piece of vanity and affectation in me to do so — all whose reasonings and refinements on the subject ended in an execrable daub. Why did I think of attempting such a thing with- out weighing the consequences of exposing my presumption and incapa- city so unnecessarily ? It was blotting from my mind, covering with a 1827.] On Means and Ends. 231 thick veil all that I remembered of these pictures formerly — my hopes when young, my regrets since, one of the few consolations of my life and of my declining years. I was even afraid to walk out of an evening by the barrier of Neuilly, or to recal the yearnings and associations that once hung upon the beatings of my heart. All was turned to bitterness and gall. To feel any thing but the consciousness of my own helplessness and folly, appeared a want of sincerity, a mockery, and an insult to my mortified pride ! The only relief I had was in the excess of pain I felt : this was at least some distinction. I was not insensible on that side. No French artist, I thought, would regret not copying a Titian so much as I did, nor so far shew the same value for it, however he might have the advantage of me in drawing or mechanical dexterity. Besides, I had copied this very picture very well formerly. If ever I got out of my present scrape, I had at any rate received a lesson not to run the same risk of vexation, or com- mit myself gratuitously again upon any occasion whatever. Oh! happy ought they to be, I said, who can do any thing, when I feel the misery, the agony, the dull, gnawing pain of being unable to do what I wish in this single instance ! When I copied this picture before, I had no other resource, no other language. My tongue then stuck to the roof of my mouth : now it is unlocked, and I have done what I then despaired of doing in another way. Ought I not to be grateful and contented ? Oh, yes ! — and think how many there are who have nothing to which they can turn themselves, and fail in every object they undertake. Well, then, Let bygones be bygones (as the Scotch proverb has it) ; give up the attempt, and think no more of Titian, or of the portrait of a Man in black in the Louvre. This would be very well for any one else ; but for me, who had nearly exhausted the subject on paper, that I should take it into my head to paint a libel of what I had composed so many and such fine panegyrics upon — it was a fatality, a judgment upon me for my vapouring and conceit. I must be as shy of the subject for the future as a damned author is of the title of his play or the name of his hero ever after. Yet the picture would look the same as ever. I could hardly bear to think so : it would be hid or defaced to me as " in a phantasma or a hideous dream." I must turn my thoughts from it, or they would lead to madness ! The copy went on better afterwards, and the affair ended less tragically than I apprehended. I did not cut a hole in the canvas, or commit any other extravagance : it is now hanging up very quietly facing me ; and I have considerable satisfaction in occasionally looking at it, as I write this para- graph. Such are the agonies into which we throw ourselves about trifles — our rage and disappointment at want of success in any favourite pursuit, and, our neglect of the means to ensure it. A Frenchman, under the penalty of half the chagrin at failure, would take just twice the pains and considera- tion to avoid it : but our morbid eagerness and blundering impetuosity, together with a certain concrete/less of imagination which prevents our dividing any operation into steps and stages, defeat the very end we have in view. The worst of these wilful mischiefs of our own making is, that they admit of no relief or intermission. Natural calamities or great griefs, as we do not bring them upon ourselves, so they find a seasonable respite in tears or resignation, or in some alleviating contrast or reflection : but pride scorns all alliance with natural frailty or indulgence; our wilful pur- poses regard every relaxation or moment's ease as a compromise of their 232 On Means and Ends, [SEPT. very essence, which consists in violence and effort : they turn away from whatever might afford diversion or solace, and goad us on to exertions as painful as they are unavailable, and with no other companion than remorse, — the most intolerable of all inmates of the breast; for it is constantly urg- ing us to retrieve our peace of mind by an impossibility — the undoing of what is past. One of the chief traits of sublimity in Milton's character of Satan is this dreadful display of unrelenting pride and self-will — the sense •of suffering joined with the sense of power and " courage never to submit or yield" — and the aggravation of the original purpose of lofty ambition and opposition to the Almighty, with the total overthrow and signal punish- ment,— which ought to be reasons for its relinquishment. " His thoughts burn like a hell within him !" but he gives them " neither truce nor rest," and will not even sue for mercy. This kind of sublimity must be thrown away upon the French critic, who would only think Satan a very ridicu- lous old gentleman for adhering so obstinately to his original pretensions, and not making the most of circumstances, and giving in his resignation to the ruling party ! When Buonaparte fell, an English editor (of virulent memory) exhausted a great number of the finest passages in Paradise Lost, in applying them to his ill-fated ambition. This was an equal com- pliment to the poet and the conqueror : to the last, for having realized a conception of himself in the mind of his enemies on a par with the most stupendous creations of imagination ; to the first, for having embodied in tiction what bore so strong a resemblance to, and was constantly brought to mind by, the fearful and imposing reality ! But to return to our sub- ject- It is the same with us in love and literature. An Englishman makes love without thinking of the chances of success, his own disadvantages, or the character of his mistress — that is, without the adaptation of means to ejids, consulting only his own humour or fancy;* and he writes a book of history or travels, without acquainting himself with geography, or appealing to documents or dates; substituting his own will or opinion in the room of these technical helps — or hindrances, as he considers them. It is not right. In business it is not by any means the same ; which looks as if, where interest was the moving principle, and acted as a counterpoise to caprice and will, our headstrong propensity gave way, though it some- times leads us into extravagant and ruinous speculations. Nor is it a dis- advantage to us in war; for there the spirit of contradiction does every thing, and an Englishman will go to the devil sooner than yield to any odds. Courage is nothing but will, defying consequences ; and this the English have in perfection. Burns somewhere calls out lustily, inspired by rhyme and usquebaugh, — • Dr. Johnson has observed, that " strong passion deprives the lover of that easiness of address, which is so great a recommendation to most women." Is then indifference or coldness the surest passport to the female heart? A man who is much in love has not his wits properly about him : he can think only of her whose image is engraven on his heart; he can talk only of her ; he can only repeat the same vows, and protestations, and expres- sions of rapture or despair. He may, by this means, become importunate and troublesome — but does he deserve to lose his mistress for the only cause that j>ives him a title to her — • the sincerity of his passion / We may perhaps answer this question by another — Is a woman to accept of a madman, merely because he happens to fall in love with her? "The lunatic, the lover, and the poet," as Shakspeare has said, "are of imagination all com- pact," and must, in most cases, be contented with imagination as their reward. Realities are out of their reach, as well as beneath their notice. 1 827.] On Means mid Ends. 235 " Set but a Scotsman on a hill ; Say such is royal George's will, And there's the foe : — His only thought is how to kill Twa at a blow." I apprehend, with his own countrymen or ours, all the love and loyalty would come- to little, but for their hatred of the array opposed to them. It is the resistance, " the two to kill at a blow/' that is the charm, and makes our fingers'-ends tingle. The Greek cause makes no progress with us for this reason : it is one of pure sympathy, but our sympathies must arise out of our antipathies ; they were devoted to the Queen to spite the King. We had a wonderful affection for the Spaniards — the secret of which was that we detested the French. Our love must begin with hate. It is so far well that the French are opposed to us in almost every way ; for the spirit of contradiction alone to foreign fopperies and absurdities keeps us within some bounds of decency and order. When an English lady of quality introduces a favourite by saying, " This is his lordship's physician, and my atheist," the humour might become epidemic ; but we can stop it at once by saying, "That is so like a Frenchwoman!" — The English excel in the practical and mechanic arts, where mere plodding and industry are expected and required ; but they do not combine business and pleasure well together. Thus, in the Fine Arts, which unite the mecha- nical with the sentimental, they will probably never succeed ; for the one spoils and diverts them from the other. An Englishman can attend but to one thing at a time. He hates music at dinner. He can go through any labour or pain with prodigious fortitude; but he cannot make a pleasure of it, or persuade himself he is doing a fine thing, when he is not. ' Again, they are great in original discoveries, which come upon them by surprise, and which they leave to others to perfect. It is a question whether, if they foresaw they were about to make the discovery, at the very point of projection as it were, they would not turn their backs upon it, arid leave it to shift for itself ; or obstinately refuse to take the last step, or give up the pursuit, in mere dread and nervous apprehension lest they should not succeed. Poetry is also their undeniable element ; for the essence of poetry is will and passion, " and it alone is highly fantastical." French poetry is verbiage or dry detail. I have thus endeavoured to shew why it is the English fail as a people in the Fine Arts, because the idea cf \he end absorbs that of the means. Hogarth was an exception to this rule ; but then every stroke of his pencil was instinct with genius. As it has been well said, that " we read his works, so it might be said he wrote them. Barry is an instance more to my purpose. No one could argue better about gusto in painting, and yet no one ever painted with less. His pictures were dry, coarse, and wanted all that his descriptions of those of others indicate. For example, he speaks of " the dull, dead, watery look" of the Medusa's head of Leonardo, in a manner that conveys an absolute idea of the character : had he copied it, you would never have suspected any thing of the kind. His pen grows almost wanton in praise of Titian's nymph-like figures. What drabs he has made of his own sea-nymphs, floating in the Thames, with Dr. Burney at their head, with his wig on ! He is like a person admiring the grace of an accomplished rope-dancer; place him on the rope himself, and his head turns ; — or he is like Luther's comparison of Reason to a drunken man on horseback — " set him up on one side, and he tumbles over on the M.M. New Series— VOL. IV. No. 21. 2 H 234 OH Means and End*. [SEPT. other." Why is this? His mind was essentially ardent and discursive, not sensitive or observant ; and though the immediate object acted as a stimulus to his imagination, it was only as it does to the poet's — that is, as a link in the chain of association, as implying other strong feelings and ideas, and not for its intrinsic beauty or individual details. He had not the painter's eye, though he had the painter's general knowledge. There is as great a difference in this respect between our views of things as between the telescope and microscope. People in general see objects only to distinguish them in practice and by name — to know that a hat is black, that a chair is not a table, that John is not James ; and there are painters, particularly of history in England, who look very little farther. They cannot finish any thing, or go over a head twice : the first coup-d'cetl is all they ever arrive at; nor can they refine on their impressions, soften them down, or reduce them to their component parts, without losing their spirit. The inevitable result of this is grossness, and also want of force and solidity ; for, in reality, the parts cannot be separated without injury from the whole. Such people have no pleasure in the art as such : it is merely to astonish or to thrive that they follow it; or, if thrown out of it by acci- dent, they regret it only as a bankrupt tradesman does a business which was a handsome subsistence to him. Barry did not live, like Titian, on the taste of colours (there was here, perhaps — and I will not disguise it — in English painters in general, a defect of organic susceptibily) ; they were not a pabulum to his senses ; he did not hold green, blue, red, and yellow for "the darlings of his precious eye." They did not, therefore, sink into his mind with all their hidden harmonies, nor nourish and enrich it with material beauty, though he knew enough of them to furnish hints for other ideas and to suggest topics of discourse. If he had had the most enchant- ing object in nature before him in his painting-room at the Adelphi, he would have turned from it, after a moment's burst of admiration, to talk of the subject of his next composition, and to scrawl in some new and vast design, illustrating a series of great events in history, or some vague moral theory. The art itself was nothing to him, though he made it the stalk- ing-horse to his ambition and display of intellectual power in general ; and, therefore, he neglected its essential qualities to daub in huge alle- gories, or carry on cabals with the Academy, in which the violence of his will and the extent of his views found proper food and scope. As a painter, he was tolerable merely as a draftsman, or in that part of the art which may be best reduced to rules and precepts, or to positive measure- ments. There is neither colouring, nor expression, nor delicacy, nor striking effect in his pictures at the Adelphi. The group of youths and horses, in the representation of the Olympic Games, is the best part of them, and has more of the grace and spirit of a Greek bas-relief than any thing of the same kind in the French school of painting. Barry was, all his life, a thorn in the side of Sir Joshua, who was irritated by the tem- per and disconcerted by the powers of the man ; and who, conscious of his own superiority in the exercise of his profession, yet looked askance at Barry's loftier pretensions and more gigantic scale of art. But he had no more occasion to be really jealous of him than of an Irish porter or orator. It was like Imogen's mistaking the dead body of Cloten for her lord's — " the jovial thigh, the brawns of Hercules :" the head, which would have detected the cheat, was missing ! I might have gone more into the subject of our apparent indifference to the pleasure of mere imitation, if I had had to run a parallel between English and Italian or even Flemish art; but really, though I find a great 1821.] On Means and Ends. 235 deal of what is finical, I find nothing of the pleasurable in the details of French more than of English art. The English artist, it is an old and just complaint, can with difficulty be prevailed upon to finish any part of a picture but the face, even if he does that any tolerable justice : the French artist bestows equal and elaborate pains on every part of his pic- ture— the dress, the carpet, &c. ; and it has been objected to the latter method, that it has the effect of making the face look unfinished ; for as this is variable and in motion, it can never admit of the same minuteness of imitation as objects of still life, and must suffer in the comparison, if these have the utmost possible degree of attention bestowed on them, and do not fail into their relative place in the composition from their natural insignificance. But does not this distinction shew generally that the Eng- lish have no pleasure in art, unless there is an additional interest beyond what is borrowed from the eye, and that the French have the same plea- sure in it, provided the mechanical operation is the same — like the fly that settles equally on the face or dress, and runs over the whole surface with the same lightness and indifference ? The collar of a coat is out of draw- ing : this may be and is wrong. But I cannot say that it gives me the same disturbance as if the nose was awry. A Frenchman thinks that both are equally out of drawing, and sets about correcting them both with equal gravity and perseverance. A part of the back-ground of a picture is left in an unfinished state : this is a sad eye-sore to the French artist or connoisseur. We English care little about it: if the head and character are well given, we pass it over as of small consequence ; and if they are failures, it is of even less. A French painter, after having made you look like a baboon, would go on finishing the cravat or the buttons of your coat with all the nicety of a man milliner or button-maker, and the most perfect satisfaction with himself and his art. This with us would be quite impossible, " They are careful after many things : with us, there is one thing needful " — which is effect. We certainly throw our impressions more into masses (they are not taken off by pattern, every part alike) : there may be a slowness and repugnance at first ; out, afterwards, there is an impulse, a momentum acquired — one interest absorbing and being strengthened by several others ; and if we gain our principal object, we can overlook the rest, or at least cannot find time to attend to them till we have secured this. We have nothing otihepetit-maitre, of the martinet style about us : we run into the opposite fault. If we had time, if we had power, there could be no objection to giving every part with the utmost perfection, as it is given in a looking-glass. But if we have only a month to do a portrait in, is it not better to give three weeks to the face and one to the dress, than one week to the face and three to the dress ? How often do we look at the face compared to the dress ? " On a good foundation," says Sancho Panza, " a good house may be built :" so a good picture should have a good back-ground, and be finished in every part. It is entitled to this mark of respect, which is like providing a frame for it, and hanging it in a good light. I can easily understand how Rubens or Van- dyke finished the back grounds and drapery of their pictures : — they were worth the trouble ; and, besides, it cost them nothing. It was to them no more than blowing a bubble in the air. One would no doubt have every thing right — a feather in a cap, or a plant in the fore-ground — if a thought or a touch would do it. But to labour on for ever, and labour to no pur- pose, is beyond mortal or English patience. Our clumsiness is one cause of our negligence. Depend upon it, people do with readiness what they 2 II 2 236 On Means and Ends. [SEPT. can do well. I rather wonder, therefore, that Raphael took such pains in finishing his draperies and hack-grounds, which he did so indifferently. The expression is like an emanation of the soul, or like a lamp shining within and illuminating the whole face and body ; and every part, charged with so sacred a trust as the conveying this expression (even to the hands and feet), would be wrought up to the highest perfection. But his inanimate objects must have cost him some trouble ; and yet he laboured them too. In what he could not do well, he was still determined to do his best ; and that nothing should be wanting in decorum and respect to an art that he had consecrated to virtue, and to that genius that burnt like a flame upon its altars ! We have nothing that for myself I can compare with this high and heroic pursuit of art for its own sake. The French fancy thek own pedantic abortions equal to it, thrust them into the Louvre, " and with their darkness dare affront that light !" — thus proving themselves with- out the germ or the possibility of excellence — the feeling of it in others. We at least claim some interest in art, by looking up to its loftiest monu- ments— retire to a distance, and reverence the sanctuary, if we cannot enter it. " They also serve who only stare and wait."