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THE 


SOUTH    DEVON 


MONTHLY 


MUSEUM 


VOLUME     V. 

JANUARY     TO      JUNE, 

1835. 


PLYMOUTH : 

G.     P.    HEARDER. 


CONTENTS     OF     VOLUME     V. 

Age  of  Elizabeth,  Mr.  Dusatoy's  Lecture  on  the  40 
Architectural  Varieties,  Mr.  Wightwick's  Lec- 

tiu'e  on  44 

Antiquities  in  the  Neighbourhood  of  Liskearcl,      49 
Answers  to  Queries,  227 

Adventure  at  sea,  An  257 

Buried  Alive,  -  164 

Cheesewring,  The  1 
Castahan  Hours,  72 
Coffin  Maker,  The  81 
Consumption  of  Smoke,  Mr.  Owen's  Lecture  on  95 
Capital  Punishments,  Rev.  J.  Webb's  Lec- 
ture on  239, 253 
Curse  of  Kishogue,  The  279 

Devonport,  145 

Education,  The  Rev.  Dr.  Jacob's  Lecture  on        181 
Extracts     from     the     Countess    of    Morley's 

"Dacre,"  214 

Extracts  from  a  Landsman's  Log,  249 

French  Literature,  M.  Luce's  Lecture  on  46 

Feeding  Time  117 

Flame,  125 

Falconer's  "  Shipwreck,"  A  critical  dissertation 

on  130,  158,  201 

Formation  of  Hair,  Feathers,  and  Horns,  On  the  245 

Gaseous  Combustion,  Mr.  Hearder's  lecture  on     91 
Geological  changes  resulting  from  Meteorologi- 
cal agency,  Mr.  Walker's  Lecture  on    96,  136 
Geographical  Distribution,  Habitat,  and  Migra- 
tions of  Fishes,  On  the  229,  265 

Homeric  Palace,  The  1 95 

Importance  of  Shakspeare's  writings  considered 
as  to  their  influence  on  the  Morals  of  Men, 
The  26 

Ingenious  Typography,  103 

Ireland,  Mr.  Purdon's  Lecture  on  177 


VI 

Love  and  Cannibalism,  150 

Long  Bridge,  193 
Laws  of  Electrical  attraction,    Mr.  W.  Harris's 

Lecture  on  the  253 

Memory,  Rev.  G.  Smith's  Lectme  on  91 

Mountains,  On  100 

Moral  Philosophy,  Mr.  Barnes'  Lecture  on  139 

My  Friend  and  his  Cat,  173 

Master  and  Man,  218 

Mate's  Grego,  The  249 

Mechanics'  Institutes,  263 

Mrs.  Hemans,  285 

Naval  Architecture,  Mr.  Chatfield's  Lecture  on  140 

New  Bridge  across  the  Plym,  The  241 

Nosmet  Ipsi — Enjoying  a  Breeze,  276 

Opinions  on  the  Poets  twenty  years  since,  270 

PicNic,  A  17,  63,  111 
Proceedings  in  the  Athenaeum  of  the  Plymouth 

Institution,             40,  91,  136,  177,  235,  253 

Perambulator,  The  49 
Public  Records,  Mr.  H.  Woollcombe's  Lecture 

on  92 

Pleasures  of  Childhood,  The  148 

Public  Characters,  No.  1,  185 

Poisons,  Mr.  Swain's  Lecture  on  235 

Queries,  176 

Rhetoric,  Rev.  B.  St.  John's  Lecture  on  181 

Reports  on  Science,  255 

Sketches  by  a  Practising  Architect,  No.  5,  9 

6,  57 

= 7,  105 

8,  153 

St.  Paul's  Chapel,  Stonehouse,  97 

Stage  Coach,  A  221 

Spectator,  No.  7,  The  269 

Steam  applied  to  Dyeing,  269 

Theatre,  The           "      ^                   7,  88,  143,  182 

Treatment  of  Slaves  in  Charleston,  N.  America,  75 


Thermo-Electricity,  Mr.  Prideaux's  Lecture  on  180 
Tom  Hynes,  The  Life  of  185 

Torquay  and  its  environs,  225 

Teeth  of  Animals,  Mr.  Wyatt's  Lecture  on  the  236 

Van  Dieman's  Land,  207 


POETRY. 


Blasted  Tree,  The  16 

"Bring  out  your  dead,"  25 

Bair  Down,  Dartmoor,  Lines  on  220 

Cross  Ways,  The                                        '  63 

Dartmoor  after  a  fall  of  snow,  Lines  on  seeing      96 

Deity,  To  the  129 

Evening  Hour,  The  172 

Funereal  Sketches,  24,  62,  116 

Hospice  of  St.  Bernard,  The  34 

Look  up  to  me  again,  110 

Lines,  135 

Lydford  Waterfall,  On  the  216 

Mountain  Scenery,  74 

Martyr  Student,  the  204 

Midnight,  220 

Old  man's  brothers,  The  116 

Revellers,  The  287 

Sound  of  Rain,  A  24 

Soldier's  Dirge,  62 

Summer  Evenini>:,  72 
Sonnets,              "                                    72,  73,  73,  74 

Stars,  To  the  73 

Verses,  213 

Widow  ^^  =^  **,  To  the  124 

Zephyr  and  Chloris,  104 

Zephyrumque  Vocat.— Virg.  244 


;>Cornvvall,  49 


LIST    OF    ENGRAVmrS 

IN    VOLUME    V. 

The  Cheesewrine,  Cornwall,  to  face  pa2:e 
St.  Cleer's  WelC 
Trethevy   Cromlech,  from 

the  north, 
The  Other-half  Stone, 
Cross,  on  Caratoa  Down,  J 

Trethevy  Cromlech,  from  the  south,  52 

St.  Paul's  Chapel,  Stonehouse,  97 

Town  Hall,  Column,  and  Mount   Zion  >  ,.. 

Chapel,  Devonport,  S 

Tom  Hynes,  185 

Long  Bridge,  on  the  Plym,  193 

Elevation  of  the  Intended  Bridge  across  the  } 

Plym,  near  Crabtree, 


241 


THE     SOUTH     DEVON 
MONTHLY     MUSEUM. 

PLYMOUTH,    JANUARY    1st,    1835. 
No.  25.]  Price  Sixpence.  [V^ol.  V. 

'  THE     CHEESEWRING. 

The  accompanying  engraving  was  taken  from  a 
drawing  prepared,  for  the  "  Museum,"  by  a  friend  ; 
it  presents  a  view  of  the  eastern  side. 

The  Cheesewring  is  situated  about  six  miles  north 
of  Liskeard,  on  the  south  side  of  a  hill,  in  a  wild  and 
desolate  tract  of  country :  on  the  hill  are  several 
other  singular  groups  of  granite  rocks,  some  of 
which  appear  disposed  in  layers  similar  to  those  of 
the  Cheesewring.  The  upper  part  of  the  hill  is  en- 
circled by  an  irregular  low  wall  or  vallum  of  small 
stones. 

Borlase,  in  his  "  Antiquities  of  Cornwall,''  has 
given  some  account  of  the  Cheesewring,  which  we 
quote  in  his  own  words. — 

"  The  rock,  now  called  Wringcheese,  is  a  group  of 
rocks  that  attracts  the  admiration  of  all  travellers. 
On  the  top  stone  were  two  regular  basins ;  part  of 
one  of  them  has  been  broken  off.  The  upper  stone 
was,  as  I  have  been  informed,  a  logan,  or  rocking 
stone,  and  might,  when  it  was  entire,  be  easily  moved 
with  a  pole  ;  but  nov/  great  part  of  that  weight  which 
kept  it  on  a  poise  is  taken  away.  The  whole  heap 
of  stone  is  32  feet  high ;  the  great  weight  of  the 
upper  part,  and  the  slenderness  of  the  under  part, 
makes  every  one  wonder  how  such  an  ill  grounded 
pile  could  resist  for  so  many  ages  the  storms  of  such 
an  exposed  situation,  ft  may  seem  to  some  that 
this  is  an  artificial  building  of  ilat  stones,  laid  care- 
voL,  v.— 1835.  A 


2  THE    CHEESEWRING. 

fully  on  one  another,  and  raised  to  this  height  by 
human  skill  and  labour ;  but  as  there  are  several 
heaps  of  stones  on  the  same  hill,  and  also  on  a  hill 
about  a  mile  distant,  called  Kell-mar'r,  of  like  fabric 
too,  though  not  near  so  high  as  this,  I  should  think 
it  a  natural  crag,  and  that  what  stones  surrounded  it, 
and  hid  its  grandeur,  were  removed  by  the  Druids. 
From  its  having  rock  basins,  from  the  uppermost 
stone's  being  a  rocking  stone,  from  the  well  poised 
structure  and  the  great  elevation  of  this  group,  I 
think  we  may  truly  reckon  it  among  the  Rock  Dei- 
ties, and  that  its  tallness  and  just  balance  might 
probably  be  intended  to  express  the  stateliness  and 
justice  of  the  Supreme  Being.  Secondly,  as  the 
rock  basins  shew  that  it  was  usual  to  get  upon  the 
top  of  this  karn,  it  might  probably  serve  for  the 
Druid  to  harangue  the  audience,  pronounce  decisions, 
and  foretel  future  events." 

There  are  several  rock  basins  on  the  stones  near 
the  Cheesewring.     Borlase  has  given  some  account 
.  of  these  singular  remains,  the  following  is  an  abstract 
of  his  remarks  : —  4 

"  In  Cornwall  there  are  monuments  of  a  very 
singular  kind,  which  have  hitherto  escaped  the  notice 
of  travellers;  and,  though  elsewhere  in  Britain, 
doubtless,  as  well  as  here,  in  hke  situations,  have 
never  been  remarked  upon  (as  far  as  I  can  learn) 
by  any  writer  ;  they  are  hollows,  or  artificial  basins, 
sunk  into  the  surface  of  the  rocks. 

^'  Since  no  author  has  mentioned,  nor  attempted  to 
explain,  these  monuments  ;  let  us  see  what  light  and 
assistance  their  shape  and  structure,  exposition,  num- 
ber, and  place,  considered,  together  with  the  customs 
and  known  rites  of  antiquity,  may  afford  us  in  this 
untrodden  path. 

"Of  these  basins  there  are  two  sorts  ;  some  have 
lips  or  channels  to  them,  others  have  none :  and 
therefore  as  those  lips  are  manifestly  the  works  of 
design,  not  of  accident,  those  that  have  so  material 
a  difference,  must  needs  have  been  intended  for  a 


THE    CHEESEWRING.  S 

different  use ;  and  yet  both  theses  sorts  seem  to  be 
the  works  of  the  same  people  ;  for  there  is  a  multitude 
of  these  basins  which  have  no  lips  or  outlets,  as  well 
as  those  which  have,  to  be  seen  in  Karn-bre-hill,  and 
elsewhere,  on  contiguous  rocks. 

"These  basins  are  generally  found  on  the  highest 
hills,  spread  on  the  tops  of  the  most  conspicuous 
Karns,  very  numerous  in  some  places ;  and  where 
we  find  few  of  them,  and  perhaps  none  at  all,  it  is 
owing  in  all  likelihood,  to  the  many  rocks  which 
have  been  cleft  and  carried  off  for  building. 

"  They  are  never  on  the  sides  of  rocks  (unless  dis- 
placed iDy  violence)  but  always  on  the  top,  their 
openings  horizontally  facing  the  heavens.  They 
are  often  found  on  the  tops  of  logan,  or  rocking 
stones  ;  wherefore  they,  as  well  as  those,  should 
seem  to  have  some  affinity  to,  and  to  be  in  their  seve- 
ral kinds  subservient,  (on  different  occasions)  to  the 
same  superstition. 

"  Some  are  found  sunk  into  thin  flat  stones,  but 
they  are  oftner  worked  into  more  substantial  and 
massive  blocks. 

"  The  shape  of  these  basins  is  not  uniform ;  some 
are  quite  irregular,  some  oval,  and  some  are  exactly 
circular :  one,  I  measured  at  Karn-bre,  is  a  very  re- 
gular eUipsis.  Their  openings  do  not  converge  in 
the  top  as  a  jar  or  hogshead,  but  ratlier  spread  and 
widen,  as  if  to  expose  the  hollow  as  much  as  possible 
to  the  skies. 

"  Some  have  little  falls  into  a  larger  basin,  which 
receives  their  tribute,  and  detains  it,  having  no  out- 
let. Other  large  ones,  intermixed  with  little  ones, 
have  passages  from  one  to  another;  and  by  success- 
ive falls  uniting,  transmit  what  they  receive  into  one 
common  basin,  which  has  a  drain  to  it,  that  serves 
itself  and  all  the  basins  above  it. 

"  The  floor  of  these  basins  (if  I  may  so  call  it)  is 
generally  sunk  to  a  horizontal  level,  or  at  least  shel- 
ving ;  so  as  that  whatever  falls  into  it,  may  run  off 
into  the  next  basin,  then  into  a  third,  and  so  on  ;  this 


4  THE    CHEESEWRING. 

I  have  observed  more  especially  in  the  works  of  this 
kind  which  have  most  art,  and  are  most  finished  ; 
but  in  others,  which  savour  less  of  workmanship,  the 
bottom  is  not  so  exactly  levelled. 

**The  lips  do  not  all  point  in  the  same  direction, 
some  tending  to  the  south,  some  to  the  west,  others 
to  the  north,  others  again  to  the  intermediate  points 
of  the  compass,  by  which  it  seems  as  if  the  makers 
had  been  determined  in  this  particular,  not  by  anv 
mystical  veneration  for  one  region  of  the  heavens 
more  than  another,  but  by  the  shape  and  inclination, 
of  the  rock,  and  for  the  most  easy,  and  convenient 
outlet. 

"The  size  of  them  is  as  different  as  their  shape, 
they  are  formed  from  six  feet  to  a  few  inches  diameter. 

"  Many  uses  may  suggest  themselves  to  the  imag- 
inations of  the  curious  from  the  description  of  these 
new,  and  hitherto  scarce  mentioned  monuments ;  in 
order  therefore  to  obviate  some  prepossessions,  and 
prevent  the  mind  from  resting  so  far  on  groundless 
suppositions,  as  may  make  it  more  difficult  to  embrace 
the  truth,  I  shall  first  consider  (by  comparing  and 
recurring  to  the  foregoing  properties  of  these  basins) 
what,  in  all  probability,  cannot  have  been  the  design 
of  them,  and  then  submit  to  the  reader  a  conjecture 
or  two  relating  to  the  intended  use  of  them,  drawn 
from  their  shape,  structure,  number,  and  situation, 
and  comformable  to  some  universal  principles  and 
tenets  of  the  ancients. 

"  Some  may  perhaps  imagine  that  they  were  de- 
signed to  prepare  and  dry  salt  in  for  human  use  ; 
(because,  on  the  sea  shore  in  Cornwall,  we  find  little 
hollows  in  the  rocks  spread  with  the  whitest  sea  salt) 
but  these  basins  are  found  in  great  plenty  many 
miles  distant  from  the  sea. 

"  Diodorus  Sic.  (Lib.  iii.  cap.  i.)  informs  us,  that 
the  men  employed  about  the  gold  mines  in  Ethiopia 
take  a  piece  of  the  rock,  (viz.  of  the  ore  broke  out  of 
the  mine  with  its  pabulum)  of  such  a  certain  quantity, 
and  pound  it  in  a  stone  mortar  till  it  be  as  small  as 


THE    CHEESEWRING.  5 

vetch  :  and  the  ancient  tinners  had  certainly  the 
same  custom  of  pomiding  in  stone  troughs  their  tin 
ore,  before  stamping  mills  were  found  out :  it  may 
therefore  be  imagined,  that  these  basins  were  intend- 
ed for  so  many  troughs  to  pound  their  tin  ore  in, 
especially  if  no  such  monument  occurs  in  other  parts 
of  this  island  ;  but  there  are  many  objections  to  this 
use  of  these  basins.  First,  these  basins  are  on  the 
tops  of  hills,  whereas,  the  ancient  workings  for  tin 
were  altogether  in  valleys,  by  way  of  stream  work, 
'or  washing  (by  the  help  of  adjacent  rivers)  the  tin 
brought  down  from  the  hills  by  the  deluge,  and  vio- 
lent rains.  These  basins  are  generally  far  from 
water,  which  every  one  knows  is  of  absolute  necessity 
to  promote  the  pulverizing  any  stubborn,  obdurate 
stones,  as  our  tin  ores  generally  are.  In  the  next 
place,  it  may  be  observed,  that  if  these  basins  had 
been  much  used  in  pounding  tin,  they  would  be  all 
concave  at  the  bottom  ;  but  what  is  more  convincing 
still,  is,  that  many  of  the  basins  are  found  on  such 
high  and  almost  inaccessible  rocks,  that  people  must 
have  been  very  simple  indeed  to  have  made  them 
there,  when  they  had  so  weighty  a  substance  to  man- 
ufacture by  their  means,  and  must  have  lifted  up 
and  let  down  both  the  tin  and  themselves  with  such 
inconveniency. 

^'  It  may  with  more  reason  be  thought  that  these 
monuments  were  intended  some  way  or  other  for  the 
purposes  of  religion,  rather  than  of  mechanics  ;  and 
according  to  our  proposed  method  we  will  first  shew 
what  religious  use  they  seem  not  to  have  been  intended 
for.  First,  they  are  evidently  too  shallow  and  irreg- 
ular, and  too  close  together,  to  have  received  obelisks, 
or  stone  deities  erected  in  them. 

"  Neither  do  they  seem  to  have  been  designed  for 
altars,  either  of  sacrifice,  of  hbation,  or  holy  fires. 

'^  The  ancients  indeed  sacrificed  on  rocks ;  but 
the  rocks  of  which  we  are  discoursing,  have  their 
surfaces  scooped  out  in  such  a  manner  as  no  altar 
extant,  or  on  record  ever  shewed  the  like :  altars  of 


6  THE    CHEESEWRING, 

20  feet  high,  and  more  (for  so  high  are  some  of  our 
rock-basins)  without  any  easier  access  than  climbing 
from  rock  to  rock,  are  no  where  to  be  found.  If 
they  were  designed  for  a  whole  burnt  sacrifice,  how 
should  the  victim,  or  the  necessary  fuel^  without 
great  labour  be  drawn  up  to  the  top  of  the  altar  ? 
How  should  the  fire  be  properly  attended,  nourished, 
and  continued  in  so  high  a  situation  as  that  of  the 
mountainous  rock  at  Karn-bre  ?  To  what  purpose 
the  small  basins  round  that  capacious  urn,  which 
stood  on  the  top  of  this  rock,  of  three  feet  diameter, 
and  one  foot  deep,  beforementioned/' 

The  Druids  used  the  rite  of  water  lustration  and 
excavated  these  basins  for  the  purpose  of  collecting 
rain  or  snow  water  which  is  evinced  by  their  shape^ 
direction,  situation  and  number. 

*^  From  these  basins  perhaps,  on  solemn  occasions, 
the  officiating  Druid,  standing  on  an  eminence,  sanc- 
tified the  congregation  with  a  more  than  ordinarily 
precious  lustration,  before  he  expounded  to  them,  or 
prayed  for  them,  or  gave  forth  his  decisions.  This 
water  he  drank,  or  purified  his  hands  in,  before  it 
touched  any  other  vessel,  and  was  consequently 
accounted  more  sacred  than  the  other  holy-water. 
To  these  more  private  basins,  during  the  time  of 
libation,  the  Priest  might  have  recourse,  and  be  at 
liberty  to  judge  by  the  quantity,  colour,  motion,  and 
other  appearances  in  the  water,  of  future  events,  of 
dubious  cases,  without  danger  of  contradiction  from 
the  people  below.  This  water  might  serve  to  mix 
their  misletoe  withall,  as  a  general  antidote;  for 
doubtless  those  who  would  not  let  it  touch  the  ground, 
would  not  mix  this  their  divinity  (the  misletoe),  with 
common  water.  Oak  leaves  (without  which  the 
Druid  rites  did  scarce  ever  proceed)  ritually  gathered, 
and  infused,  might  make  some  very  medicinal  or 
incantatorial  potion.  Lastly,  libations  of  water  were 
never  to  be  made  to  their  gods,  but  when  they  con- 
sisted of  this  purest  of  all  water,  as  what  was 
immediately    come  from    the    heavens,    and  partly 


THE    THEATRE. 


therefore  thither  to  be  returned,  before  it  touched 
any  other  water,  or  any  other  vessels  whatsoever, 
placed  on  the  ground." 

But  what  parts — few,  many  or  all — of  the  heathen 
ancient  libations,  ablutions,  and  expiations  were 
adopted  by  the  Druids  cannot  be  positively  asserted. 


THE     THEATRE. 

During  the  period  that  Mr.  Sandford  has  had  the  management 
of  the  Plymouth  Theatre,  he  has  made  exertions  of  every  kind,  in 
order  to  render  dramatic  performances  worthy  of  public  patronage 
to  its  fullest  extent.  He  has  been  liberal  of  capital,  and  has  di- 
rected its  expenditure  with  judgment  and  good  taste.  New 
scenery,  machinery,  decorations,  dresses,  &c.,  have  been  provi- 
ded, and  the  splendour  with  which  The  Hunchback,  Masaniello, 
Aladdin,  Pizarro,  and  otiier  pieces  have  been  brought  forward, 
has,  perhaps,  not  been  equalled  in  any  provincial  theatre.  First 
rate  actors  have  been  engaged,  whenever  their  assistance  could  be 
obtained,  and  a  permanent  company  of  good  performers  has 
always  been  kept  up. 

'  The  house  was  never  kept  in  better  order,  means  having  been 
taken  to  prevent  any  thing  like  disturbance  or  riot  in  any  part ; 
and,  by  a  recent  regulation,  Mr.  Sandford  has  shown  that  he  will 
consent  to  be  a  loser, — in  a  pecuniary  way,  for  a  time — in  order 
to  effect  his  determined  purpose  of  preventing  any  thing  which 
might  prove  an  annoyance  to  the  majority  of  the  auditors,  or  inter- 
rupt their  pleasure  during  the  performance. 

Mr.  Hield,  of  the  Theatre  Royal,  Norwich,  is  engaged,  and 
has  shown  himself  very  effective  as  the  leading  performer  of  a 
provincial  company ;  he  has  a  commanding  figure,  and  powerful 
voice,  which,  with  considerable  talent,  taste,  and  feeling,  have 
rendered  him  efficient  both  in  tragedy  and  comedy ;— the  latter 
is  evidently  his  stronger  hold.  In  the  plays  of  William  Tell, 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  The  Honey-moon,  Pizarro,  Richard  III.,  &c., 
he  received  much  and  well  deserved  applause. 

Vivash,  as  usual,  is  pregnant  with  humour;  and,  when  in 
characters  which  he  knows  to  be  suited  to  his  line  of  acting,  is 
excellent.  Those  who  are  troubled  with  indigestion,  or  the  blue 
devils,  will  do  well  to  forswear  all  manner  of  physic,  and  look, 
out  for  Vivash  at  the  Theatre  Royal. 

Fuller  has  improved  greatly  since  his  first  appearance  in  Ply- 
mouth, and  sustains  the  low  comedy  characters  with  much  ability. 
Miss  Mason,  Miss  Jarman,  Mrs.  Horsman,  and  Miss  Hempel, 
make  the  female  part  of  Mr.  Sandford's  company  sufficiently 
strong  for  most  purposes : — Miss  Mason  has  already  appeared  in 
tragedy  and  genteel  comedy,  acquitting  herself  highly  creditably  in 


8  THE    THEATRE. 

both ;  but  the  latter  is  evidently  her  forte ;  and  her  Jtiliet  the 
best  character  which  she  has  performed  here.  Mrs.  Horsman  is 
not  a  stranger  to  a  Plymouth  audience,  and  is  known  as  an  actress 
of  much  ability ;  her  Fenella,  in  Masaniello,  was  a  judicious  and 
pathetic  piece  of  acting. 

Miss  Jarman  is  decidedly  the  best  singer  that  ever  yet  apj)eared 
on  our  stage  as  one  of  the  company  ;  she  has  brilliant  execution, 
admirable  articulation  in  running  passages,  perfect  intonation, 
and  a  great  deal  of  feeling. 

Miss  Hempel,  has  a  powerful  and  sweet  voice,  combined  with 
much  feeling;  and,  in  process  of  time,  will  acquire  taste,  articu- 
lation, and  accuracy  of  tone — great  allowance  ought  to  be  made 
for  her  at  present,  on  account  of  her  youth  and  inexperience,  as 
she  has  been  but  a  few  months  on  the  stage.  Critics  have 
dealt  hardly  with  her,  but  she  has  borne  their  severity  with  much 
good  humour;  and  still  does  her  best.  From  her  vivacity  and 
feeling  she  will  certainly  make  a  good  performer  in  light,  lively 
characters. 

On  Monday,  December  29th,  Mr.  Kean  made  his  appearance 
as  Richard  III.  :  it  would  be  almost  supererogatory  in  us  to 
attempt  any  critical  remarks  upon  his  performance,  since  his 
abilities  have  been  so  often  and  so  justly  treated  by  much  more 
cjipable  pens.  It  is  evident  that  he  has  studied  this  part  with 
great  care,  and  fully  understands  the  character  which  Shakspeare 
conceived.  In  every  gesture,  and  word,  and  apparently  in  every 
thought,  he  was  the  fiendish  tyrant — the  remorseless  murderer — 
the  incarnate  devil — Richard,  Duke  of  Glo'ster. 

Perhaps  no  incident  in  the  whole  performance  better  displayed 
the  talent  of  Kean  in  embodying  Shakspeare's  idea  than  that  part 
of  the  scene  subsequent  to  his  murder  of  King  Henry  VI.;  in 
which  he  says  of  his  uplifted  weapon — still  hot  with  blood — 

**  How  my  sword  weeps,"  Sec.  Ike. 

He  made  a  beautiful  point  also  in  the  tent  scene.  0'ei*worn 
by  his  horrid  dream,  and  unnerved  by  the  shadows  of  the  mur- 
dered victims  of  his  ambition  ;  wearied  with  watching,  and  torn 
by  contending  passions — his  physical  frame  seems  bowed  down 
apparently  beyond  the  power  of  exertion — an  approaching  foot- 
step is  heard  near  his  tent,  and,  with  wonderful  energy,  like  the 
quick  convulsive  n:iovement  of  a  dying  man,  he  gathers  up  his 
faculties,  strong  as  a  giant,  to  meet  the  enemy :  Sir  William 
Catesby  enters — a  friend — Nature,  overpowered  by  her  superhu- 
man excitem.ent,  is  paralysed  to  the  weakness  of  a  child. 