* W. H. PYRAMUS AND THISBE I AN OPERATIC TRAGEDY. Dramatis Persona. PYRAMUS, a Cobbler's Son, in love with Thisbe, and in liquor with his Father's Beer. THISBE, the Daughter of a respectable Char- Woman. COBBLER, Fa her of Pyramus, heard but not seen. LEO, a Lion, 15 feet from the snout to the tail, aud 16 feet, cfec. NINNY, a Ghost. LEON A, the Lion's Lady. ACT I. SCENE I. — A Junction Wall between the Garrets O/PYRAMUS and THISBE. Pyr. Some folks maintain that grief is very dry; That's not my case — it always makes me cry. Here Feyther thumps and bumps me all about j Some day, I'm 'fear'd, he'll knock my soul clean out. * Zoffani, a foreign artist, but who, by long residence in England, had got our habits of indolence and dilatoriness, was employed by the late King, who was fond of low comedy, to paint a scene from Reynolds,^ SPECULATION ; in which Quick, Munden, and Miss Wallis were introduced. The King called to see it in its progress ; and at last it was done — " all but the coat." The picture, however, was not sent ; and the King repeated his visit to the artist. Zoffani with some embarrassment said, " It was done all but the goat." — " Don't tell me," said the imp atient monarch ; " this is always the way : you said it was done all but the coat the last time I was here.'' — " I said the goat, arid please your Majesty." — " Aye," replied the King, " the goat or the coat, I care not which you call it; I say I will not have the picture,"— and was going to leave the room, when Zoffani, in an agony, repeated, " It is the goat that is not finished," — pointing to a picture of a goat that was bung up in a frame as an ornament to the scene at the theatre. The King laughed heartily at the blunder, and waited patiently till the goat was finished. Zoffani, like other idle people, was careless and extravagant. He made a fortune when he first came over here, which he soon spent : he then went out to India, where he made another, with which he returned to England, and spent also. He was an excellent theatrical portrait- painter, and has left delineations of celebrated actors and interesting situations, which revive the dead, and bring the scene before us. 1827.] Pyramus and Thisbe. 237 No solace now my wretched bosom knows, Save love and liquor, to destroy my woes ; And but for Thiz, my truest love and friend, My life, alas! would soon wax to an end. Hush ! sure I thought I heard her gentle pat Against the wall. Ah ! no — it was a rat ! — No— it is she. What! Thizzy, little dear ! What kept you, love, so long from coming here ? Thisbe. I should have come, dear Pyrry, long before; But mother made me stop and scour the floor. Pyr. See, darling, what a pretty hole I've made Through the rough wall! — you needn't be afraid. Peep-o, my pretty dear ! Law, I can see Your twinkling eye that looks so sweet at me! And now, my dearest, doating, darling Thiz, Do blow me, through the wall, a little kiss. [She blows. Laws, Thizzy ! you have took me by surprise, And blown a lot of brick -dust in my eyes! Why do I slop here, pent up in the house, And make love through a hole, like any mouse ? Straight from our hated parents let us fly, And meet each other in the wood hard by : There I will join you 'neath the forest's shade, Where Ninny's tomb is seen amid the glade. Thisbe. Nay, Pyrry, don't go there ; they say each night Poor Ninny's ghost stalks in the pale moonlight. You know his story, and you best can tell How by his hand the wretched lover fell. So say for why his spirit cannot rest ; You knows that naughty men tell stories best. Pyr. Poor Ninny once did woo a tender maid, Who love, 'twas said, with equal love repaid; But then her father thought his feelings trash, And called on Ninny to fork out the cash. Now all the blunt he had beneath the sun Amounted to the sum of one-pound-one. With this to raise the wish'd-for dower he tried, And to a lottery-office quickly hied. But when a blank rewarded all his pains, He took a pistol and blowed out his brains : So thus he lost his love and lost his guinea ; And there he lies entombed. Thisbe. Alas poor Ninny ! Pyr. But of this ghost you need have no alarm, For Ninny living could do no one harm. Thisbe. Well, at his tomb we'll meet at twelve o'clock, And I of victuals will lay in a stock. Don't cry, dear Pyrry ! we shall meet again; Til blow a parting kiss to ease your pain. Pyr. Laws, Thizzy, it is pain that makes me cry, With all that brick-dust what's got in my eye. Thisbe. Oh! if its all your eye, dear, never mind ; I've heard folks say as Love is always blind. Pyr. I'm blind enough at present, never doubt; But father aint, and p'rhaps he'll find us out. [begins to funk. Thisbe. Nay, don't be 'fear'd — such terrors are but stuff j To-morrow we'll be found out, sure enough. Pyr. Let's stop the hole up I made in the wall, And then he'll not suspect the thing at all. Thisbe. Stop ! sure I heard a noise upon the stairs. Hush ! 'tis your father's voice. Laws, how he swears ! 238 Pyramus and Thisbe : [SEPT. The COBBLER (from below). Cob. What are you after there, you rascal^ hey ? You're at no good there, I'll be bound to say. Pyr. There was a hole, dear father, in the wall, And I was just a stopping it — that's all. Cob. If you don't come down stairs and mend this shoe, I'll come up stairs, and, damme, I'll mend you. Pyr. I'm j ust a-coming, father. Oh, my eye ! Confound that brick-dust ! how it makes me cry ! [Exit. SCENE II.— A Wood— Dark Night. Enter a LION, drunk (singing) . 1. This maxim is found, For those jolly dogs that roam, The longest way round Is the shortest way home. But if until the morning quite Perchance we cannot stay, Grog in each nose a torch will light To guide us on our way. So we'll stagger, and we'll swagger, And a jolly row we'll kick up; And with grog before us, let our chorus Always end in — hiccup. 2. A little drop of liqour, When we chance to get in trouble, Only makes us feel the sicker, For we see our sorrows double : But if we drink until we find We cannot see or go, To sorrow we shall then be blind, And dead to every woe. So we'll stagger, &c. Enter THISBE, looking about her. LION goes up to her, and they sing. (Tune—" Through Erin's Isle"). Lion. My pretty dear, you need not fear, I'll nothing do amiss; I want from you, my darling true, Just nothing but a kiss. Thiabe. I'm so afeard all at your beard, That here I will not stay. Lion. Poh, poh, poh, poh ! you shall not go ! Thisbe. Nay, zounds I'll run away. Lion. Nay, if you run, sure as a gun Just like a shot I'll follow. Thisbe. Upon my life I'll call your wife, And set up such a holloa! Both. Fol lol de riddle dol, ri fol de riddle da. [LioN runs at her, but is so drunk that he falls down ; the runs off, but leaves a shawl. LION gets up and sees it.] A pretty shawl is this, upon my life ! 'Twill make a famous present for my wife. 1827/J «n Operatic Tragedy. 239 Stop— (musing)— no it won't — my missus will be thinking I kept in naughty company while drinking ; And perhaps will say, with apron at her eye, Some damsel gave it— so I'll let it lie. Our wives get now-a-days so plaguy jealous, It damps the spirit of us lively fellows. [4 roar is heard from behind. • Zounds ! close behind I hear my missus roar ; It is a sound I've often heard before! I'll post off home, and into bed I'll creep, And when she comes I'll feign to be asleep. Then if she rows me, starting with a snore, Til swear I've been in bed an hour or more. [Exit. [Mrs. LION is heard singing behind the scenes], (Air—" Nobody comes to woo"). Now, Lion, you seldom come here, And take little care of your child ; And poor little Johnny, I swear, Is getting uncommonly wild. Last night he said learning learning got stale, And he would to school go no more ; But his bottom I whipped with my tail, And sent him to bed in a roar. Oh dear, what can the matter be ! Oh dear, what shall I do ! Lion, you now won't come after me ; So I must go after you. [Sound ceases. [Clock strikes twelve; Ghost of NINNY rises, and dances on the top of the Tomb, singing}. (Tune—" My Name it is Poor Jack"). 1. I am a ghost, good lack, Just from the tomb set free, With no flesh on my back, — Pray what d'ye think of me ? Sing tol de rol de ri di do,.&c. 2. When on the earth above, Upon a fatal day, On being crossed in love, Myself myself did slay. Sing tol de rol, &c. But steady, boys ! a mortal comes — a fool ! He used to beat me black and blue at school. Enter PYRAMUS. Pyr. Be'st thou a sprite of hell, or goslin damned, Thus from the earth— in which we saw thee crammed, To rise ? Ghost. Peace, fool ! Thus Ninny your foul nonsense stops ! By giving you a douse upon the chops. . . [Lifts his toe, and hicks him in the mouth. Pyr. Why, Ninny, zounds! what can you be about ? You stupid fool ! you've knocked a tooth clean out. Ghost. You should have held a ghost in greater awe ; He who would keep his teeth must hold his jaw. 240 Pyramus and Thixbt: [SEPT. Pyr. I own I'm wrong, — and now of you I crave That you will go once more into your grave ; For here I wait to meet my love to-night, And perhaps your presence might not be all right. Ghost. I grant the boon. But now, ere yet I go, Behold a sight to fill your breast with woe! See there ! the shawl, so late by Thisbe worn, By some great shaggy lion rent and torn! [Puts on his night-cap and goes into the tomb. Pyr. What do I see ! the shawl, by Thizzy worn, By some huge shaggy lion rent and torn ! Oh ! where she is I now too well can guess — The beast has of her carcase made a mess. Now, by the Fates I swear, I'd give a groat, My love may stick fast in the wretch's throat. Ah me ! of hope and joy I'm clean bereft ; I have not now a drop of comfort left. Thus then I seek the assistance of my knife, To end at once my sorrows and my life. [Stabs himself, and falls. Enter THISBE at the other side. Thisbe. I hope that nasty lion's gone away. Laws ! what so long can make my Pyrry stay ? Sure some foul demon's envious attacks Have placed upon his bench a piece of wax. And glued him to his seat! May Heaven forfend He may not thus have made his cobbler's end! Ah, no ! I fear that horrid Pa of his, For work undone, or else work done amiss, Has locked him in the dismal cellar, where He grieves for me, and drowns his grief in beer. [PYRAMUS, faintly rising, falls lack.] Ah ! now I feels more fainterer and sicker — Just like a man when he's the worse for liquor. Blood rises in my throat — I fall back dizzy: Receive me, spirit of immortal Thizzy ! [Hiccups, and diet. [THISBE, looking about in the dark.} Sure that was Pyrry's voice ! but 'tis so foggy, 1 cannot see him — yet it sounded groggy ! Methought — and yet methinks it was absurd — His hiccups' well-known sound I also heard. He spoke of spirit ! Now, egad, I fear In liquor, not in love, he staggered here. [Espies him. See where he lies — a pig — stretched on the ground ! Drunk as the sow of David, I'll be bound ! What blood is this about his mouth I see ? Why, sure he's bumped his nose against a tree! What, still more blood ! By gum, my darling's killed ; And here's the knife that has his dear blood spilled! Oh ! cruel steel that stole my Pyrry's life, Thus take the ditto of his maiden wife ! [Stabs litrself. And now, my dearest darling, ere I die. I'll kiss your bloody lips, and say good bye. Oh dear ! to-morrow is our washing day ! Laws ! laws ! I wonder what will mother say ! [She hiccups, and dies. THE CURTAIN FALLS. 1827.] [ 241 ] TRAVELLING SKETCHES ! No. I. Travelling in General: Bordeaux Diligence in particular. I AM fond of travelling : yet I never undertake a journey without experiencing a vague feeling of melancholy. There is to me something strangely oppressive in the preliminaries of departure. The packing of a small valise ; the settlement of accounts — justly pronounced by Rabelais a blue-devilish process ; the regulation of books arid papers ; — in short, the whole routine of valedictory arrangements, are to me as a nightmare on the waking spirit. They induce a mood of last wills and testaments — a sense of dislocation, which, next to a vacuum, Nature abhors — and create a species of moral decomposition, riot unlike that effected on matter by chemical agency. It is not that I have to lament the disruption of social connexions or domestic ties. This, I am aware, is a trial sometimes borne with exemplary fortitude ; and I was lately edified by the magnanimous unconcern with which a married friend of mine sang the last verse of " Home ! sweet home !" as the chaise which was to con- vey him from the burthen, of his song drove up to the door. It does not become a bachelor to speculate on the mysteries of matrimonial philosophy ; but the feeling of pain with which / enter on the task of migration has no affinity with individual sympathies, or even with domiciliary attachments. My landlady is, without exception, the ugliest woman in London ; and the locality of Elbow-lane cannot be supposed absolutely to spell-bind the affection of one occupying, as 1 do, solitary chambers on the third floor. The case, it may be supposed, is much worse when it is my lot to take leave, after passing a few weeks at the house of a friend in the country ;— • a house, for instance, such as is to be met with only in England : — with about twenty acres of lawn, but no park ; with a shrubbery, but no made- grounds; with well-furnished rooms, but no conservatory; and with a garden, in which dandy tulips and high-bred anemones do not disdain the fellowship of honest artichokes and laughing cauliflowers — no bad illustra- tion of the republican union of comfort with elegance which reigns through the whole establishment. The master of the mansion, perhaps an old and valued schoolfellow : — his wife, a well-bred, accomplished, and still beauti- ful woman — cordial, without vulgarity — refined, without pretension — and informed, without a shade of blue ! Their children !. . . .But my reader will complete the picture, and imagine, better than I can describe, how one of my temperament must suffer at quitting such a scene. . At six o'clock on the dreaded morning, the friendly old butler knocks at my room door, to warn me that the mail will pass in half an hour at the end of the green lane. On descending to the parlour, I find that my old friend has, in spite of our over-night agreement and a slight touch of gout, come down to see me off. His amiable lady is pouring out for me a cup of tea — assuring me that she would be quite unhappy at allowing me to depart without that indispensable prelude to a journey. A gig waits at the door: my affectionate host will not permit me to walk even half a mile. The minutes pass unheeded ; till, with a face of busy but cordial concern, the old butler reminds me that the mail is at hand. I bid a hasty and agitated farewell, and turn with loathing to the forced companionship of a public vehicle. M.M. New Scries,— VOL. IV. No, 21. 21 2 12 Travelling Sketches. [SEPT. My anti-leave-taking foible is certainly not so much affected when I quit the residence of an hotel — that public home — that wearisome resting- place — that epitome of the world — that compound of gregarious incompa- tibilities— that bazaar of character — that proper resort of semi-social egotism and unamalgable individualities — that troublous haven, where the vessel may ride and tack, half-sheltered, but finds no anchorage. Yet even the Lilliputian ligatures of such a sojourn imperceptibly twine round my lethargic habits, and bind me, Gulliver like, a passive fixture. Once, in particular, I remember to'4mve stuck at the Hotel des Bons Enfants, in Paris — a place with nothing to recommend it to one of ordinary locomotive energies. But there I stuck. Business of importance called me to Bor- deaux. I lingered for two months. At length, by one of those nervous efforts peculiar to weak resolutions, I made my arrangements, secured my emancipation, and found myself on the way to the starting-place of the Diligence. I well remember the day : 'twas a rainy afternoon in spring. The aspect of the gayest city in the world was dreary and comfortless. The rain dripped perpendicularly from the eves of the houses, exemplifying the axiom that lines are composed of a succession of points. At the corners of the streets it shot a curved torrent from the projecting spouts, flooding the channels, and drenching, with a sudden drum like sound, the passing umbrellas, whose varied tints of pink, blue, and orange, like the draggled finery of feathers and flounces beneath them, only made the scene more glaringly desolate. Then came the rush and splatter of cabriolets, scatter- ing terror and defilement. The well -mounted English dandy shews his sense by hoisting his parapluie ; the French dragoon curls his mustachio at such effeminacy, and braves the liquid bullets in the genuine spirit of Marengo ; the old French count picks his elastic steps with the placid and dignified philosophy of the ancien regime ; while the Parisian dames, of all ranks, ages, and degrees, trip along, with one leg undraped, exactly in proportion to the shapeliness of its configuration. The huge clock of the Messageries Roy ales told three as I entered the gateway. The wide court had an air of humid dreariness. On one side stood a dozen of those moving caravansaras, the national vehicles, with their leathern caps — like those of Danish sailors in a north-wester — hanging half off, soaked with wet. Opposite was the range of offices, busy with all the peculiar importance of French bureaucratic. Their clerks, deco- rated with ribbons and crosses, wield their pens with all the conscious dig- nity of secretaries of state ; and " book" a bale or a parcel as though they were signing a treaty, or granting an amnesty. The meanest employe seems to think himself invested with certain occult powers. His civility savours of government patronage ; and his frown is inquisitorial. To his fellows, his address is abrupt and diplomatic. He seems to speak in cypher, and to gesticulate by some rule of freemasonry. But to the uninitiated he is explanatory to a scruple, as though mischief might ensue from his being misapprehended. He makes sure of your understanding by an emphasis, which reminds one of the loudness of tone used towards a person supposed to be hard of hearing — a proceeding not very flattering where there happens to be neither dulness nor deafness in the case. In a word, the measured pedantry of his whole deportment betrays the happy conviction in which he rejoices of being conversant with matters little dreamt of in your philosophy. Among the bystanders, too, there are some who might, probably with more reason, boast their proficiency in mysterious lore — fellows of smooth aspect J827.] Travelling Sketches. 243 and polite demeanour, whom at first you imagine to have become casual spectators from mere lack of better pastime, but whose furtive glances and vagrant attention betray the familiars of the police — that complex and Mighty engine of modern structure, which, far more surely than the " ear of Dionysius," conveys to the tympanum of power each echoed sigh and reverberated whisper. It is a chilling thing to feel one's budding confi- dence in a new acquaintance nipped by such frosty suspicions ; yet — Heaven forgive me ! — the bare idea has, before now, caused me to drop, unscented, the pinch of carotte which has been courteously tendered by some coffee-house companion. In the group before me, I fancied that I could distinguish some of this ungentle brotherhood ; and my averted eye rested with comparative complacency even on a couple of gens-d'armes, who were marching up and down before the door, and whose long swords and voluminous cocked hats never appeared to me less offensive. In the mean time, knots of travellers were congregating round the differ- ent vehicles about to depart. In the centre of each little band stood the main point of attraction — Monsieur le Conducteur — that important per- sonage, whose prototype we look for in vain among the dignitaries of Lad- lane, or the Bull-and-Mouth, and whose very name can only be trans- lated by borrowing one of Mr. Me Adam's titles* — " the Colossus of Roads.1' With fur cap, official garb, and the excursive eye of a martinet, he inspects every detail of preparation — sees ea'ch passenger stowed seriatim in his special place — then takes his position in front — gives the word to his jack-booted vice, whose responsive whip cracks assent — and away rolls the ponderous machine, with all the rumbling majesty of a three-decker from off the stocks. I was roused from these contemplations by a hasty summons to the Bordeaux Diligence, which was now ready to start, and which, in a few minutes, was thundering, like, its predecessors, along the Rue des Vic- toires. It consisted of three distinct corps de loges, capable of holding altogether eighteen passengers ; but in the centre compartment, to which I had articled myself, I found only one travelling companion. A numerous host of friends had attended his departure; and I had observed him exchange the national embrace with nearly a dozen young officers of the Royal Guard. He appeared about five-and-twenty years of age, with dark intelligent eyes, and an agreeable countenance ; but the peculiarly mild expression of which checked the surmise — suggested by his demi- military costume — that he belonged to the army. There was an evident dejection, too, about him, which ill-assorted wTith the reckless buoyancy of spirit so characteristic of the young French soldier. As we emerged from the narrow streets, and neared the Pont Neuf, a flood of glorious sunshine bathed the long vista of architectural ma^nifir cence which burst on our view. Every cornice, frieze, and pilaster of that dazzling perspective gleamed out in all the distinctness of their sculptured tracery : yet the effect of the whole was as that of a mellowed painting, and the eye slighted every detail to revel in the luxury of that sublime and fugitive emotion which abhors decomposition, and is destroyed by analysis ! My companion leaned eagerly to gaze on the splendid scene, and sighed deeply as his last lingering look was intercepted by the projecting angle of the street into which we were now entering. The seriousness of his manner —so unusual in a Frenchman — checked any inclination which 1 might have felt to indulge that " spirit of free inquiry" so often adopted in these 2 12 244 Travelling Sketches. [SEPT. cases. He was too much absorbed in his own feelings to relish conversa- tion, and we remained silent. In a short time, however, he seemed dis- posed to rally his spirits ; and — evidently from a motive of politeness — addressed me. Sense, information, and talent marked all he said. In classical learning he seemed. a proficient, and shewed an equal acquaintance with history, philosophy, and science. By degrees he became animated ; his gloom wore off, and occasional flashes of wit proved that his intellectual wealth did not all consist of a paper currency, Still there was in his talk a guardedness on every topic pointing to himself — an anti-egotism — which evinced his wish to preserve the incognito. . At the end of the first stage, we were joined by a young officer — lively, frank, and spirited, and with a mind as brimful of the present as if there were no such things, in or out of the world, as the past and the future. The accession of his gaiety was a fresh supply of oxygen ; and my Parisian friend and 1, who ran some risk of growing profound and prosy, brightened up, like reviving chandeliers. Our new guest lost no time in informing us that ho was a native of Brittany — that he had been bred at the Ecolo Polytechnique — had fought among the pupils at the memorable defence of Mont Martre — had fallen in love the week after — had tried to run away with his mistress — and had gotten into disgrace with his father, who hired him the next day in the disguise of a footman, and forgave him for the sake of the frolic — that, as a dutiful son, he had passed a month in a counting-house, and ten days in a lawyer's office — then followed nature, and entered the army — was fond of the flute — thought Petit the best boot- maker, and Lamarque the best tailor, in Paris — was now a captain in the Guards — was on his way to join his corps at Bayonne — liked all good fel- lows— and hated but one man in the world, and that was the chaplain of his own regiment. A volubility like this, is generally unpromising; but there was a redeeming air of candour and generosity about this young militaire, which impressed us favourably ; and I found on this, as I had done in many other instances, that a redundant flow of animal spirits is not certain evidence of weak intellects, or shallow feelings. " But, why, Sir," said I, " this ungracious exclusion of the chaplain from the benefit of that rule of universal good will which you profess, and which ought surely to be a rule without an exception ?" " I cannot help," he replied, "hating hypocrisy. It is a sort of refined treachery, and has always struck me to be that sin against the Holy Ghost, for which there is forgiveness neither in this world nor in the next." " So much the greater danger," I said, " of imputing it rashly ; ,and you will not be offended at my saying, that among young soldiers, it is too much the fashion to make some individual priest the scape-goat of all the ecclesiastical demerits of Christendom. The clerical robe may save a man's bones ; but 'tis a weak mantle of defence against prejudice." — " I am an enemy," he replied, " to all prejudice, and am neither a man- hater, a woman-hater, nor a priest-hater : but as you view this matter seriously, permit me to ask, whether religion can be recommended, or morality promoted in a regiment by a gloomy monk, or stray ascetic, who knows no difference between mirth and vice, demureness and virtue ; who shuns society, or mars it by pedantry or fastidiousness ; and whose theory and practice constitute the perfection of bigotry ? For my part," 1827.] Travelling Sketches. 245 he continued, " whatever be my practice, I have no antipathy to any form of religion ; and if I could once meet with a priest of social man- ners, cheerful conversation, and liberal opinions, in the genuine sense of that term — I am not sure that the practical effect of such a rencontre would not go farther to convert me than all that has been preached and written for a century. But wbat is of more importance, the influence of a few such" ecclesiastics in the army would be prodigious : for after all, Sir, scepticism is not a fundamental ingredient in the French character. The organ of veneration finds a place even in the pericranium of a soldier; and your Corporal Trim has, you know, ably defended our profession from the charge of never praying."' — " But, surely," I rejoined, " your clergy must number many such as you describe." — " Not one, I assure you ; and so inveterate is the mannerism of the whole body, that I would wager the best dinner Bordeaux can furnish, that, disguise a priest as you will, I should know him among a thousand." — " I accept your wager, Sir,"' said the Parisian, " and though my society is much more among soldiers than ecclesiastics, I do not despair of winning your entertainment."— ~ " And I should be most happy to lose it," said the Captain, " were it only for the honour of the church; but I have little doubt/'' added he, laughing, " that we shall fare sumptuously at your expense."— -" I run all risks," replied the other, '* and pledge myself to introduce you to a young clerical friend of mine at Bordeaux, with whom you shall converse for an hour, or a day, if you please, without ever suspecting him to be a clerk." — " Done, done, by all means," said the Captain. — " Done," said the Parisian : and I was requested to register the bet. We were just then entering a village where we stopped to change horses ; it .was a beautiful summer's evening. A group of peasants were gathered round the inn door ; some at their light potations : a more juvenile party dancing under some elms at a short distance, while nearer to us a merry circle were enjoying the mimics and drolleries of a comical looking fellow, with a head of cabbage for a nosegay, and a cock's tail in his hat. He was evidently the jester of the village, and seemed privileged among the girls, whose shrill peals of laughter — (breaking through the staves of a Bacchanalian chorus from within) — responded to every new flash of his wit, or no less irresistible contortion of his countenance. Every surrounding object furnished matter for his quips and cranks; and our trio in the Diligence did not escape. He aimed at us some side-long jibes, which produced a roar of laughter; and such is the effect of ridicule, that even when of the cheapest quality, no one likes to pay for it. For my part, I felt that I was no match for this champion of fun, and looked for support to the young captain ; but his power of repartee, after one or two unlucky attempts, was equally at fault; and our cause was growing utterly hopeless, when the Parisian thrust his head out of the window. The wit seemed determined to punish his temerity, and let fly a shower of barbed jests; but to the astonishment of all present, he was met by such a counter volley of jocular retort — Rolands for Olivers — doubles for singles — all delivered in so exact an imitation of his own voice, manner, dialect, and slang, that victory soon changed sides. The cabbage nosegay, from a badge of honour, became suddenly transformed into a mark of defeat : the cock's tail drooped : the luckless jester grinned, blushed, and finally slunk away, amid the jeers of his fickle audience, who compli- mented our triumph by giving us three cheers, as we rolled away. 246 Travelling Sketches. [SEPT. " Well," said the Parisian, smiling, and evidently enjoying our almost incredulous astonishment, " it is fortunate for me that the morose chap- Jain is not here, for I suppose he would set me down as a profligate, past redemption ; but as I take you to be like myself, orthodox lovers of a joke, what say you, if we devote ourselves to Momus, during the remainder of this journey ? We must needs do something to beguile the tedium of the road ; and I have ever found Moliere a better travelling companion than Puffendorfor Locke." We gladly assented to this proposal, and ratified the compact at supper in an • extra glass of Burgundy. This repast, at all times exhilarating, is peculiarly so on a journey; and we rose to resume our route in excel- lent spirits. At the door of the Diligence, we found a young gentleman preparing to join our caravan : he was accompanied by an elderly female, who assiduously kerchiefed his neck, warned him to nurse his cold, and, as he stepped into the carriage, slipped into the pocket of his sur-coat, a provision of barley-sugar, pectoral lozenges, and other toothsome specifics. •' Behold our first victim to Momus," said the Parisian ; and forthwith addressing the youth, he overwhelmed him with a thousand civilities, so strangely officious, yet so gravely volunteered, as to produce a highly diverting effect of gratitude and astonishment. He bewildered him by assuming sundry whimsical modes of expression — a slight stutter, and the tone of a privileged oddity : a combination which, while it nearly con- vulsed the captain and myself, placed our guest in the ludicrous predica- ment, unconsciously, of furnishing the jest, — being himself all the time under the compound torture of excited awe and suppressed laughter. It would require the dramatic talent of a Mathews to describe the scene that followed. Our young traveller was, it appeared, employed in the department of the forests ; and his indefatigable mystifier, after putting him through a rigorous examination, on the various branches of his duty, ended by asking him if he could at a glance tell the exact breadth of a river? " No" was of course the answer. " Then," replied the other, " if you will attend to me I will give you a simple rule for that purpose, highly useful to a gentleman in your situation." At the same moment, his clenched hand descended with such force on the hat of his astonished auditor, as to bring the rim of it nearly in con- tact with his nose — (just then the light of a lamp, near which we had stopped, gave us a full view of the scene). '« Pardon me, Sir,'' he con- tinued, seizing the hands which were struggling to extricate the engulphed head, " this is the first part of the rule, and cannot be dispensed with. Now, Sir, fancy yourself on the banks of the Oronoco, or any other river. When you come within fifteen paces of the bank you must hold up your head, brace your knees, and step out boldly till you reach the water's edge. Now be pleased to shut the right eye, and look up with the left, till you bring the visual line in contact, as it were, with the extreme rim of your hat ; keeping that eye so fixed, next open the other, and let it rest on the opposite bank of the river. The moment that is done, wheel half-round, suddenly, so ! (and suiting the action to the word, he gave the hapless tyro a twirl, assuring him that this too was indispensable). Now, Sir, by this movement — pray, pay particular attention — your eye has described an arc, or section of a circle, which must, as you are well aware, be the measure of the angle formed by the two visual lines above-mentioned, of which angle —mark! — this (seizing his nose) u may be called the apex; and conse- 182?.] Travelling Sketches. 247 quenily, having formed the said arc, you have only to measure the sub- tended chord, which will give you to a fraction the breadth of the river !" " I hope," he added, " that I make myself understood : if not, I shall be happy to repeat the proposition." But his bewildered pupil who had, by this time, reached his journey's end, and was rising to depart — evidently convinced that he had been under the examination of an inspector general of the forests — assured him that his explanation had been perfectly clear ; and, amid a'profusion of thanks for his condescension, hinted a hope that he would note his name for promotion. From Orleans to Tours, and from Tours to Bordeaux, our compact of merriment was faithfully adhered to. But to follow our facetious compa- nion through a tithe of the drolleries which he enacted, would overtax ihe pen of a Smollett. The versatility of talent, and compass of learning, which he enlisted in the production of " broad grins," was quite prodigious, and redeemed his feats of practical wit. To each new tenant of our vehicle, he exhibited himself in a different disguise, assuming, by turns, the manner and phraseology of every rank, profession, and even trade. With sur- prising tact he seized and developed, at will, the salient points of every new character, literally playing on each — as though he were modulating on a musical instrument; and, with still greater skill, so effectually guarded his own, that on reaching Bordeaux, neither the captain nor I could form the remotest idea of who or what he was. It was clear, however, not- withstanding the mask of waggery which he had chosen to assume, that he possessed a mind of no ordinary stamp ; — -and we gladly accepted an invitation to breakfast with him the morning after our arrival, that — as he added — no time might be lost in settling the wager between him and the captain. The moon was just rising as we entered the second city of France, by . the finest bridge in Europe. A beaded crescent of luminous points, reflected in the water, marked the outline of splendid masonry that sweeps round the broad Garonne, exhibiting a quay of such grandeur, as to prove the fitness of the appellation, which denotes that the main feature of the city is its fine position, sur le bord de I'eau. But ray limits warn me to reserve this subject for a future paper, and the repose which I needed after this laughing journey, may not be unacceptable to some of my readers. They will not, however, I trust, decline to join the breakfast party of the Pari- sian unknown, to which I was summoned, next morning, at the appointed hour, by my friend the captain. We again interchanged surmises respect- ing our travelling enigma, but not a scintilla of probability could be struck from any of our conjectures. " Well," said the captain, " we may unriddle him at breakfast ; and, at all events, I promise you another chance over a bottle of Lafitte, at the excellent dinner which I am to win presently by my skill in divination;" so saying, he led the way to the apartment of our Parisian friend, whose cheerful voice greeted our signal of approach : — but how shall I attempt to describe the paralysis of astonishment which smote us, on beholding, as we entered, the living image, the speaking prototype — nay, the very person and identity of him who was, but yesterday, the scholar, the philosopher, the wit — now standing before us a tonsured, cropped, and cassocked PRIEST!!! After a staring pause, so long, that even on the stage it Would have appeared unnatural, he advanced smiling, and cordially shaking our passive hands, said, " Gentlemen, I am truly re- joiced to greet you at length in my real character. I am, indeed, a priest ; and having now, I hope, fairly won my wager, I may congratu- 248- Travelling Sketches. [SEPT/ late myself on having begun the shearing of my flock ; among which, Monsieur le Capitaine, you will perceive that I have the honour of num- bering you." So saying, he exhibited, to our increased wonder, his offi- cial appointment as chaplain to the regiment of guards. t£w/zaTo< politicians; but, he added, in a half" forgiving tone, " the dogs loved their king after all." The archdeacon, like many of the Cambridge men of his day, was given to tobacco ; and never said better things, than when he puffed care away after dinner. Had he lived to the present times, he would have doubtless discouraged the modern innovation of cigars, which have so greatly contributed to the decay of mathematics in the university. The true Virginia, as he himself used to say, " ascended into the brain," and "favoured contemplation;" whereas every body knows, that the boys who smoke cigars, never trouble themselves to think at all : and this is the reason, perhaps, why the Spaniards have never thrown off the " slough of a slavish superstition.'-1 My mother, who by long intercourse with the archdeacon, did not hold him in that awe, with which the females of the parish were accustomed to regard him (so much does familiarity breed contempt), used often to rate him soundly, for what she called his beastly habit of smoking before females : and she once carried her vituperations so far, that a shyness took place between them ; the Doctor fulminating against her the epigram — " Aspide quid pejus? tigris ;— quid tigride ? Dsemon, Da&mone quid? mulier ; quid muliere? nih'il." Which being interpreted, my mother vowed she could never forgive. We were all sorry for this breach, and, with some difficulty, over-persuaded her to apologize. This she did, with a truly feminine resignation ; at the same time, presenting the doctor with a silver tobacco-box, with his own portrait engraved on the lid, with his pipe in his mouth ; to which I fur- nished the motto, t( ex fumo dare luce?n." The good man was highly pleased with the compliment; and gallantly saluting the back of the offended lady's hand, he assured her, that he was well pleased so un- pleasant a dispute should end in smoke. The next Sunday, I remarked that he preached from the text, that the price of a good woman was above rubies. In the summer of 1786, all the world, in our part of the country, went 1827.] Anecdotes and Conversations. 