We  would  gladly  go  iaitlier,  did  our  space  admit,  into  the  de- 
tails of  this  performance,  which  stam).s  Mr.  Kean  as  an  actor  of 
the  highest  promise  :  time,  experience,  and  his  own  judgment  will 
do  all  for  him  all  that  is  needful  to  place  him  at  the  acme  of  his 
profession.  It  might  appear  invidious  and  fool-hardy  to  compare  • 
him  with  his  father;  but  how  much  soever  he  may  now  rank  be- 
low him — on  the  whole — as  an  actor,  it  is  certain  that  he  has 
avoided  many  of  his  faults,  and  is  in  some  instances  superior  to  him. 


\ 


SKETCHES     BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 
No.  V. 

"  I  am  content  to  be  a  man  of  valor — I  don  *t  care  to  show  it." — 

The  Wife. 

If  the  preceding  sketches  have  had  any  tendency 
to  intimidate  a  young  aspirant  to  the  honours  of 
practical  architecture,  they  may  yet  leave  it  to  be 
inferred,  that  the  mere  theory  of  architecture  is 
pleasing  enough.  It  is  only  he,  who  ventures  among 
the  shoals  of  palpable  brick  and  mortar,  that  can 
speak  as  to  the  terrors  of  the  architectural  "  deep." 
There  he  may,  no  doubt,  meet  with  calm  seas  or 
propitious  gales ;  leaving  him  either  to  luxuriate  in 
the  peaceful  contemplation  of  Art's  beautiful  expanse, 
or  wafting  his  professional  barque  from  the  native 
cliffs  of  his  own  imagination  to  the  happy  shores  of 
approving  patronage.  It  may  possibly  happen,  that 
his  career  will  be  as  gently  prosperous  as  that  of  a 
toy  frigate  on  Virginia  water ;  but  the  chances  are, 
that  it  may  include  all  the  terrors  of  an  Indiaman 
on  the  Atlantic ;  that  his  vessel  may  be  driven  to 
and  fro  by  the  contrary  and  ever-shifting  winds  of 
caprice,  shattered  among  the  breakers  of  perplexity  ; 
or,  if  he  escape  from  some  of  these,  he  may  only  be 
preserved  from  the  remainder  by  the  conclusive 
measure  of  a  drop  from  the  scaifold.  But,  O  !  the 
pleasures  of  amateurship  ! — of  turning  over  "  Stew- 
art's Athens,"  and  ^'  Degodetz  Rome,"  "  Denon's 
Egypt,"  and  ^' Britton's'  Cathedrals  !  "  O  !  the 
dehght  of  covering  sheets  of  elephant  with  mighty 
combinations  of  the  magnificent  individualities  of 
ancient  Art  !  The  charm  of  never  hearing  those 
thundering  philippics  of  censure,  which  would  un- 
doubtedly follow  their  realization  in  these  days  of 
utilitarianism.  The  sweets  of  exciting  the  admiration 
of  private  friends  by  the  vastness  of  our  ideas,  instead 
of  arousing  the  enmity  of  the  public  press,  by  their 
inapplicability  to  modern  purposes.  The  otium  cum 
dignitate  of  building  cathedrals,  palaces,  and  niauso- 
VOL.  V. — 1835.  B 


10       SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 

leums,  without  estimates,  specifications,  and  working 
details  ! — without  having  to  insure  foundations,  either 
of  rock  or  money — without  having  to  employ  lawyers 
in  the  provision  of  agreements,  bonds,  and  securities 
— without  any  vulgar  cares,  concerning  settlements, 
failures,  or  arbitrations  between  contractors  and 
proprietors — without  having  to  pay  five  shillings  a- 
foot  for  ground,  or  any  regard  towards  the  subject 
of  smoky  chimneys,  thorough-draughts,  and  dry  rot ! 
There,  the  delights  of  criticism — of  not  only  finding 
faults,  but  of  proposing  remedies — of  sweeping  down 
St.  Peter's  Church,  for  instance ;  and  of  building  a 
new  "Basilica  Vaticana,"  after  the  same  manner, 
and  with  as  little  trouble,  as  a  physician  would 
exemplify  in  writing  a  prescription  for  the  heart-bum. 

The  following  is  an  exampte  of  the  grand  scale 
and  ofF-hand  manner,  in  which  amateurship  conducts 
its  works.  The  author  speaks  (and  rightly  speaks) 
of  certain  defects  in  St.  Peter's  : — but  perhaps  his 
own  words  had  better  be  employed. 

"  Now,  St.  Peter's,  though  confessedly  the  first 
modern  pile  in  the  world  ;  and  though  a  great  genius 
presided  at  its  erection,  occupied  the  reigns  of  eighteen 
pontiffs.  Its  most  striking  feature,  though  consider- 
ably altered  for  the  worse,  is  stolen  from  the  Pan- 
theon. The  general  drift  of  the  original  design,  chalked 
out  by  Michael  Angelo,  has  indeed  been  followed, 
deteriorated  however  by  the  patch-work  of  succeeding 
artists.  The  arcades  are  too  colossal — the  inlaid 
marbles  in  small  pieces  do  not  correspond  with  the 
grandeur  of  the  fabric — the  walled  part  of  Bernini's 
peristyle  is  superfluous — the  grand  front  is  positively 
bad.  A  consideration  of  the  defects  of  this  colossal 
pile  gave  rise  to  the  following  architectural  lucubra- 
tion, in  a  walk  one  evening  under  the  colonnade  of 
Bernini. 

"  Strike  a  circle;  let  the  circumference  bisect 
twenty  columns,  with  the  equi-distance  of  the  diastyle 
intercolumniation  ;  take  any  intercolumniation,  call  it 
the  eastern.     From  the  centre  of  the  rotunda,  extend 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.        11 

the  radius  beyond  the  circumference  one  intercolum- 
niation,  and  describe  the  portion  of  an  arc  of  a  con- 
centric circle,  radii  drawn  to  the  extremities  of  which 
would  bisect  the  third  and  fourth  columns,  counting 
from  the  eastern  intercolumniation. 

"  Continue  five  rows  of  columns  eastward  ;  parallel 
to  each  two,  on  the  right  and  left  of  the  eastern  in- 
tercolumniation, preserving  the  diastyle  division. 
Raise  nine  rows  of  columns  westward  parallel  to  each 
two  on  the  right  and  left  of  the  eastern  intercolum- 
niation. Raise  also  five  rows  of  columns,  parallel  to 
each  one  on  the  right  and  left  of  the  northern  and 
southern  intercolumniations.  With  the  diastyle  se- 
paration describe  the  walls  of  the  church,  round  the 
columns  already  raised.  Bisect  the  north-eastern 
wall ;  and  from  the  point  of  bisection,  with  a  radius 
from  the  centre  of  the  rotunda,  describe  the  concentric 
portion  of  an  arc,  which  will  of  course  bisect  the 
eastern  wall  of  the  northern  side  of  the  church. 
Describe,  as  before,  the  two  concentric  arcs  opposite 
the  seventh,  thirteenth,  and  seventeenth  intercolum- 
niations, counting  always  from  the  eastern.  We 
shall  have  then  four  segments  of  circles,  which  will 
be  as  many  lateral  chapels. 

"  The  grand  front,  which  will  be  Doric,  from  the 
middle  Pcestan  temple,  will  present  to  the  west  a 
hexastyle  portico  five  ranges  of  columns  deep  ;  Ber- 
nini's colonnade,  omitting  the  walled  arcade,  will 
diverge  to  the  right  and  left  of  the  four  inmost  ranges 
of  columns.  The  grand  front  will  then  project  one 
range  of  columns ;  and  this  would  mark  it  sufficiently. 
The  eastern  front  might  present  a  hexastyle  Psestan 
Doric  portico,  of  half  columns  only  ;  for  windows 
here  would  be  necessary.  The  northern  and  southern 
fronts  might  terminate  with  plain  Antse.  Antse 
might  also  break  the  lateral  walls,  both  within  and 
without. 

^'The  exterior  columns  and  walls  to  be  of  Traver- 
tine ;  the  interior  columns  and  walls  of  white  Carrara 
marble.     The  order  :  Segestaii  Doric. 


12       SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 

'^  Continue  above  the  cornice  of  the  rotunda  a 
plain  circular  member,  twenty  feet  in  height ;  cut  it 
with  twelve  equi-distant  niches  of  double  squares, 
and  place  in  them  colossal  statues  of  the  apostles ; 
surmount  it  with  a  cornice,  and  crown  it  with  the 
elliptic  rotunda  of  the  Pantheon ;  not  impannelled 
as  in  the  original,  but  painted  in  fresco  by  good 
masters ;  preserve  the  ceil-de-boeuf,  covered  with 
plate-glass  in  copper  frames ;  and  here  is  a  new 
Basilica  Vaticana. 

"Taking  then  the  diameter  of  the  base  of  the 
Doric  columns  at  twelve  feet,  each  being  six  diameters 
in  height,  we  shall  have —  feet. 

Length  from  east  to  west,  including  the  rotunda 1088 

Length  from  north  to  south 896 

Diameter  of  the   rotunda 320 

Breadth  of  the  eastern  and  western  nave  and  aisles. ...,,  ,.228 
Breadth  of  the  northern  and  southern  nave  and  aisles, . . .  ;   132 

"  The  rotunda  then  would  be  nearly  half  as  large 
again  as  the  Pantheon.  A  question  may  arise, 
whether  or  no  the  diastyle  intercolumniation  could 
succeed,  and  give  sufficient  strength  to  the  rotunda. 
Those  who  know  any  thing  of  mechanical  forces 
must  be  aware,  that  if  each  architrave  were  composed 
of  two  pieces,  and  a  central  key-stone  in  the  form  of 
a  wedge ;  the  architraves,  thus  compactly  wedged 
all  round,  would  be  stronger  than  if  one  piece,  and 
easily  admissible  with  three  diameters.  The  enstyle 
division  would  be  too  narrow  for  columns  of  such 
magnitude.  To  prevent  heaviness,  I  have  applied 
to  the  Segestan  Doric  the  six  diameters  of  the  age 
of  Pericles.  I  could  have  wished  to  give  greater 
character  to  the  nave,  by  adopting  the  araeostyle 
intercolumniation ;  but  reflection  suggested  that 
this  would  weaken  the  edifice ;  and,  perhaps,  with 
columns  of  such  vast  proportions,  it  could  not  be 
adopted  without  an  arched  roof:  a  feature  not  purely 
Greek.  Now  I  maintain,  that  had  a  similar  plan 
to  this  been  put  in  execution  ;  not  only  would  the 
architecture  have  been  chaster,  but  the  building,  vast 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.        13 

as  it  is,  would  have  cost  a  million  sterling  less  than 
the  present  pile ;  for  though  whole  quarries  of  Car- 
rara marble  would  have  been  requisite,  yet  that  port 
being  near  the  sea,  the  blocks  might  have  been 
easily  shipped  and  unladen,  within  a  mile  of  the 
building.  What  more  majestic  than  a  forest  of 
Segestan  columns  of  white  Carrara  marble  !  In  lieu 
of  Fontana's  obelisk,  a  campanile  should  have  stood, 
circular  in  form,  surrounded  by  half  Doric  columns, 
of  the  same  style  as  those  of  the  Coliseum ;  these 
surmounted  by  as  many  Ionic,  and  these  by  as  many 
Corinthian,  and  this  would  combine  beauty  and 
utility.  Instead  of  the  inscription  to  the  honour  of 
the  house  of  Borghese,  there  should  be  inscribed  : 

DEO    OPTIMO    MAXIMO 
SENATUS    POPULUSQUE    ROxMANUS.'' 

Such  is  Mr.  Kelsall's  "  Description  of  sundry 
works  to  be  done"  in  the  design  of  a  new  Basilica 
Vaticana  for  his  Holiness  the  Pope.  Could  not  the 
affair  be  managed  with  still  more  brevity,  as  thus  ? — 

Col.  Diast.  Circ.  xx. 

Doric.  Paest.  Hexast.  v. 

Col.  Bernini.  ccxx. 

Col.  Ext.  Travert.  iij. 

Col.  Int.  Carrar.  xiij. 

Pantheon.  Rot.  oeil-de-bceuf 

Plate  glass  copper  frames,  Quant.  Suff. 

Dor.  Segest.  Cam  pan.  Coliseum  xii. 

Wedge  Keystone,  Mechl.  Forces  — 

xiij.  Jan.  mdcccxxxiv.  C.  K. 

I  am  tempted  to  subjoin  one  other  example  of  the 
"  hey,  presto  !  "  style  of  castle  building.  The  ar- 
chitect is  Mela  Britanicus,  who,  in  1827,  submitted 
to  the  society  of  the  Dilettanti  his  design  for  a  new 
palace  at  Windsor,  the  specification  is  as  follows  : — 

"  From  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  Winchester 
tower,  draw  a  line  that  shall  join  the  eastern  end  of 
the  secretary  of  state's.  Raze  to  the  ground  all  the 
buildings  to  the  right,  and  destroy  defond  en  comble, 
the  principle  range  of  apartments.  Destroy  the 
guard-room  and  raise  a  stone  wall  eight  feet  high 


14       SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 

along  the  line  already  drawn,  which  will  insulate  the 
lower  ward.  Follow  the  demolition  of  the  round 
tower  and  ramparts,  (as  marked  on  plan)  the  earth 
to  be  shovelled  down  into  the  mead  below,  opposite 
Eton. '  The  grand  work  of  destruction  then  to  begin 
at  the  end  of  Elizabeth's  gallery,  and  be  carried  pro- 
gressively round  as  far  as  the  secretary  of  state's 
tower,  aforesaid.  The  stones  of  the  old  building  to 
be  piled  a  few  yards  off  for  subsequent  appHcation 
to  the  new  works."  (There  's  an  economical  item  ! 
Now  for  the  new  building :) 

"  Find  the  middle  point  of  the  long  walk,  and 
draw  a  line  from  it  preserving  the  parallel  of  the 
avenue  northward  to  the  Thames.  This  line  will 
bisect  the  terrace  and  palace  destined  for  it.  Twenty- 
five  feet  south  of  the  terrace  wall,  draw  a  line  at 
right  angles  with  this,  extending  to  the  east  three 
hundred  feet,  and  to  the  west  the  same  distance. 
We  have  then  found  the  length  and  position  of  the 
terrace  wall  to  the  south ;  complete  the  square. 
Describe  a  square  within  the  aforesaid,  any  side  of 
which  shall  be  three  hundred  feet,  the  extent  of  the 
new  building,  leaving  a  space  of  one  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  all  round  for  the  breadth  of  the  terrace. 
Upon  the  terrace  place  eight  basins  of  Roman  cement, 
(economy  again ! )  four  circular  and  four  double 
squares,  with  cycloidal  turnings  at  either  end  :  the 
diameters  of  the  former  about  thirty  feet,  and  the 
minor  diameters  of  the  latter  about  twenty-five.  In 
the  centre  of  each  basin,  place  a  river  god  of  bronze. 
No.  1,  AbiiSy  the  Humber;  2,  Aufona,  the  Avon; 
3,  Tridentus,  the  Trent;  4,  Sabrina,  the  Severn; 
5,  Tamesisy  the  Thames ;  6,  Vaga,  the  Wye ;  7, 
Tavusy  the  Tay ;  and  8,  Deva,  the  Dee.  Each 
deity  to  be  furnished  with  an  urn  of  bronze,  to  be 
supplied  with  water  from  the  Thames  below,  by 
means  of  a  steam  engine  of  two  hundred  horse  power, 
(economy  again  !  )  The  urns  to  pour  forth  their  waters 
with  redundant  force,  sometimes  in  clear  sheets  of  at 
least  six  feet  in  height,  sometimes  broken  by  the 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.        15 

rock  below,  and  the  basins  to  be  stocked  with  gold 
and  silver  fish.  The  water  to  regain  the  Thames  by 
a  common  subterraneous  brick  conduit.  Four 
marble  statues  by  Chantry  round  each  basin,  making 
in  all  forty  sculptures  which  would  present  to  view 
the  principal  heroes  and  heroines  of  Homer,  Virgil 
and  Ovid." 

Our  architect,  then  refers  to  two  plates  in  illus- 
tration of  his  lofty  ideas  as  to  the  palace  itself;  and 
in  candour  it  must  be  allowed  that  the  designs  evince 
a  noble  and  refined  taste.  I  cannot  resist  making 
the  following  quotation  from  his  description  of  the 
proposed  interior : — '^  If  you  take  four  or  five  hundred 
Venetian  sequins,  and  hammer  them  into  fine  leaf 
gold,  setting  off  therewith  cedar  roofs,  composed  of 
beams  laid  transversely,  and  exhibiting  carved  roses 
richly  gilt,  in  receding  hexagons,  you  will  have  a 
ceiling  as  noble  perhaps  as  can  reasonably  be  ima- 
gined." 

Thus  he  proceeds  and  gives  all  necessary  directions 
for  the  several  lodges,  gates,  ha !  ha !  ditches,  &;c. 
The  book  is  published,  and  worthy  of  perusal,  if  only 
as  to  the  proof  it  affords,  that  there  is,  at  least  one 
man  of  independent  fortune  and  high  classic  attain- 
ments, who  has  made  architecture  the  channel  of  his 
heart's  enthusiasm,  and  has  published  not  a  few 
critical  observations  which  the  most  renowned  among 
the  profession,  may  read  with  advantage.  It  is 
therefore,  not  in  ridicule,  but  rather  in  envy,  that  a 
poor,  hard-working,  two-foot-rule  architect  speaks  of 
such  a  professor  as  the  writer  in  question.  Not  that 
the  former  would  shrink  from  practical  operation,  it 
being  his  duty  to  encounter  it:  but,  that  he  were 
content  to  be  an  architect  without  being  also  a  victim. 
"  I  am  content,"  says  Bartolo,  ''  to  be  a  man  of  valor 
— I  do  n't  care  to  show  it." 


16 
THE    BLASTED     TREE. 

Spring  lights  up  a  radiant  sky ; 

Gladness  crowns  the  blossomed  earth ; 
Soft  winds  breathe  and  tremble  nigh ; 

Sounds  gush  out,  in  praise  and  mirth, 

From  each  leafy  dell. 

One  lone  tree  stands  bald  and  black 

Like  a  giant  yet  unspent. 
Though  long  struggles'  wearing  rack 

From  his  mighty  frame  hath  rent 

Manhood's  fearless  nerve. 

Spring's  soft  touch  and  gentle  care 

Never,  now,  its  bloom  renew : 
Leafless —  in  the  fragrant  air ; 

Leafless — though  the  silver  dew 

Gem  its  aged  boughs. 

In  its  hour  of  leaf  and  prime 

Voices  rose  from  each  green  spray. 
While  its  blossoms  seemed  to  chime 

In  sweet  concert,  all  the  day, 

Wild  yet  holy  sounds. 

Warbles  still  that  minstrel  lay 

Now  the  boughs  are  old  and  sear  ? 

False  friend  like,  it  fled  away 
When  the  time  of  woe  drew  near 

Never  to  return. 

Saddest  midnight  winds  make  moans, 
Wafting  with  their  winged  controul 

Spirit-sighs — unearthly  tones 
Wrung,  as  from  a  restless  soul. 

Near  the  blasted  tree. 

Franz. 


17 
A    PIC    NIC. 

Thou  hast  a  speculation  in  thine  eyes. 

Macbeth. — Scene,  a  Feast — Lords,  Ladies,  ^c. 

Shall  I  own  it  at  once,  and  at  starting?  Yes,  I  will.  For 
it  would  be  a  shame  to  deceive  people  into  supposing  me  better 
than  I  am,  particularly  those  who  are  kindly  disposed  to  read  my 
story,  and  thus  make  acquaintance  with  me  on  my  own  terms. 
I  certainly  did  deliberately  set  to  work  to  listen  to  a  conversation 
which  was  never  intended  for  my  ear,  nay,  worse,  which  was  never 
intended  for  any  ear  except  the  conjugal,  and  rather  reluctant,  ear 
to  which,  in  all  the  confidence  of  supposed  privacy,  it  was  ad- 
dressed. I  anticipate  the  animadversion.  It  was  a  rascally,  mani- 
festly rascally,  thing  of  me.  But  the  temptation  was  strong ;  and 
I  need  not  tell  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  flesh  is  frail. 

The  day  was  sultry :  the  sun  was  still  high.  I  had  just  assis- 
ted my  hospitable  friend  and  his  lady  and  blooming  progeny,  below 
stairs,  to  despatch  a  substantial  luncheon,  and  we  were  not  to  dine 
till  six.  I  had  retired  to  my  own  apartment,  "as  is  my  custom  of 
an  afternoon,"  for  the  declared  purpose  of  severe  study,  but  the  real 
one  of  undisturbed  idleness.  My  long  chair  (I  hate  French  names 
for  English  furniture,  and  never  use  them)  was  at  the  open  window 
which  commanded  afineviewofacountry  that  smiled  in  its  noon- 
tide slumber.  The  cattle  slumbered  too.  An  article  on  political 
economy  lay  open  on  my  knee  :  it  had  already  disproved  its  own 
theory;  for  the  demand,  I  felt,  in  no  degree  kept  pace  with  the 
supply.  The  ivory  knife  liad  fallen  from  my  hand,  and  the  con- 
tagious repose  was  stealing  fast  over  me,  when  the  spirit-stirring 
voice  of  Mrs.  Allington  issued  through  the  opened  glass  doors  of 
the  room  beneath.  The  woman  tempted  me,  and  I  listened.  She 
was  the  wife  of  my  host,  honest  John  Allington  ;  so  he  was  called 
by  all  that  knew  him.  Every  body  loved  him  for  a  plain,  good, 
honorable  man ;  and  his  house  was  popular  with  all  persons  of 
all  ages,  not  less  for  the  frankness  of  his  character  and  of  his  wel- 
come than  for  the  sake  of  the  never-failing  amusements,  and  ever- 
thronging  society,  purveyed  by  the  care  of  bis  adroit  and  busy 
lady.  I  will  not  say  that  to  love  her  was  an  universal  passion. 
Yet  all  were  attentive  to  her,  and  all  liked  her  dinners,  and  her 
suppers,  and  her  dances,  and  her  "little  music  parties,"  as  ladies 
are  wont  very  properly  to  denominate  those  occasions  on  which 
they  open  their  houses  for  company,  their  windows  for  air,  and 
their  grand  piano-fortes  for  "  little  music."  God  wot.     And  she 

had  three  pretty  grown-up  daughters,  who .      But  let  the 

VOL.  V. — 1835.  c 


18  A    PIC    NIC. 

lady  tell  her  own  secrets  in  the  following  conversation,  which  I 
have  already  owned  I  overheard,  and  which,  in  strict  confidence, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  will  repeat  to  you. 

"  Adey  was  twenty-two  last  March,  though  I  call  her  two  years 
younger;  Maria  will  never  see  twenty  again;  and  Julia  will  be 
nineteen  to-morrow. — Something  must  be  done,''  continued  she, 
after  a  long  pause,  during  which  it  appeared  she  had  failed  of  the 
answer  to  which  she  considered  herself  entitled. — "  Something 
must  be  done,  Mr.  A." 

**  And  why?  "  answered  the  quiet  man. 

"  Why? — Why  because  the  little  ones  will  be  big  ones  soon ; 
they  are  treading  fast  on  their  sisters'  heels ;  and  because  my  con- 
stitution is  too  weak  to  answer  the  claims  of  more  than  three 
daughters  out  at  the  same  time.  You  never  help  me.  Do,  dear 
Mr.  A. ;  think  of  something  that  may  get  the  girls  off. 

"  Let  them  alone,  my  love,"  replied  Mr.  Allington,  "  let  them 
alone,  and  you  '11  see  they  '11  go  off  of  themselves." 

"Yes,"  rejoined  the  lady  somewhat  pettishly,  "  I  suppose  they 
will,  but  not  by  themselves.  You  '11  have  them  go  off  with  the 
tutor,  Mr.  Docet ;  or  the  curate,  Mr  Proseit ;  or  the  bailifTs  son 
young  Whistler;  or " 

"  I  do  n't  know  a  better  man  any  where  than  our  curate,"  said 
the  unrelenting  husband ;  "  and  as  for  the *' 

"Pray,  hold  your  tongue,  Mr.  A.,  unless  you  wish  me  to  go 
into  a  fit." 

There  was  a  pause  on  both  sides,  and  no  fit  was  gone  into. 
And  then  the  pause  was  broken  (as  is  so  seldom  the  case)  by  the 
lady.  But  her  voice  had  a  coaxing  tone,  as  she  resumed  the 
subject. 

"  My  dear,  dear  John,  they  are  your  own  children — think  of 
that.     Surely  you  must  feel  a  little  anxiety  to  see  them  happy  ?'' 

"  Thank  God,  I  do  see  them  happy !  "  replied  the  contented 
gentleman,  and  drew  the  window-blind  quite  up. — "  And  you 
shall  see  them  happy  too.  Look  at  them,  my  dear :  three,  four, 
five,  six,  well  grown,  healthy  girls,  romping  in  the  field  there 
with  their  three  little  brothers.  It  *s  a  fine  sight,  and  I  can  't 
say  I  'm  in  a  hurry  to  lose  it.  If  they  were  not  happy  they 
would  not  laugh  so  heartily,  and  run  and  jump  so." 

"  Just  like  the  rest  of  your  obsolete  notions,"  answered  the 
prolific  and  provident  mother.  "  Happy,  indeed  ! — Get  them 
rich  husbands,  Mr.  A.,  and  then  you  might  see  them  happy,  and 
have  something  to  be  proud  of. — Adelaide !  Maria !  Julia ;  "  she 
screamed,  putting  her  head  so  far  out  of  the  lower  window  that  I 


A    PIC    NIC.  19 

thought  it  prudent  to  make  a  corresponding  movement  of  mine, 
in  the  inverse  ratio  of  the  upper ;  **  come  in  directly ! — You  '11  be 
ruined  in  the  sun  there  without  your  bonnets  ! — My  dear  Mr.  A.,'' 
lowering  her  voice,  and  resuming  the  dialogue,  "we  must  think 
of  something  for  tliem :  we  must  get  some  of  them  married." 

"  Nothing  is  easier,"  replied  the  husband  in  a  dry,  business- 
like tone,  lowered,  whether  by  design  or  not,  to  a  whimsical 
unison  with  that  in  which  her  last  words  were  spoken;  "  nothing 
is  easier,  my  dear  Mrs.  A.  Surely,  surely  you  were  not  asleep 
last  night — no,  I  am  sure  you  were  not — when  I  told  you  that  I 
had  had  a  good  offer  for  Adey.  Our  neighbour,  Tom  Burton, 
proposed  to  me  for  her  yesterday.  If  she  were  to  marry  him, 
she  would  only  go  a  couple  of  miles  from  us.  We  might  see  her 
every  day — lovely,  and  happy,  and  dear  to  us,  even  as  in  this 
happy  hour,  with  sunshine  and  home  all  around  her,  only  with 
one  more  affection  to  sweeten  the  long  life  which,  please  God,  is 
before  her ;  and  that  need  not  make  us  jealous,  my  dear  Mrs.  A. 
She  has  known  him  from  infancy,  and  I  am  sure  she  likes  him." 

"  I  flatter  myself  a  daughter  of  mine  can  like  any  man  when  I 
tell  her  he  is  a  proper  match  for  her,"  said  the  justly  proud 
mother.  **  But  Mr.  Burton  won't  do,  Mr.  A.,  and  you  know  it, 
and  it  is  provoking  of  you.  He  is  too  poor:  his  rich  cousin  is 
the  partie ;  it  is  he  that  swallows  up  the  wealth  and  real  respect- 
ability of  the  family^  If  we  could  manage  Sir  James  Burton 
now !  " 

"  God  forbid  !  "  said  Mr  Allington.  "  Swallows  them  up, 
indeed ! — Why,  he  drinks  and  he  plays ; — a  drunkard  and  a 
sharper " 

"Some  ill-natured  people  do  hint  that  he  does  sometimes  drink 
a  little  more  than  is  good  for  his  health,  and  does  play  a  leetle  bit 
more  than  necessary,  but  I  do  n't  believe  a  word  of  it : — I  won't 
believe " 

"  And  a  glutton,"  continued  Mr.  A.,  as  if  in  a  humour  to 
proceed  in  the  statement  of  a  sum  in  which  the  unit's  place  was 
still  far  distant,  "  and  a " 

"  A  glutton,  Mr.  A.  1 — What  can  you  possibly  mean  ? — Do  n't 
you  know  that  there  never  was  a  time  when  it  was  so  absolutely 
essential  a  quality  of  a  gentleman  to  understand  cookery  thor- 
oughly ? — But  now,  dear  Mr.  A.,  I  wish  you  would  be  serious. 
If  we  could  get  him,  indeed  it  would  be  something  like  a  match. 
But  the  world  has  given  him  away  already,  and  I  fear  there  is 
nothing  very  likely  to  break  it  off.  Well,  what  a  lucky  woman 
Mrs.  Carleton  is,  to  get  such  a  marriage  for  her  ugly  daughter! " 


20  A    PIC    NIC. 

"  Ugly  daughter ! "  said  Mr.  AUington. 

"  Decidedly  ugly,"  replied  his  wife :  "  as  long  and  as  pale 
as " 

"  Pale !  "  said  Mr.  AUington. 

"  Pray  do  n't  repeat  my  words,  sir — it  is  not  well  bred.  I 
said  pale,  and  I  say  so  again.  She  is  as  pale  as  a  sheet,  except 
when  she  speaks  or  sings,  and  then  she  is  altogether  as  much  too 
red.  I  hate  your  changeable  complexions  and  your  bashful  girls : 
just  as  if  they  had  never  been  any  where,  and  knew  nobody  but 
their  own  papas ;  I  can  't  abide  it.  We  were  speaking  of  Mr. 
Burton :  he  's  too  poor.  But  we  must  n't  offend  him  neither  ; 
for  you  know  the  title  and  property  are  on  the  cards  still,  Mr.  A. 
Tell  him  Adey  is  much  too  young.  Say  it  would  be  the  death 
of  me  to  part  with  her,  and  that  you  must  have  time  to  break  the 
offer  to  me.  Leave  it  so;  and  then,  in  a  year,  suppose,  if  nothing 
better  should  turn  up " 

"  No,  Mrs.  AUington  !  "  said  honest  John,  rising :  "  no — I  will 
refuse  him,  if  you  really  desire  it.  If,  indeed,  I  were  allowed  to 
please  myself,  and,  as  I  verily  believe,  Adey  too,  I  should  accept 
his  offer  directly.  But,  as  for  playing  with  the  feelings  of  an 
honourable  and  frank-hearted  young  man,  and  gambling  with 
his  happiness  as  well  as  with  our  daughter's,  it  is  what  I  will 
not  do;  so  I  will  go  and  tell  him  the  truth,  and " 

"Tell  him  what?  "  shrieked  Mrs.  AUington,  in  a  voice  of  the 
utmost  consternation,  and  then,  bringing  her  husband  back  to 
within  confidential  distance  of  my  ear — "  Tell  him  nothing,  Mr. 
A. — dear  Mr.  A.,  if  you  love  me,  tell  him  nothing  !  Since  you 
are  not  to  be  guided  by  my  prudent  tenderness  for  our  child's 
best  interests,  do  at  least  only  refuse  him ;  but  tell  him  nothing, 
Oh,  my  dear  Mr.  A.,  how  your  indiscretion  alarms  me!  But 
now  that  I  have  got  your  attention  for  a  moment,  do  just  sit 
down  again,  and  let  us  consult  a  little  farther  as  to  what  *s  to  be 
done  for  our  other  poor  dear  girls.  There  's  Maria  and  Julia,  as 
well  as  Adey,  plenty  old  enough  and  to  spare.  We  7nusf,  look 
about  us." 

Here  there  was  so  large  a  blank  in  the  dialogue  that  I  began 
to  fear  I  .should  learn  no  more  of  the  secrets  of  the  family.  At 
length  Mr.  AUington  for  once  broke  silence,  and  in  a  more  ani- 
mated key  than  was  usual  with  him. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he,  "  I  have  been  thinking  over  all  the  young 
men  who  visit  here,  and  I  do  believe  I  have  my  eye  on  one  who 
would  be  a  good  husband  for  Maria. — Guess  !  —He  's  not  far  off. 


A    PIC    NIC.  21 

Of  all  the  birds  in  the  air,  what  do  you  say  of  young  H- 


Now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  have  a  particular  reason,  which 
I  may  explain  hereafter,  for  not  mentioning  more  than  the  initial 
of  this  very  respectable  name. 

**  I  say  he  is  a  poor,  pitiful  fool,"  sharply  replied  the  odious 
matron,  "and  that  he  shall  have  no  daughter  of  mine.  He 
spends  on  himself  all  he  has,  and  only  thinks  how  to  maintain 
his  idle  profusion,  instead  of  how  to  get  on  in  the  world  by 
means  of  his  excellent  connexions.  He  is  over  head  in  debt 
already,  and  his  income  is  not  so  good  by  one  half  as  he  is  un- 
principled enough  to  represent  it  to  those  who,  like  us,  Mr.  A., 
have  an  interest  in  knowing.  But  still  the  creature  hns  his  use. 
He  brings  others,  and  will  do  no  harm  to  the  girls,  for  he  phi- 
landers only  with  married  women.  He  does  not  want  a  wife — 
that  is  to  say,  not  a  wife  of  his  own;  and,  moreover,  I  know  it, 
Mr.  A.,  if  he  does  like  one  of  our  girls  better  than  another,  it  is 
Adey,  and  not  Maria.     Take  my  word  for  that." 

I  said  I  had  a  particular  reason  for  not  mentioning  more  than 
the  initial  of  this  last  described  gentleman's  name.  Out  upon  the 
malicious  old  witch  ! — I,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I — the  blushing 

author — am  young    H .     There   is   an    English  proverb 

touching  the  nature  of  the  personal  topics  which  listeners  are 
oftenest  fated  to  hear.  There  is  also  a  French  one  which  says, 
that "  only  truth  can  wound."  Every  word  this  detestable  woman 
said  is  true.  I  do  spend  more  than  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  pay. 
I  am  given  to  talk  mysterious  nonsense  to  married  persons  of  the 
other  sex.  For  I  find  I  cannot  hold  my  tongue ;  and  I  have, 
in  my  time,  discovered  that,  if  one  talks  much  to  a  young 
unmarried  lady  (and  I  have  not  much  fancy  for  talking  to  old 
ones),  one's  discourse  is  apt  to  be  noted  down  with  a  degree  of 
precision  quite  disagreeable  by  a  certain  married  lady  of  great 
authority  in  these  matters — her  mother.  But,  if  ever  I  covld 
think  of  sacrificing  myself  to  matrimony — if  ever  I  could  think  of 
"  altars  and  homes,"  in  any  but  the  widely  patriotic  sense — if  I 
cow/c/ reconcile  myself  to  give  up  all  the  thousand  indulgencies 
of  celibacy — if,  as  Alcides  did  when  he  married,  I  could  surrender 
my  Club — if  I  could  compromise  my  love  of  ascension  turtle, 
and  mock  turtle,  and  of  every  other  turtle  for  that  of  one  faithful 
turtle,  of  one  little  happy  nest — oh  !  how  I  should  jump  at  that 
respectable  way  of  life,  shared  with  the  pretty,  and  amiable,  and 
good,  and  dear  Adelaide  Allington. 


22  A    PIC    NIC. 

But,  albeit  this  is  true,  too  true,  how  could  that  plaguy  woman, 
her  mother,  have  known  it?  For  I  have  never  breathed  it  to 
mortal.  I  do  not  talk,  that  I  know  of,  in  my  sleep.  And  if  I 
did,  how  should  /Aa^  have  enlightened  Mrs.  Allington?  Adelaide 
herself  never,  but  once,  caught  me  off  my  guard ;  and  I  have  no 
knowledge  of  Adelaide's  character,  if  her  mother  could  have 
obtained  from  her  any  sanction  to  her  surmises. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  must  digress.  Digress,  if  you  please, 
with  me.  If  you  do  n't  like  my  goings  on,  shut  me,  leave  me, 
and  there  's  no  harm  done. 

In  honest  John's  own  den  in  Allington  House  there  is  a  picture 
of  his  dear — my  dear,  dear  Adelaide,  when  she  was  but  a  child. 
"  How  I  do  love,"  says  the  Ettrick  Shepherd  (and  how  I  do 
agree  with  him),  "  how  I  do  love  a  well-educated  little  girl  of 
twelve."  It  is  an  age  worth  so  much  more  than  all  other  ages ; 
— when  the  young  heart  is  so  entirely  occupied  with  the  warm 
visitings  of  its  own  innocent  gladness,  (and  at  that  age  the  ten- 
derest  heart  is  always  the  most  joyous,  for  it  has  never  known  a 
stain  or  a  sorrow).  It  is  a  merry,  because  a  pure  and  honest  age, 
and  because  its  affections  seem  to  it  ta  be  immortal ; — death  has 
never  severed,  nor  unkindness  blighted,  one  bud  of  their  sweet 
stock.  Alas!  that  such  an  age  should  ever  lose  its  charm, — 
for  lose  that  charm  it  will  and  must.  There  is  the  presence,  and 
the  consciousness,  and  the  love,  of  all  good — and  the  absence 
and  the  ignorance  of  all  ill.  There  is  the  fair  and  full  promise  of 
all  that  hope  can  paint  (and  hope  paints  well);  there  is  the  fair 
and  full  apology  (and  how  seldom  is  the  apology  required  !),  for 
that  mystic,  undisputed  power,  which,  never  claimed  by  the 
feebler  sex  as  a  right,  is  sure  to  be  yielded  by  the  other,  as  much 
from  impulse  as  from  courtesy.  At  that  age  the  features  repeat, 
with  ready  truth,  the  blameless  story  of  the  eager  mind.  How 
modestly  are  the  outpourings  of  a  buoyant  spirit  tempered  by  the 
deepening  tinge  of  that  bashful  yet  dimpled  cheek,  and  how  elo- 
quently are  they  pleaded  for  in  the  stealthy  glance  of  that  half- 
penitent,  half-laughing  eye.  There  is  nothing  under  the  sky  like 
the  clear  deep  beauty  of  the  eye  which  I  am  thinking  of,  unless 
it  be  the  ocean  when  it  lies  calm  and  open  to  the  sunshine,  and 
reflects  only  the  brightness  and  the  colours  of  heaven,  on  which 
it  looks. 

Do  you  understand  me,  ladies  and  gentlemen  ?  If  you  do  not, 
I  pity  you,  all,  and  equally. 


A    PIC    NIC.  23 

It  was  from  a  long,  stedfast  gaze  upon  this  picture  that  I  was 
one  day  roused  by  the  gentle  voice  of  the  original  herself,  then 
but  a  few  years  older,  who  had  been  sent  by  her  father  to  desire 
my  company  during  his  ride.  She  had  approached  quite  close 
to  me  before  I  perceived  her ;  and  probably  she  had  already 
spoken  unheeded.  A  playful  but  diffident  look  claimed  identity 
with  that  recorded  on  the  canvass,  and,  as  her  eye  followed  mine 
to  what  had  been  the  cause  of  my  abstraction,  the  glow  on  her 
cheek  became  as  deep  as  in  childhood.  We  were  silent.  I  felt 
like  a  detected  thief — yet  why? — It  was  no  offence;  and  if  it 
were,  surely  I  was  before  a  judge  who  had  no  great  reason  to  be 
severe.  At  length,  with  a  sigh,  she  said,  "  Do  you  know  I  was 
very  happy  when  that  was  painted?  A  dear  friend,  a  very  dear 
friend,  the  companion  of  my  infancy,  was  drawn  at  the  same 
time.  They  were  romps,  I  believe,  rather  than  sittings,  and  we 
were  sorry  when  they  ended.''  ' 

"  And  who  was  your  very  dear  friend,  Adelaide  ?  "  quoth  I, 
with  an  awkward  prophetic  anxiety. 

"  Our  neighbour,  Mr.  Burton,"  she  half  whispered.  It  was 
enough.  The  tone  and  look  told  me  the  secret  of  her  ingenuous 
heart,  and  the  hopelessness  of  what  mine  had  begun  to  cherish  ; 
and  fie  on  the  heart  which,  from  that  hour,  could  beat  for  her 
with  any  but  a  brother's  love. 

She  put  her  arm  within  mine  and  led  me  to  her  father. 

And  now,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  suffer  me  to  lead  you  back  to 
Mrs.  Allington  and  the  window.  I  was  in  the  act  of  leaving  my 
ambuscade,  from  very  anger  at  the  discovery  which  that  perspi- 
cacious lady  had  thus  made  of  my  best  secret,  and  her  pitiless 
disclosure  of  it  to  her  husband,  when  honest  John  again  riveted 
me  to  my  chair  by  asking,  with  his  wonted  simplicity,  the  very 
question  I  longed  to  put. 

"  And  how  do  you  know  all  this  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  his  obliging  partner,  "  I  know  it  all 
beyond  a  doubt.  For  Madamoiselle  questioned  Mr.  H.'s  confi- 
dential Swiss,  by  my  direction,  about  his  master's  habits  and 
fortune.  Broullion  affected  to  be  diplomatic  with  her,  but  La 
Crepe  was  too  much  for  him,  and  out  it  all  came.  Every  one 
with  eyes  can  see  how  it  is,  and  I  myself  spent  half  a  morning 
joining  together  some  torn  bits  of  paper  which  I  watched  him 
throw  under  the  great  library  table,  and  they  turned  out  to  be 
some  very  bad  verses  entitled  ^  The  Irresolute,  addressed  to  A.  A.' 
Now  do  n't  fly  off,  Mr.  A.,"  continued  she,  in  a  tone  of  soothing 


24  A    SOUND    OF    RAIN. 

remonstrance,  "  for  now  I  think  of  it,  I  must  have  a  little  quarrel 
with  you.     When  we  were  discussing  my  projected  little  pic  nic 
last  night,  I  fancied  you  inclined  to  throw  a  little  cold  water 
upon  my  little  scheme.     Now  was  n't  that  a  leetle  unkind  ?  " 
To  be  continued. 


FUNEREAL    SKETCHES,     No.  XXIX. 

A     SOUND     OF     RAIN.' 

The  sun  is  on  his  noontide  march, 
Flaming  through  the  unshadowed  arch. 
That,  pervious  to  his  scorching  smiles, 
Hangs  o'er  the  Carib  mountain  isles. 
Hast  thou  not  viewed,  at  such  a  time, 
The  sea-mist  on  his  walk  sublime  : 
Seen  man  and  beast,  like  Israel's  crowd. 
Bowed  down  before  that  glorious  cloud  ? 
As  each  ear  long  lent  to  pain 
Drinks  the  sound  of  coming  rain. 

Thus,  on  Carmel's  arid  sod. 
Bowed  the  chastened  man  of  God, 
'Whiles  his  servant  watched  the  sea 
Steadfast,  but  despondingly. 
Now  a  cloud  obstructs  the  calm. 
Small — no  larger  than  your  palm : — 
"  Yet  enough ;  let  Ahab  speed, 
Harness  quick  his  fleetest  steed  ; 
Bid  him  urge  the  glowing  wheel, 
Hurry  ! — hurry,  to  Jezreel." 

Onward  fast  the  monarch  hied. 
Fast  the  prophet  by  his  side. 
Girded  in  his  mantle-vest. 
Ran,  and  still  outstripped  the  rest: 
Through  the  dun  and  driving  rack, 
Earth  a  river — Heaven  all  black. 
Flood  and  fell  the  coursers  passed. 
And  the  city  gained  at  last ; 
Where — preventing  spur  and  wheel — 
Stood  Elijah  in  Jezreel. 


25 

No.  XXX,— "BRING     OUT    YOUR     DEAD!' 

Hark  !  as  along  those  desert  streets 

Pale  Echo  wakes  a  hollow  sound : 
What  cry  the  startled  listener  greets 

And  moans  around  ? 

Last  night  the  city  held  a  feast ; — 

T  was  gladness  to  the  heart  in  man, 
But  with  the  day-burst,  in  the  east. 

The  Plague  began. 

It  passed  right  on,  in  arrowy  line, 

And  smote  the  captive  in  his  thrall, 
And  smote  the  monarch  at  his  wine 

In  festive  hall. 

At  morn  the  mort-wain  'gan  its  part, 

And,  long  ere  day  had  half  gone  round. 
The  fainting  wretch  who  drove  the  cart 

Was  under  ground. 

And  Terror,  with  his  eye  balls  red, 

Went  on  before  with  hurried^stride 
And  left  the  dying  and  the  dead 

On  either  side. 

Behind  came  Famine :  from  her  breast 

The  haggard  mother  weaned  her  child. 
Drank  the  warm  draught  her  hand  expressed, 
And  wildly  smiled ! 

And  Madness  :  one  in  bride's  attire 

Comes,  laughing,  from  a  warrior's  corse 
And  hurries  forth  her  room  to  hire. 

That  o'er-worn  horse. 

At  night-fall,  from  the  grey  church  tower 
To  where  the  ramparts'  banner  waves — 
Nay  more — to  Beauty's  choicest  bower 

Was  full  of  graves. 

And  still  the  death-wain's  creak  appals 

And  drowns  that  lean  beast's  weary  tread, 
In  burden  to  those  awful  calls 

"  Bring  out  your  dead  !" 

VOL.  V. — 1835.  D 


26 

THE     IMPORTANCE     OF      SHAKSPEARE'S     WRI- 

TINGS  CONSIDERED   AS   TO   THEIR   INFLUENCE 

ON    THE    MORALS     OF     MEN. 

Continued  and  concluded  from  page  263  of  volume  iv. 

Lear,  Othello,  Hamlet,  and  Macbeth  are  the  four 
characters  on  which  Shakspeare's  fan)e  seems  to  be 
more  particularly  founded.  By  different  persons  the 
supreme  excellency  of  each  is  maintained — as  if  they 
were  mere  literary  efforts — and  with  no  regard  to  the 
individuahty  of  each.  All  are  highly  impassioned  ; 
but  Macbeth  and  Hamlet  are  metaphysically  distin- 
guished. Lear  and  Othello  are  remarkable  ibr  inten- 
sity, and  as  exhibiting  a  heedless  and  overwhelming 
violence  of  purpose.  Macbeth  and  Hamlet  are 
marked  with  more  varied  feeling — they  hesitate  in 
the  fulfilment  of  their  purposes,  which  are  checked 
by  moral  and  speculative  interruptions.  Thus  the 
four  are  divided — two  and  two  :  they  may  be  subdi- 
vided, as  thus : — 

Macbeth  is  distinguished  from  Hamlet — not  so 
much  by  any  native  quality  of  the  villain,  as  by 
superstitious  weakness,  and  an  ignoble  attachment 
to  the  pomps  and  glories  of  a  world  which  Hamlet 
regarded  as  a  "  sterile  promontory  " — "  an  unweeded 
t^arden.''  Hamlet  remained  moral,  because  he  was 
philosophical  in  his  estimate  of  human  men  and 
things.  He  had  never  murdered  a  king  for  his  crown, 
because  he  did  not  care  to  have  one.  Macbeth  was 
the  weaker  man,  but  by  no  means  possessed  with  a 
spirit  of  active  vice  and  wanton  cruelty.  It  seems 
strange  to  couple  such  characters  as  these  ;  for  they 
are  very  distinct;  but  their  distinction,  however 
great,  appears  to  me  of  a  quality  widely  different 
from  that  which  at  first  sight  seems  to  be  the  case. 
Of  Lear  and  Othello  I  have  already  spoken.  Let  us 
go  more  closely  into  Hamlet's  character,  which 
stands  so  conspicuously  alone,  that  it  may  be  termed 
a  class  of  itself.  Yet,  there  is  no  distinct  feature 
about  it  that  we  cannot  more  or  less  comprehend. 


shakspeare's  writings.  27 

Every  part  is  to  be  found  in  nature : — it  is  the  com- 
bination which  is  so  "  solely  singular."  Hamlet  is 
a  young  man  of  boundless  enthusiasm,  and  (a  natu- 
ral concomitant)  acute  sensitiveness ;  energetic  but 
undecisive — of  fiery  temperament,  but  too  much  the 
creature  of  momentary  impulse  to  fulfil  any  violent 
resolution  not  within  immediate  compass — a  youth 
of  natural  wit  and  polished  education ;  of  unimpeach- 
able integrity — strong  in  his  likings,  and  (by  reason) 
marked  in  his  aversions  —  favorably  inclined  to 
honesty,  albeit  in  "  a  Fishmonger,"  and  to  players 
who  "do  but  poison  in  jest" — not  overlooking  real 
roguery  and  affecting  to  despise  him  who  only  mimics 
it ;  hating  the  quackery  of  court  fashion,  and  disgust- 
ed to  think  that  man  "  so  noble  in  reason  !  so  infi- 
nite in  faculties  !  in  action  so  like  an  angel !  in 
apprehension  so  like  a  god  !  "  should  be  capable  of 
folly  and  prone  to  guilt ! — that  "  the  paragon  of  ani- 
mals, and  the  beauty  of  the  world  "  should  so  dis- 
grace his  noble  nature  as  to  succumb  to  the  tyranny 
of  lust  as  exampled  in  his  uncle — to  the  meanness  of 
a  truckling  courtesy,  as  practised  by  Polonius — to 
the  acceptance  of  dishonorable  hire,  as  seen  in 
Rozincrantz  and  Guildensterne — or  to  the  rule  of 
foppery  as  shown  in  the  "  waterfly  "  Osrick.  That 
Hamlet  is  not  yet  understood,  sufficiently  appears  in 
the  contest,  which  has  hitherto  existed  among  the 
critics,  as  to  whether  he  is  ever  mad  or  not.  I  had 
long  thought — and,  since  the  delivery  of  an  admira- 
ble paper  upon  Insanity,  by  a  brother  member,  in 
December  last — am  more  convinced  that  we  are  all 
mad,  more  or  less.  But,  I  would  ask  this  question  : 
— If  Hamlet's  denial  of  madness  (after  some  appear- 
ances of  it  have  been  manifested)  be  no  arp^ument  of 
his  sanity,  may  we  not  think  that  his  singularity  is  in 
a  very  great  degree  feigned  ?  He  himself  tells  us, 
that  he  will  "  hereafter  put  an  antic  disposition  on  " 
— and  (be  it  remembered)  in  the  closet  scene,  con- 
jures his  mother  to  go  with  him  in  the  deception. 
He   is   sufliciently   rational  when  he  first  appeals 


28  shakspeabe's  writings. 

before  us,  nor  is  it  till  after  he  has  told  us  he  will 
put  on  the  seeming  of  madness  that  he  does  so.  The 
question  is,  how  far  the  assumption  of  madness  was 
rational  as  a  matter  of  necessity  ?  and  even  allowing 
its  necessity,  why  should  he  behave  with  such  wan- 
ton rudeness  to  Ophelia  ?  The  circumstance  is,  I 
think,  not  unaccountable.  Natures,  noble  in  many 
respects,  are  yet  apt  to  exhibit  occasional  littleness. 
However  towering  a  man's  diviner  qualities  may 
appear  generally,  there  may  be  times  when  a  combi- 
nation of  irritating  circumstances  may  so  work  upon 
his  susceptibility  as  to  bring  down  the  rational  man 
to  a  state  of  "  tetchy  infancy  :  "  and,  it  is  among  the 
"  fantastic  tricks  "  of  an  ingenuous  but  very  feeling 
mind,  when  disgusted  by  the  world's  villainy,  to 
expend,  even  upon  what  it  best  loves,  a  portion  of 
its  spleen. 

Look  at  the  situation  of  Hamlet.  Too  noble  to 
enact  the  part  of  a  court  puppet — royal  by  decree  of 
heaven — not  only  by  legitimate  inheritance — he  looks 
around,  and  finds  himself"  most  dreadfully  attended" 
— the  King  a  villain — the  Queen,  a  wanton~the 
chamberlain,  "  a  shallow,  rash,  intruding  fool" — the 
courtiers,  hypocrites — his  appointed  companions, 
spies. 