257 over to the county town to witness, what was then a rarity, the ascent of an air-balloon. The archdeacon, however, would not budge. The inven- tion, he justly remarked, was French ; and he added, " timeo Danaos et dona ferentes" Besides, he asked, " where is the pleasure in seeing two fools impiously setting Providence at defiance;" a remark, the justice of which I have often had reason to recal. It was on this occasion, that our village surgeon presumed, somewhat too jocosely, to say to him, " you are afraid, lest they should get near to Heaven, and find out how little you doctors of divinity know about the matter." I never saw the arch- deacon so seriously angry as then. Rebuking the surgeon for his levity and indifference in religious matters, which he said belonged to his cloth, he continued with a prophetic solemnity — <( this reigning taste for experi- ment, bodes no good. Franklin's rods and his blasphemous boast of *' eripuit fulmen calo," have deeply injured religion. Men no longer can say, " calo tonantem credimus." He who is solicitous concerning second causes, is but too apt to overlook the first." For the rest of that evening he sat silent ; nor did he ever afterwards hear balloons mentioned without launching forth some contemptuous sarcasm. Another fashionable folly, which roused the indignation of the archdeacon, was, the unlimited admiration of Sterne. The fellow, he would say, is a disgrace to the church. His religion is full of levity ; and what is worse, his levity is not full of religion. The antithesis was striking. At the breaking out of the French Revolution, the Doctor, in common with all right-thinking men, was seriously alarmed lest the principles of the people should be injured; and when Burke published his diatribe against that insane and atheistical ebullition of a stiff-necked generation, he took a journey to London, solely to see that splendid orator; availing himself of the opportunity to solicit the then vacant archdeaconry ; an energy wonderful in a person of his years and infirmities. Burke received him as he deserved, and invited him to Beaconsfield. Pitt was of the party, and port and politics were the order of the day. The port was as sound as the politics, and the politics as old as the port ; so the Doctor, we may be sure, enjoyed the feast of reason and flow of soul. Indeed, this evening was a constant theme of conversation with him for the rest of his life. Among many anecdotes that he was in the habit of telling, I shall repeat only one or two. The French armies were in rapid advance, and the stocks were falling. Pitt, for once in his life, spoke despondingly; and Burke said something about the chivalry of stock-jobbers being gone : but Botherum reminded the premier of the just confidence a British prime minister ought ever to have in Divine Providence, which would not suffer a set of miscreants, who had not only killed their king, but had actually abolished tithes, to prosper. A foreign ambassador, who was at table, whispered something about " gros lataillons" which the doctor was not Frenchman enough to understand, but which made the premier smile. However he was not discouraged ; but pledging the master of the house in a bumper, he thundered forth with an air of inspiration. Jl7rcw$E? 'EXXwuv m, ixiydifatfn Tarpi^a, &c. &c. ; and Pitt shaking him heartily by the hand, bid him not to fear, " with such right-thinking persons on our side," he said, " we are confident against the world in arms ; and so, doctor, I hope for your vote at Cambridge on the approaching election." The doctor lamented that the distance of his living and his age, had pre- vented his voting the last time ; and Pitt significantly shaking his head, replied, " I think we may remedy that before long." MM. New Series.— VOL. IV. No. 21. 2 L 258 Anecdotes and Conversations. [SEPT. The conversation afterwards turned on taxation, and Dundas, holding his glass to the light to look for the bce's-wing, said it was a thousand pities, so it was, such wine should be taxed, when a halfpenny a pot on porter would raise a greater revenue. Pitt said, that something must be done now and then to please the populace ; but he added, facetiously, he was sorry to lean so heavily upon Harry's prime article of consumption, at which, says Botherum, we all laughed very heartily. A certain bishop who was at table suggested, that the clergy, at least, ought to drink the orthodox liquor tax free ; and, as for the people, they had nothing to do with the taxes but to pay them. True, replied Botherum, taxation sharpens industry. It is taxation that has made England the first commer- cial nation in the world ; poverty, as Theocritus observes, being the mother of all the arts. The bishop begged to drink wine with the doctor, and thus commenced a friendship which ended only with the lives of tho parties. Three days afler this visit Dr. Botherum got his archdeaconry, and on his return, wrote his famous pamphlet against Priestley, to shew his gratitude to the administration. An angry and acrimonious polemical war ensued, in which there was no lack of abuse on either side ; but the arch- deacon used to say that Priestley was not worth the powder and shot. " He is a shabby fellow, Sir, and not orthodox even in vituperation." While in London, Botherum was elected fellow of the Antiquarian Society, and put in his elaborate account of Braintown Parva, which he proved to have been a Roman station, and the site of a Druidical college. On this occasion, he presented the society with three fragments of broken pottery, and a pike-head, which he had himself dug from a barrow, and received the thanks of that learned body. About this time, also, he supplied Syl- vanus Urban with his elaborate account of the monumental inscriptions on Mucklepudding Church-yard, together with an elegant view of the ruins of the chancel (Gent.'s Mag. vol. ccccxxiii.), which, truth to tell, was drawn by the parish clerk ; and also a fac-simile of a Celtic inscription in the tree character. This drew upon him a somewhat unpleasant contro- versy ; for the surgeon before-mentioned (probably out of pique at the archdeacon's rebuke), privately conveyed intelligence to a rival antiquary, that the inscription which he interpreted, " Divus Belus," was merely the initials of a stonemason's name, who was yet living in the memory of the older parishioners, with the date of the year — -turned upside down.* Upon turning the stone, as the archdeacon continued, topsi-turvy — or, as his opponent would have it, the right side upwards, there certainly did appear a provoking resemblance to the Roman capitals and Arabic figures, neces- sary to establish the hostile hypothesis ; which caused the wicked wits of the day to laugh at the archdeacon's expense. But the doctor made an excellent defence ; clearly proving that Ins inscription ought to have been erected in the very place where it was found ; and strengthening his case with great erudition by many pregnant analogies. In the appendix to this paper, he gave an ample account of the bowl of a tobacco pipe, found rive- ana twenty-feet below the surface of a peat bog, in the neighbourhood of a Roman station ; which distinctly proves, that the Romans were in the habit of smoking, if not tobacco, at least some indigenous weed ; a neglected verity, still further corroborated by many classical texts, especi- ally Virgil's account of Cacus : — * Thi* fact i« said, likewise, to have occurred to an Irish antiquarian. 1827.J Anecdotes and Conversations. 259 "Illeautem, Fauci bus ingentem fumum, mirabile dictu, Evomit ;" and the satirists "fumum et opes strepitumque Roma" the last, likewise, indicating that the habit of smoking was not, as with us, chiefly preva- lent among the lower classes, but was practised by the rich. The "fumus et vapor balneamm," mentioned by Valerius Maximus, shews that smoak- ing was among the luxuries of the bath : and Martial speaks of (< venders vanos circum Palatiafumos," as an usual mode of getting bread. Cicero's "fumosce imagines," affords still further confirmation, if any were need- ful, of so evident a discovery. I have very little to add to what the world already knows, concerning the doctor's Greek translation of Chevy Chase, which drew upon him the ill-natured epithet of " seventh form school-boy," a reproach which he felt very keenly. " Many wise and good men," -he remarked to me, almost with tears in his eyes, " had exercised themselves in Greek translations from the English poets ; nor could he conceive how a man could be a worse Christian for writing the language of the New Testament, or a worse statesman for practising the nervous diction of Thucydides and Demos- thenes ;" " but/' he added, in a solemn and awfully prophetic tone of voice, " the run which is made against Greek is part of the jacobin con- spiracy against social order. He who despises learning wars against his superiors, and is wanting in that humility and prostration of intellect, without which there can be no true religion." The archdeacon was amongst those who believed in the authenticity of Ireland's Shaksperian MSS. ; and as he had been intimate with Dr. Farmer at Cambridge, and was enthusiastic in all that concerned the great natural poet, he could not bear with patience being jeered on this mistake. *' Sir," said he, " if the play was not written by Shakspeare, it ought to have been : not indeed for the matter (though Vortigern is at least as good as Titus Andronicus) — but on account of the evidence, which he who doubted might as well doubt the thirty-nine articles." The strength of his conviction could not be more forcibly demonstrated. Another point on which he was sore, was Pitt's resignation about the Catholic Question. He was amongst those who never believed that statesman in earnest, and to the last declared it was an hallucination wholly inexplicable. But, " nemo" he said, (t nemo omnibus horis sapit." and though he had given his support at once to Mr. Addington's administration, he could not but forgive his old favourite, as soon as he found him once more at the head of affairs ; a circumstance that fully evinced my respected friend to have been as good a Christian as he was an eminent scholar, and shewed that if he had zeal, it was not untempered by discretion. The archdeacon, holding good church preferment, it was often thought that he would marry ; and when he painted the parsonage house, we all set it down that his friendship for a certain maiden lady, who shall be nameless, would have terminated in a conjugal alliance. Whether it was through the doctor's fault, or the lady's, I never could learn ; but the marriage did not take place. That he would have made a good family man is barely possible. He was a professed misogamist, and was never at a loss for a quotation from Euri- pides to back out a sly hit at a sex, from which, I more than suspect, he had in early life received some slight. " Sir," he would say, " there is one thing in which I think the papists are right, and that is, in representing 2L2 260 Anecdotes and Conversations. [SEPT. their good woman without a head," — a piece of humour in which, by-the- by, he rarely indulged before the ladies — so great was his sense of pro- priety. About the lime when Sir Samuel Romilly was endeavouring to overturn our judicial institutions, the archdeacon was called on to preach the Assize sermon before the judges. In this sermon he laid it down that, as Christia- nity was part of the law of the land, it followed that the law of the land could not be contradictory to Christianity ; and that, consequently, to alter the law was as bad as to alter the gospel. He cited the example of the French revolution, in which the law and religion had perished together ; and praising the wisdom of the Medes and Persians, thenco took occasion to eulogize the existing government, whose hostility to all amelioration was truly Asiatic. For this sermon, which he printed with the motto of " stare super vias antiquas," he was so unmercifully handled by the opposition press, that, as he once told me with great glee, he was not without hopes of being kicked into the prelacy. Whether this promotion was in reality intended, it is now hard to say, for death deprived the parish of Braintown Parva of its ornament, and the world of a luminary, somewhat suddenly, just as the archdeacon put the finishing hand to his treatise, " de inutili- tatis prastantid in disciplinis academicis," in which he ably vindicated the British universities, and proved by the equation of a+b — v x=0, that the whole genius and talent of the country gentlemen, as exhibited in both Houses of Parliament, which were the efficient causes of the unparalleled greatness of England, were exclusively owing to a discipline that palpably refuted the maxim of " non ex quovis ligno." The king, he justly observed, could make a peer of whom he pleased : but Oxford or Cam- bridge could alone form the truly aristocratic mind, and level genius to the senatorial calibre. Thus did this truly great man die as he had lived, the steady and able advocate of the wisdom of our ancestors — the studious cul- tivator of all those inapplicable sciences, which, by keeping the human mind aloof from the realities of life, preserve mankind in innocence, docility, and obedience to the powers that be — and the able opponent of that ignis fatuus illumination, which, under the modest designation of innovation, is in reality, and to the whole extent in which it is conceded, nothing more nor less than revolution. In the evil days upon which we have fallen, the example of such a life cannot be without its use. Would to heaven that the Rev. S. S., and many others who are looked up to in the church as " wits and philosophers," and who openly profess a latitudinarian liberality, would profit in time by the instruction it affords, and step forward man- fully to fight the good fight, while it is yet time, in the ranks of the ex- ministers, against the two great evils of the age, Popery and George Canning. T. 1827.] [ 261 ] SOME ACCOUNT Ob' A LOVER. I FIND myself compelled to differ toto coelo from those who profess to hold modesty in such high veneration. My own modesty, I conceive, has been long in that predicament mentioned by young Woodall in Dryden's play — who had hidden his blushes where he should never be able to find them again. In short, not to be diffuse, I think I may aver that I am " A flower born to blush — unseen" Not so was my deceased friend Diaper, of whom I purpose to speak. Perhaps that ingenious person died a martyr to that very weakness from which I have just declared myself perfectly free. As a theoretical pro- fessor of assurance, there I admit his claims were hardly to be dis- puted ; but he broke down in the practice. The difference between us was this — his views were good — my manner was inimitable : in resources he was great — but my comprehension was vast. In a word, what he could so exquisitely contrive was perfected by me. But Diaper had his faults. — Firstly, his ideas of property were vague and unsatisfactory ; his principles of action, loose ; and the current coin of the realm, once deposited in his hands by way of loan, like the tides of the Pontick sea, knew no return. Secondly, Diaper was a genius — in truth, of that kind denominated queer. He was, however, assured by some of our periodical critics, that he possessed great poetical talent; consequently, he was often to be found contemplating a basin of water, and apostrophizing the ocean ; or toiling up the craggy precipices of Primrose-hill, to pay adoration to the glorious spirit of Nature. Again, it was his custom to cast himself listlessly by the side of a kennel, " And pore upon the brook that bubbled by." Thirdly, It pleased him to encourage a lownpss of spirits, and to culti- vate an acquaintance with unclean demons. Day after day he strolled about, as melancholy as a bear in a barber's shop, but with no appearance of that fatness which is so desirable in the quadruped. Some portions of the fat of that animal, by-the-by, might have been adopted with advan- tage at this period ; for the youthful enthusiast, by clipping off locks of hair for his numerous fair admirers, and by shaving the front of his skull for a high forehead, had succeeded in reducing that globular appendage to a primitive state of baldness, and now furnished a lively idea of a newly- discovered maniac — to which, in other respects, he bore no slight resem- blance. These were faults, nay, positive blemishes in his character, which I vainly endeavoured to eradicate. I vindicated my friendship, but without avail. He told me that they were part and parcel of his idiosyncrasy — that I knew not how to make or to find an excuse for the errors of genius — and, in fine, turned his back and a deaf ear to my advice. Diaper was one upon whom remonstrance was as much lost as of whom the poet says or sings,— " Csesar, qui cogere posset, Si peteret per amicitium patris atque suam, non Quidquam proficeret." His was a madness without benefit of Bedlam. This ill-fated gentleman incautiously fell into love — a most unhappy declension, and to which I attribute his untimely end. The " bridge of 262 Some Account of a Lover. [SEPT. sighs," or the " pons asinorum" of existence, is, I apprehend, that part of the journey lying across the ocean of love ; into which ocean, mark me, too many do lamentably become immersed. Now love, though a grievous dolour, admits motives of alleviation ; but to plunge in " usque ad Escu- fapium"—~io be, as it were, love-sick — is, not to speak it mincingly, excessively affecting — a romantic bore. It is the affliction of a kind of sentimental nightmare, during which an ugly beast (Cupid) sits, heavily on the breast, and an ass (the doctor) grins through the bed-curtains. — And so was it with Diaper. I was surprised by a visit from my infatuated friend soon afterwards — the purport of which was to lay open his whole heart to me, and to engage my assistance in the furtherance of his views towards a lady, whose name, after oaths of secresy extorted from me, he divulged. • Rut, that .this might be the more comfortably explained, we adjourned to an adjoining tavern, and called for a bottle of wine — during which it appeared that his inflammable bosom could in nowise withstand the triple fascination of mind, person, and purse possessed by the fair one's iu whose scale of affection he flattered himself (he did indeed !) that ho had been tried and found " wanting," He assured me that he was bent upon winning her, " for love or money ;:' and began to recapitulate the steps he had taken, in consequence of such determination. This agreeable intelligence could not have been received by me other- wise than with rapture. Another bottle was called for : we thrust the decanters towards each other with amazing velocity, from which we con- tinued to quaff huge libations, exchanging mutually congratulation and pro- fessions. He proceeded to inform me, that the family having been to their country-house at Clapham, he had flown down every afternoon upon the summit of the stage, bearing along with him a shrill octave and " Six Lessons for the Flute ;" and, *' seated on a ruined pinnacle," his musical score hang- ing on a tree, he had " made sweet melody/' which, regularly performed, the book was closed, the joints of the instrument unscrewed, and the lover returned to town. Also, when she went to church, his devotion was sure to be making itself audible in the adjoining pew ; if she visited the theatre, he was enscrewed in the next box ; and if she was taken to the exhibition, the " portrait of a gentleman" fortified the walls of the academy. In return, therefore, for incense thus devotedly offered up, he had given himself to expect a speedy fruition of joy, in the candid avowal, by the lady herself, of a mutual passion; though he confessed to me, that he had hitherto contented himself with indications of love uttered in the language of the eyes — an absurd miscalculation of chances ! I can't say I admire optical orthography or visual expression : it is like a lecture on phrenology — a great deal said, and no understanding a syllable. The degree of faith, then, I chose to attach to this tale was, for a time, just as much as is understood by the reception of what is termed " a flam " — the due acceptance whereof I have seen expressed, in vulgar society, by placing the thumb on the extremity of the nose, and agitating the fingers in a peculiarly significant manner. While I sat ruminating upon this subject (for I had fallen into a deep reverie), I took no heed of the manner in which my friend was engaged — which was, in fact, by snatching enormous pinches of snuff, and applying them incontinently to his nostrils, and by swallowing the nut-shells and orange-peel. Struck, however, at last by the somewhat frequent manner in which the waiter was flinging his hands up after his eyes, I turned, and 1827.] Some Account of a Lover. 