Is  it  a  wonder  he  should  be  irritated  into  strange- 
ness ?  "  Shall  we  to  the  court,''  says  he,  ^^for,  by  my 
fay,  I  cannot  reason  ?  " — In  short,  though  Hamlet 
be  not  ever  mad  in  the  generally  understood  sense 
of  the  word,  yet  great  grief  and  mental  agitation  have 
at  times  a  positive  effect  upon  his  sanity  ;  and  I  am 
inclined  to  believe,  that  his  harsh  conduct  to  Ophelia 
is  in  some  measure  prompted  by  a  temporary  wildness 
of  feeling.  I  suspect,  indeed,  that,  if  I  were  to  call 
upon  every  individual  in  this  room  to  pronounce 
whether  he  had  or  had  not  at  some  time  or  other 
wantonly  worried  the  feelings  of  his  lady-love — I 
suspect — nay  I  know — that  an  answer  in  the  affir- 
mative might  be  obtained.  The  circumstances  under 
which  Hamlet  speaks  and  acts  are  so  peculiar,  and 


shakspeare's  writings.  29 

the  composition  of  his  mind  so  singular,  that  it  were 
ridiculous  to  measure  his  by  the  standard  o{  ordinary 
feehngs.  Such  a  mind  is  scarcely  to  be  found  in  the 
wide  world;  and,  when  it  appears  in  the  confines  of  a 
court,  it  is  like  to  play  sad  pranks.  It  is  disgusted 
by  what  to  others  proves  dazzhng.  Unable  to  find 
companionship  in  the  palace  it  seeks  acquaintance 
elsewhere  ;  and  if  the  livery  of  state,  make  its  pro- 
fessor look  like  a  Tom  Fool,  he  gives  his  ermine  to 
a  masquerader  and  suits  himself  like  a  gentleman. 
Horatio  spoke  of  Hamlet's  father  as  a  "  goodly 
King:'' — but  Hamlet  only  valued  him  as  a  man, 
whose  like,  taken  for  all  in  all  he  should  not  look 
upon  again. 

Thus  much  for  the  isolated  Hamlet.  Macbeth 
now  claims  attention :  we  will  also  summon  Richard 
the  Third  before  us,  and  regard  the  two  blood-stained 
heroes  together.  We  have  here  a  striking  example 
of  that  individuality  which  has  been  alluded  to  as 
the  great  characteristic  of  Shakspeare's  creations. 

Macbeth  and  Richard — they  are  both  usurpers, 
murderers,  courageous  and  superstitious  :  but  ia  the 
one  instance,  our  abhorrence  is  subdued  by  a  portion 
of  unextinguishable  esteem  ;  in  the  other  by  a  species 
of  admiration.  Gleams  of  virtue  and  soft  humanity 
relieve  the  darkness  of  Macbeth's  guilt;  while 
Richard  dazzles  by  the  splendor  of  an  unflinching 
and  remorseless  career  of  iniquity.  Both  are  actua- 
ted by  ambition,  and  both  yield  to  its  influence  ;  but 
Macbeth  turns  upon  it  as  an  enemy,  while  Richard 
glories  in  obeying  its  impulse.  In  the  one  case,  we 
see  a  man  born  for  better  things,  and  acting,  as  mere 
war-horse,  under  the  spur,  lash,  and  guidance  of  a 
fiend  :  in  the  other,  we  behold  a  villain,  the  extrava- 
gance of  whose  ripened  iniquity  is  no  more  than 
consistent  with  his  infantine  promise,  and,  indeed  it 
may  be  said  that,  instead  of  being  ridden  by  the 
fiend,  he  is  himself  the  rider.  The  ''  milk  of  human 
kindness  "  is  still  flowing  amid  the  iniquitous  desires 
o{  the  one  :  the  sense  of  Nature's  denial  never  leaves 


30  shakspeare's  writings. 

the  other.  Macbeth  yearns  for  "  honour,  love,  obe- 
dience, troops  of  friends  :  '*  Richard  disclaims  all 
sympathy  with  his  kind,  and  desires,  that,  since  the 
heavens  have  made  his  body  deformed,  "  hell  may 
crook  his  mind  to  answer  it."'  He  is  a  kind  of  pet 
scoundrel — gallant  in  the  field  from  a  love  of  sport — 
discontented  in  the  hour  of  peace  as  having  nothing 
therein  to  do,  except  to  "  spy  his  shadow  in  the  sun 
and  descant  on  his  own  deformity  : ''  denied  all  in- 
nocent opportunity  for  open  display  ;  and,  therefore, 
bent  on  an  abundance  of  secret  mischief.  He  deter- 
mines, that  his  villainy  shall,  at  least,  equal  the  alti- 
tude of  his  especial  ugliness  ;  and  there  is  something 
highly  amusing  in  the  childish  captiousness  with 
which  he  determines  on  being  a  thorough  rogue  : — 
not  so  much  to  answer  any  great  end,  as  to  spite 
heaven  for  having  given  him  a  hump  on  his  back 
and  a  lump  on  his  leg.  But,  while  Richard  lays 
much  stress  upon  the  irregularity  of  his  personal 
outline,  we  cannot  but  rest  assured  of  his  more  radical 
rascality.  He  seeks  the  most  absurd  pretensions  for 
a  quarrel  with  nature.  The  dogs  bark,  and  he  im- 
mediately supposes  they  bark  at  him.  He  declares 
that  nothing  in  the  world  seems  to  favor  him,  and  he 
is  therefore  determined  to  favor  nothing — to  fear  no- 
thing— to  care  for  nothing  except  himself — and  to 
convince  the  world,  that  if  his  person  be  unlovely, 
his  power  shall  be  irresistible. 
He  is  described  as 

"The  foul  defacer  of  God's  handy  work, 
And  excellent  grand  tyrant  of  the  earth ; 

Hell's  black  intelligencer 

Only  reserved  as  factor  to  buy  souls 
And  send  them  thither — " 

The  nature  of  Macbeth  is  sensitive  and  yielding  ; 
that  of  the  other  impenetrable  and  determinate. 
Macbeth  had  remained  honourable  but  for  the  witches 
and  his  wife.  Had  Richard  married  Lady  Macbeth, 
he  would  have,  possibly,  decapitated  her  as  a  very 
iniquitous  woman — certainly  he  had  never  been  hen- 


shakspeare's  writings.  31 

pecked.  Macbeth  is,  after  all,  a  coadj utor — Richard 
is, — "  himself  alone  !  " — Moreover,  Richard  is,  per- 
haps, out  of  ordinary  nature.  The  contemplation  of 
his  character  can,  therefore,  have  little  effect  upon  us. 
The  salutary  effect  of  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth  is 
entirely  referable  to  the  hold  possessed  by  the  hero 
on  the  spectator's  sympathy.  Richard,  on  the  con- 
trary, we  regard  with  a  kind  of  gaping  wonder,  as 
we  should  a  Bengal  tiger.  We  know  ourselves  to 
be  in  a  gieat  measure  the  creatures  of  custom,  cir- 
cumstance, education ;  but  Richard  is  described  as 
of  monstrous  birth.  We  are  shocked  at  an  ordinary 
man's  iniquity  ;  but  we  literally  smile  at  his.  He  is 
constitutionally  an  arrant  scoundrel.  'T  is  his  voca- 
tion to  "  bite,  snarl,  and  play  the  dog,"  and  he  does 
play  the  dog  so  thoroughly,  that  human  beings  are 
morally  uninfluenced  by  his  actions  or  fate.  The 
maraudings  and  untimely  death  of  an  ouran  outang 
would  be  as  likely  to  prove  seductive  or  intimidating 
as  the  "  Life  and  Death  of  Shakspeare's  Richard  3rd. 
But,  if  in  this — as  in  one  or  two  other  instances — 
nature  be  "  overdone  " — and,  consequently,  moral 
deduction  be  put  aside — yet,  the  character  is  admi- 
rable as  a  creation,  as  an  incarnation  of  villainy,  and 
as  serving  to  foil  another  character  natural  in  all  its 
features. 

Macbeth  (with  all  his  extremity  of  guilt)  is  "  one 
of  us" — alive  to  pity  and  remorse — capable  of  exalted 
sentiments  and  of  appreciating  virtue  in  others — 
sensible  to  gratitude — valuing  reputation — yet  a 
murderer  ! 

Lady  Macbeth's  portrait  of  her  husband  here 
suggests  itself  to  our  memory. 

"  Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor :  and  sbalt  be 

What  thou  art  promised .     Yet,  do  I  fear  thy  nature : 

It  is  too  full  o*  the  milk  of  human  kindness 

To  catch  the  nearest  way.     Thou  would'st  be  great 

Art  not  without  ambition ;  but  without 

The  illness  should  attend  it.     Wliat  thou  would'st  highly 

That  would'st  thou  holily;  would'st  not  play  false 

And  yet  would'st  wrongly  win.     Thou  'dst  have  great  Glamis 


32  shakspeare's  writings. 

That  which  cries,  thus  thou  must  do  if  thou  have  it, 
And  that  which  rather  thou  do'st  fear  to  do 
Thou  wishest  should  be  undone." 

From  many  passages  of  the  play  we  infer  the 
existence  of  many  soft  humanities — yet  he  is  a 
murderer ! 

Can  it  then  be  (we  ask  ourselves)  that,  in  one 
breast,  qualities  so  distinct  may  be  coexistent  ?  aye, 
truly  : — but,  mark : — Macbeth  is  deeply  superstitious. 
Superstitious  minds  are,  generally  the  more  suscep- 
tible of  both  good  and  bad  impressions.  Born  to 
the  ordinary  inheritance  of  virtue — but  weakened  by 
superstition — Macbeth  was  unfortunate  under  the 
influence  of  those  especial  circumstances,  which 
acted  upon  his  weakness  to  the  injury  of  his  worth. 
Now,  Kichard  is  also  represented  as  superstitious : 
but  he  is  no  ordinary  character.  He  was  "  born 
with  teeth'* — his  youth  was  "  tetchy  and  wayward,'' 
and  we  may  imagine  him  susceptible  of  none  but 
ifl^  impressions.  Macbeth,  on  the  contrary,  might 
have  been  won  over  to  virtue  as  readily  as  he  was 
seduced  into  crime ;  and  we  regard  his  lady  with 
infinitely  more  abhorrence  than  himself:  for  lie  kills 
the  body  merely,  while  she  is  the  murdress  of  a  hero's 
integrity — the  poisoner  of  her  husband's  soul,  of 
that  soul  which  gave  way  even  during  the  excitement 
of  battle  to  moralize  on  the  wretchedness  of  dishon- 
oured age  : 

"  I  have  liv'd  long  eno*.     My  way  of  life 

Is  fall'n  into  the  sear  the  yellow  leaf; 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age; 

As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends 

I  must  not  look  to  have ;  but  in  their  stead 

Curses — not  loud— but  deep  :  mouth  honour,  breath 

Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny  but  dare  not: — 

We  are  here  presented  with  an  illustration  of 
constitutional  worth  annulled  by  a  perversion  of  the 
mind's  energy.  Under  good  guidance — or,  even, 
left  to  itself — Macbeth's  ruling  passion,  ambitioUy 
would  have  led  to  nothing  more  than  legitimate 
glory.       He    possessed    some    of  the  essentials    of 


shakspeare's  writings.  33 

greatness ;  but  had  not  sufficient  firmness  even  to 
be  master  of  his  own  house.  In  the  same  weakness 
his  superstition  thrived.  What  with  witchcraft  and 
curtain  lectures,  his  "functions  became  smothered 
in  surmise/'  and  in  a  moment  of  the  brain's  intox- 
ication, he  ruins  his  peace  for  ever.  In  contemplating 
the  enormity  of  his  transgression,  hope  withers  in 
his  hold,  and  he  scorns  to  adopt  the  insignificant 
palliative  of  his  wife's  persuasive  influence  :  here, 
at  least,  he  is  magnanimous  in  guilt !  Where  he 
might  with  justice  upbraid  his  seducer,  he  takes 
upon  himself  the  full  odium,  and  is  not  less  at  war 
with  his  own  feelings  than  with  his  armed  opponents. 
His  courage  now  becomes  sheer  recklessness.  He 
feels,  as  it  were,  "  tied  to  a  stake" — unable  to  "  fly  " 
— but,  "  bear-hke,"  obhged  to  "  fight  the  course." 
Still  is  he  mindful  of  the  witches ;  but,  at  length, 
convinced  of  their  deceptive  "jngghng."  He  can 
fall  by  "  no  man  of  woman  born" — but  Macduff  was 
"from  his  mother's  womb  untimely  ripp'd." — 
"  Cowed,"  for  a  moment,  he  declines  to  fight,  till 
the  idea  of  being  publicly  exhibited  as  "  the  show 
and  gaze  o'  the  time"  once  more  renews  his  energies ; 
and — in  an  onset  of  maddened  desperation,  he  dies  ! 
If  we  rejoice  at  his  fall,  it  is  not  less  in  consideration 
of  his  escape  from  the  tyranny  of  superstition  and 
the  dreadful  lash  of  remorse,  than  in  regard  to  the 
accomplished  ends  of  Justice.  He  has,  long  before 
death,  acted  as  a  sufficient  warning  to  people  weak 
and  conscientious  as  himself;  nor  need  we  imagine 
any  subsequent  punishment  exceeding  the  purgatory 
of  his  regal  days.  Many,  like  Macbeth,  are  too 
insecure  as  to  their  faith  in  eternal  punishment  after 
death,  to  be  deterred  by  the  thought  of  that  alone. 
Could  their  deed  of  guilt 

"trammel  up  the  consequence  and  catch 

With  its  surcease,  success  ;  that  but  this  one  blow 
Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here, 
But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, 

They  ^^  jump  the  life  to  come. 

VQi,.  V. — 1835.  E 


34  THE    HOSPICE   OF    ST.    BERNARD. 

But,  they  may  be  often  intimidated  from  evil,  and 
ultimately  established  in  good,  by  having  shewn  to 
them  the  dreadful  extent  of  that  torture  that  may 
work  within  the  breast,  till  every  essential  of  real 
happiness  is  utterly  consumed,  and  the  outward 
appearance  of  which  is  nothing  more  than  the  bleak 
and  barren  crust  of  an  extinct  volcano.  There  are 
many  cases  in  which  the  revealed  state  of  a  criminars 
living  soul,  would  be  more  deterring  to  the  noviciate 
in  sin  than  the  exhibition  of  public  executions  here 
or  threats  of  eternal  fire  hereafter.  Open  lo  his 
common  apprehension  the  bosom  of  a  Macbeth  "  full 
of  scorpions  !  ''  Shew  him  the  death  bed  of  a  Cardinal 
Beaufort  writhing  under  the  torments  of  despair: 
Make  it  plain  to  him,  by  such  palpable  examples  as 
Shakspeare  affords,  that 

**He  still  may  have  judgment  here ;  that  he  but  teaches 

Bloody  instructions,  which  being  taught,  return 

To  plague  the  inventor :  that  even  handed  justice 

Commends  the  ingredients  of  his  poisoned  chalice 

To  his  own  lips" — That  the  murderer 

To  know  his  deed, — 't  were  best  not   know  himself — 

That  the  "  ocean"  of  *'  great  Neptune"  will  never  cleanse  from 

his  hand  the  stain  of  blood ; 
But,  that  his  hand  will  rather  the  multitudinous  seas  incamardine, 
Making  the  green one  red  1 


THE     HOSPICE     OF     ST.     BERNARD. 

Throned  on  those  Alpine  bulwarks  which  divide 

Helvetia,  frowning  with  a  warrior's  pride, 

from  that  more  favoured  clime,  whose  charms  beguile. 

And  woo  the  soul  with  beauty's  magic  smile, 

High  o'er  the  chamois'  lair  and  eagle's  nest 

Stands  the  lone  Hospice  on  St.  Bernard's  breast — 

Lone  Hospice  !  not  for  thee  that  land  of  mirth, 

All  cloudless  heaven  above,  and  joy  on  earth ; 

Life  in  the  breezes,  verdure  on  the  plain, 

Groves  on  the  hills,  and  azure  in  the  main ; 

Nor  thine  those  scenes  of  fair  but  fading  grace, 

Hands  may  adorn,  or  mortal  touch  deface — 


THE    HOSPICE   OF    ST.    BERNARD.  35 

But  thine  the  solitude  unchanged  since  first 
The  virgin  day-beam  of  creation  burst; 
And  thine  the  deathless  majesty  sublime, 
Which  nature  yields  not  to  the  wreck  of  time — 
Proudly  for  thee  her  monarch  mountains  rise, 
Sons  of  the  earth,  yet  kindred  of  the  skies. 

Fair  are  the  Edens  of  the  south,  whose  gales 
Blow  soft  thro'  balmy  shades  and  emerald  vales — 
Bright  are  their  sunny  meads,  and  blooming  isles, 
And  streams,  which  glisten  with  unnumbered  smiles, 
Forgetting,  as  in  happier  course  they  flow. 
The  distant  heights,  which  nurse  their  parent  snow — 
Yet  not  in  hill  or  dale — in  field  or  flood — 
Not  in  the  leafy  umbrage  of  the  wood — 
Not  in  the  silver  music  of  the  wave. 
Nor  those  blue  lakes  the  rose-clad  islets  pave, 
Lives  tbere  that  voice,  which  round  the  mountain's  form 
Speaks  in  the  fearful  accents  of  the  storm — 
That  eloquence,  which  bids  the  soul  confess 
At  once  eternity  and  nothingness. — 

Nor  here  shall  mystic  grandeur  reign  alone, 
Firm  on  her  icy  towers,  and  crystal  throne — 
'Mid  trackless  wilds,  and  desolation  drear, 
Has  Pity  dared  her  hallowed  home  to  rear. 
And  bade  the  temple  of  her  refuge  stand, 
A  sacred  Zoar  in  a  death-fraught  land. 
What  tho'  the  broad  and  massive  structure  rise 
Rude  and  deformed  before  the  gazer's  eyes  ? 
Tho'  roughly  hewn  of  native  rock  its  walls, 
And  formed  of  native  fir  its  humble  halls  ? 
Yet  not  the  piles  of  old  on  Vesta's  steep. 
Still  o'er  whose  ruins  classic  muses  weep — 
No  fabric  mirror'd  in  Cayster's  stream — 
Nor  altar  warm  with  wisdom's  holier  beam, 
Where  yet  too  oft  has  pride  unheeding  trod 
The  courts  devoted  to  a  Christian's  God, 
Shall  with  that  artless  shrine  compete,  or  share 
The  living  awe — the  spell  that  breatheth  there. 

The  snow-crowned  peaks,  upon  whose  towering  breast 
The  thunder-clouds  in  fearful  slumber  rest — 
The  death-like  solitude  of  that  still  vale, 
Where  never  verdure  greets  the  wintry  gale — 
The  waveless  lake,  on  whose  dead  surface  falls 
The  chilling  shadow  of  those  sacred  walls — 
And  that  sepulchral  cave,  in  whose  dark  gloom 
Repose  the  shroudless  inmates  of  the  tomb. 
Blanched  by  the  piercing  wind,  whose  frozen  breath 
Preserves  the  marble  character  in  death : 


36  THE    HOSPICE    OF    ST.    BERNARD. 

These  are  as  some  wild  dream  with  terror  fraught, 
Which  haunts  our  sleep  and  awes  the  waking  thought : 
These  fill  the  soul  with  feelings  more  intense 
Than  scenes  which  win  the  eye  and  charm  the  sense. 

Mournful  the  tales  the  holy  fathers  tell 
Of  those  that  moulder  in  that  dreary  cell. 
Vainly  for  them  when  storms  were  loud  and  high, 
And  eddying  snows  obscured  the  brooding  sky ; 
When  now  no  more  their  wearied  feet  might  toil, 
And  the  gaunt  vulture  hovered  round  his  spoil : 
Vainly  the  faithful  hounds'  sagacious  bay 
Resounded  o'er  the  dark  and  pathless  way  : 
Oh  }  who  may  paint  the  anguish  and  the  prayer, 
The  last  sad  accents  of  unsoothed  despair  ? 
Or  who  may  tell  the  bitterness  to  die 
In  desolate  and  helpless  agony  ? 
Not  theirs  the  turf  that  hides  their  brethren's  graves, 
Not  theirs  the  yew  that  o'er  their  kindred  waves; 
No  sorrowing  friends  around  their  silent  bier 
Breathe  the  low  sigh  or  shed  the  tribute  tear ; 
Tho'  haply  in  some  distant  region  yet 
For  each  some  heart  beats  warm,  some  cheek  is  wet : 
Still  may  some  aged  mother's  memory  roam 
To  him  who  once  consoled  her  widowed  home: 
Some  maiden  still  may  wake  her  pensive  strain 
For  him  who  ne'er  shall  list  its  notes  again. 
And  with  that  rose-wreath  which  he  bade  her  wear, 
Braid  the  rich  tresses  of  her  raven  hair. 
But  scenes  of  sorrow  such  as  these  inspire 
Alike  the  savage  reed  and  tutored  lyre — 
Where'er  the  muse  her  vocal  harp  has  strung, 
The  song  of  death  must  tremble  on  her  tongue: 
Still  must  she  pour  in  temple  and  in  cave 
One  common  dirge— the  music  of  the  grave. 

And  shall  the  tempest's  desolating  breath 
Waft  o'er  those  hills  the  ceaseless  voice  of  death  ? 
Shall  mercy  sleep,  that  terror  and  despair 
Alone  may  rouse  the  trembling  echoes  there  ? 
Not  thus  has  Wisdom  in  her  judgments  kind, 
To  happier  climes  her  boons  of  love  confined  : 
In  each  wild  realm  of  peril  too  she  gave 
Some  strength  to  succour  and  some  power  to  save : 
Along  the  Arabian  desert's  thirsty  plain 
Unwearied  toils  the  camels'  patient  train ; 
With  foot  of  speed  o'er  Siber's*  frozen  waste 
The  fur-clad  wanderer  bids  his  rein-deer  haste  : 

*  Siber,  Siberia.    Vide  "  Campbell's  Pleasures  of  Hope." 


THE    HOSPICE    OE    ST.    BERNARD.  37 

And  oft  the  pilgrim  on  that  Alpine  height 
Has  hailed  the  dog's  kind  instinct  with  delight, 
And  in  the  storm's  terrific  hour  of  wrath 
Has  blest  the  watchful  guardian  of  his  path . 

And  other  legends  on  St.  Bernard's  steep 
Wrapt  in  the  veil  of  by-gone  ages  sleep ; 
Scarce  does  a  cliff  uprear  its  rugged  head 
But  frowns  a  record  of  the  ancient  dead ; 
For  here  *,  tliey  say,  from  Lybia's  burning  strand, 
The  Punic  chieftain  led  his  warrior  band : 
The  mountaineer  beheld  with  wild  amaze 
On  steeps  untrod  before  his  watchfires  blaze, 
And  rocks  uprooted  from  their  marble  bed 
Leave  a  free  passage  for  his  hosts  to  tread : 
From  height  to  height  he  toiled  his  conquering  way. 
Till  at  his  feet  Hesperia's  garden  lay  : 
The  victor  paused — and  viewed  with  rapturous  glow 
Her  sunny  vales  expanding  far  below ; 
And  thrilled  with  hope  that  soon  his  steps  might  rove 
Freely  by  Tiber's  bank  and  Latium's  grove : 
That  their  rich  vineyards  and  proud  cities'  spoils 
Might  crown  his  conquests,  and  reward  his  toils. 

Savage  and  wild  were  those  rude  tribes,  who  then 
Dwelt  in  the  caverns  of  the  mountain  glen; 
Or  under  some  tall  rock  o'erhung  with  snows 
Sought  their  chill  shelter,  and  their  brief  repose. 
No  Christian  shrine  was  there,  no  vesper  strain 
Was  hymned  by  pity  at  her  rock-hewn  fane, 
No  Alpine  horn  proclaimed  from  hill  to  dell 
Faith's  hallowed  prayer,  and  peaceful  love's  farewell, 
Yet  e'en  in  those  dark  days  some  hand  had  placed 
A  lowly  temple t  in  that  dreary  waste: 
There  had  some  soul  confessed  the  Eternal's  throne, 
And  bowed  in  reverence  to  a  power  unknown : 
Some  heart  the  present  Deity  had  felt : 
Some  knee  in  uninstructed  homage  knelt: 
Some  eye  had  traced  Him  in  the  tempest's  ire. 
And  read  his  record  in  the  path  of  fire. 
Prompt  dictate  of  the  untutored  mind,  to  seek 
God  in  the  solitude,  and  mountain  peak; 
And  in  the  desert  regions  of  the  air 
To  breathe  the  tribute  of  spontaneous  prayer ! 


*  It  is  still  asserted  by  the  monks  of  the  Hospice,  that  Hannibal  effected 
his  passage  over  the  Great  St.  Bernard.  There  is,  however,  evidence  suffici- 
ent to  prove  this  nothing  more  than  a  legend  ;  and  as  such  I  have  introduced  it. 

t  Alluding  to  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Penninus,  on  the  site  of  which  the 
Hospice  is  founded. 


38  THE    HOSPICE    OF    ST.    BERNARD. 

But  his  was  not  that  pure  and  fervent  zeal, 
That  holier  love  the  Christian's  breast  may  feel : 
That  love,  which  bade  the  patriot  pilgrim  roam 
Dauntless  of  danger  from  his  native  home ; 
Subdue  to  kindness  each  unlettered  clan ; 
In  bonds  of  peace  link  savage  man  to  man. 
Then  'mid  uncultured  wilds  and  frozen  snows. 
Saint  of  the  Alps,  thy  modest  fabric  rose ; 
And  songs  of  praise,  o'er  hill  and  valley  poured, 
The  guardian  Shepherd  of  mankind  adored. 

And  such  is  love's  best  attribute — to  rise 
Like  some  pure  star  in  dark  and  moonless  skies. 
Think  not  she  triumphs  in  the  pomp  of  eartli. 
Or  lists  the  unhallowed  voice  of  heartless  mirth ; 
Sits  at  the  high  right  hand  of  sceplered  pride. 
Steers  her  gay  bark  on  fortune's  waveless  tide. 
Sleeps  on  the  couch  of  apathy,  or  roves 
With  haggard  pleasure  in  her  torch-lit  groves : 
No — hers  to  check  the  mourner's  bitter  sigh, 
And  soothe  the  restless  bed  of  agony : 
Relieve  the  tortures  of  departing  breath. 
And  whisper  comfort  to  the  gasp  of  death. 

Ages  have  past  since  first  the  Hospice  stood 
Amid  that  dark  and  fearful  solitude; 
Yet  rising  o'er  the  mountain's  rugged  form, 
Spnred  by  the  lightning,  reverenced  by  the  storm. 
Yes,  storms  may  reverence  still,  and  lightnings  spare. 
But  man  must  mar  what  nature  deems  most  fair. 
With  hand  of  sacrilege,  and  sword  of  flame. 
The  Arab  horde* — tlie  turbaned  spoiler  came ; 
And  weeping  Pity  saw  her  rites  expire 
Wrapt  in  the  ruthless  flood  of  hostile  fire : 
Not  thus  to  perish — for  some  holy  power 
Watched  o'er  the  silence  of  that  lonely  tower. 