263 beheld my intemperate companion lying involved in his chair, with a most cruel distortion of feature ; his whole appearance betraying what it had been more prudent than ingenuous to conceal ; namely, that he was, " in vino," very drunk — a new adaptation of the well-known laconic axiom which he forthwith began to illustrate. • For, having effected a transition of his body into the street, this " beastly pagan" began shouting forth hymns to Diana, accompanying the same by saltatory motions, and recommending himself to her goddess-ship's notice as her Endymion, while he protested his intention of meeting her in a submarine apartment — an engagement, the completion whereof was a little facilitated by the fact that he was considerably more than "half seas over." For my own part, I found it very shortly expedient to relinquish a personal attendance upon him ; for, by reason of these unnatural upspringings, I expected nothing less than the instant destruction of his frame " in toto," or his rapid disappearance through one of the coal-holes in the pavement ; to say nothing of a difference of opinion that might arise between us, and that worthy Diogenes of the night, who makes it his business to look after honest men with a lantern, and who was now approaching, dressed in a drab- coloured great-coat. By this peripatetic professor of moral philosophy was he eventually " reprehended," and by him conducted and introduced to the interior of an agreeable but small mansion, where he passed the night. In pursuance of a resolution, approved and adopted by us the preceding evening, I sallied forth the next morning to reconnoitre the residence of his charmer, with the view to the completion of a plan of elopement, in which I profess my entire skill — my attention through life having been par- ticularly turned to flights of all description — from the gently abrupt injec- tion of the personal identity into a shop, upon the sudden appearance of an incipient dun, to the superhuman scramble from the outstretched palm of a full-grown fingerer .of shoulder-blades. But I wander. The possibility of completing this rather premature arrangement having been ascertained by a minute survey of the house — by which I perceived that Diaper could, in case of emergency, escape through the iron railings, and delighted to observe, that the discharge of a pistol from the street-door by the alarmed father, or any of his domestics, must infallibly lodge its contents in the os frontis of the watchman opposite ; — having ascertained, I say, these things, I was preparing to depart, when a figure at the window attracted my observations — the fair cause of my friend's disquiet ! " Oh ! call her pale not fair!" Not to flatter, her's might be said to be " Beauty, which, whether sleeping or awake, Shot forth peculiar graces." And yet, 1 know not, her style of countenance was neither in the Grecian nor the Roman mould, but might be more aptly termed the Gorgonic. I was more than ever convinced of the truth of the line, — " None but the brave deserve the fair,"— and hurried away with some precipitation to reveal to Diaper what — I could not say whom — I had seen. This recital was listened to by him with intense satisfaction ; and, upon its conclusion, he produced a parcel, which, with sundry winks, and dozens of self-satisfied smirks, he delivered into my hands, enjoining me to bear it suddenly according to its direction. Sanguine of success, he would take no denial, but thrust me forth, instructing me to meet him at the corner of the street. 264 Some Account of a Lover. [$KPT. I was ever an indifferent substitute for the god of love, my ovention being altogether hostile to such embassies of moment , but, faithful to the duty I had imposed upon myself, I lay in wait for the man-servant ; and placing the letter in one palm, I infused a sixpence into the other, to secure its safe delivery into the young lady's own hands. Being ushered into an elegantly furnished apartment, I began to specu- late upon the brilliant prospects of my friend. He has disdained, thought I, to pay an abject homage to some proud beauty, who, every time she opened her mouth, would shut his eyes, that he might afterwards see what the devil had sent him ; — no, he has wisely sought elsewhere, and the property will be all the safer for the scarecrow on the premises. In the midst of these delighted visions, I was astounded by the violent opening of an adjoining door, from which flew first a tremendous courier of a voice, articulating, " Where is this impudent rascal ?" followed by its master, a tall military figure ; to whom succeeded the identical daughter — the " mon- strum horrendum" of the morning — torturing her unique frontispiece by demoniac cachinnations. Approaching me, a scroll in one hand, covered over with slender iambics (the detestable versification of Diaper), and an uplifted cane in the other, this military man began to imprecate curses, and to hold out threats of a very horrid description. My presence of mind instantly suggested my absence of body, which I, who profess only a moral courage and am not quarrelsome, happily succeeded in effecting. I have said that I am no god of love ; yet truly did I shew my wings in this critical moment — flying down the flight of steps, and darting from the house with as much precipitation as a tenant at quarter-day. Hurry- ing to the lover at the corner of the street, I upbraided him bitterly for having so cruelly trifled with my personal safety — perhaps magnifying in my wrath the indignation of the captain, and the insane grins of his daughter. The state of mind of the ill-fated sentimentalist at this intelligence can neither be conceived nor described. He cast himself upon the earth, and exhibited several mathematical lines upon the pavement ; and rising sud- denly, assaulted the dead walls with his head. To these exertions, another train of thought succeeded, as I collected from his frequent imita- tion of the action of a knot under the left ear ; and now he threw out more than hints of self-destruction. Not content with the bare imagination of making away with himself, he luxuriated in all the possible modes and practices on record by which it might be accomplished — from strangulation in a water-butt to immersion in the crater of Vesuvius ; finally, entreating, with tears, the loan of my garters for a few minutes, that he might attach himself without delay to the lamp-post opposite his inexorable fair one's abode. Upon these symptoms, I was for bearing him away to the Lambeth Asylum ; but this he would by no means permit. I was under the neces- sity, therefore, of leading him to the door of his lodgings, where I gave private injunctions to the servant to screw down the windows, and to secure all knives, washing-lines, and bodkins ; accompanying the douceur of a shilling with another request — that she would refuse to furnish the sufferer with any Epsom salts, which the apothecaries have lately discovered to be the same thing as oxalic acid.* • It is the p.itient, wo are afraid, that makes the discovery. — Ed. 1 827.] Some Account of a Lover. 265 A few days after this, I was apprized that the lover, unable to withstand the shock that this entire rejection of his claims had occasioned, and home down by a complication of misfortunes " too numerous to mention," had taken to his bed ; from whence I received a bieroglyphical scrawl, entreat- ing my instant presence, and affirming that, if I had any desire to behold him yet alive, I must come, "per saltum" or by leaps, — " Like angels' visits— -few, and far between" — which, seizing my hat, I obeyed. Being come to the house, I knocked with that sort of respectable pre- cision which indicates that there is "somebody" waiting for admittance — whereto I received that kind of attention which implies that that " some- body" is likely to wait. A length, a begrimed lad made his appearance, with a man's coat on his back, a human being too large — one arm buried in a monstrous boot, and, drawn down over his eyes, a huge hat, which, upon discovering me through a crevice in the brim, was, with some difficulty, laid aside. Receiving no answer from this youth to my thrice-repeated inquiry, whether I could see Mr. Diaper or not ? I took the liberty to add a supplementary appeal, by lowering my cane with remarkable perpen- dicularity upon that extremity of the frame terminated by a head. The boy, thus appealed to, discovered immediately an irregular aperture in his jaws, from which he emited yells quite anti-silencial and perfectly discordant ; which yells, as if by miracle, pierced the long-discarded tym- panum of an aged hag, who now made her appearance. This ancient beldam, placing herself before me, put both her ears into her left eye, and began to listen with it ; that organ of vision, at the same time, carelessly lolling from its sphere with a sang froid and immovcable curiosity not a little astonishing. In vain did I muster the powers of a pair of lungs that might have " torn hell's concave," and pour them into one ear ; in vain did the little boy shriek wildly into the other ; — she did but smile complacently, as though she said. " Be such sweet silence eternal !" At last, by furious signs and violent gesticulations, I gave her to understand the purport of my visit, and was conducted to the chamber of my dying friend. This was a room situate on the third floor of the house, and stuck (like a parenthesis) in the middle of a long passage. The want of a stove was relieved by the presence of a large fire-place, between which and the win- dows there was evidently a vile collusion. It was. I verily believe, a house of call for the four winds. This yEolian hole was split asunder by a pasteboard diaphragm or screen ; and, in one of these moieties of misery, stretched upon a bed, lay the once graceful, ever graceless, Diaper. Here was a scene \ I approached the couch tremblingly — he was asleep ! Alas ! disease had got the start of the worm by a strange anticipation. He was of a lean habit of bone. I dropt a few tears — but they missed him ! and attempted to accomplish a fleeting remembrance of him, by way of a front likeness, but could cut no pencil fine enough; It was never my for- tune, or misfortune, to behold a living subject cleaner picked. The digging of a grave, as I told the undertaker, was entirely a work of supererogation. Enough to have borne him forth, and, the service of burial performed, to have decently dropt his remains through a crack in the parched earth — for it was sultry weather. But of this no more. After some time, opening his eyes, my departing friend recognized me, and, raising himself in the bed, began to discourse eloquently upon his M.M. New Series.— VOL. IV, No. 21. 2 M 266 Some Account of a Lover. £SEPT. " future prospects." He said that it was all up with him, which I was glad to hear, and remarked that, " in the other world, there would be found no anxious tumults of the mind — no falsehood — no perjured inconstancy — no " Here I drew out my pocket-handkerchief; and he plucked forth a lock of hair, in extent and quality resembling a horse's mane, which he gazed upon with much sorrowful metamorphosis of visage. This settled, he turned his memory to the manifold extravagancies of his youth — parti- cularly dwelling upon anight of inebriation and imprudence; and solemnly recording, as a warning to youth, an exacted sum of five shillings, in which he had been mulcted by the offended watchman. He also gave me a post- obit, claim upon his aunt for the eighteen-pence and other loans I had advanced on his .account — an instance of affectionate remembrance, that affected and, at the same time, comforted me. And now, all temporal affairs being concluded, it was evident that his strength was quite spent, which was shortly afterwards verified by his soul's perfectly unostentatious departure — no notice whatever being given, save an oblique protrusion of one leg, that dislodged a bundle of transversely- arranged bones, which, upon examination, proved to belong to a helpless being, 'yclept the nurse. This somnolent person, picking herself up, arid rubbing* her eyes, observed, that her patient had died " like a lamb,'* — which satisfactorily accounted for his being " dead as mutton." — Peace to his ashes! " The course of true love never did run smooth." Thus have I, with infinite impartiality and justice, set down such parti- culars of my late-lamented friend's fortunes as must extort no common sympathy from readers of sentiment — from lovers, whether hastening to a wife or to a willow — to a stagnant pond, or a less perturbed parson. lam desine — it is enough. After all, I cannot but agree with the philosophic Falstaff — " There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof." TO THE ZEPHYRS. HAIL to your glad return, ye Zephyrs bland! Joining in dalliance with our new-born flowers. Whose odorous beds are sweet as spicy bowers Of your loved southern vales, — or where ye fanned, Upon her couch of roses, Beauty's queen, What time enamoured of an earthly scene, In her own Paphian groves she loved to stay, Attended by heY handmaid Graces fair, With whom, in myrtle arbours as they lay, Passing the noontide hours, ye joined in play, Loosening the bright braids of their golden hair, — Or the light covering stealing soft away, Ye to their glowing bosoms would repair ! Though those times are long past, nor Venus there, Nor Graces now are known, your pastime still Ye love to take by fountain, grove, and rill—- Nor to one spot confined, but with the spring Ye coast the world around on viewless wing ; 1827] To the Zephyrs. 267 And winter's frowns by you are never seen, Whose influence lays all Nature's beauty low— Where fields are all in flower, and groves still green, And, but your sweet breath, not a wind can blow. Ye 're ever found — and as the fountains flow, . And brooks around with chiming murmurs play, Ye waft the soft sounds on your wings away, Mingled with all the music of the grove, Where thousand throats are warbling all the day Their choral symphonies of joy and love. Soon as with fragrant kisses ye awake Your mother, young Aurora — she whose smile Glads the green earth — your joyous flight ye take To visit every lovelier scene awhile : Forth from her bosom with the winged hours, Through summer realms of life, and light, and joy, Ye go — and gathering from the opening flowers A balm for Beauty's breath, is your employ ; And whether along the sunny shores of Nile, Or through the balmy fields of Araby, Or in the bosom of some ancient isle, Your gentle mission all unweariedly Ye oft pursue, — or to our steamy vales, Where vernal sweets invite, as now, ye stay, Ye still are blest. Oh \ would I might partake Of your invisible being, and this clay That loads the buoy ant spirit henceforth forsake, And as I list light wing myself away, In endless pastime, o'er the hills and dales! Then, when the milk maid roamed in morning gay, Or lovers met at eve to tell their tales, I would be present, or to hear her lay, Or listen to the tender vows they made j And I would waft the first sound to their ear Of hated spy, or loiterer wandering near, With ill-timed visit lo profane the shade. Oft, too, should deeds of mercy me engage, When to imprisoned beauty's joyless bower, With vernal fragrance at the morning hour, I'd fly a welcome visitor — and the dew Of heaven around her lattice I would strew ; And when I saw her pining cheeks presage Of early dissolution, I would come With every soft aerial melody That charmed the groves, to hymn her spirit home ; And when beneath the willow she was laid, Long would I linger in the pensive shade, And whisper all unseen her elegy. H. B. 2 M2 [ 268 ] [SEPT BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF MADEMOISELLE 8ONTAG ; INTERSPERSED WITH CHARACTERISTIC ANECDOTES OF THE LEADING FASHIONABLES OF BERLIN. «• Here be truths." {The little work from which this sketch is extracted—" Henriette die Schone San- gerinn," or, Henfiette the beautiful Songstress — has excited so much attention at Leipsic (where it was published) and at Berlin, that we rhink an abridgement of it may not be wbotiy unacceptable to our readers. It is said, that the fair lady to whom it refers, and of whom so many strange reports have been circulated, is at length actually engaged, and to make her del-fit next season at the Italian Opera House in England.] THE Opera was over! Still, however, the tumultuous applause uplifted in honour of the fair debutante who had that evening made her first obeisance before the audience of Berlin, reverberated through the house, and seemed as if it would have no end. A thousand clapping hands, and a corresponding num- ber of roaring voices, were employed in bearing testimony to the merits of Henrietta,* and in demanding her momentary re-appearance, to receive the homage of the spectators. At length the curtain again rolled up, and the beauty came forward in all the graceful loveliness whereby she had previously enchanted her auditory. In comparison to the noise which now arose, the former might be regarded almost as the silence of the dead ! Every one present, in fact, seemed to abandon himself to the most extravagant marks of rapture ; the young songstress, alone, was unable to give vent to her emotions, and was obliged to retire with silent obeisances ; her eyes, however, were eloquent, demonstrating, by their animated lustre, the gratification she experienced. But the amount of Henrietta's gratification appeared trivial beside that mani- fested by the glances and exclamations of the gentlemen in the house. A regu- lar epidemic seemed to have seized them (although of no very disastrous nature) and to have included every class and every age within its range of attack. Even old Field Marshal Von Rauwitsch/f- upon whose head, worn grey during numer- ous campaigns, scarcely a few straggling hairs were to be counted — even he appeared, in his old age, to have been wounded by Love's dart, against which he perhaps imagined himself completely armed. If, however, these right noble warriors were fascinated by the syren, he was more than matched by a couple of royal counsellors — Messrs. Hemmstoff and Wicke,J who had become close friends in consequence of a congeniality of sentiment in matters relating to the fine arts and the drama. The latter, his eye fixed on the fallen curtain, broke out with an ejaculation — " Oh, friend ! what is life without love ? I now understand the delicate lines of the poet." " True, very true!" interposed Hemmstoff) vainly endeavouring to pass, in the true exquisite style, his fingers through the remnant of that luxurious crop of hair which the scythe of Time had cut down — "very truly does the poet say- but I feel confoundedly hungry. Shall we sup at the Restaurateur or where ?" * Mademoiselle Sontug.' t Marshal Von Bniuchilsb, Governor of Berlin. Gormnstoff and Wilke. 1827.] Biographical Sketch of Mile, bontag. 261) " Below, my dear fellow," rejoined Wicke, in a melting tone, " for I under- stand there is a supply of fresh oysters just arrived. Alas! how sweet a thing is love !" Thus sentimentalizing did he and his companion descend into the supper- room, which was unusually full — doubtless on account of the necessity felt by so many young bucks of of recruiting their shaken nerves and spirits by the help of a little eau-de-vie. All the 'tables were soon entirely occupied; next our two friends, to the right, sat a rather elderly French Abbe',* whose head, to the infinite consolation of Hemmstoff, was even more scantily strewn with locks than his own. Accord- ing to the prevailing character of the French ministers, this was a jovial, free- thinking man, by no means dead to the joys of this life in consequence of his monastic education, but who loved his wine, his oysters, and his music — nor did the third article of the Lutheran Catechism seem to be either unknown or unpleasant to him, as appeared by the ecstacy into which the young songstress had thrown him. " Ah, mon Dieul qu'elle est belle!" exclaimed he: "here, garfon, a bottle of champaign ! — to the health of Henrietta." To the right of the Abbe was placed a tall thin figure, in a blue coat, with an Order of the Cross in his button-hole. This man's grey though well-dressed hair formed a singular contrast to his red, and at the same time wrinkled, face: the latter quality whereof shewed that the owner had exceeded his sixtieth year, notwithstanding he was desirous of passing muster as a dandy of nve-and-twenty.f He wore a double lorgnette constantly round his neck — had an opera-glass in his hand — and his cravat was tortured into the elaborate tie of an Englishman, who wishes on his visit to the continent to be thought of the first water. He was styled by some members of the company Lieutenant-Colonel; and to aid his assumption of a consequential air, he minced and muttered his words as if he thought it beneath him to give any body or any thing an intelligible answer. It is true, he was not long put to much expense, even of this sort of conversation : for the seat beside him was taken by the manager of the theatre, t an intelligent and agreeable man, to whom were addressed, as a matter of course, all questions relating to the charmer of the evening. There was, however, present a young man of very interesting exterior, who was seated at the bottom of the table, and who, wrapped in utter silence, still paid attention, as he sipped his wine, to the discourse of the individuals sur- rounding him. He could not be a native of the capital, or indeed a resident there of any long standing, as neither of the guests already mentioned (who piqued themselves upon knowing every body, who was any body) were acquainted with his name or rank, although his whole air and aspect betokened a person of consideration. The discourse naturally turned on the opera; and all coincided in voting Henrietta's abilities to be pre-eminent, although each differed from the other as to her chief qualifications. Hence, the uproar began almost to resemble that of Babel (for the parties seemed to think that the strength of the argument lay in vociferation) when it was suddenly checked by the manager rising, and politely calling upon the young stranger to favour the company with his opinion. " Most willingly/' was the reply : * although I fear I stand but an indifferent chance in the society of so many enlightened connoisseurs. In my estimation, the debutante is endowed with irresistible grace, and with a voice at once melo- dious and full of sentiment ; her execution, also, is blameless : but she evinces little taste in the selection of her operas, and still less in that of the theatre whereat she performs (here our friend the manager was all attention), which is well known to have no higher ambition than that of money -getting, however it be com- passed.