Ages  past  on — again  the  voice  of  war 
Is  heard  resounding  o'er  those  heights  afar; 
Another  Hannibal  has  dared  to  climb 
Those  mighty  bulwarks  of  primaeval  time. 
Behold  by  Aar's  winding  course  advance 
Thirsting  for  blood  the  warrior  hosts  of  France. 
Onward  they  wend — around  the  pathless  steep 
Their  crested  helms  and  shining  falchions  sweep; 
Wild  wave  their  eagle  banners  thro'  the  glade, 
Their  proud  plumes  glitter  in  the  mystic  shade. 

*  In  the  eleventh  century  the  Saracens  overran  the  country,  and  burnt  the 
Hospice. 


THE    HOSPICE   OF   ST.    BERNARD.  39 

All  now  are  fled,  upon  the  desert  hill 
The  trump  is  silent,  and  the  echo  stiJl. 
And  where  is  he — the  tyrant  and  the  strong, 
The  pride  of  chivalry  the  boast  of  song  ? 
^aw  ye  Britannia's  stainless  flag  unfurled  ? 
Saw  ye  the  champion  of  an  injured  world  ? 
Enough — the  plains  of  Waterloo  may  tell 
How  justice  triumphed  and  oppression  fell. 
()  wake  no  song,  nor  tune  the  breathing  lyre, 
To  praise  ambition's  desolating  fire  ! 
Her  deeds  are  chronicled — the  mourner's  tear, 
The  widow  weeping  o'er  the  warrior's  bier, 
The  mother's  heart-wrung  wail,  the  orphan's  sigh. 
The  fall  of  empires,  and  a  nation's  cry. 
Are  her  memorials — Yet  when  time  has  cast 
Her  halo  o'er  the  unforgotten  past ; 
When,  like  the  blushes  of  departed  day, 
All  save  its  mellower  tints  have  died  away, 
Still  shall  the  minstrel's  legendary  lore 
Around  each  haunt  its  storied  wonders  pour ; 
Mourn  o'er  each  sacred  dwelling  of  the  dead, 
And  weep  in  silence  where  the  mighty  bled. 

And  still  the  wanderer,  as  his  footsteps  rove 
Thro'  the  dark  shadows  of  some  distant  grove. 
Or  on  the  bosom  of  the  blue  Geneve 
His  white  sail  courts  the  balmy  gales  of  eve; 
As  fades  the  outline  of  the  hills  away 
Beneath  the  touch  of  twilight's  sombre  ray : 
Still  as  so  fair  and  frail  those  cliffs  appear. 
He  may  not  think  that  aught  of  earth  is  there. 
But  trembles  lest  that  fret-work  of  the  skies 
Should  melt  and  vanish  from  his  raptured  eyes; 
Still  shall  he  deem  some  energy  divine 
Guards  the  lone  altar  of  that  mountain  shrine, 
Exalted  as  those  cloud-clapt  heights,  and  pure 
As  the  blanched  snows,  which  on  their  crests  endure. 


40 

PLYMOUTH     INSTITUTION. 

PROCEEDINGS     IN     THE     ATHENiEUM. 

November    13th. — Mr.    Dusautoy's   Lecture  on  the  Age  of 
Elizabeth. 

In  the  commencement  of  his  interesting  paper  the  lecturer  stated 
that  there  was  no  epoch  in  British  History  on  which  the  mind  of 
an  Englishman  dwelt  with  more  pleasure  and  enthusiasm  than  the 
reign  of  the  wise  and  virtuous  Elizabeth.  In  the  study  of  the 
Elizabethan  Age,  and  the  characters  and  works  by  which  it  was 
distinguished,  the  poet,  philosopher,  political  economist,  enlight- 
ened protestant,  and  naval  adventurer,  might  acquire  a  rich  store 
of  spirit-stirring  thought,  and  wise  and  generous  principles  of 
action. 

The  age  of  Elizabeth  would  be  best  appreciated  by  those  who 
were  acquainted  with  the  early  history  of  their  country,  and  could 
contrast  her  reign  with  the  middle  ages,  politically  convulsed, 
and  dark  in  superstition — the  period  of  the  wars  of  the  roses,  and 
tliat  which  preceded  the  reformation. 

No  prince  perhaps  ever  assumed  the  reins  of  government  under 
more  favourable  auspices  than  Queen  Elizabeth;  the  people  of 
England  harassed  by  religious  dissensions,  and  well-nigh  exas- 
perated by  the  impolitic  severities  of  a  bigotted  administration, 
welcomed  her  with  exultation. — The  protestant  doctrines  had 
spread  amongst  men  of  all  classes,  even  the  nobility;  who,  though 
usually  opposed  to  great  and  sudden  innovations  had  been  won 
over  to  tlie  cause  of  the  reformers,  by  receiving  a  share  of  the 
spoils  wrested  from  the  Ecclesiastics.  Mary's  cruel  measures 
had  excited  amongst  the  more  moderate  of  her  own  party  a  pity 
for  the  sufferers,  which  was  favourable  to  protestantism ;  and  the 
lawlessness  and  crime  existing  among  the  lower  orders,  tnade  all 
men  desirous  of  more  energetic  and  less  narrow  minded  admin- 
istration. 

The  expectations  as  to  the  merits  and  capabilities  of  Elizabeth, 
do  not  appear  to  liave  been  groundless  or  unfounded,  she  had 
been  educated  a  protestant,  had  great  natural  talent  and  taste  for 
the  fine  arts,  had  studied  the  ancient  languages,  and  possessed 
firmness  of  character.  Her  prerogative  was  almost  boundless, 
for  fortunately  for  that  age,  various  causes  had  combined  to  render 
the  sovereign  sufficiently  powerful,  if  prudent,  to  do  immense 
goud  to  the  commonwealth. 

The  almost  absolute  authority  of  Henry  VIII.  had  descended 
unimpaired  to  his  daughter,  this  authority  had  been  built  on  the 
riiins  of  feudalism,  which  had  been  broken  down  during  the  wars 
of  the  Koses.  The  power  of  the  barons  was  but  small,  and  a 
fondness  for  display  which  pervaded  all  ranks,  circulated  much 
money,  which  finding  its  way  into  the  coffers  of  the  middle  ranks, 
thiy  began  to  grow  rich  and  powerful. 


PLYMOinil    INSriTU  llON.  41 

Elizabeth's  plans  for  the  settlement  of  religion  were  energetic 
and  decisive,  and  on  the  whole  were  required  by  the  exigencies 
of  that  9ge:  they  might  be  more  duly  estimated  by  a  comparison 
with  those  of  Mary  of  England,  Philip  of  Spain,  and  Charles 
IX.  of  Irrince. 

The  lecturer  considered  it  impossible  in  one  paper  to  enter 
into  all  the  details  of  this  period,  and  not  absolutely  necessary 
since  they  were  enlarged  upon  in  many  histories.  He  rather 
designed  to  view  the  Elizybethan  age  as  a  great  moral  and 
intellectual  epoch,  in  which  ignorance  gave  place  to  knowledge 
— poets  and  piiilosophers,  wise  and  enlightended  men  found  fame 
by  their  mental  energies — and  in  which  invention  was  encouraged. 
The  Queen  aided  by  safe  counsellors,  and  loved  by  the  people, 
was  the  sovereign  of  the  seas  and  the  scourge  of  tyrants  on  the 
land.  Learning  became  fashionable,  kings  had  written  books, 
noble  ladies  had  studied  Plato  and  Aristotle,  Greek  and  Roman 
literature  became  widely  diffused,  energies  hitherto  cramped, 
were  unfettered  and  a  general  awakening  seemed  to  be  taking 
place. 

When  Elizabeth  ascended  the  throne,  the  English  language 
was  much  neglected,  while  a  love  of  classical  literature  prevailed, 
and  persons  of  high  rank  deemed  itnecessriry  to  be  well  acquainted 
with  the  learned  tongues:  the  laity  and  clergy  also  studied  them, 
and  no  rank  nor  office  of  stwte  was  inaccessible  to  the  learned. 

In  proceeding  to  remark  on  the  learned  men  of  this  age,  Mr. 
Dusautoy  observed,  that  on  the  revival  of  literature  in  any  nation, 
a  fondness  for  poetry — nay  an  excellency  in  poetic  productions, 
has  invariably  preceded  a  proficiency  in  prose.  Homer  and  Ilesiod 
among  the  Greeks — Ennius  and  Livius  Andronicus  among  the 
Latins,  and  Chaucer,  Shaksfjeare,  and  Spencer,  in  our  own 
country,  might  be  cited  as  illustrations.  At  this  period,  poetical 
writers  were  numerous,  but  prose  writers  few  and  indifferent; 
many  of  the  former  were  good,  but  their  numbers  were — for  the 
most  part — rugged  and  inharmonious,  they  were  too  fond  of 
quaint  conceits,  metaphysical  subtleties,  and  the  ancient  my- 
thology. 

Fancy  and  fiction  also,  were  rather  too  predominant.  Shaks- 
peare  stood  first  in  the  list  of  writers,  in  Elizabeth's  reign;  but 
as  Mr.  V\  ightwick  had  treated  the  genius  of  our  dramatic  bard 
with  so  much  ability  the  lecturer  would  leave  him  in  his  able 
hands. 

Spencer's  *'  Faery  Queene"  next  underwent  examination,  Mr. 
Dusautoy  claiming  for  the  author  an  exalted  ])osition  as  a  poet, 
he  observed  that  this  poem  liad  been  compared  to  an  extensive 
picture-gallery,  in  ranging  through  which  the  eye  is  delighted 
with  detached  groups  and  figures  designed  by  a  master  painter, 
and  producing  an  enchanting  effect,  by  their  exquisite  taste  and 
colouring.  It  is  a  poem  which  will  not  probably  be  often  read 
through,  but  detached  parts  will  continue  to  give  pleasure  after 
VOL.  V. — 183.5.  F 


42  IPLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

repeated  perusals,  and,  to  use  tiie  words  of  Dr.  Aikin,  **  the 
whole  will  be  valued  as  a  rich  store-house  of  invention  resembling 
some  of  the  reaiainin^j  edifices  of  that  age,  which  astonish  by 
their  magnificent  profusion  of  varied  though  partly  fantastic 
ornament." 

The  Lecturer  subsequently  examined  and  criticised  the  abilities 
and  productions  of  Dr.  Donne,  dean  of  St.  PauPs,  a  man  of  very 
extensive  reading  and  celebrated  for  his  sitires,  Sir  Jolin  Davies 
an  eminent  lawyer  and  poet.  Sir  Philip  Sydncjy,  autlior  of 
"Arcadia;"  Richard  Edwards,  one  of  the  earliest  dramatic 
writers,  and  Christopher  Marloe,  an  elegant  poet,  but  fanciful  in 
his  style. 

Queen  Elizabeth  wrote  tolerable  verses  herself,  and  was  fond 
of  poetry,  but  she  chose  to  reward  poetic  merit  with  abundance 
of  smiles  and  very  little  coin  of  the  realm.  There  were,  however, 
some  worthy  Mecaenases  in  her  ti:ne;  Leicester,  Sir  P.  Sydney, 
and  the  Earls  Southampton  and  Essex,  were  munificent  patrons 
of  learning  and  genius. 

Hooker,  Latimer,  and  Ascham,  have  left  works  of  much 
repute  behind  them ;  the  '*  Ecclesiastic  Politic"  of  the  first  was 
characterised  as  an  able  and  excellent  work; 

In  the  fine  arts,  native  talent  was  rare,  there  being  but  one 
sculptor  of  eminence,  Kichard  Stephens.  Nicholas  Ildliard  was 
the  most  celebr  iled  portrait  painter.  Isaac  Oliver  was  excellent 
in  miniature,  and  Sir  Nat.  Bacon,  an  amateur  artist,  attained  the 
perfection  of  a  master. 

Architectural  taste  was  ;it  a  low  ebb :  the  rich  pointed  styles 
gave  way  at  the  fall  of  ecclesiastical  foundations,  to  a  love  of 
fantastic  and  cumbersome  ornament.  But  few  public  buildings 
erected  at  that  time  remain. 

The  Tudors  were  all  fond  of  music,  and  of  consequence 
proficiency  in  that  art  was  needful  to  be  fashionable ;  but  invention, 
taste,  and  elegance,  were  not  introduced.  Among  the  musicians 
were  Dr.  Chris.  Tye,  Thomas  Tallis,  and  Thomas  Morley. 

Commerce,  navigation,  business-like  enterprise,  naval  adven- 
ture, and  trade,  flourished  at  this  period  ;  the  names  of  Gresham, 
Drake,  and  Hawkins,  are  well  known.  Commercial  intercourse 
was  maintained  with  Russia,  Turkey,  Africa,  and  the  East 
Indies.  At  the  death  of  Elizabeth,  the  Navy  consisted  of  42 
ships,  mounting  774  guns.  There  was  no  standing  army,  troops 
being  levied  as  needed ;  she  was  sparing  in  her  troops,  and  her 
military  enterpvizes  were  always  on  the  defensive  side. 

In  drawing  his  lecture  to  a  conclusion,  Mr.  Dusautoy  gave  a 
sketch  of  the  state  of  the  English  Constitution  during  the  Queen's 
reign,  and  gave  the  characters  of  the  principal  officers  of  state,  as 
v^^ell  as  that  of  the  Queen  herself. 

Elizabeth  was  Queen  not  only  of  her  kingdom  but  of  her 
cabinet.  Her  most  influential  counsellors  yielded  implicit  defer- 
ence to  her  decisiorjs;  and  so  confident  was  she  in  the  powers  of 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  43 

her  own  mind,  that  when  once  fully  convinced  of  the  expediency 
of  a  particular  measure,  her  will  brooked  no  resistance.  All 
those  to  whom  she  distributed  her  favor  were  never  more  than 
tenants  at  will,  and  stood  on  no  better  ground  than  her  princely 
favor,  and  their  own  good  behaviour.  In  reviewing  the  character 
of  Elizabeth  herself,  whether  we  consider  her  as  a  woman  or  as 
a  Queen,  we  shall  find  much  niore  to  praise  than  to  censure. 
As  a  woman  we  look  for  more  feminine  softness  in  her  manners, 
and  less  of  imperiousnesss  in  her  bearing,  whilst  we  must  wonder 
at,  and  respect  that  strength  of  mind,  and  admirable  sagacity, 
which  raised  her  so  far  above  the  generality  of  her  sex.  As  a 
Queen  she  merits  almost  unqualified  praise;  so  much  power  of 
intellect,  such  discernment  of  character,  such  caution,  such 
innate  dignity,  joined  to  a  princely  condescension,  such  foresight 
in  forming  plans,  and  decision  in  executing  them,  such  unflinching 
political  consistency,  such  self  command,  such  self  confidence 
and  equanimity  in  times  of  danger,  never  before  nor  since  together 
characterized  an  English  nionarch  :  on  the  other  hand,  her 
dissimu'lation  is  sometimes  apt  to  disgust  an  unbiassed  observer, 
though,  in  that  age,  such  a  trait  in  a  sovereign  was  deemed  rather 
a  proof  of  wisdom  than  of  insincerity.  Perhaps  no  prince  ever 
practised  the  art  of  king-craft,  as  he  termed  it,  more  systematicolly 
than  James  the  1st.  Elizabeth  was  subject  to  sudden  fits  of 
anger,  wherein  she  resembled  her  father,  but  this,  although  felt  by 
her  immediate  attendants,  and  those  continually  about  her  person, 
Effected  not  her  character  as  a  Queen.  In  private  life,  I  believe 
her  to  have  been  strictly  virtuous,  although  many  have  wished  to 
prove  the  contrary.  It  appears  to  me  that  the  very  uncertainty 
which  attaches  to  her  moral  character,  is  a  proof  of  her  innocence ; 
for  surely  had  she  been  otherwise,  some  one  fact  or  other  must 
have  transpired  which  her  enemiies  (and  she  had  many)  would 
have  bruited  to  her  dishonour.  But  her  most  virulent  foes  adduce 
nothing  but  conjecture  in  support  of  their  charges;  and  the 
most  plausible  conjecture  is  very  far  from  proof.  She  certainly 
had  favorites  amongst  her  courtiers,  who  had  gained  her  esteem  by 
their  exterior  accomplishments,  or  more  solid  excellencies,  but  it 
has  been  justly  remarked,  that  although  favorites,  they  were 
not  minions;  and  in  bestowing  upon  them  proofs  of  her  regard, 
she  never  forgot  the  duty  she  owed  herself  or  her  kingdom. 

Her  courage  and  presence  of  mind  under  difficulty  v/as  remark- 
able. At  the  very  time  of  the  Spanish  invasion,  in  the  midst  of 
the  anxiety  of  naval  and  military  preparations,  she  sent  a  letter 
to  the  University  of  Cambridge,  containing  som.e  regulations 
relative  to  the  wearing  of  caps  and  hoods;  this  letter  is  still 
extant.  But  there  remains  one  blot  upon  her  escutcheon,  which 
her  most  sincere  admirers  can  never  hope  to  efface,  either  by 
partiality  or  extenu.^tion.  Her  conduct  to  Mary  (^ueen  of  Scots. 
Mary  undoubtedly  deserved  the  fate  which  she  found,  for  her 
guilt  has  been  pioved  beyond  a  doubt ;  but  I  fear  tliut  Elizabeth 


44  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

in  putting  her  to  death,  was  actuated  more  by  a  spirit  of  jealousy 
than  by  a  love  of  justice.  It  was  cruel,  after  protecting  her  so 
many  years,  to  sign  the  fatal  warrant  at  last.  The  charge  brought 
by  Elizabeth  was  a  grievous  one,  that  of  conspiring  against  her 
life;  but  it  would  have  been  more  generous  to  connive  at 
her  escape  into  France,  than  to  stain  her  hands  with  the 
blood  of  her  royal  kinswoman.  Here  1  presume  not  to  defend 
her,  but  I  think  it  was  the  only  action  of  her  life  wliich  cannot 
either  be  excused  by  the  force  of  circumstances,  or  defended  by 
sober  argument:  and  yet  so  many  and  transcendant  were  her 
admirable  qualities,  so  splended  her  political  career,  and  so  many 
were  tlie  blessings  which  her  reign  secured  to  her  grateful  subjects, 
that  perhaps  the  name  of  no  English  sovereign  lives  cherished  so 
warmly  in  the  best  affections  of  our  nature,  as  that  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  Surely  if  .'Eneas,  in  addressing  the  obscure  chieftainess 
of  an  uncivilized  horde,  could  promise  her  ^the  guerdon  of  a 
never-dying  fame,  how  much  more  justly  may  we  say  of 
Elizabeth — 

•  "  QuvB  te  tarn  laita  tulenint 

Sa^cula  ?  qui  tanti  talein  gennerc  parentes  ? 
In  ticta  ciiiin  fluvii  current,  duni  niontibus  unibr<e 
Lustrabiint  convexa,  polus  dutn  fidrra  pascet ; 
Semper  honos,  nonienquc  tuuin,  laadesqae  manebunt." 

November  20tii. —  Mr.  Wichtwick's  Lecture  on  Architectu- 
ral  Varieties. 

The  paper  commenced  by  stating  that,  in  most  elementary  works 
and  small  encyclopedias,  the  article  "Architecture"  comprised 
little  more  than  the  history  and  particulars  of  the  five  orders, 
touching  but  little  on  ^^  (iothic  architecture"  so  called;  less  on 
Egyptian,  and  being  wholly  silent  on  that  of  China,  India, 
Persia,  Nubia,  Mexico,  &c.  The  lecturer  considered  this  partly 
accounted  for  by  our  not  having,  until  lately,  any  works  on 
certain  foreign  architecture.  He  however  proposed  it  as  an 
extraordinary  fact  that,  whilst  we  had  daily  before  us  some  splen-^ 
did  examples  of  pointed  architecture,  they  had  been  neglected  in 
order  to  follow  the  proprieties  of  Palladio.  No  censure  was 
intended  in  stating  this  fact,  it  was  merely  meant  to  show  that 
any  particular  architectural  mania  was  not  necessarily  the  conse- 
quence of  contagion  with  any  particular  examples  of  art. 

That  such  vast  and  splended  buildings  as  the  old  cathedrals 
sliould  cease  to  arise  was  accounted  Tor,  by  the  decay  of  Catholicism, 
since  the  ministers  of  that  faith  resorted  to  means  for  raising  the 
supplies  which  are  not  adopted  by  their  protestant  successors. 

One  of  tiie  leading  causes  for  the  almost  exclusive  cultivation 
of  Greek  and  Roman  architecture  during  the  last  200  years  was, 
that  powerful  but  sober  reflection  took  the  ])lace  of  bold  and 
somewhat  heedless  invention;  men  turned  from  the  glitter  of 
multifariousness  to  contemplate  the  substance  of  simplicity,  and  * 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  45 

that  whole  was  deemed  most  worthy  which  was  most  perfect  in 
the  meaninj^  and  fitness  of  its  component  parts.  The  romance  of 
Architecture  had  had  its  day,  and  the  new  school,  even  as  a  no- 
velty, was  likely  to  be  warmly  cherished.  Roman  Architecture, 
i.  e.  an  Italian  edition  of  the  Greek,  was  invited  to  England.  It 
was  in  its  nature  systematised — defined  in  detail  and  combination 
—  subject  to  laws  founded  on  simple  principles — the  issue  of 
refined  experience — pure  and  perfect  in  its  kind;  these  qualities 
were  not  obvious  in  other  styles  more  gorgeous  and  picturesque, 
so  that  it  became  gradually  established  on  a  footing  of  favor 
which  strengthened  day  by  day. 

An  exclusive  cultivation  of  Greek  and  Palladian  architecture 
was  to  be  deprecated,  and  it  was  certainly  desirable  that  tiie 
term  "architecture"  should  now  be  understood  in  a  more  com- 
prehensive sense  than  it  has  usually  been :  nor  was  it  a  whit  less 
desirable  that  the  architectural  student,  prior  to  his  professional 
education,  should  make  himself  well  acquainted  with  classical 
literature;  because  tlie  dead  languages  always  prove  a  firm 
foundation,  whereupon  to  fix  the  superstructure  of  modern 
tongues,  and  when  studied  as  a  means,  not  as  an  end,  would 
both  directly  and  collaterally  be  useful  in  his  profession. 

There  were  three  reasons  for  the  partiality  shown  to  Greco- 
Roman  architecture  when  introduced  into  England — its  mathe- 
matical certainties — novelty  and  cheapness.  Englishmen 
acknowleged  the  grandeur  and  poetry  oftlieir  own  ecclesiastical 
edifices  but  looked  on  the  '^  Orders"  as  examples  of  ripened 
judgment:  as  a  whole  the  former  were  surveyed  with  awe,  whilst 
some  of  their  details  might  generate  ridicule;  but  the  latter  were 
g  ized  on  with  undisturbed  pleasure,  being  uniform  in  plan  and 
elevation,  and  beautiful  in  all  particulars.  The  same  feelings 
would  actuate  them  in  comparing  the  classical  styles  with  those 
of  India  and  Egypt. 

The  volume  of  V^itruvius  furnished  directions  concerning 
Greco  Roman  architecture;  Rome  itself  furnished  examples, 
fac-similes  of  which  were  multiplied  by  engravings  ;  and  this 
architecture  was  cultivated  to  the  neglect  of  most  other  kinds. 

In  considering  the  present  and  prospective  state  of  architecture, 
it  was  stated  that  a  vast  collection  of  examples  of  all  kinds,  had 
lately  been  acquired  by  the  exertions  of  Stuart,  Revett,  VVilkins, 
Cockerell,  Degodetz,  Cressy,  Taylor,  Denon,  Belzoni,  Chambers, 
and  others,  from  which  architects  could  study  specimens,  that 
might  in  many  cases  be  worthy  of  imitation  either  wholly  or 
partially.  England  had  obtained  her  knowledge  of  Greek, 
Chinese,  and  Indian  architecture,  through  the  exertions  of 
private  individuals;  but  a  vast  deal  more  might  be  done  if  the 
government  lent  its  aid,  and  followed  by  the  example  of  that  of 
France,  whicli  has  defrayed  the  expences  of  Denon's  great  work 
on  Egypt.  The  publication  of  mere  views  and  general  architec- 
tural description  was    not  enough ;    the  professional    man   has 


46  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

need  of  geometiical  plans,  elevations,  and  sections,  which  could 
be  procured  by  the  aid  of  government  much  more  easily,  and  in 
less  time  than  they  could  by  the  zeal  of  private  persons. 

The  lecturer  dwelt  with  pleasure  on  the  consideration  that  a 
taste  for  pointed  architecture  is  now  reviving :  and  he  thought 
that  if  the  present  day  afforded  the  same  means  which  were  avail- 
able in  former  times,  buildings  would  be  now  arising  equal  in 
size,  grandeur,  and  beauty  to  York  or  Salisbury  cathedrals.  He 
attributed  this  reviving  to  the  industry  of  certain  persons  who 
have  geometrically  delineated,  from  accurate  measurement,  the 
leading  Gothic  examples  : — our  countryman,  Britton,  has  been 
conspicuous  in  this  work. 

The  prospect  of  architectural  improvement  in  England,  France, 
and  Germany  is  cheering;  and  architecture  confesses  her  obliga- 
tion to  the  water-colour  draughtsman  and  engraver  —  whose 
endeavours  have  done  much  for  this  improvement. 

Havin'^  repudiated  the  idea  that  by  cultivating  a  knowledge  of 
Architecture  in  general  we  should  injtiro  the  classic  reputation  of 
Greece,  he  proceeded  to  bring  in  his  Bill  for  ARcnirrxTtiRAL 
Reform,  whereby  the  styles  of  building  in  Europe,  Asia,  and 
Africa  were  examined  as  to  their  fitness,  unfitness,  or  partial  fit- 
ness for  imitation ;  this  was  illustrated  by  a  vast  nuniber  of  draw- 
ings, but  here  the  nature  of  Mr.  \\  iahtwick's  admirable  paper 
says  "  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  und  no  farllier."  We  are  sorry  for 
it  but  **  't  is  true,  and  pity  't  is,  't  is  true,**  for,  imless  we  could 
present  to  our  readers  liis  pictorial  exaujples,  any  attempt  to  fol- 
low his  remarks  would  be  nugatory. 

On  this  evening  the  Athenaeum  was  filled  to  overflowing,  many 
anxious  hearers  could  barely  find  sUuiding  room. 

Novembf.r  27tii. — JM.  Luce's  Lecture  on   French  Literature. 