|| In this point Signora Henrietta must certainly be held to have squared her views with those of the sordid multitude in no very worthy manner." * M. B. — , now in England. f The Chevalier Von Treikow. J Von Holter. || The " Konigstadter Theater" is a sort of minor theatre of Berlin, situate in one of the fauxbourgs of the capital. It is limited to the performance of second-rate pieces, or 270 Biographical Sketch of ^llla. Sontag* [SEP^. The stranger was silent, and the company seemed disposed to continue so ; the Lieutenant-Colonel, it is true, whilst he picked his teeth, muttered some unin- telligible words between them, as if he would have spoken out, but durst notj and the manager seemed too much taken aback by the truth of the imputation to be provided with an apt rejoinder. The Abbe was the first to recover his voice, and said, having previously moistened his palate with a glass of champagne — "I love the gentleman's enthusiasm, and disesteem of sordid motives. \i\ too, have myself a preference for nobler pleasures ! Here,gflrpow, a couple dozen more oysters." Just at this moment, the night-watch proclaimed the eleventh hour, and spite of the pathetic remonstrances of the Abb£, the party made preparations for breaking up. I shall leave them to put these duly in execution, and introduce my reader to another scene. The first visit I paid next morning was to the house of the beautiful Caroline,* who had hitherto ranked as the prima donna of the K — Theatre. This amiable young lady exhibited a complete picture of the mingled workings of rage, jealousy, and disappointment at intervals, relieved by a passionate flow of tears. I strove to console her, in vain ; nor was it until the entrance of her bosom friend Auguste,f the first actress, that she began to rally. A consultation ensued as to the most effectual means for interrupting the progress and thwarting the success of the hated novelty. The only hand whose extension appeared likely to save the mourning Caroline, was that of criticism : and the twain lost no time, there- fore, in pitching upon a select few of its professors to enlist in their favour; and, with the view of securing the full co-operation of these, they determined to relax in a great degree that haughtiness and reserve wherewith they had accustomed themselves to treat the gentlemen of the press. Thus had the lovely songstress's appearance put in motion a double train of feelings— those of adulation and envy: the shallow-minded eulogies of the one, and mean injustice of the other, are alike disgusting; and we turn with pleasure from both to a more agreeable and interesting object — the songstress herself. To the young, pure, and sensitive heart of Henrietta, the notice she attracted was any thing but congenial. She was conscious that the publicity of her situa- tion could not fail to imply something indelicate to true feminine feeling : but circumstances and custom (together with a certain innocent belief that it could not be otherwise) t- nded greatly to overcome this sensation. Altogether, how- ever, her lot had more the appearance than the reality of being enviable ; and this chiefly from two co-operating causes — namely, the impertinent freedom of the critics, who (probably because they knew nothing of music) seemed to prefer descanting in no measured terms upon her personal accomplishments, and the countless tedious visits which were daily made her, and which she, unfortunately, was obliged to receive. By this latter annoyance, indeed, all those leisure hours were purloined which she had formerly been habituated to devote to the enjoy- ment of her own thoughts and the society of books, varied by agreeable household occupations. Amongst her regular train, it will not be difficult to imagine that our friends the orators of the Restaurateur were duly numbered, including the young man (of whom the rest knew no more than we did). He spoke but little, although a sarcastic smile now and then curled his lip : by Henrietta he was uniformly well received— but this courtesy was not extended to him by his fellow admirers, who, indeed, appeared alone withheld by fear (inspired by his evident decision of cha- racter) from treating the stranger rudely. Nothing further could be gathered respecting him than that he was a young musician, by name Werner ; and he was, as we have before observed, of superior presence, although his dress betrayed not the man of opulence. such (of a better order) as have been already acted a full twelvemonth at the two great bouses. Mademoiselle Sonntag's engagement there was extremely lucrative, beiug under- stood to amount to 10,000 Prussian dollars a-year— almost an unheard-of salary iu Germany. * Caroline Seidler. t Augusta Stick. 1827.] Biographical Sketch rf Mile. Sontag. 271 One morning, the party assembled in Henrietta's saloon, were engaged in dis- course respecting the journals of the day, and the criticisms they contained, which (judging from a certain tone of asperity, and even banter, regarding our songstress) had imbibed the poison dealt out by the rival queens, when the Lieutenant-Colonel, who had been looking out of the window through his lorgnette, exclaimed — " My honoured friends, I have to announce Lord Monday;'1"* and his lordship immediately after ascended the stairs — a succession of coarse oaths resounding,* the cause of which nobody knew. Without waiting to be announced, he burst into the room— his huge mantle hanging over his shoul- ders. " Good morning, most adorable !" was his first exclamation : " how have you slept ?" " I am obliged by your lordship's inquiries," answered the somewhat embar- rassed Henrietta. " Louise, a chair." " Oh, never mind," said the peer, " I will sit upon the sofa ;" and he forthwith stretched himself thereon at full length — but his cloak embarrassing him, he hurled it, with a dignified God damn, upon a chair, near which stood a side-board, Rill charged with coffee-cups; his lordship's aim was unsteady, and* down went the apparatus. The whole room was now in confusion; Henrietta looked terrified; the gen- tlemen busied themselves in assisting the servants to remove the broken china ; and the lord gave his aid in the shape of stamping and cursing. Henrietta, on observing one of the fragments, uttered a half-suppressed exclamation of regref, which struck in a moment the ready ear of Werner, who looked extremely indig- nant at the whole transaction. " What is the matter?" said he. " Oh, nothing," replied Henrietta, endeavouring to brighten up, " except that my poor departed sister's favourite cup is amongst the wreck, and that gave me a momentary pang." The Englishman caught these words, although uttered in a low tone; and thinking perhaps that they demanded some notice, cried out — "Never mind, beauteous Henrietta, I will pay you for the cups threefold. You shall have a dozen for every one— far more handsome." Werner looked very much inclined to chastise this coarse presumer on his rank ; but his rising passion was checked by a few deprecating words which the lady contrived to say to him apart. The company w.ss now on the point of resuming their seats, when there arose a general exclamation of — "Here comes Count Regenbogen," f who in a moment or two entered the saloon. Count Regenbogen was held to be the most polite and well-dressed cavalier at the court of Berlin. Nobody had a more stylish head of hair ; his perfumes were all procured direct from the French capital ; his boots and shoes were uni- formly made at Vienna— his coats at Paris — his nether-garments and surtouts at London. Even at the very first period of the morning (namely, about 12 o'clock) on lifting himself out of bed, he was elegant ! and the report went, that he absolutely slept in two waistcoats, and a cravat of the finest mixture — al'iitcroy* able ! and that, for greater luxury, he was accustomed to dress his hair himself in bed, for which purpose a sheet of looking-glass was affixed to the top ! It was also rumoured, on the authority of his lawyer, that he had made provision in his will for being buried en habit habille — deeming it unbecoming to appear at the day of judgment otherwise than full dressed. This notable gentleman was assiduously paying his devoirs to the assemblage, amongst whom he used particular attention to my lord, when his brilliant nothings were interrupted by the stalking in of a very ghastly apparition, which bore some resemblance to M. Briickbaner, director of the K — Opera. A uni- versal exclamation ensued upon his entrance— the more particularly as his gar- ments displayed some stains of blood. " Good heavens !" said Henrietta, "what is the meaning of this?" " God damn it 1" cried the Englishman, " a duel." * Lord C — m. f Regenbogen (rainbotv) — Count Arnim. 272 Biograph iced Sketch of Mile. SoHtag. [S EPT. " Let me breathe, dearest lady," said Briickbaver, " and you sliall learn the cause. Never, surely, was any director of a theatre at once so gratified and terrified as I have been within the last five minutes. I had just called on the cashier of the house to ascertain how it stood respecting the tickets for to-morrow's opera, wherein you are to appear as Amanda, and learnt that one only was left. Two officers entered at the same moment — mutual friends — each inquiring, as if with one breath, whether places were to be had. The cashier exhibited the solitary ticket — like tigers, both sprang at it: a dispute arose; we tried to interfere, but in vain ! Already swords were drawn, and the steels clashed together : both were practised fighters, and their strokes fell swift as lightning, and thick as hailstones ! Nor had more than a minute scarcely passed, before one of the combatants lay bleeding on the earth, whilst the other (who had not himself escaped without receiving a wound) struck triumphantly the point of his sword into the ticket, and retired with his dearly-bought prize."* " And the wounded officer?" demanded Henrietta. " They were taking him to his barracks," answered the director. " God damn it!" cried my lord, "this affair merited to have taken place in London." " Yes," exclaimed Werner, emphatically, " in Bedlam!" Lord Monday fidgetted about in evident annoyance at having no ready rejoinder, and would in all probability have sought refuge in some brutal vulgarism, had not a fresh occurrence attracted universal attention. The beautiful songstress herself, who, to conceal her emotion at this serious accident, had turned toward the window, sank fainting upon a chair. All rushed to her assistance; and his lordship, anxious to shew himself forward in the business, cried — " Her corset must be loosened !" Werner, however, pushed him unceremoniously aside, and, with Louisa's aid, conveyed the fainting girl into an adjacent apartment. He returned immediately, and addressing the com- pany, said—" The invalid is confided to the care of becoming attendants ; and as rest and silence are now most important to her well-doing, I trust, gentlemen, you will all see the propriety of following my example." With which words, he seized his hat and departed. My lord now inquired of Regenbogen — " Tell me, who is that impudent fel- low, who acts here as if he were master of the house ?" " Who can be supposed to know every mauvais sujet?" answered Regenbogen, somewhat drily ; " but come," continued he, " doubtless we dine together at his Serene Highness's ?" " Certainly," replied Monday ; and they quitted the house, as did likewise the remainder of the party, all of them learning the cause of Henrietta's sudden disorder when they reached the street, namely, that the wounded man had just been carried down it, and must have been seen by her. The violent shock which our heroine's nerves had experienced on viewing the body of Maulbeeref carried out of the cashier's house (opposite which she resided) rendered her for some time speechless. On recovering, her first inquiry was after the wounded officer, which the servant was enabled to answer, through the attention of Werner (who had meanwhile made inquiries) satisfactorily. The attendant the n proceeded to communicate a request of Werner's that he might be permitted to renew his call, and favoured with an interview in the evening, as he had something of importance to disclose. This proposition was complied with, and accordingly about dusk the young man re-appeared. Henrietta was at the moment engaged in reading, and every thing around wore the air of deep quiet and seclusion, the room being lighted only by an astral lamp. " I almost fear to interrupt this stillness," said the visitor. " Oh," replied Henrietta, "I rejoice to see you — and the rather, as this is literally the first evening which, since my stay in this city, I have been able to call my own." Werner took his seat by the lovely girl, and an animated discourse ensued ; in one of the pauses whereof, Werner, half mechanically, took up the book which * Matter-of-fact. f Molliere, on officer of artillery. 1827.] Biographical Sketch of Mile. Sontag. 273 Henrietta had laid down on his entrance. " You should know that volume," said she, " for it was through you I became acquainted with it — and through it I became acquainted with you." " Ah, Jean Paul's Titian," exclaimed Werner, turning over the leaves. " The same ; and I now peruse it with a feeling of melancholy, since the great heart from which it sprang has ceased to beat. Werner, do not think me over bold if I say that I prize the work not only from its intrinsic merits, but from the circumstances attending my first acquaintance with it." The delighted youth, taking her hand, was about to reply, when she said, smiling, " Come, I will be your landlady for once, and make tea for you/* The equipage was accordingly introduced ; but a chord had been touched, which ceased not to vibrate, and the young pair insensibly found themselves recurring to the interesting tone of thought and feeling that had been started. " I shall never forget your attention that day," said Henrietta; "forced to descend the hill on foot, whilst the carriage proceeded alone, and admiring the woody landscape around, and the green valley at my feet ; the jutting rocks on my ieft, and the dark forest of firs on my right. Aye," continued she, " I could even paint the stone whereon I found your open book, and, curious (woman-like) took it up in the idea that some traveller had forgetfully left it behind him. How surprised was I, on lifting my eyes again from its pages, to find you, Werner, standing by me ! What must you have thought of me ?" And she turned aside her head to conceal the rising blushes. " I was overjoyed to think," replied he, " that my favourite author seemed to interest you so deeply. I too retain the memory of that day as one of the happiest of my life ; for it was then, as I escorted you to the next village, that we became gradually known to each other. Ere we had reached it, I was aware. Henrietta, what you were in the world, and what in your heart; whilst from you I did not conceal that I was a poor musician, undistinguished, although devoted to my profession." My readers will easily imagine that this kind of conversation was, under all the circumstances, by no means the securest for a young couple who had previously felt for each other an incipient attachment. Perhaps they did not wish to guard themselves ; but at any rate, before the lapse of an hour, a passionate declaration vras made by the youth, and received by the lady, who, in the confidence of her affection, entreated her lover to continue near her, and act as her guide in her precarious situation. " But why not abandon it, Henrietta ?" said Werner. " My kind friend," returned she, " reflect a while. In the theatrical profession I grew up ; and was forced to accustom myself, in spite of the glittering splendour wherewith we are surrounded, to many humiliations imposed on me by the station Fate had pointed out. To what, indeed, besides could I resort ? I have not received the education necessary to enable me to fill the situation of a governess, and that of mere companion would only be a change for the worse ! The labour of my hands, it is true, remains ; but the proceeds of that would be insufficient to support my young and helpless brothers and sisters, for whom I sacrifice myself, in order to draw them from a profession which certainly, to a heart impressed with honourable principles, is in many respects irksome and dangerous." The seriousness of her appeal exhausted herself, and deeply moved her auditor. Leaning her head upon the cushion of the sofa, she left her hand free to the warm pressure of Werner, who after a while arose and paced the room in silence, as if revolving in his mind some great determination. At length he resumed his seat, and said — " Henrietta, let us combine our efforts for your emancipation. I think I know a person who, if he can be propitiated, is able amply to provide for you and your's. Say, my charming girl, will you at once be mine?" She answered not, but turning her eloquent eyes, into which the tears were starting, full upon him, sank upon his breast, I will not attempt to detail the conversation which followed. Suffice it to say, that a plan was arranged, by virtue of which, Henrietta was to bid farewell to public life, taking her leave in a concert, the proceeds whereof, which would M.M. New Series.— VOL. IV. No. 21. 