Having  jnenjised  that  the  design  of  his  paper  would  be  to 
trace  the  present  language  of  France  from  its  origin,  through  its 
various  changes,  touching  also  upon  some  collateral  topics,  Mr. 
Luce  observed  that  Celtic  was  the  original  language  of  Gaul,  but 
as  the  Druids  prohibited  writing,  there  are  no  existing  remains  of 
it.  Subsequently  to  the  subjection  of  Ciaul,  by  Caesar,  Latin 
became  the  ordinary  language,  in  consequence  of  the  Romans 
using  every  effort  to  eradicate  the  Celtic  tongue,  and  substitute 
their  own.  liven  the  Britons  though  they  long  had  struggled 
against  Roman  power,  were  at  last  induced  to  study  Latin  elo- 
quence.    Tacitus  says — 

**  Ita  ut  qui  linguain  abnuebant  eloquentiam  mox  concupiacerent." 

An  instance  of  tlie  high  cultivation  of  Latin  in  Gaul  may  be 
found  in  a  line  of  Juvenal — 

"  Gallia  causidicoB  docuit  facunJa  Britannos." 

Writer^^  of  great  celebrity  in  (7aul  were  not  numerous :  but 
there  may  be  mentioned   P.  T.  Varro,  poet  and  historian,  born 


!>L\\M0t3ril    LNiTllLllON.  47 

near  Narbonne  ;  Trogus  Pcmpeius,  historian,  bom  near  Vaison, 
40 — 50.  B.  C;  Eutropius,  historian,  born  near  Bordeaux, 
towards  the  end  oft'ie  third  century  * 

Besides  military  conquest,  there  was  another  means  by  which  the 
Roman  language  was  diffused  in  Gaul,  viz.,  through  the  medium 
of  the  teachers  of  the  Chiistian  reii^iou,  as  Latin  was  the  only 
language  of  its  preachers  in  the  VV  est.  In  the  5th  century  Rome 
was  unable  to  protect  (kiuI  any  lonuer  from  the  incursions  of  the 
German  tribes,  but  tlie  latter  coulrl  uoi  obliterate  the  civilization 
imported  by  the  Homans,  nor  could  tiiey  substilate  their  own 
language  tor  tiie  Latin,  wliicli  had  supplanted  the  Celtic  ;  circum- 
stances \Ayic\i  were  attributa])ie  to  the  hiiih  civilization  of  the  Ro- 
nians,  and  the  barbaiism  of  the  (Termans. 

'1  he  lecturer  showed  that  two  causes  of  the  corruption  of  the 
Latin  language,  were  tlie  preaching  of  the  Gospel,  whiv;h  diffused 
it,  and  subsequently  tiie  invasion  of  the  barbarians.  A  third 
cause  was  to  be  found  in  the  language  itself,  whicii,  from  its 
delicate  and  complex  structure,  was  acquired  with  difficulty  by 
the  Romans,  and  would  of  course  be  far  more  difficult  to  be 
acquired  by  foreigners;  they  ahso  in  their  endeavours  to  master 
it  would  most  surely  deteriorate  it  by  suiting  it  to  their  own 
necessities,  and  introducing  their  own  native  words  and  idioms; 
in  this  opinion  the  lecturer  was  borne  out  by  Schlegel. 

In  this  way  the  Latin  language  was  corrupted  by  the  Gauls, 
and  in  the  7th  and  8th  centuries  the  confusion  must  have  been 
incredible;  the  terminations  of  verbs  and  nouns  were  forgotten, 
and  in  the  records  which  remain  of  that  period  the  words  seem  to 
be  placed  at  random,  prepositions  were  made  to  serve  for  the  for- 
gotten terminations  of  nouns,  and  the  auxiliaries  habere  and  esse 
were  substituted  for  the  lost  inflexions  of  verbs ;  and,  in  order  to 
distinguish  gender  and  number,  they  found  an  article  and  from 
Ille  made  Le.  Thus  was  formed  in  France,  from  the  Latin,  a 
popular  idiom  called  Roman  vulgaire,  the  remains  of  it  [842. 
A.  D.]  strongly  resemble  the  Proven9al  of  the  11th  century. 

In  the  11th  century  the  Roman  branched  into  two  dialects- 
Roman  Provencal  and  Roman  Wallon,  as  different  as  the  men 
who  made  use  of  them.  The  lecturer  proceeded  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  some  of  the  productions  in  these  two  dialects,  beginning 
with  the  songs  of  troubadours. 

ROMAN    PROVENCAL. 

He  observed  that  in  the  middle  ages  there  were  two  sorts  of 
civilization,  one  which  subsisted  on  religious  contemplation, 
another  which  was  the  civilization  of  mirth  and  excitement,  in 
which  the  troubadours  were  the  agents.  This  latter  civilization 
obtained  in  the  south  of  France,  towards  the  end  of  the  9ji  cen- 
tury, from  its  being  more  peaceful  and  better  governed  than  the 


*  Vossiu'?  says  of   Evitropius — "cum    auctor  breviarii,   Constantin;  ejusque 
Ijberorum,  Juliani,  Joviani  et  Valentis  temporibus  vixerit."  Ed. 


48  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

north  parts;  the  natives  also  were  influenced  by  the  Spaniards, 
who  were  much  civilized,  and  had  acquired  something  oithe 
brilliancy  and  e^allantry  of  the  Moors;  feudalism  was  much  so  t- 
ened  in  this  climate:  the  counts  of  Provenye  and  Barcelona  held 
courts,  where  the  nobles  of  the  neighl)ourhood  composed  verses, 
offered  them  to  the  ladies,  and  discussed  their  merits  themselves. 
This  Gaye  Science  was  inspirited  by  the  martial  feeling  of  the 
times,  when  displayed  in  wars,  not  long  nor  dangerous — such 
would  have  quenched  it. 

Troubadours  were  sometimes  men  of  high  rank,  there  were 
also  some  who  had  raised  theuiselves  from  a  low  condition  by 
their  genius  for  poetry  and  singing — even  those  who  attended 
the  troubadours  to  sing  their  verses  for  them,  and  to  throw 
somersets  themselves,  by  way  of  interlude,  sometimes  attained 
the  dignity  of  their  masters.  It  happened  also,  on  occasions, 
that  a  troubndour,  for  the  commission  of  unfashionable  sins^  was 
reduced  to  the  condition  of  an  attendant  only.  From  the  circum- 
stances of  troubadours  arising  out  of  all  classes  of  society,  their 
])oetical  compositions  would  necessarily  differ;  these  poems 
formed  a  new  era  in  the  history  of  intellect,  and  many  of  them 
were  vigorous,  pathetic,  and  full  of  fire,  though  none  were  of  any 
great  length  owing  to  the  unsettled  vvay  of  life  of  the  composers. 
Provence,  Catalonia,  and  northern  Italy,  produced  more  t!u»n  a 
hundred  poets,  celebrated  in  their  time,  immense  collections  of 
their  works  have  been  made;  hovC;  \N'ar,  and  KeliKion,  were  by 
turns  sources  of  inspiration ;  and  the  forms  employed  were  the 
Chanson  Complainte,  Sirvente  lai  and  Tenson.  During  the 
time  of  the  crusades,  the  songs  ot  the  troubadours  had  a  great 
effect  in  inspiring  tliose  who  loved  military  glory,  to  seek  it,  and 
honorable  martyrdom  in  Palestine. 

Richard  1st  of  England  loved  the  songs  of  the  troubadours, 
and  was  discovered  in  his  captivity,  by  the  troubadour  Hlondel, 
who  sang  at  the  foot  of  the  fortress,  part  of  a  ditty  which  was 
finished  by  the  Monarch  within. 

In  order  to  give  a  clearer  view  of  the  troubadour  life,  the 
lecturer  went  into  some  details  concerning  Bertram  de  Born,  a 
lord  poet  and  warrior,  who  lived  in  martial  and  stirring  times; 
his  compositions  were  alluded  to  and  highly  eulogised. 

The  crusade  which  was  preached  in  the  north  of  France  [1208 
— 1224.  A.  D.]  against  Raymond  VI.,  and  the  Albigenses,  threw 
a  horde  of  savage  warriors  over  the  beautiful  climes  of  the  south; 
and  the  sanguinary  contests  which  followed,  almost  annihilated 
troubadours  and  the  gaye  science;  their  last  songs  were  pregnant 
with  regret,  revenge,  and  reproach. 

The  lecturer  then  proceeded  to  the  Roman  VVallon. 

To  be  continued. 


G.  r.  HEARUCR,  PLYMOUTH. 


[W] 


m 


^ 


THE     SOUTH     DEVON 

MONTHLY    MUSEUM. 

PLYMOUTH,    FEBRUARY    1st,    1835. 

No.  26.]  Price  Sixpence.  [Vol.  V. 

THE     PERAMBULATOR,     No.  XL 

ANTIQUITIES    IN     THE     NEIGHBOURHOOD     OF 
LISKEARD. 

The  Cheese  wring,  (which  was  described  in  our  last 
number)  St.  Cleer's  well  and  church,  the  Trethevy 
cromlech,  the  cross  on  Caraton  down,  the  Hurlers, 
and  Duniert's  monument  lie  within  the  compass  of 
a  morning's  walk  from  Liskeard. 

The  village  of  St.  Cleer  is  situated  about  two  miles 
north  of  Liskeard,  on  the  north  side  of  a  wild  down, 
which*  is  strewn  with  enormous  masses  of  granite. 
The  village  has  nothing  picturesque  about  it,  unless 
extreme  filthiness  can  claim  acquaintanceship  there- 
with. The  church  is  a  substantial  edifice,  built  of 
granite,  which  seems  to  be  abundant  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  ;  it  had  an  entrance  on  the  north 
side,  under  a  Saxon  arch,  the  entrance  is  now  built 
up,  but  the  arch  remains  in  good  preservation.  St. 
Cleer's  Well  is  a  picturesque  ruin :  one  side  of  it 
only  remains,  luxuriantly  clothed  with  ivy;  in  this 
side  are  two  niches,  wherein  probably  were  placed 
images  of  those  patron  saints  whose  holiness  was 
unable  to  preserve  the  structure  from  the  pious  spoli- 
ation of  protestant  reformers.  From  the  ruins  which 
are  scattered  around  one  may  judge  that  the  well 
was  arched  on  three  sides,  and  surrounded  by  an 
iron  railing  :  some  of  the  stones  have  been  removed, 
and  are  now  perhaps  doing  duty  as  door  posts  to 

VOL.  v. — 1835.  G 


50  ANTIQUITIES    NEAR    LISKEARD. 

some  neighbouring  pig  bouse,  but  the  incumbent 
has  given  directions  that  none  are  to  be  taken  away 
for  the  future.  St.  Cleer's  cross,  as  will  be  seen  by 
the  engraving,  is  near  the  well ;  it  consists  of  one 
piece  of  granite,  which  is  morticed  into  a  cylindrical 
pedestal  of  the  same  sort  of  stone  :  until  lately  it 
was  almost  wholly  hidden  by  an  accumulation  of 
rubbish  around  it ;  this  has  been  removed  with  relig- 
ious care  by  the  sexton  of  the  church,  who  has  made 
use  of  it  in  constructing  the  walls  of  his  house,  which 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  left  of  the  cut.  At  present  the 
house  consists  of  one  story,  but  its  owner  informed 
us  that  he  had  so  contrived  it  as  to  be  enabled  to 
remove  the  roof  and  add  another  story,  at  any  time, 
without  much  trouble  ;  and  this  he  said  he  intended 
to  do,  God  willing,  in  a  few  years,  when  his  family 
had  become  so  numerous  as  to  require  additional 
apartments  ;  he  also  showed  us  a  pen  and  ink  sketch 
of  his  proposed  alteration,  which  has  been  faithfully 
followed  in  the  engraving. 

At  Saint  Cleer  we  thought.it  would  not  be  amiss 
to  procure  a  guide  ;  and,  in  endeavouring  to  do  so, 
stumbled  upon  the  village  schoolmaster,  wIk)  was 
busied  amongst  a  numerous  and  mixed  flock  of  boys 
and  girls  :  this  we  felt  assured  was  a  most  fortunate 
accident,  and  would  enable  us  to  select  the  most 
intelligent  of  his  disciples  for  a  companion.  The 
pedagogue,  however,  had  the  interest  of  his  pupils 
so  much  at  heart,  and  considered  their  time  of  such 
value,  that  neither  love  nor  money  could  prevail  upon 
him  to  lend  us  one  of  them  for  the  morning.  Indeed 
he  seemed  to  look  upon  us  with  a  vast  deal  of  sus- 
picion, and  no  doubt  thought  we  were  upon  a 
Burking  expedition.  When  we  had  proceeded  about 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  village,  we  met  a  young 
fellow  of  about  fourteen,  covered  with  a  white  smock 
frock,  and  decorated  with  an  old  clerical  hat,  which 
was  a  prodigious  deal  too  large  for  his  head  ;  this  he 
informed  us  was  a  present  which  he  had  received 
from  "  Master  Jope,  the  parson  ;"  and,  to  prevent  it 


ANTIQUITIES    NEAR    LISKEARD.  51 

from  completely  enveloping  his  head,  he  carried  in 
it  a  bason  containing  his  dinner,  as  his  home  was 
some  distance  from  the  school :  at  other  times  a 
packet  of  hay  answered  the  purpose  ;  and,  to  prevent 
the  wind  from  blowing  it  away,  it  had  a  pad  in  front 
which  hung  over  his  forehead  like  a  small  pillow, 
and  gave  him  a  most  grotesque  appearance. 


After  some  parleying,  we  prevailed  on  this  promis- 
ing rustic  to  play  the  truant;  and,  for  the  consider- 
ation of  a  shilling,  to  pilot  us  to  the  Cheesewring  ; 
giving  him  a  promise  that,  on  our  return,  we  would 
make  his  peace  with  the  schoolmaster.  To  the 
latter  point  he  seemed  quite  indifferent,  and  told  us 
that  he  had  "  thrashed  the  master  about  a  year  ago, 
for  going  to  birch  him,  and  he  would  n't  mind  doing 
it  again  ."  Though  this  young  fellow  possessed  the 
bones  and  flesh  of  a  bullock,  and  was  shod  hke  a 
London  dray  horse,  he  scampered  before  us  as  lightly 
as  a  Mercury.  His  knowledge  of  distance  did  not 
seem  much  improved  by  school  training;  for  he 
assured  us  that  the  Cheesewring  was  not  more  than 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  St.  Cleer,  though  we  had 
been  informed  at  Liskeard  that  the  distance  was 
four  miles  at  least.  It  is  however  fair  to  say  that 
he  did  not  seem  to  be  singular  in  this  matter,  for, 


Si 


ANTIQUITIES    NEAR    LISKEARD. 


having  left  St.  Cleer  about  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
behind  us,  we  were  informed  by  a  man  who  was 
driving  cows  that  Cheesewring  hill  was  only  "  about 
a  half  a  mile  farder  on  ;  '*  this  was  consolation  :  but 
having  advanced  a  full  mile  farther,  we  were  told 
by  an  intelligent  peat  cutter  that  the  Cheesewring 
was  "two  mile  and  a  half  over  the  moors. 


TRETHEVY    CROMLECH,    FROM    THE    SOUTH. 

The  Trethevy  cromlech  is  situated  to  the  north 
east  of  St.  Cleer,  and  may  be  distinctly  seen  from 
the  higher  parts  of  the  village,  appearing  like  a  small 
barn ;  a  paved  lane  leads  nearly  all  the  way  to  it, 
and  this  lane,  having  high  banks  and  hedges,  effec- 
tually shuts  it  out  from  sight  until  it  bursts  at  once 
upon  the  eye,  a  gigantic  and  sublime  monument  of 
Druidical  religion.  Antiquarians  have  usually  con- 
sidered such  erections  as  sepulchral  monuments,  but 
of  late  others  are  inclined  to  think  that  they  were 
temples,  used  for  the  performance  of  certain  sacred 
rites. 

About  midway  between  this  cromlech  and  the 
Cheesewring,  on  the  wide  waste  of  Caraton  down, 
stands  a  lone  granite  cross.  It  consists  of  a  single 
block,  standing  upwards  of  nine  feet  above  the 
ground,  with  a  rounded  head,  bearing  the  couped 
cross.     This  solitary  pillar,   evidently   a   Christian 


ANTIQUITIES    NEAR    LISKEARD.  53 

monument,  is  situated  near  a  Druidical  temple  called 
the  Hurlers.  Crosses  of  this  shape  abound  in  Corn- 
wall. One  has  been  found  in  Burian  churchyard, 
and  another  in  CaUino^ton  churchyard,  bearing  rude 
sculptures  of  the  crucifixion  ;  others  have  been  found 
in  the  county  with  holes  perforated  near  the  top,  and 
some  with  various  ornaments  on  the  shafts. 

The  Hurlers  lie  very  near  to  the  Cheesewring, 
and  consisted  of  three  circles  of  stones,  from  three 
feet  to  six  feet  above  the  earth  :  many  of  them  have 
been  taken  away,  and  many  others  have  fallen.  At 
some  distance  from  the  Hurlers,  and  near  a  spring 
of  water,  are  two  upright  stones,  which  probably 
had  some  connexion  with  the  circles.  A  full  account 
of  the  supposed  design  of  these  circles  has  been 
already  given  in  the  Museum,  in  a  paper  on  the 
Antiquities  of  Dartmoor,  which  may  be  referred  to  at 
pages  22,  65,  and  101),  of  Volume  iv. 

About  half  a  mile  west  of  St.  Cleer  is  a  dilapidated 
monument,  which  we  cannot  describe  better  than 
in  the  words  of  Borlase  : — 

"  In  the  parish  of  St.  Cleer,  about  200  paces  to 
the  eastward  of  Redgate,  are  two  monumental 
stones,  which  seem  to  me  parts  of  two  different 
crosses,  for  they  have  no  such  relation  to  each  other 
as  to  make  one  conclude  that  they  ever  contributed 
to  form  one  monument  of  that  kind. 

"  One  of  them  is  like  the  spill  of  a  cross,  seven 
feet  six  inches  high,  above  ground,  two  feet  six 
inches  wide,  in  the  under  part,  but  in  the  above  two 
feet,  and  one  foot  thick.  One  side  of  the  shaft  is 
adorned  with  some  diaper  work,  consisting  of  little 
asterisks  of  two  inches  diameter,  dispersed  in  the 
quincunx  manner ;  the  lower  or  pedestal  part  is 
somewhat  thicker,  but  has  no  ornament.  In  the  top 
of  this  stone  there  is  part  of  a  mortice,  which,  doubt- 
less, had  some  tenon  fitted  to,  and  fixed  in  it,  in 
such  shape  as  to  form  a  cioss ;  but  the  making  this 
mortice  seems  to  have  shattered  the  stone,  for  part 
of  the  shaft,  is  cloven  off,  and  not  to  be  found,  |rom 


54  ANTIQUITIES    NEAR    LISKEARD. 

which  defect,  this  is  called  the  other-half  stone :  the 
ground  about  this  stone  has  been  much  tumbled 
and  searched  by  digging  ;  and  in  one  of  the  hollows 
is  the  other  stone.  On  the  top  of  it  was  a  square 
socket,  very  regularly  sunk,  the  sides  and  top  well 
smoothed,  above  which  the  brim  rises  into  a  thin 
edge,  that  ranged  round  the  whole  surface.  One 
side  is  diapered,  as  in  the  former  stone,  and  in 
another  side  (surrounded  with  a  rectangular  sulcus) 
is  the  following  inscription,  Douiert  rogavit  pro 
anima.  The  masonry  of  this  is  greatly  superior  to 
that  of  the  other ;  and  I  apprehend  it  might  be  the 
pedestal  or  plint  of  a  cross,  and  that  the  other  was 
either  placed  at  the  other  end  of  the  grave,  or  was 
erected  for  some  other  person  about  the  same  age. 
"That  by  Doniert  is  meant  Dungerth,  King  of 
Cornwall,  about  the  beginning  (or  rather  middle)  of 
the  ninth  century,  drowned  in  the  year  872,  or  873, 
cannot  be  disputed  (the  G,  before  an  E,  being  some- 
times pronounced  in  British  as  a  J,  consonant,  as 
Georiy  a  giant),  and  also  because  the  letters  are 
exactly  the  same  with  those  on  a  monument  in 
Denbighshire,  put  up  by  Konken,  King  of  Powis, 
in  the  very  same  age. 

"  The  name  is  a  name  of  dignity  ;  and  this  Doniert 
was  not  only  a  prince,  but  a  man  of  great  piety,  as 
this  solicitude  for  his  soul  testifies. 

"Of  the  person  here  named  there  can  be  no  rea- 
sonable dispute,  but  the  meaning  of  the  inscription 
is  doubtful.  Some  think  it  may  signify  that  Doniert 
gave  those  lands  to  some  religious  pui-pose.  Cressy 
had  the  same  information,  and  calls  this  *  a  monu- 
ment very  ancient,'  with  this  imperfect  inscription, 
^  Doniert  gave  for  the  benefit  of  his  soul,  namely, 
certain  lands : '  *  this  solicitude,'  says  the  same 
author,  *  he  had  in  the  time  of  his  health,  for  at  his 
death  he  could  not  shew  it  being  unfortunately 
drowned  ;'  but  Cressy  was  misinformed,  for  he  says 
this  monument  is  at  Neotstow,  or  St.  Neot's,  whereas 
it  is  three  miles  and  a  half  distant,  in  the  parish  of 


ANTIQUITIES    NEAR    LISKEARD.  55 

St.  Clare.  Secondly,  the  registering  such  gifts  upon 
stone  is  unusual,  and,  I  believe,  in  that  age,  among 
the  Britains,  without  precedent :  besides,  the  make 
of  this  stone  evidently  shews,  that  it  was  part  of  a 
cross,  and  why  should  the  grant  of  lands  be  inscribed 


on  a  cross 


? 


"  Others  have  thought  that  this  was  a  place  of 
devotion,  and  that  Doniert  usually  prayed  here  for 
the  good  of  his  soul,  and  erected  this  cross  himself, 
being  willing  that  his  name  and  piety  should  descend 
together,  in  order,  by  such  an  illustrious  example, 
to  raise  the  emulation  of  posterity.  But  it  was  very 
uncommon  not  to  say  vain,  and  unbecoming  a  sin- 
cerely religious  man,  to  record  his  own  acts  of  piety 
in  such  a  manner ;  besides,  the  word  Rogo  cannot 
properly  signify  to  pray  to  God. 

"I  rather  think  that  Doniert  desired  in  his  life 
time,  that  a  cross  might  be  erected  in  the  place 
where  he  should  be  interred,  in  order  to  put  people 
in  mind  to  pray  for  his  soul.  So  that  this  is,  in  my 
opinion,  a  sepulchral  monument;  and,  if  we  take  it 
in  this  sense  the  word  rogavit  is  proper,  and  the 
whole  inscription  intelligible,  and  according  to  the 
usage  of  ancient  times. 

"  Christians  generally  placed  a  cross  (about  this 
•  time)  at  the  beginning  of  inscriptions  ;  and,  I  think, 
part  of  one  (the  corner  of  the  stone  being  here  broken 
off)  may  be  seen  in  this,  before  the  D.  When  pray- 
ing for  the  dead  came  into  use,  it  was  a  general 
custom  (as  in  the  Catholic  countries  it  is  at  present) 
to  intreat  all  comers  to  pray  for  the  soul  of  persons 
buried  there ;  and  that  they  might,  after  death,  have 
(as  they  thought)  the  benefit  of  frequent  prayers, 
sometimes  a  church  or  oratory  was  erected,  at  other 
times  it  was  only  an  altar ;  sometimes  it  was  a  tomb- 
stone, that  desired  the  prayers  of  the  reader;  and 
sometimes  a  real  cross  of  stone ;  and  all  these  memo- 
rials were  said  to  be  erected  pro  anima,  for  the  good ' 
of  their  souls,  because  their  intent  was  to  excite  the 
devotion  of  persons  that  passed  by,  in  favour  of  the 
dead. 


56  ANTIQUITIES    NEAR    LISKEARD. 

"  When  these  memorials  were  erected  by  persons 
in  their  life  time,  there  was  generally  inscribed 
Posuit,  or  Poni  curavit ;  but  most  commonly  they 
were  erected  either  by  the  command,  or  at  the  desire, 
of  the  person  departed.  When  by  the  command  or 
order  of  the  deceased,  the  word  Jussit  was  made  use 
of ;  when  at  the  desire,  Rogavit, 

"  That  the  ancients  erected  crosses  in  the  middle 
ages  of  Christianity,  we  have  an  instance  in  the 
inscription  near  Neath  in  Glamorganshire ,  in  the 
church-yard  of  Lan  Iltud  vawr,  where  there  are  two 
stones  as  here,  one  inscribed,  and  one  not.  That 
not  inscribed,  is  about  the  height  of  our  Other-half 
stone ;  the  other  stone  was  part  of  a  cross,  very 
likely  the  pedestal,  and  one  of  its  sides  has  this 
inscription  Samson  posuit  hanc  crucem  pro  anima 
ejus.  Now  the  meaning  of  this  inscription  is  (as  is 
observed  in  Camden),  that  one  Samson  erected  this 
cross  for  his  soul,  that  is,  that  prayers  might  be  said 
at  this  cross  for  the  good  of  his  soul. 

"  That  people  desired  the  erection  of  such  monu- 
ments for  their  souls,  and  that  Rogavit  was  the 
word  used  upon  such  occasions  ;  we  find  an  instance 
in  Godwyn's  catalogue  of  the  Bishops  of  Landaff, 
where,  speaking  of  Theodoric  King  of  Glamorgan- 
shire's last  battle  against  the  Saxons,  in  which  he 
was  mortally  wounded  he  has  these  words,  *  Having 
received  a  wound  in  the  head  which  he  knew  to  be 
mortal,  he  hastened  back  into  his  own  country,  that 
he  might  expire  among  his  friends  and  relations, 
first  desiring  his  son  (Rogato  priusjilio)  to  build  a 
church  on  that  spot  where  he  should  breathe  his 
last  (in  case  he  should  die  on  the  road),  and  bury 
him  also  there.'  Here  we  see  the  dying  Theodoric 
only  desired  the  monumental  church,  and  therefore 
it  was  not  Jusso,  but  Rogato  Jitio  ;  and,  in  the  case 
before  us,  I  conjecture,  that  Doniert  requested,  and 
did  not  command  ;  that  this  cross  should  be  erected, 
and  prayers  said  there  for  the  good  of  his  soul,  and 
therefore  it  is  Rogavit y  and  not  Jussit.^' 


57 
SKETCHES  BY  A  PRACTISING  ARCHITECT,    No.  6. 

•  "  he  was  a  nice  young  man, 


A  carpenter  by  trade." — Comic  Song. 

Having,  in  my  last  sketch,  treated  upon  the  subject 
of  architectural  amateurship,  I  would  now  allude  to 
that  peculiar  branch  of  architectural  practice,  which 
is  carried  on  by  a  large  body  of  well-meaning  ope- 
rators, equally  remote  from  those  who  profess  a 
classic  acquaintance  with  the  Art,  and  from  others 
who  practise  it  agreeably  to  classic  rules.  That  the 
operations  of  this  body  should  meet  with  encourage- 
ment is  not  strange,  when  it  is  considered,  that,  in 
consideration  of  employing  their  own  labour  and 
materials  in  the  erection  of  a  house,  they  afford 
gratuitously  all  the  necessary  designs  and  drawings, 
which,  if  provided  by  the  mere  arcliitect,  would  add 
five  per  cent,  to  the  cost  of  the  works.  Educated 
in  the  carpenter's  shop,  they  acquire  certain  habits 
of  constructive  neatness,  and  the  use  of  the  square 
and  compasses.  Employed  in  the  execution  of  some 
building  from  an  architect's  drawing,  they  learn  the 
nature  of  plans,  elevations,  and  sections ;  and  they 
possibly^>«*sA  themselves  by  a  perusal  of  Nicholson's 
Classic  Joinery,  by  which  means  are  generated 
certain  incoherent  ideas  of  things  Grecian,  Roman, 
and  Gothic,  and  corresponding  aspirings  towards 
their  realization  in  Memel  deal  and  Parker's  cement. 
Thus  qualified,  they  soon  meet  with  opportunities 
for  a  display  of  their  talent  in  design ;  for,  though 
there  be  few  who  think  good  taste  worth  paying  for, 
there  are  many  who  choose  bad  taste  gratuitously 
afforded,  before  no  taste  at  all.  Under  this  influence 
flourishes  the  suburban  architecture — not  of  London 
only— but  of  all  the  larger  towns  of  England. 
"  Camomile  Cottage "  exhibits  its  frieze  of  Greek 
honeysuckles,  leaving  us  to  comment  on  the  Jitness 
of  the  decoration.  Similar  reflections  are  also  made 
on  seeing  the  Sarcophagi  which  decorate  "  Hygeia 
Terrace;"  and  we  pay  just  tribute  to  the  poetic 
VOL.  V. — 1835.  H 


58       SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 

genius  which  typifies  the  purposes  of  a  Gin-shop, 
by  a  series  of  classic  vases  surmounting  a  tottering 
balustrade.  Here,  we  see  a  Gothic  cot,  with  its 
embattled  parapet  and  chimney  tops  !  There,  the 
important  patron  of  a  Putney  villa,  knocking  his  hat 
against  the  architrave  of  his  Doric  portico,  and  con- 
trasting his  "  fair  round  belly  with  good  capon  lin'd," 
with  a  couple  of  poor  little  half-starved  wooden 
columns,  shining  with  white  paint,  and  creaking 
under  the  weight  of  his  wife's  flower  pots  on  the 
lead  flat  above. 

On  the  banks  of  some  parish  streamlet,  tributary 
to  the  Paddington  Canal,  rises  "Priory  House;" 
— a  "  Priory,"  because  of  its  pointed  windows  and 
octagonal  turrets, — a  "  house"  because  of  the  smoke, 
which,  issuing  from  the  tops  of  those  turrets,  shows 
them  to  be  no  more  nor  less  than  chimnies.  By 
means  of  blue,  red,  and  yellow  glass,  a  monastic 
gloom  is  thrown  over  the  little  parlour  within,  poet- 
ically qualifying  the  jolhty  of  the  inmate,  as  he  sits 
with  pipe  in  one  hand  and  a  jug  in  the  other.  Some- 
times, it  would  appear  that  the  architect's  mind  had 
exerted  its  imaginings  under  the  influence  of  feudal 
inspiration.  Required  to  design  and  erect  a  "  suitable 
building"  for  Miss  RadclifFe's  "  Young  Ladies'  Sem- 
inary," he  is  forthwith  reminded  of  his  patroness' 
namesake,  the  fearful  Ann  !  and  he  goes  to  work 
with  the  "  Mysteries  of  Udolpho"  in  one  eye,  and 
Warwick  Castle  in  the  other.  Knowing  the  tendency 
of  young  ladies  to  run  away  from  school,  he  resolves 
on  putting  them  into  a  fortress,  and  wisely  advan- 
tages his  purpose  by  choosing  a  site  whose  peninsula 
form  is  protected  by  the  circumfluence  of  a  district 
sewer.  On  the  isthmus  rises  a  frowning  portal  to 
complete  the  impregnability  of  the  Seminary;  and 
thus  he  secures  needle- work  and  literature  from  the 
besiegings  of  truantism  or  love. 

And,  after  all,  what  is  to  be  said  of  this?  Is  it 
a  matter  to  be  serious  or  jocose  upon  ?  Amiable  let 
lis  be  at  all  events  ;  and  merry,  if  possible.     Buries- 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.       59 

ques  are  amusing  in  the  extreme ;  and  why  should 
they  be  less  amusing  from  the  fact  of  their  being 
unintentional  ?  A  few  architects  are  cheated  out  of 
their  commission  : — but  what  of  that  ?  They  are  not 
wantonly  cheated  :  and,  they,  of  all  men,  are  best 
qualified  to  enjoy  the  sport  of  the  thing.  A  spectator, 
ignorant  of  the  right  use  of  the  limbs,  and  uninitiated 
in  the  graces  of  attitude,  would  derive  no  pleasure 
from  the  antics  of  Astley's  clown.  He,  thinking  it 
all  right,  would  either  pass  the  extravagance  over  as 
a  piece  of  insipid  propriety,  or  would  calmly  eulogise 
it  as  a  mere  sample  of  active  motion.  Oh  !  did  he 
but  know,  under  help  of  education,  the  fun  of  the 
matter !  Could  he  but  contrast  the  gravity  of 
supposed  well-doing  with  the  drollery  of  the  actual 
thing  done.  The  joke  of  Tom  Thumb  and  Chro- 
nonhotonthologos  would  be  much  increased  by  a 
belief  that  they  had  been  intended  for  serious  tragedy 
by  their  authors.  It  is  the  true  disciple  of  ^schylus 
and  Shakspeare,  who  would  most  enjoy  that  fact. 
To  a  woman  of  real  fashion,  what  is  more  entertaining 
than  the  affected  air  of  some  retired  cit's  wife,  whose 
wealth  renders  her  a  victim  to  ridicule  while  shie 
fancies  herself  the  admired  of  all  observers.  The 
drama  has  its  farce  ; — why  not  the  Arts  ?  To  require 
that  the  farce  of  architecture  should  be  intentional 
would  be  absurd  : — if  it  be  required  at  all,  it  can 
only  be  expected  from  the  serious  efforts  of  pretending 
ignorance  ;  and  the  sterling  merit  of  the  circumstance 
is  simply  this,  that  both  parties,  both  laugher  and 
laughee,  are  honestly  entertained  ;  the  latter,  under 
a  grave  sense  of  his  importance,  and  the  former  as 
truly  appreciating  the  humour  of  that  gravity. 

The  stickler  to  attic  propriety  would  say  thus  : — 
"  Let  no  man  emulate  the  honors  of  a  Greek  portico, 
who  cannot  aifbrd  to  make  it  so  high,  as  that  he  may 
pass  under  it  without  endangering  the  crown  of  his 
hat,  or  the  aspiring  ribbands  of  his  wife's  bonnet: 
nor  let  him  ever  dream  that  his  Doric  columns  will 
answer  in  effect,  while  the  circumference  oi'  their 
bodies  is  exceeded  by  the  rotundity  of  his  own.''       V 


60       SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 

Oh  !  say  not  so.  The  enforcement  of  such  a  law 
would  leave  us  nothing  to  laugh  at.  The  constant 
contemplation  of  Parthenons  and  York  Minsters 
would  make  us  particular  and  rigid  in  our  tastes. 
We  should  all  stiffen  into  Cari/atides,  or  sit  "  like 
our  grandsires,  cut  in  alabaster." 

At  all  events — if  these  drolleries  are  found  to  be 
bad  in  principle,  let  not  the  operative  party  be 
attacked.  If  the  carpenter  be  allowed  opportunities 
for  exercising  the  art  of  design,  as  well  as  that  of 
joinery,  he  only  does  as  most  of  us  would  do  in  the 
same  situation.  As  long  as  he,  with  a  very  little 
taste,  has  yet  more  than  his  employer,  can  we  wonder 
at  the  patronage  he  receives  ?  While  the  members 
of  our  Universities  remain  ignorant  of  the  common 
principles  of  Art,  can  we  be  surprised  at  the  thriving 
condition  of  quackery  ?  It  is  not  the  cunning  of  the 
carpenter,  but  the  apathy  of  the  carpentered  that  is 
culpable.  While  there  are  no  professors  at  Oxford 
and  Cambridge,  we  must  expect  the  assumption  of 
professorship  m  the  builder's  shop. 

I  am  curious  to  know  the  professed  purpose  of 
the  Architectural  Society  just  established  in  Exeter 
Hall.  To  say  the  least,  it  must  be  desirable  as  a 
conversazione  ;  agreeable  and  instructive  to  real  pro- 
fessors:  but,  if  its  members  be  wholly  professional, 
its  good  effects  will  be  limited.  Nothing  in  the  least 
depreciatory  is  intended  to  it,  as  a  society  per  se ; 
but,  as  far  as  the  great  cause  of  Art  is  concerned,  we 
want — not  a  congregation  of  architects,  but  an  archi- 
tect with  a  congregation.  Perhaps  in  a  forthcoming 
number  of  the  Magazine  of  the  Fine  Arts,  we  shall 
be  informed  as  to  its  constitution  :  whether  it  is  to 
be  regarded,  as  "  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness," 
wherein  we  seek  for  that  true  appreciation,  which 
the  barren  world  around  has  failed  to  afford  :  or 
whether  we  are  to  support  it  as  the  centre  of  an 
expansive  system,  which  is  to  be  governed  by  its 
attraction,  and  illumined  by  its  radiance. 

The  political  importance  of  this  kingdom  has  flour- 
ished— not  in  the  peculiar  talents  of  our  statesmen 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.       61 

— but  in  that  regard  for  political  economy  which 
has  pervaded  the  more  enlightened  of  our  gentr5^ 
When  the  science  becomes  more  thoroughly  known 
to  them,  and  pervading  also  among  all  classes,  then 
will  England's  importance  become  still  more  impor- 
tant. So  is  it  with  the  Arts.  The  enlightenment  of 
the  general  pubHc  is  the  measure  required  ;  and,  to 
this  end,  we  may  hope,  that,  for  every  architect  in 
the  Architectural  Society,  we  may  have  a  hundred 
educated  gentlemen.  These  remarks  are  of  course 
directed  to  those  who  cannot  enjoy  the  mirth  of  that 
quackery  to  which  the  former  part  of  this  sketch 
alluded.  There  may  be  some  who  would  grieve  to 
find  out,  when  too  late,  the  ridiculous  aspect  of  the 
houses  they  have  built,  or  the  pictures  they  have 
purchased.  ^*  Where  ignorance  is  bliss,  't  is  folly, 
&c." — the  proverb  is  somewhat  musty.  There  may 
be  others,  who  would  become  bitter  under  the  dis- 
covery ;  and  then,  in  Christian  charity,  we  should  be 
obliged  to  withhold  our  laughter.  Awakened  to  a 
sense,  that  they  are  living — not  in  houses — but  in 
cabinets — they  would  fret  under  the  idea,  that  they 
themselves  might  be  regarded  as  curiosities  ! 

Gently,  then,  let  any  desired  reform  be  brought 
about.  Do  not  at  once,  deprive  the  mistaken  of 
their  happiness,  and  the  informed  of  their  food  for 
mirth — If  the  regular  architect  get  into  universal 
favor,  the  nation  will  become  severely  dignified.  We 
shall  possibly  make  our  neighbours  stare  with  admi- 
ration ;  but  "  Laughter  "  will  no  longer  "  hold  both 
her  sides  "  in  merry  England. 


62 

FUNEREAL    SKETCHES,    No.  XXXI. 

SOLDIER'S     DIRGE. 

Rally  !     Let  their  hot  ranks  know 
They  have  found  a  Parthian  foe — 
And  our  deep  mouthed  clarions  ring 
On — for  England  and  her  king. 

On  !     The  flashing  sabre's  stroke 
Lights  us  through  the  battle's  smoke : — 
Spears  are  gleaming  at  each  breast. 
Falchions  redden  on  each  crest ; 
And  our  every  petronel 
Works  its  bidding  deadly  well. 

Thou  hast  found  a  troubled  bier, 
'Neath  our  hoofs,  brave  cuirassier  ! 
Long  must  wait  thy  gentle  mate — 
Spinning  at  her  cottage  gate, 
With  thy  first-born  on  her  knee- 
Wait  for  Love's  return  and  thee. 
,    Is  thy  orphan  child  more  dear 
Widow  of  the  cuirassier  ? 

Kings  have  read  it,  serfs  can  vouch 
Honour  is  a  gory  couch. 
Kings,  the  pageant  and  the  hearse, 
And  the  herald  with  his  verse; 
And  ^e  anthem  and  the  priest 
Lay  in  consecrated  rest* 
Where  the  battle's  lost  and  won, 
While  the  war  dust  hides  the  sun  ; 
Sounds  the  volley  ;  rings  the  steel ; 
Lances  glitter;  squadrons  wheel — 
All  their  death  work  madly  urge  ; 
There  is  heard  the  Soldier's  dirge. 


63 
No.  XXXII.— THE    CROSS    WAYS. 

Why  doth  the  traveller  linger  yet? 

Why  shun  to  pass  over  the  moor  ? 
The  moon  is  up,  though  the  sun  be  set 

That  should  light  him  to  his  door. 

There  's  nothing  to  fear  from  the  Will  o*  wisp, — 

No  harm,  though  the  sheep-dog  bays, 
■  And  the  low  dull  sound  and  the  light  on  the  ground 
Draw  his  steps  to  the  four  cross  ways. 

But  pray  for  the  lady  buried  there ; 

She  sleeps  on  the  lonely  wild, 
And  might  not  lie  with  the  good  who  die 

Though  the  coroner  w^as  her  child. 

They  have  made  her  a  grave  in  unhallowed  ground, 
And  Heaven  !  how  it  makes  one  quake, 

To  see,  instead  of  the  stone  at  her  head, 
On  her  bosom  the  rifted  stake. 


A      PIC      NIC. 

Continued  from  page  24. 

*^Mrs.  Allington,"  her  husband  answered  gravely,  "  it  is  long 
since  I  ventured  to  have  a  voice  in  such  matters.  You  may  still 
do,  as  I  believe  you  will  own  you  have  ever  done,  pretty  much 
as  you  like,  respecting  your  own  amusements ;  but  I  must  be 
permitted  at  least  a  remark,  when  I  see  my  girls  put  into  disad- 
vantageous positions,  and  made  to  form  indiscreet  intimacies. 
In  the  first  place,  you  must  know  I  have  no  particular  fondness 
for  your  pic  nics,  Mrs.  Allington ;  they  are  generally  (forgive  me) 
apt  to  be  composed  of  good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  which  you  will 
allow  to  be  odds,  my  dear,  of  just  two  to  one  in  favor  of  not 
very  desirable  society.  (Be  kind  enough,  my  love,  to  hear  me 
out.)  They  generally  end  in  a  romp;  and  I  have  as  yet  never 
seen  any  remarkable  advantage  accrue  from  the  practice  of  romping 
among  grown  people.  (One  word  more,  and  I  have  done.)  I 
think  that  you  said  your  new  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Eglantine,  was 
to  have  the  direction  of  your  party." 


64  A    PIC    NIC. 

"Well!  '^  said  Mrs.  Allington,  "now  you  have  done." 

"  No,  I  have  n't." 

"Yes,  you  have;  and  now  hear  my  reply.  As  for  romping, 
oh,  Mr.  A.,  how  often  have  I  been  obliged  to  tell  you,  you  know 
nothing  at  all  about  it;  and  as  for  my  new  acquaintance,  as  you 
choose  to  call  Mrs.  Eglantine,  she  happens  to  be  my  very  dear 
friend;  a  young,  innocent,  interesting,  unprotected  widow,  whose 
situation  is  singularly  romantic.  A  husband,  whom  she  adored, 
left  her,  for  his  health,  to  travel  in  Italy.  He  was  taken  by 
banditti,  robbed  and  murdered — poor  little  sufferer !  she  looks 
up  to  me  for  direction.  Indeed,  my  chief  object  in  giving  a  party 
at  all,  next  to  showing  my  own  girls,  is  to  find  some  amusement 
for  that  dear  little  woman  who  never  means  to  take  off  her  mourning 
(how  well  she  looks  in  it !),  and,  if  she  had  her  own  way,  would 
shut  herself  up  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  She  is  too  young  to  do  it, 
Mr.  A ." 

"  Nor  does  she  do  it,  Mrs.  A.  All  the  officers  from  the  barracks 
at  B.  go  tame  about  her  house.  There  is  the  German  colonel, 
Baron  Oldmansogle,  with  the  white  whiskers,  and  the  red-headed 
Irish  riding-master,  Macgillycuddy,  with  the  black  whiskers,  and 
bald  Lieutenant  Coot,  with  the  false  whiskers,  and  Cornet 
Macassar,  with  the  little  whisker  on  his  under-lip,  and  Comet 
Rosebud,  with  no  whiskers  at  all,  and  there  is " 

"Poor,  dear,  little,  injured,  disconsolate  creature!"  whined 
Mrs.  Allington,  in  interruption  of  the  muster-roll.  "  Oh,  Mr.  A., 
you  know  not  your  own  ingratitude ;  she  does  that  merely  to 
oblige  you  and  me — (as  for  those  pretty,  pretty  moustaches,  by 
the  way,  I  can  only  vow  and  protest  I  hope  we  may  never  have  a 
king  of  this  country  whp  will  have  the  barbarity  to  cut  them  off, 
and  make  those  dear  officers  look  like  mere  Englishmen.)  Her 
house  is  one  of  the  few  where  our  girls  can  make  a  new  acquain- 
tance, and  for  their  sakes  she  does  admit  these  pleasing  persons 
of  a  morning." 

"  She  admits  that  dissapated  boy  of  a  lord  of  an  evening," 
said  Mr.  Allington,  drily. 

"  She  does,"  returned  the  lady ;  "  but,  as  you  say,  he  is  but  a 
boy.  She  protects  the  poor  young  man ;  she  sees  him  entering 
an  evil  world  exposed  to  temptations:  she  makes  him  occupy 
his  time;  she  gives  him  good  advice ;  she  gives  him  good  books  : 
he  is  safe  when  at  Eglantine  Bower.  And,  to  tell  you  the 
honest  truth  (but  do  not  compromise  us),  she  and  I  think  he  will 
do  for  our  Adey.     And  now  you  have  the  whole  secret :  I  am  to 


A    PIC    NIC.  65 

give  a  pic  nic.  Mrs.  Eglantine  will  bring  Lord  D.,  and  you 
must  ask  the  other  officers  from  B.  barracks." 

"  I  '11  see  B.  barracks  and  all  the  officers  at  the " 

"For  shame,  for  shame,  Mr.  A. !  "  interrupted  his  helpmate. 

"  I  '11  be  hanged  first !  "  proceeded  honest  John,  out  of  all 
patience ;  and  his  helpmate  was  silent ;  "  and  I  '11  write  by  this 
day's  post  to  Lord  D.'s  guardians ;  and  I  '11  tell  them  what  I 
think  of  the  widow  Eglantine ;  and  I  '11  speak  with  my  dear 
Adey  my  own  self," — and  slap  went  the  door. 

"  Stop,  stop ! "  roared  his  helpmate ;  but  her  far  better  half 
was  far  beyond  her  voice,  or  deaf  to  it.  "  Go,  then,"  continued 
she,  "  for  an  old  obstinate  fool,  with  your  stupid,  troublesome 
honesty.  I  'm  not  afraid.  The  guardians  are  both  abroad : 
France — Italy. — My  pic  nic ; — I  '11  hurry  it. — Sir  James  Burton 
— not  married  yet ! — here — Adey! — Maria  ! — where  are  you? — 
^  Get  some  pink  note-paper  and  blue  sealing-wax  directly — out  of 
the  perfumed  case, — and  come  to  my  boudoir  to  write  invitations." 

And  so  the  pic  nic  was  launched.  And  there  's  the  first  half 
of  my  story.  I  have  an  invincible  repugnance  to  a  long  story,  and 
therefore  I  have  given  a  long  dialogue,  which  tells  the  story 
rather  more  glibly  than  I  could  have  done.  But  what  remains 
must  needs  be  narrated  in  the  style  called  the  pure  historical; — 
heaven  help  me ! 

Now  might  it  not  be  reasonable  to  conclude  that  the  good  man's 
objections  were  treated  with  a  little  respect  in  the  course  of  the 
arrangements — that  the  widow  and  the  young  lord,  at  least,  and 
perhaps  a  few  of  the  officers  from  B.  barracks  were  surrendered, 
however  reluctantly,  as  a  peace-offering  to  the  master  of  the 
feast  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Mrs.  AUington  was  one  of  those  strong- 
minded  ladies  who  act  on  principle,  and  who  owe  it  to  their 
consciences  and  to  themselves  (and  very  punctual  they  are  in 
those  payments),  to  do  to  the  full  all  that  their  strong  minds  tell 
them  ought  to  be  done,  at  no  matter  what  sacrifice  of  others* 
feelings,  to  mark  their  discountenance  of  opinions  they  disapprove. 
So  the  invitations  were  sent,  and  accepted.  Few  could  refuse 
Mrs.  AUington.  Mrs.  Eglantine  was  consulted  daily,  hourly; 
Adelaide  was  sent  backwards  and  forwards  with  hints  and 
suggestions;  and,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  it  was  voted  a 
wonder  by  the  widow  that  Miss  AUington  had  been  allowed  to 
walk  alone  from  AUington  Park  to  Eglantine  Bower,  and  so 
Lord  D.  walked  back  with  her  from  Eglantine  Bower  to  AUington 
Park.  I  saw  the  whole  game.  I  watched  Mrs.  Allingiou  with 
VOL.  v.— 1835.  I 


6'6  A    PU     NIC. 

all  the  keenness  of  deep  dislike,  and  vowed  the  discomfiture  of 
her.  My  own  conscience  had  been  seared  from  the  moment  at 
which  I  heard  her  confess  the  countless  meannesses  she  had 
been  guilty  of,  aggravated,  perhaps,  in  my  estimation,  by  the 
seduction  she  had  practised  upon  tlie  virtue  of  my  confidential 
Swiss,  and  by  the  punishment  she  had  inflicted  upon  my  vice  of 
listening,  and  I  now  resolved  upon  setting  my  wits  fairly  against 
hers.  Fairly,  did  I  say  ? — No !  By  all  means,  fair,  and  the 
reverse.  To  abet  in  whatever  could  annoy  and  expose  her ;  to 
listen  and  peep  wherever  an  occasion  should  present  itself,  and 
even  to  betray  her  without  ruth  or  remorse,  should  it  ever  happen 
to  suit  my  convenience.  It  is  astonishing  to  one  who  has  ever 
made  it  his  amiable  occupation,  how  short  a  time  will  acquaint 
one  with  all  the  whites  and  blacks  of  a  vain  and  ambitious  heart, 
and  with  the  game  which  skilful  players,  who  have  a  stake  in  it, 
may  play,  for  their  own  advantage  or  amusement,  on  that  che- 
quered board.  Vain  and  ambitious  was  the  heart  of  Mrs. 
Allington,  and  a  verj-  few  days'  private  practice  enabled  me  to 
thoroughly  dissect,  anatomize,  and  lecture  upon,  it.  Thought, 
design,  suspicion,  all,  all  were  laid  bare  to  me,  before  she,  in 
whom  they  rose,  sunk,  and  rankled,  was  aware  of  even  their 
existence.  I  had  little  leisure  to  speculate  upon  the  acts  of  the  rest 
of  the  family,  or  to  resolve  them  to  their  hidden  motives.  Yet  I 
was  angry  with  Adelaide.  Her  heart  had  suddenly  become  to 
me  a  sealed  book  ;  and  (hang  it !)  as  is  the  case  with  many  wiser 
men  in  greater  affairs,  I  mystified  myself  by  looking  too  deep  for 
what  I  have  since  had  reason  to  believe  lay  very  much  on  the 
surface.  She  seemed  to  allow  herself  to  be  played  upon  in  ways 
which  to  me,  who  knew  her  good  sense,  and,  above  all,  who 
knew  her  large  share  of  that  on  which  all  good  sense  is  founded, 
good  feeling,  were  quite  unintelligible.  Her  good  humour  was 
impenetrable.  She  smiled  without  distinction  or  measure  on  all 
the  world;  even  on  young  Lord  D.  But  I  was  absolutely  mad 
with  honest  John.  There  he  sat  in  his  great  leathern  chair,  with 
his  younger  children  crowding  round  him  and  climbing  over  him, 
amusing  himself  with  their  babble,  and  seemingly  deaf  and  blind 
16  all  the  politics  of  his  indefatigable  wife,  and  of  Lord  D.,  who 
flirted  with  his  daughter  before  his  very  face,  and  of  the  widow 
Eglantine,  who  came  every  day  to  dinner.  A  stranger,  who 
knew  nothing  about  it,  would  have  said,  "  How  Mr.  Allington 
does  enjoy  Mrs.  Allington's  preparations  for  one  of  her  delightful 
pic  nics ! " 


A    PIC    NIC.  67 

And  so  the  day  arrived  on  which  Mrs.  Allington  was  to  make 
her  grand  display  of  hospitality,  taste,  and  daughters.  The  morn- 
ing was  fine,  "  the  day  unclouded,  the  earth  all  verdure,  and  the 
sky  all  song,"  as  Sir  Naniby  Pamby  improvised,  who  had  occu- 
pied himself  through  a  whole  wet  St.  Swithin's  in  composing  this 
delicious  sentence.  In  short,  "had  Mrs.  Allington  selected  it 
out  of  all  the  days  of  the  year,"  as  old  Mrs.  Emery  laboured  to 
tell  her,  whose  trade  it  was  to  brighten  all  things,  "  she  could  not 
have  made  a  more  favourable  choice.'^  The  same  laudatory  lady 
was  heard  to  declare — "That  Mrs.  Allington  was  the  most 
fortunate  of  women ;  not  only  in  having  the  finest  days  for  her 
parties  (although  that  alone  was  a  great  blessing),  but  in  every- 
thing. She  had  the  best  and  easiest  husband  in  the  world,  and 
nobody's  daughters  were  so  popular;  she  was  sure  to  get  rid  of 
them.  All  she  undertook  succeeded  to  her  utmost  wish.  Who 
but  Mrs.  Allington,  in  that  scanty  neighbourhood,  could  have 
assembled  so  many  people  ?  and  such  good  society  too  !  All 
B.  barracks  !  and,  besides  Mr.  Wortly  the  great  brewer,  and  Sir 
Twaddly  Maresnest,  the  colonial  judge,  she  had  herself  counted 
at  one  time,  five  baronets,  and  two  lords,  young  Lord  D.,  and 
old  Lord  E. !  " 

Mrs.  Allington  w^as  indeed  a  lady  eminently  qualified  to  give 
effect  to  the  social  principle.  Happiness,  according  to  Byron, 
was  born  a  twin.  Happiness,  according  to  Mrs.  Allington,  lives 
in  an  Omnibus. 