2 N 274 Biographical Sketch of Mile. Sontag. [SEPT. bably be large, were to be laid aside as a fund to further their ultimate objects : that, meantime, Werner was to use every means to soften and reconcile his father to the union, and to obtain an appointment as teacher of music at the University. Some other preliminary measures being decided on, the lovers separated. The days flew by. The contemplated arrangements were made; and Hen- rietta, now fully contracted to Werner, resolutely declined the gallantry of her host of other beaux, who, at length perceiving the authorized and constant atten- tions of their rival, one by one retired from the field. Thus were matters cir- cumstanced, when the eventful day appointed for the final public exhibition of the syren's powers approached. Never had there been such a demand for tickets. All classes vied with each other in giving parting testimonies of respect to the fair songstress, and the rich and great loaded her with handsome presents. For three days previously not a ticket was to be procured — and hence it was announced that no pay-office would be kept open. On the morning of the concert-day, a visitor was announced to Henrietta — Count Klannheim. On being introduced, he stated that he had arrived the pre- ceding night at Berlin, as plenipotentiary from the court of V — , and had learnt with chagrin that the enjoyment he had so long promised himself, of hearing Henrietta, was likely to be denied him. He had therefore taken the liberty of appealing to herself, to inquire if there were no means of his obtaining admission into the concert-room. Henrietta expressed herself highly flattered by this com- pliment on the part of the Count ; but assured his Excellency that she was alto- gether powerless in the matter, as, literally speaking, every place had been long engaged. The Count expressed great mortification on receiving this answer. " Must I then," said he, " abandon all hopes of hearing this wonder by which so many have been entranced ?" " I know but one way," returned Henrietta, smiling, " of averting such an evil, and that is by your allowing me to sing an air to you on the spot." This offer was made with so much grace and modesty, that Count Klannheim was quite delighted ; and seating herself at her piano, Henrietta sang several can- zonettes with her characteristic sweetness. The Count was much moved; he pressed her hand gratefully, and before he dropped it, said, in the words of Schiller — "Accept a remembrance of this hour!" placing on her finger, as he spoke, a brilliant ring. He then retired, requesting her not to mention his visit, as he had not yet publicly announced his arrival. The concert, it is almost superfluous to say, passed off with the utmost eclat. The applause was almost stunning ; roses and myrtles were thrown into the orchestra at the feet of the singer ; and tears gushed from her eyes on bidding farewell, for the last time, to her generous auditors. The following morning, Henrietta was somewhat surprised by a visit from an elderly minister, who addressed her as follows: — "My daughter, Fame reports you to be kind-hearted and charitable, no less than accomplished, and I have been tempted, in my compassion for a destitute family, to make trial of your goodness. The parties in favour of whom I seek to interest you, I know to be as deserving as they are unfortunate; the father is now in confinement for debt ; but a few hundreds would at once liberate him, and re-establish them all. Will you be the ministering angel to effect this benevolent purpose ?" Henrietta was touched with the speaker's venerable manner and urgent appeal. She answered — " I am but too happy in being able to do this. Fortune has been liberal to me, and ill would it become me to hesitate in aiding the distressed." She then inquired the necessary sum, produced it, and the minister retired, exclaiming, as he received her bounty, " God will reward you, my daughter I1' His voice had a prophetic tone, nor was the prophecy false. Henrietta had scarcely time to recollect and felicitate herself on this occur- rence, before an elegant carriage stopped at her door, and her former visitor, Count Klannheim, was announced. After some mutual passages of ceremony, the Count, though with rather an embarrassed air, spoke as follows :— 1827,] Biographical Sketch of Mile. Sontag. 275 " I am not a man of many words ; nor will I now attempt to deny that it is chiefly on your account, lovely Henrietta, I am at present in Berlin, Our Prince, a man in his best years, has found it necessary, from political considera- tions, to take a step repugnant to his taste, and is about to marry. He antici- pates in his spouse those charms of society which he seeks. In short, he has seen you.1' " Proceed no further, I entreat, Count !'' exclaimed Henrietta, shrinking; " I believe I anticipate what you would say." " Perhaps you consider the affair in a false light. The Prince will avow that he not only loves but also honours you. Can you blame him if, in spite of the duties his state imposes, he still feels he has a human heart ?" The fair girl rose from her seat : her bosom heaved tumultuously : she took hastily from her finger the jewel which Count Klannheim had previously fixed there, and returned it him — " I know now," cried she, " the object of this gift;'' and the starting tears prevented further speech. The Count, visibly moved, was silent a few minutes, during which Henrietta stood as if expecting him to retire. At length he resumed — " Well, then, I will proceed to unfold to you the whole of my commission." " Not another word, I pray," answered she: " I dare not — I will not hear you ! ' " You dare ! you must ! The Prince anticipated your reply, and was prepared to meet it. So entire is his devotion to you, Henrietta, that he is even willing, since the laws of the state forbid his offering you his hand while he continues to reign, to resign in favour of his brother ; and, in lawful possession of you, whom he accounts his greatest treasure, to retire from a throne to the private station. Say but the word, and I greet you the wife of my prince." Henrietta paused one moment, as if hesitating in what terms to couch her reply. She then said — " Count, I am indeed grateful for this proposal, and I honour and esteem the party from whom it springs. But I will not deprive his country of such a man. Nay, I will go further, and own to you, in confidence, that, even could your prince raise me to his throne, I should not be at liberty —I should not be desirous to share it with him. You are too thoroughly a gen- tleman, I am sure, to press me farther !" The Count, during this address, had observed his fair companion with eyes beaming with joy. At its conclusion, he could restrain himself no longer, but tenderly catching the astonished maiden in his arms, he cried — "Noble, excellent girl ! come to my heart ! You shall be my daughter!*' and, at the same moment, the door sprang open, and Werner, rushing toward the old man, exclaimed — " Henrietta, my father !" The riddle now is easy to solve. The Young Count Klannheim had been travelling some two or three years incognito, and during that interval had con- tracted an irrepressible passion for Henrietta. Of. this he apprised his father, who, as might be expected, opposed it inexorably. Finding, however, that his son's happiness was positively at stake, he, like a wise parent, set about proving the worthiness of the object ; and the prosecution of this purpose will at once explain the visit of the old minister, and the mock proposal on the part of the prince. Werner had, indeed, like a dutiful son, determined to marry his beloved at any rate, and seek his own fortunes, in case his father should disinherit him. What remains ?— but that the nuptials of Werner (no longer the poor musi- cian) and Henrietta (no longer the popular actress) were celebrated with all due publicity and splendour ; — and that our old friends of the Restaurateur, &c., being each necessitated to sink the admirer, were happy to mix in the gay circle as respectful guests, 2 N 2 [ 276 ] [SEPT. NOTES FOB THE MONTH. THE whole of the circumstances connected with the recent regretted death of Mr. Canning, have been already so fully canvassed, that we shall detain our readers a very few moments only in referring to them. The disease of the right honourable premier was one for which there is no cure. It was premature old age ; — an early but rapid breaking-up of the system, brought on by over bodily exertion and incessant mental fatigue. It was the same complaint that killed Pitt and Fox, and which overthrew Lord Liverpool; and we may add the names of Romilly and Londonderry ; for whether the inflammatory action does its work upon the brain, and produces, first, nervous irritability, and then insanity ; or whether it attacks the viscera, and ends in the horrible form of general mortification, the originating cause is the same. For Mr. Canning's political character, with much to praise, one word is no less necessary in extenuation of some parts of it. Throughout his career he laboured under those disadvantages which inevitably attend every man who has his fortune to make by politics. Such a man can seldom have the power — a power, without which no statesman can escape occasional compromise — of withdrawing himself from the arena of public life, when he can no longer appear on it with perfect consist- ency and dignity. He has no stake in the country — no station — no ground to fall back upon ; he may support government, or he may oppose it; — but he must be in action, or he is nothing. To a man so circumstanced, politics can hardly be a pleasurable trade ; and, certainly, in Mr. Canning's case — beyond whatever may be the enjoyment of gratified ambition — it was by no means a very profitable one. If he had gone to the bar, as he purposed to do in early life, he would have made a large fortune ; probably have become Lord Chancellor : certainly, if it be true (which we believe) that his exertions have cost him his life, he has purchased dearly, by a death at fifty-seven, more than all the honours and emoluments that the state has bestowed upon him. The personal habits of the late Premier were not lavish ; and the fortune of which he died possessed is considerably less than that which he acquired by his marriage. As the country has been told five hundred thousand times over of " pensions" and " annuities" granted to his " mother and sisters," it may be as well to observe, that no stateman's relatives or connexions ever received less from the purse of the public. His eldest son, Captain Can- ning, is captain of a man-of-war, and, at the time of his death, was sta- tioned in the Black Sea. This is not a very unreasonable provision for the eldest son of a prime minister. The ministerial arrangements consequent upon Mr. Canning's death have been made with great rapidity ; and the King's immediate choice of Lord Goderich, as the right honourable gentleman's successor, assured the country as to one main object of the anxiety connected with his decease — to wit, that the Liberal party was to continue in office. This decision is a triumph to reasonableness and common sense. What the Whig ministry will do, is not certain ; but to have the mere principle recognized, that the men who will march on with the changing state of society, instead of attempting to hang back and retard it, are the men to be employed and entrusted, is of itself an acquisition of great value. One circum- stance in favour perhaps of fair measures is, that the strength of the ministry will lie chiefly in its principles. In shewy talent, and especially 1 827.J Notes for the Month. in debating talent, it is singularly weak. The powers of Lord Goderich, as an orator, are certainly very slender. His lordship's manner is unpre- tending, and his delivery is sufficiently intelligible, and his style is so far to be tolerated, that its fault lies in its being too light, rather than oppres- sive or heavy; but all this is negative praise ; and yet it is the best that his own friends, in candour, can afford his lordship ; excepting only some touch of occasional readiness, he has not a single quality of a debater about him. As we go lower, affairs hardly mend. Mr. Huskisson is an inva- luable coadjutor in the administration ; but— he cannot " manage the House of Commons." Mr. Herries may do well as Chancellor of the Exchequer ; that is, what he can do in that office remains to be proved : but it is certain that, as a speaker, he can do nothing at all. The com- fort of the ministers is, that what unofficial talent there is in the House of Commons, it is all on their side. With Mr. Tierney as a regular retainer, and Mr. Brougham and Sir Francis Burdett as volunteers, they have not a great deal to apprehend (as far as eloquence is concerned) from the attacks of the Opposition. The autumn assizes have passed over since our last, and have been marked by an increase in the number of Actions for Libel, brought in the names of plaintiffs who have no hope of recovering more than a farthing damages, but really instituted by attornies, for the sake of obtaining profitable jobs, by the payment of their " costs." This system — like the new Old Bailey science of horse-stealing — is now making its way up into a regular trade ; and we are not very sorry for the fact ; because, when it gets a little far- ther, it must produce one or two advantageous results : it will either com- pel an alteration in the present absurd and unjust construction of what is " Libel" by the courts, — or it will lead to a departure from the practice of allowing a verdict of one farthing damages, in cases of libel, to carry costs. We should be well pleased, for our own parts, with this last arrangement. It could do no mischief; because, where a jury thought a plaintiff entitled to costs, they would give him a shilling instead of a farthing; and the increased amount of " damages" would be no great infliction on the defendant ; while it would arm juries with power — which under the present system they do not possess — of protecting a defendant from being put to enormous expense by an action which their own verdict declared to be purely litigious and vexatious. As the law which defines libel now stands, every newspaper proprietor must publish two or three libels every week. It is sufficient that he writes, or copies from another publication, any statement which may (even remotely) tend to prejudice the reputation of an individual, and which he cannot prove to be true, in the very letter in which he publishes it. The moral absurdity which this demand of literal proof constantly involves, is so notorious, that we need not observe upon it. There can be no doubt that, if a newspaper stated that a particular individual, A. B., had been convicted of burglary^ and it turned out that the conviction had actually been only for stealing in a dwelling-house, that individual, A. B., being charged by the newswriter with a higher offence than the writer could prove against him, if he were to bring an action for libel, must recover a verdict. But, what is far worse — by the law, which, in every case of libel — no matter what the amount of damages — gives costs to the plaintiff, although the complainant, in such a suit, may gain nothing (for the jury would dismiss it probably with a farthing for the injury he had sustained) ; yet any attorney, who can get leave to bring the complainant's action, gets certainly a job in his 278 Notes for the Month. [SEPT. trade (o the amount of from one. to three, or perhaps to five hundred pounds. Now the same practice of allowing nominal damages to carry costs, exists in all actions of Assault ; and it is true that, attirstsight, the cases appear to be the same. And frivolous actions for assault are not very numerous ; although itwould be possible tobringthem on very slight, yet sufficient grounds, every day. But the truth is, that the advantage of bringing these actions (to an attorney) is extremely different. In the first place, the persons among whom the assault and battery cases arise, are not often in a rank of life from which much money is likely to be gained. They are either parties both in a low condition, who have no money ; or both in a respectable condition, who have some character. It seldom happens that a man of straw is beaten by a man of substance; but where that does happen, five times in six an action is brought. In the next place, an assault case is one that must be proved; and an attorney knows that it is always a case proved with difficulty and uncertainty. The jury have some discretion as to the verdict they give, and will consider whether the circumstances amount to an assault or not. And, lastly, it is to be particularly recol- lected, that, for an assault — however well-packed and got up — we can .bring no more than one action : one case, when it is arranged, can only serve for once ; we cannot, because a man has had his ears boxed, bring actions against a whole county. Now this last circumstance alone consti- tutes a sufficient cause for the preference shewn to an action for libel ; — a matter in which, when once — to use a printer's illustration — we have a case set up, we may go on striking off as many impressions as we please. Seven actions, it appeared, had been commenced for one newspaper para- graph, at the suit of a man called dies was, who lately obtained a verdict for a. farthing against the Wolverhampton Chronicle I But the whole pro- cess is sure gain, and plain sailing. Some man — no matter who — has some- thing said of him, or some report referred to concerning him, which no one doubts, but which no one can prove to be literally true. A prize-fighter is reported to be suspected of having made his last battle a " cross ;" — our " Mr. Cheswas," we believe, was spoken of as having incurred blame, by his mode of riding a race. Nowhere is a case that is cock sure ! Nobody can prove that the battle was a " cross :" and the judge will certainly declare that the paragraph is a libel. For us to break down in our evidence is impossible ; for we have no evidence to give but the copy of the paper, and the register of the proprietorship from the Stamp-office. If the jury do their worst against the plaintiff, therefore — if they give him a Farthing damages — • the attorney (who is the real promoter of the cause) will get his tf lump- ing" damages — not a " Farthing," but a good Two hundred pounds, under the name of u costs !" And — " The greatest is behind." This " libel" is not a question of one action ; not of one two-hundred pound job, but of twenty. For the offensive paragraph has made the usual round of the newspapers; and the attorney, with his verdict against the FIRST in his hand — with his point settled and decided — goes to work against all the OTHERS. In every case where the " libel" has been copied, — nay, in every case where it has beon sold, — the judge will declare that " the party" (the attorney) is entitled to a verdict; and, no matter how much of contempt or disgust the terms of that verdict may exhibit on the part of the jury, while it gives him two hundred pounds in the shape of "costs," — which it must do, — the man of parchment is perfectly content. Now the duty of juries, in civil actions, is to do justice between the Notes for the Month. 279 parties. They are not empanncled to decide merely what compensation a plaintiff shall receive for the injury that he has sustained ; they are also to say what fine a defendant shall pay for the wrong that he has com- mitted. It is laid down by judges every day as law, that " a defendant who cannot pay in his purse, must pay in his person ;" i. e. that the expense and charge to which a verdict puts him, is a punishment for the act which he has done, quite as much as a remuneration to the party who complains against him. And is it not perfectly monstrous to provide, that where a jury declares the very lowest coin "of the realm — the wilfully and prepensely meanest and basest — to be all that the plaintiff (as com- plainant) deserves for a frivolous and vexatious action, — that he should be allowed (as attorney) to exact a penalty from the defendant to the enor- mous amount of three hundred pounds! The fact is, that some part of this scheme must be altered, or juries will very soon refuse to execute it, and so alter it themselves. For the practice which is held somewhat to correct the evil as it stands — that of allowing the judges to deprive the plaintiff of his costs, by " certifying" that the action is frivolous and vexatious — it is a remedy, in our opinion, highly dangerous and inconvenient. In cases of libel, it is all that was wanted to complete the nonentity of the jury, and to make the court sole arbitrator of the whole question — law and fact together. It is the judge who, by his power of direction as to the law, settles, first, whether what the defendant has written is a " libel ;" and the power of certifying, in the practice, enables him to settle afterwards what penalty he shall pay for it. Letters from Lisbon and Madrid, in the absence of political information, contain long accounts of the Bull fighting exhibitions of these capitals ; and, in some instances, with strictures upon the character of the sport, more, calculated to gratify the amour-propre of English readers, than founded exactly in reasonableness or justice. All combats in which brute animals are compelled to take a part, have that about them, no doubt, which should be offensive to a humane and cultivated taste ; but such combats, nevertheless, have been popular with the most highly civilized and cultivated nations ; and, of such combats, the bull fights may certainly claim, we think, to be the best. If the ladies of Spain and Portugal attend the bull fights, it should be recollected that the ladies of England, in the times of Elizabeth and James the First, attended the bear-baits ; and these were bear -baits, not of our modern and merciful character, but of a far more ferocious and san~ guinary description. The following advertisement, for example, of Bar- bage, who was " master of the bears" in the time of James the First, may- serve to shew the nature of the delights which, not two centuries ago, our own delicate dames were entertained with : — " To-morrow, being Thursday, will be shewn, at the Bear-Gardens on the Bankside, a great match, played by the gamesters of Essex, who have challenged all comers whatever to play five dogs at a single bear for 51. Also; to worry a bull dead at the stake. And, for their further content, visitors shall have pleasant sport with the horse and ape, and the whipping the blinded bear." This " horse and ape" business consisted in strapping a large baboon upon horseback, tying squibs to the horse's tail ; and turning a number of mastiffs loose, both upon horse and ape, in an open ring. And it com- monly concluded in the tearing to pieces of both the unhappy animals pur- sued— the dogs being as fiercely excited by the alarm of the horse, and hi* 280 Notes for the Month. [SEPT. desperate efforts to escape their attack, as by their hostility (natural or inculcated) to the monkey. The " whipping the blinded bear" was a still more exquisite diversion ; and is described by an old writer thus : — " It is performed by five or six strong men standing in a circle with large whips, which they exercise without mercy on the bear, who cannot reach them on account of his chain. Nevertheless, he defends himself with great force and skill, throwing down all such as chance to come within his reach, and tearing their whips out of the hands of others, and breaking them." This was in the reign of James. In a still later day, we became more curious and dainty in our amusements ; as the following superior cata- logue of entertainments, in an advertisement in Read's Journal (174 J ), may testify: — '« At the boarded house in Marylebone-fields, on Monday next, will be fought a match, between a wild and savage panther, and twelve English dogs, for 300/. ; fair play for the money, and but one dog allowed on at a time. The doors to open at three o'clock, and the panther to be upon the stage at five. Also, a bear to be baited, and a mad green bull to be turned loose, with fireworks all over him. A dog to be drawn up, with fireworks after him, into the'middle of the yard, and an ass to be baited on the same stage." Another advertisement, of about the same date, announces the appearance of a sea bear (" the first ever baited in England"), whom the proprietors have no doubt will " conduct himself in such a manner as to Jill those who are lovers of the sport with delight and satisfaction." What is intended by a "green bull," we doubt if any body now alive distinctly understands ; but the t( drawing up a dog with fireworks," con- sisted simply in a spree of wanton barbarity — the covering the animal with squibs and crackers, and then setting them on fire, to enjoy his fury or alarm. The same amusement is still popular at Constantinople ; where a splendid mansion was not long since burned to the ground, in conse- quence of the ill-behaviour of two bears, who did not, like the " sea bear," " conduct themselves in such a manner as to give universal satisfaction ;" but, after having been tarred and set on fire, escaped from their tormentors, and ran among a great concourse of canvas pavilions, and tents, setting (in their turn) all on fire before them. But, certainly, these old English sports are very inferior to the bull fight, as regards any display — by man — of courage or address ; while they fully rival them in offensiveness and cru- elty, inflicted upon the animal. There is, at least, so much to place the bull fighter above the baiter of a bear, or a badger, that there is a fight ; and one in which he must exhibit great skill and activity ; — besides exposing himself to considerable risk — which is always a circumstance of great interest, and no where more fully appreciated than in England ! Two thirds of the delight which we experience, when we see a man balancing himself upon crutches ten feet high, arises out of the idea that he is every moment in danger of falling. Or, when a rope-dancer runs from the ground to the top of a " firework tower," atVauxhall, he does no more — except increase the sensible chance of his destruction — than if he had passed along the same cord at a fourth part of the same altitude : but, if he did the feat at the lower level, or even took any precaution to ensure himself from being destroyed in doing it, all the attraction of his performances would cease. The same principle would operate, if we looked at the Spanish Picador — as he enters the bull ring on horseback, and salutes the spectators lance in hand ! It is impossible to observe this performer, as he advances, coolly and fearlessly, to meet an animal of such power and fury .1827.] Notes fo) the Month. 281 as our own sensatidns tell us cannot be approached without the hazard of destruction, without feeling that intense interest in the result, which — no matter how objectionable the indulgence is — does amount to a pleasur- able sensation. The anxiety is even still more acute when the Matador, or destroyer, presents himself in the circle! whose life, as well as his suc- cess, depends upon his striking almost to the eighth part of a second, and to the eighth* section of an inch: for it is only at the moment when the ani- mal is in the act of making the rush which must end in his destruction, that he can secure succeeding in the blow, which, piercing the spinal mar- row, lays it dead and motionless at his feet. The combatants on foot, however, who take no part in the death of the bull, and who perform the Pierrot and Scaramouch rather, as it were, to the serious pantomime of the horsemen, are, perhaps, the most amusing actors in the spectacle ; and their parts may be perfectly well exhibited without the infliction of any torture upon the animal. The more dexte- rous of these men enter the arena on foot, and approach the bull, single handed, and unprovided with any weapon — with the most perfect con- fidence. They seldom retire to the niches provided for them to slip into ; evading the animals attack, when he darts at them, only by stepping rapidly aside. In the end — chusing the moment always when he makes his rush — they close with him, grasp him by the horns, and throw them- selves upon his back ; from whence they slide off at their leisure (to renew the attack) behind ; or, once seated, keep their position in spite of all his most furious endeavours to dislodge them. So passionate is the appetite of the people of Spain and Portugal for bull fighting, upon any terms, that combats of this last description are got up every day in the villages, where the killing an animal would be — if not too great a violation of humanity — too expensive a diversion; and in these places, the court yard of an inn, or the enclosure called the corral, in which the cattle are secured at night, does duty for the more costly and elaborate arrangement of the arena. A recent traveller describes, as the most amusing bull-fight he ever saw in the peninsula, one which was con- trived in a small court yard, which had a low colonnade round it, the pillars of which served as points of shelter, or retreat, to the combatants. An extremely powerful and furious bull was so completely tired out in about an hour by six assailants on foot, that he concluded by becoming sulky, and laid his head to the ground, refusing to meet his antagonists. The most entertaining point in this exhibition was the acting of a man who fought inclosed in a long bottle of wicker, or basket work, just of sufficient dimensions to hold him stretched out at length, and in which he was rolled by the bull in every direction about the yard, to the infinite delight of the spectators. Whenever the bull became quiet, the man cautiously stretched his neck out of his bottle, and shook a small red flag that attracted the attention of the animal. The attack then generally recommenced ; upon which he drew back in a moment within his shell, and was rolled about as before, and sometimes thrown up into the air, without sustaining any inconvenience. The combatants had a valuable ally too in a figure,, shaped and dressed like a man, and made upon the principle of the Dutch toy, which sat upright in the arena ; and as fast as it was knocked down by the enraged bull, started, of course, again to its erect position. The rage of the beast at the obstinate vitality of this enemy is indescribable. He repeatedly knocks it down with great force and fury, five or six times successively ; and then — as if aware that there M.M. New &ri«,--VoL. IV. No! 21. 2 O 282 Notes for the Month. [SEPT. is some fraud in the matter, or something more than he understands — walks off for a considerable time, refusing to deal with it again. From great matters, descending to small — we have received several letters from " Sedentary young men," in the course of the lost month, complaining of our strictures upon the practice and science of "gymnas- tics." These "sedentary persons" — who, from their mode of entitling themselves, we suppose must he tailors — mistake our meaning. We have not the slightest objection to their taking "active exercise;" on the con- trary we think it particularly right that they should do so ; all we object to is their thinking it necessary to make a fuss about it — calling all the world to take notice, every time they go to jump over (instead of on to) the shop board. Now these struttings and Growings are objectionable, because they are superfluous. It is not the act of climbing a maypole after a leg of mutton that one would castigate ; or the playing at hop, step, and jump, for farthings — or even sixpences ; but when these simple diversions are erected into "sciences," and gentlemen talk of becoming " Professors" of, and " giving lessons" in them, then every one must feel that a little whip- ping and stripping becomes essential. The most useful art may be rendered offensive by obtrusiveness and affectation. No one would complain of a " sedentary young man" who sharpened his sheers when he was going to cut out a pair of trowsers ; but if he were to keep sharpening them all day long, out of window, and calling the passengers to look at the sharpening as a " new exercise," the foreman of the shop would do no more than justice, if he knocked him down with the goose for his pains. The difference of literary taste between the English and the French, is hardly any where better exemplified than in the columns of their daily newspapers. The plain, dry, slang-like, half technical, descriptions of ordinary accidents and events contained in our London journals, are so strongly opposed to the Ossianic accounts of the continent ; where every street squabble becomes a tremendous riot, and a suspicion of a chim- ney on fire, an actual conflagration. The following paragraph, from the Courier Francais of the 12th ult, is a good example of such poetic taste in reporting : — " We have the following letter from Lyons, of the 10th of August, eight p. m. : — * A thick column of smoke announces at a distance a vast fire ! It has broken out in the house of M. Berthet, manufacturer of wooden shoes, at the extremity of the slaughter-houses of St. Paul. The building is not high ; the combustibles in it are said to be increased by a large quantity of wooden shoes ! The sky is all on fire, and the sparks which cover the horizon look like fire-works ! Several ecclesiastics are observed to be very active in assisting to extinguish the flames. Two women are said to be severely wounded. ' Eleven p. m. — The fire has gained the neighbouring houses, and particularly the lofts of the slaughter-houses, which contain a great quantity of raw hides and tallow ! This has added to the intensity of the fire, and spreads an intolerable stench throughout the quarter ! It is hoped, however, that by judicious measures the fire may "be confined within a certain space," &c. &c. Tho Report of the Committee of the House of Commons on the sub- ject of " Criminal Commitments and Convictions," gives the following enormous increase of crime in England as having arisen within the last twenty years. In the year 1804, it appears that the number of per- sons committed for trial in England and Wales, was 4,346. In 1816, it had advanced to 9,091. In the last year, 1826, it had risen to 16,147: having rather more than doubled itself in the first twelve years of the account, and very nearly doubled itself again in tho last ton. 1827.] Notes for the Month. 283 This increase in the amount of offenders against the law is distressing ; but few persons who are in the habit of observing what goes on before them, we think, will be astonished at it ; on the contrary, it would have been surprising to us, and we dare say to a great many others, if, under all the circumstances of the country, crimes against property — (the species of crimes .which has so largely multiplied) — had remained stationary. The average gains of an able-bodied labourer in England, according to a late grand jury charge (which was very deservedly applauded, and will be not at all attended to) of Lord Chief Justice Best, are very little, if any thing, more than the smallest amount upon which, at English prices, such a labourer can support existence. If he has a wife and family, for him to live is impossible : he must come upon the parish as a pauper. It is difficult for him, if he strolls abroad, to move three yards in any direction off the king's highway, without being a trespasser. If he is seen with a gun, he is likely to be apprehended, or the weapon taken from him, as a poacher. His youth is passed in very hard labour and in ex- ceeding penury ; his old age has no hope of refuge but the workhouse ; and we are just now giving him what we call " education" — and per- haps doing wisely in giving it to him; but one of its first results must be to make him feel completely the misery of his own condition, and see the absence of all prospect of his improving it. Now men who have know- ledge enough, to understand the value of those comforts and advantages in others, of which they themselves are destitute and which they have no chance of obtaining, are not subject to any violent temptation to be honest; especially if they happen to perceive that they have nothing at all to fear, and a great deal to hope, from being otherwise. And, although it is difficult to quarrel with a charity that benefits any creature in distress — even the undeserving, still the care and pains which are so sedulously bestowed by some sectarians upon the souls and bodies (peculiarly) of criminals, are ill examples to many who are not criminals ; and who — equally on necessity — find their souls or bodies little cared about, while they remain without the larcenous or felonious qualification. The conversions to piety and fatness of burglars and highwaymen — and the bestowals of bibles and breeches — by preference — upon utterers of base coin and stealers in dwelling-houses, must raise strange misgivings occa- sionally in the minds of the fw-conderaned, who are not fatted, or petted, by any body. And the superior joy over the "one sinner" that "repents" to the ten thousand "just men" who " have no need of repentance," is a better religious maxim than a political one. But the most unfortunate part of the affair is, that any distressed man who can read, may very speedily satisfy himself that the transportation for life — which is the worst sentence that he has to apprehend at the close of a career of crime — that is, of the species of crime which he desires to commit, the crime of robbery — will place him in a condition far more desirable in a distant country, than the best conduct could ever have given him a chance of, if he had stuck to honesty, and remained in his own. Mr. Cunningham says of our convict colony of Australia — (we must extract the result of his statements rather even than abridge them, for our limits will not admit of much detail) — " New South Wales is a rich and fertile country, possessing a climate more salubrious than that of England, and, even to Englishmen, more agreeable. The settlers (these are the convicts, and the descendants of convicts) are already surrounded with all the comforts and appliances of civilization. The single town of Sydney, 202 284 Notes for the Month. [SEPT. now covers a mile and a half of ground in length, and near half a mile in breadth. There are two churches in it; a Presbyterian, a Methodist, and a Catholic chapel ; excellent hotels and taverns ; hospitals, breweries, dis- tilleries, markets, newspapers, auction-rooms, and assemblies ; and a French milliner, by coming over to provide fashions for the ladies, made a fortune of 10,000/. in less than six years! As all the richest settlers are emancipists, or liberated criminals, the word " convict" is, by agree- ment, dismissed from the vocabulary of the colony ; and the Old Bailey sentence under which a man is transported from England, ranks as very little impeachment upon his character; not much more than a verdict against him from the Court of King's Bench, would do at home. In this very desirable country — to which Mr. Cunningham particularly recommends those persons to emigrate who can command a capital of J,200/., and which, consequently, can hardly, of itself, be considered objectionable to a person who does not possess a meal or a shilling — in this very desirable land, where there are neither game laws nor forest laws ; where man is needed, not burthensome, and where a family, therefore, is not a curse but a blessing ; three years of good conduct gives a convict his freedom. The moment he is free, if he is a farmer, he is at liberty to commence cultiva- tion on his own account; and he obtains a grant of land, of which he pro- bably could never have hoped to rent an acre of land if he had remained in England. If he is an idle London tradesman, free mechanics of every description obtain large wages and constant employ. And while he remains under sentence, he works as a farm labourer ; subject — -to prevent all mis- takes— to the following government table, touching his extent of allowance and time of employ. — " The convicts (Mr. Cunningham says) who are placed upon farms, commence labour at sunrise, and leave off at sunset ; being allowed an hour for breakfast, and an hour, or more, again at din- ner. The afternoon of Saturday is allowed them to wash their clothe?, and grind their wheat. Their allowance (of food) is a peck of wheat; seven pounds of beef, or four and a-half of pork, two ounces of tea, and two ounces of tobacco, and a pound of sugar per week : the majority of settlers permitting them, moreover, to raise vegetables in little gardens allotted to them, or supplying them from their own. They are also fur- nished with two full suits of clothes annually ; a bed tick to be stuffed with grass ; a blanket, a tin pot, a knife, with cooking utensils, &c. &c." Now the writer concludes by expressing (very reasonably, we think) a doubt, whether the convict servants are much harder worked, or more scantily fed, than 01 :.r parish-paid English agricultural labourers. A nd, in fact, it is impossible not to perceive that, between the mildness of our laws and the multitudinousness of our population, the fortune of the convicted offender — not to speak of his fortune (in his own view) so long as he escapes — is incomparably better than that of the industrious and honest man. We may question whether even Mr. Cunningham's description of Botany Bay will attract a great many emigrants there who can command a capital of «£J,200. Men who possess a sum like this have local attach- ments ; and some of them have prejudices ; and a man who would emigrate (according to Mr. Cunningham's suggestion) for the sake of benefiting and providing for a rising family of children, may have some suspicions about the convenience of a state of society, in which the having con- demned criminals, in a sufficient state of in-discipline, for servants, is a matter of struggle and contention. The last of these objections, however,, will be little felt by persons in the lower classes ; and, for the first — the 1 827.] Notes fcr the Month. 285 ties of Home are very different in the man that lives in his country, and the man that starves in it. The crime that has increased in England is the crime to which want naturally directs men — and the crime which transportation punishes — the crime of theft. And with Mr. Cunning- ham's account of Botany Bay in one hand, and the paragraphs from the Scotch an