The  festivities  began  with  an  excursion  to  a  very  romantic  spot, 
only  four  miles  from  Allington  Park.  Here  an  old  ivied  castle 
lingered  in  the  last,  the  longest,  and  most  picturesque  stage  of 
its  being,  repaying  with  its  beautiful  frowns  the  lady  of  Allington, 
who  had  not  failed,  by  judicious  props  and  repairs,  to  stay  the 
dilapidations  of  time  and  wintry  weather  among  her  favorite  ruins. 
A  low  rough  range,  of  modern  growth,  nestled  under  its  walls. 
This  was  built,  in  good  unobtrusive  taste,  out  of  fragments  of 
the  fallen  parts,  and  clinging,  like  a  faithful  nursling  to  the 
ancient  pile,  served  to  buttress  with  its  kindred  strength  the 
shelter  of  the  parental  roof.  It  formed  too  rooms.  One  spacious 
enough  for  a  large  party  to  dine  in.  The  other  a  sort  of  boudoir. 
I  cannot  tell  what  that  was  fit  for;  there  was  scarcely  room  for 
more  than  two  persons.  A  lawn  of  fine  turf  was  kept  short  and 
smooth  as  velvet  for  dancing ;  and,  at  a  small  distance,  concealed 
by  an  intervening  wood,  was  a  farm-house,  which  afforded  can- 
tonments and  picketings  for  grooms  and  horses. 


68  A     PIC    NIC. 

The  company  had  been  invited  to  meet  at  the  ruins  by  two 
o'  clock,  there  to  open  the  solemnities  with  a  sort  of  meal,  which 
is  on  the  cards  of  fashionable  people  expressed  by  four  emphatic 
French  words,  signifying  that  one  is  expected  to  eat  not  with 
one's  fingers  only.  **  \\  ar  to  the  knife!"  was  the  memorable 
exclamation  of  the  defenders  of  Saragossa :  *'  Breakfast  to  the 
furk  !  "  was  the  no  less  determined  proposal  of  Mrs.  AUington. 
Each  lady  had  provided,  as  directed,  one  cold  dish  ;  each  gentle- 
man two  bottles  of  wine.  Intemperately  proportioned  feast ! 
Of  course  all  the  usual  calamities  happened,  were  lamented,  and 
straightway  subsided  into  jest.  There  was  a  remarkable  prepon- 
derance of  pigeon  pies ;  hams  were  seen,  a  scarcely  less  stupendous 
assemblage,  pointing  at  each  other  through  their  paper  ruffles, 
from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  table;  "every  leaf  had  a 
tongue,"  (as  a  living  poet  says) ;  and  there  was  a  **  beggarly 
account,"  (as  an  immortal  one  says),  of  countervailing  chickens. 
Salad,  salt,  and  bread,  had  been  forgotten,  and  all  the  wine  was 
champaign.  But  Mrs.  AUington  had  thought  of  ever)'  thing. 
Deficiencies  were  allowed  to  appear  only  as  long  as  they  were 
voted  a  good  joke,  and  presently  all  were  repaired  from  an 
unexpected  depot  at  the  farm ;  and  honest  John's  wines  had  as 
good  a  flavour,  and  were  in  as  great  variety  and  plenty,  amougst 
the  ruins  as  at  his  own  hospitable  board  at  AUington  Park. 

While  Mrs.  AUington  was  playing  the  "most  kind  hostess"  to 
all,  all  were  variously  engaged.  Many  in  their  own  little  busi- 
nesses ;  more  on  the  little  businesses  of  others.  Some  speculating 
on  the  largest  and  solemnest  considerations  of  county  politics; 
many  making  matches  for  their  neighbours,  a  few  making 
matches  for  tliemselves.  While  at  a  side  table,  and  happy  in 
their  convivial  seclusion,  sat  the  colonial  judge,  with  Mr.  Docet 
the  tutor  and  Mr.  Proseit  the  curate,  making  common  cause  in 
a  reversionary  pigeon  pie,  with  the  next  presentation  of  a  peregaux 
in  prospect,  and  an  actual  incumbency  over  three  long-necked 
bottles,  which  stood,  unnoticed  of  the  multitude,  in  a  corner. 
Not  far  off.  Doctor  Shudderpool,  M.  D.,  smit  with  the  horrid 
mysteries  of  the  Regent  Street  Solar  Microscope,  and  solicitous 
equally  for  the  general  health  and  for  his  own,  was  occupied  in 
passing  through  a  process  of  purification  the  water  of  a  beauteous 
spring  which  bubbled  by,  and  which  came  improved  from  Mr. 
George  Robins'  smallest-sized  patent  royal  filter,  which  costs 
but  1/.  5s.,  and  "renders  crystal  the  worst  water,  at  the  rate  of 
twelve  gallons  per  day."      Of  the  other  sex,    crouching  in  an 


A    PIC    NIC.  69 

ivied  window,  and  single,  as  she  long  had  lived,  sat  Lady 
Venena  Adderly,  compounding  pencil  notes  for  a  descriptive 
letter  to  Poet  Peeper,  who  furnished  lampoons  to  a  Sunday 
paper.     "  Memoranda  of  some  of  the  voted  pretty  persons. — The 

three  Miss  S s,  crooked  in  three  different  ways  (deformity 

voted  a  petite  figure.)  Miss  W.  a  beard  (voted  a  duvet  or  shade.) 
And  little  red  Miss  T.  (voted  auburn,  and  like  Jane  Shore)  runs 
about  chattering  like  a  magpie  that  has  finished  its  education  in 
the  back  yard  of  an  ill-managed  boarding  school."  Thus  wrote 
this  detestable  woman  ;  for,  in  my  character  of  overlooker  as  well 
as  overhearer,  I  stood  behind  the  window  at  which  she  drove  her 
abominable  trade. 

But  let  us  turn  to  happier  parts  of  the  scene.  Eating,  drinking, 
laughing,  syllabubing  under  the  cow,  and  dancing,  occupied  the 
time  till  dusk.  Then  the  whole  party  adjourned  to  Allington 
Park,  to  spend  the  evening  and  beguile  the  niglit,  amidst  the 
varied  charms  of  tea,  music,  supper,  more  dancing,  fireworks, 
and  moon-Jit  rambles. 

And  you,  Mrs.  Allington,  you  were  a  prosperous  gentlewoman  ! 
Every  thing  went  on  according  to  your  fondest  wish.  The 
realities  of  the  present  hour,  the  prospects  of  an  indistinct  future, 
all,  all  were  of  the  rosiest  rose-colour.  At  the  dawn  of  this 
auspicious  day  your  looks  had  commerced  with  the  opening 
uncertain  sky.  Hope  was  then  balanced  by  fear  on  your  careful 
brow.  But,  when  you  had  thought  and  rethought,  reviewed 
your  mines,  and  in  fancy  baffled  the  countermines  of  the  foe, 
and  with  wonderous  skill  had  placed  and  ordered  every  thing 
and  every  body  to  your  own  liking,  then^  in  your  meridian  joy, 
did  there  seem  a  rivalry  between  the  broad  sun  and  your  expanded 
countenance,  which  should  shine  the  brighter,  and  spread  the 
greater  gladness  around. 

And  Mrs.  Eglantine  took  possession  of  old  Lord  E.,  and  gave 
her  chaperonage  to  Adelaide  and  young  Lord  D.  Miss  Carleton, 
whose  marriage  was  fixed  for  the  following  day,  sent  an  excuse ; 
but  she  sent  it  by  the  hands  of  her  intended.  Sir  James  Burton, 
who  was  never  known  to  absent  himself  from  an  occasion  of 
good  eating  and  drinking.  It  is  important  to  mention,  as  it  was 
much  remarked  upon,  that,  whether  out  of  civility  to  the  hostess, 
or  out  of  pure  carelessness,  or  for  some  other  reason,  and  many 
were  the  probable  reasons  that  underwent  discussion.  Sir  James 
Burton  did  actually  offer,  and  some  did  say  with  a  significant 
look,  his  arm  for  the  day  to  Miss  Maria  Allington. 


70  A  PIC  NIC. 

The  concerns  of  the  rest  of  the  company  were  soon  arranged, 
and  apparently  to  general  satisfaction ;  for  the  majority  were 
pleased  and  who  ever  cared  for  the  feelings  of  a  minority  ?  Who 
had  leisure  to  attend  to  the  history  of  a  pouting  quiverincr  lip,  or 
an  anxious  wandering  eye  ?  I  was  one,  probably  of  the  very 
few,  sufficiently  disengaged  to  admit  the  consciousness  that 
such  things  were.  There  is  a  forward  communicativeness  in  Joy 
which  ever  makes  it  seen. — It  is  at  once  known  by  its  mien  from 
every  thing  but  what  it  is;  it  looks  around  for  sharers,  and 
(thank  Heaven  !)  seldom  looks  in  vain ;  while  Disappointment 
hangs  back  from  the  crowd,  is  doomed  often  to  be  mistaken  for 
moroseness  or  for  petulance,  and  never  to  find  a  willing  sympa- 
thy. In  the  rear  of  even  this  merry  party  there  were  looks,  and 
I  saw  them,  which  bore  no  testimony  to  Mrs.  Emery's  repeated 
declaration,  that  "  every  creature  there  fnust  be  pleased  and  satis- 
fied." Alas  !  this  was  not  assented  to  by  the  poor,  timid,  mor- 
tified girl,  who,  in  her  desertedness,  sees  one  whom  she  expected 
(perhaps  very  tenderly  wished)  to  be  her  partner,  laughing, 
shrieking,  and  whisking  with  another;  while  deep  and  cankering 
envy  of  the  blue-bodiced  rival  who  has  displaced  her,  and  perhaps 
as  deep  resentment  against  Mrs.  Allington  for  the  thwarting 
officiousness  of  an  ill-timed  introduction,  now  first  found  entrance 
into  her  hitherto  peaceful  bosom. — Ay,  now  for  the  first  time. 
But  who  shall  say  that  the  malignant  passions  of  such  a  day  will 
cease  with  the  exciting  cause  ?  And  who  shall  say  that  the  home 
of  that  pensive  husband  will  ever  again  shine  upon  him  as  it  did 
before,  sad  man,  with  nods,  and  winks,  and  becks,  he  dissented 
from  the  proposal  of  his  pretty  vain  wife,  to  tike  a  seat  in  that 
phaeton  to  Allington  Park  ?  Of  small  account  were  nods,  and 
winks,  and  becks,  when  weighed  against  such  considerations  as 
a  phaeton,  a  bearded  captain,  and  his  wild  horses,  acting  on  a 
mind  already  heated  with  waltzing  and  champaign.  And  who 
will  assert  that  old  Mr.  Creeper,  whom  a  rheumatic  gout  had 
imprisoned  at  home,  really  felt  the  obligations  he  expressed  to 
Mr.  H.,  of  the  Priory,  for  his  special  care  of  little  Mrs.  Creeper, 
who  was  never  known  to  take  care  of  herself .'  And  small  com- 
fort was  it  to  him  that  Mrs.  H.,  of  the  Priory,  in  a  fit  of  what 
might  be  mistaken  for  jealousy,  bestowed  her  company,  and  all 
the  smiles  she  could  summon,  upon  that  dissipated  wretch  Mr. 
G.  of  the  Deanery. 

But  let  us  leave  the  melancholy  minority.  lieioumons  a 
yious  moutons. — "  Look  at  that  dear  interesting  creature  !     Look 


A    PIC    NIC.  71 

at  Mrs.  Eglantine,"  said  our  hostess.  "  How  lovely  she  is ! 
Whose  appearance  but  hers  could  stand  it  in  that  deep,  deep 
mourning  ?  How  kindly  she  forces  her  spirits  and  strength  to 
aid  to  make  our  little  projtt  agreeable  !  I  never  can  be  suffici- 
ently grateful ! ''  Mrs.  Eglantine  did  indeed  seem  to  justify 
these  praises,  and  merit  this  gratitude.  There  she  sat,  in  weeds ; 
weeds  of  grace  indeed  !  Acid  who,  if  that  were  mourning,  could 
ever  regret  to  see  the  loveliest  of  that  sex  in  the  garb  of  grief  ?  it 
looked  so  like  joy.  Sweet  is  the  weeping  willow,  when  all  its 
long,  graceful  leaves  are  laughing  and  dancing  in  the  brisk  and 
buxom  breeze,  and,  in  their  turn,  stooping  to  sweep  into  dimples 
the  river  that  flows  by.  Sweet  the  sunbeam  that  glimmers  and 
sports  through  the  glades  of  the  cypress  grove  ;  and  sweet  the 
window  of  the  privileged  Jarrin*,  where,  during  the  hours  of 
divine  service,  or  the  season  of  a  more  general  mourning  than 
that  of  Mrs.  Eglantine,  between  the  half-closed  shutters,  symbols 
at  once  of  interdicted  traffic,  or  of  decent  woe,  is  seen  the  wonted 
display  of  gewgaws  and  of  sweets — the  confectionary,  the  flowers, 
the  alabaster,  the  mirror,  and  the  plateau.  So  the  widow  ;  for 
here  and  there,  through  a  smiling  crevice  of  the  sober  black, 
might  yet  be  spied  the  lurking  locket  and  the  glittering  gem, 
memorials,  haply,  of  him  she  mourns,  but  yet  which,  blending  in 
kindest  union  with  some  recent  tribute  from  the  hand  of  living 
friendship,  say,  or  seem  to  say,  that  bosom  is  not  yet  a  desert  in 
the  midst  of  a  world  which  its  mistress  is  born  to  enjoy  and  to 
adorn. 

There  she  sat,  "  as  ladies  wish  to  be  who  love  their  lords,'^ 
placed  between  two  of  them,  and  ministering  to  each  with  a 
pretty  equal  grace ;  although  I  fancied  I  could  read  a  meaning 
in  the  glance  she,  not  rarely,  cast  upon  the  younger  of  the  two, 
amid  his  attentions  to  her  inseparable  Adelaide  AUington. 

To  be  concluded  in  the  next  number. 


*  To  whom  is  the  shop  of  Jarrin,  prince  of  confectioners,  New  Bond  Street, 
and  to  whom  are  the  comely  dimensions  of  Madame  Jarrin,  at  whom  a  man 
once  fired  a  pistol,  through  pure  love  and  a  pane  of  glass,  unknown  ?  Of  all 
the  confectionary  wonders  ever  presented  to  the  eye,  the  most  admirable  ever 
seen  was  that  which  attracted  crowds  to  Jarrin's  window  all  last  winter.  A 
billowy  sea  of  sugar,  which  it  scared  the  stoutest  heart  to  look  upon,  and  a 
boat,  and  a  lighthouse,  and  a  rock,  whereupon  stood  "  the  noblest  work  of  God, 
an  honest  man,"  rather  larger  than  the  lighthouse,  which  I  suppose  was  right, 
but  much  larger  than  the  boat  which  brought  him  there,  which  I  think  was 
wrong. 


72 

CASTALIAN     HOURS. 

The  following  sonnets  are  extracted  from  "  Castalian 
Hours."  We  need  not  apologize  to  those  who  have 
read  them  for  their  re-appearance  here ; — no  one  who 
has  perused  them  once  will  fail  to  welcome  them 
again. 

Those  who  now  read  them  for  the  first  time  will 
probably  be  induced  to  look  into  the  volume  from 
which  we  have  taken  them.  If  these  sonnets  be 
considered  as  breathing  exalted  feeling  and  pure  sen- 
timent, we  can  assure  the  reader  that  the  remainder 
of  the  work  is  not  inferior  to  the  little  sample  now 
before  him. 

We  allude  to  "  Castalian  Hours  "  with  the  more 
gratification,  as  the  authoress  is  one  of  our  many 
Western  Worthies. 

SUMMER     EVENING. 

"  There  is  no  breath  of  discord  in  the  air; 

No  tints,  but  those  of  glory,  on  the  sky; — 
It  is  a  summer  sunset !  where  all  fair 

And  lovely  things  before  our  vision  lie ; 

From  the  half-sliadowed  earth — to  where  on  high 
The  mingling  of  all  colors,  rich  and  rare, 

And  deep  or  bright,  is  softening  on  our  eye  : 
Who  thus  can  view  them,  nor  beholding  share 

The  influence  of  their  beauty  ?     N\'hen  the  sod, 
With  its  wild  flowers,  is  sweetest,  and  the  breeze 
Floats  like  a  whispered  music  through  the  trees, 

In  melody  of  joy?     Oh  who  hath  trod 
Such  scene,  nor  felt  his  spirit  soar  from  these, 

In  silent  worship  to  the  Living  God  ?" 


SONNET. 

"Ye  places  of  deep  solitude — whereto 
I  wander,  as  the  Magian  did,  who  sought 
Majestic  Nature's  volume,  ever  fraught 

With  power  the  pondering  spirit  to  renew : 

I  too  have  read  those  pages  bright — I  too 
Studied  all  forms  around  me,  with  a  thought 
Of  fervent  contemplation,  which  hath  taught 

Unuttered  things,  their  tablets  only  do. 


CASTALIAN    HOURS.  *  73 

Oh  would  I  might  my  soul  unto  ye  knit 

For  aye,  and  make  its  essence  as  serene 
As  ye  are,  and,  where  sin-worn  visions  flit, 

Image  a  brighter  and  more  potent  scene; 
Calming  the  wearied  heart,  as  soothly  it  ^    ^-  -. 

Should  shun  the  world  that,  hath  its  sojourn  beenrf*^  bB91 


SONNET. 

"  There  is  an  inborn  beauty  in  the  Mind, 

Which  they  alone  can  contemplate,  who  know 
To  read  the  book  of  Spirits,  and  who  find 

Delight  to  mark  how  thoughts  and  feelings  flow 
O'er  the  wide  waste  of  life,  and  on  it  trace 

Green  tracks  of  freshness, — leaves  and  buds  that  grow 
Lovelier  than  they  of  Paradise: — Who  chase 

Those  torrents  and  wild  cataracts,  that  throw 
Their  towery  forms  to  heaven ; — then  darkly  rest 

Again  within  their  channel,  and  there  lie 
Voiceless  and  viewless  !  for  the  human  breast 

Is  as  a  mighty  ocean ; — waves  may  fly 
O'er  its  light  sparkling  surface,  and  yet  deep^ 
.   Unseen,  unheard,  a  world  beneath  them  sleep." 


TO    THE    STARS. 

**  Ye  Stars !  that  o'er  this  solemn  midnight  glowing. 

Lighten  our  hearts  with  your  perennial  ray ; 
Ye  Stars  !  on  earth,  and  earth-worn  eyes  bestowing 

The  hallowed  joy  of  your  serener  day  :  , 

Glorious  ye  roll  along  your  wonted  way, 
Mighty  the  place  of  splendors  to  ye  given, — 

As  if  ye  should  indeed  our  being  sway. 
And  rule  low  earth  from  those  deep  vaults  of  heaven. 
Truly  might  the  Chaldean  lift  his  eye, 

And  deem  that  you  were  gods !  ye  first-born  lights 
Of  the  Eternal's  word  ;  who  thus  on  high 

Appointed  ye; — the  book  whose  page  invites 
Our  spirit — still  communing  with  the  sky. 

And  the  dark  loveliness  of  Glory's  nights!" 


SONNET. 

"  Thou  fair  bright  Heaven  !  so  beautiful  above 
This  green  expanse  of  wood,  and  vale,  and  hill, — 

How  can  we  gaze  on  your  clear  depths,  yet  love 
This  low  world,  and  its  ways  of  error  still  ? 
Plunging  our  hearts  in  night,  the  while  we  fill 

VOL.  V, — 1835.  K 


74  CASTALIAN    HOURS. 

Our  eyes  with  glory? — Can  our  spirits  be 

Worldly,  that  all  impatient  of  the  ill, 
Would  grow  into  thy  beauty  ;  and  like  thee 

Dispel  the  cloud  and  darkness,  which  the  woe, 
And  strife,  and  weakness  of  our  mortal  bent. 

Have  cast  upon  us  from  the  things  below; 
And  change  them  to  a  nobler  element, 
As  thine  is,  when  by  no  fierce  tempest  rent. 

In  majesty  of  light  thy  mansions  glow." 


/  MOUNTAIN    SCENERY. 

"Haunts  of  wild  beauty,  where  the  glowing  Mind 
Drinks  deep  the  fulness  of  some  heavenly  sense ; 

Feeling  as  if  amid  ye  were  enshrined 
The  awful  presence  of  Omnipotence. 

For  ye  are  they  among  whose  scenes  we  find 
All  faculties  absorbed  in  the  immense 
Of  mind's  dilating  powers;  still  borrowing  thence 

A  hallowed  joy — voiceless  and  undefined, 
Yet  breathing  forth  from  all.     Ye  can  divest 

The  soul  of  ail  its  earthliness,  and  raise 

High  thoughts  and  glorious  feelings,  unexpressed, 
Save  in  the  heart's  mute  worship;  wherein  best 

Speaks  the  enkindled  spirit,  which  our  gaze 
Draws  ever  nearer  to  the  Mightiest." 


SONNET. 

"  There  is  a  glory  on  the  dark  rough  hill, 

When  the  low  Sun  his  setting  radiance  throws; 
There  is  a  beauty  seems  wide  space  to  fill, 

When  the  fair  Moon  in  stainless  lustre  glows; 

There  is  a  charm  in  Summer's  mossy  rose, — 
A  music  on  the  gale,  and  in  the  rill 

That  through  its  reeds  with  bubbling  whisper  flows  :— 
There  is  a  grandeur  when  the  clouds  unfold, 
And  the  dread  Tempest's  voice  bursts  forth,  until 

Man  can  but  listen;  while  its  thunderings  rolled 

'Mid  the  torn  skies,  arouse  the  answering  Main. 
Oh  Earth !  Air !  Ocean  !  wherefore  should  we  seek 

Language,  save  yours  ? — The  Eternal's  glorious  fane, 
Where  oracles  of  Heaven  around  us  speak  !  " 


75 

TREATMENT.    OF     SLAVES     IN     CHARLESTON, 
NORTH     AMERICA. 

My  driver  was  a  free  man  of  colour.  He  gave  a 
inghtful  account  of  the  treatment  to  which  he  and 
all  the  people  of  colour,  whether  free  or  slaves,  are 
subject  in  this  State.  He  had  been  accustomed 
'  formerly  to  go  every  season  to  the  State  of  New 
York,  during  the  period  when,  owing  to  the  inhabi- 
tants leaving  the  city,  business  was  almost  at  a 
stand ;  but,  by  an  act  passed  a  few  years  ago,  it  is 
declared  that  a  free  person  of  colour  leaving  the 
State,  though  merely  crossing  the  boundary,  shall 
not  be  allowed  to  return ;  and,  as  he  has  a  wife  and 
family,  he  feels  himself  really  and  truly  a  prisoner  in 
the  State  of  South  Carolina.  The  same  law  declares 
that  it  shall  not  be  lawful  for  free  persons  of  colour 
to  come  from  another  state  into  this.  If  they  should 
be  brought  in  a  vessel,  they  are  immediately  confined 
in  gaol,  till  the  vessel  is  ready  to  proceed  to  sea, — 
the  captain  paying  the  expenses  of  their  detention. 
It  is  now  contrary  to  law  that  even  free  persons  of 
colour  should  be  educated  ; — they  are  incompetent 
witnesses  in  any  case  where  the  rights  of  w^hite  per- 
sons are  concerned  ;  and  their  trials  are  conducted 
by  a  justice  of  the  peace  and  freeholders,  without 
the  benefit  of  a  jury.  So  far  as  respects  the  slaves, 
they  are  even  in  a  worse  situation  ;  for  though  their 
evidence  is  in  no  case  admissable  against  the  whites, 
the  affirmation  of  free  persons  of  colour,  or  their 
fellow-slaves,  is  received  against  them.  I  was 
placed  in  a  situation  at  Charleston  which  gave  me 
too  frequent  opportunities  of  witnessing  the  effects 
of  slavery  in  its  most  aggravated  state.  Mrs.  Street 
treated  all  the  servants  in  the  house  in  the  most 
barbarous  manner;  and  this,  although  she  knew 
that  Stewart,  a  hotel-keeper  here,  had  lately  nearly 
lost  his  life  by  maltreating  a  slave.  Stewart  beat 
his  cook,  who  was  a  stout  fellow,  until  he  could  no 
longer  support  it.     He  rose  upon  his  master,  and 


76   TREATMENT  OF  SLAVES  IN  CHARLESTON. 

gave  him  such  a  beating  that  it  had  nearly  cost  him 
his  hfe :   the  cook  immediately  left  the  house,  ran 
off,   and   was  never  afterwards  heard  of, — it    was 
supposed  that  he  had  drowned  hmiself.     Not  a  day 
however  passed  without  my  hearing  of  Mrs.  Street 
whipping  and  ill-using  her  unfortunate  slaves.     On 
one    occasion,   when  one  of  the  female  slaves  had 
disobliged  her,  she  beat  her  until  her  own  strength 
was  exhausted,  and  then  insisted  on  her  bar-keeper, 
Mr.  Ferguson,  proceeding  to  inflict  the  remainder  of 
the  punishment. — Mrs.  Street  in  the  meantime  took 
his  place  in  the  bar-room.     She  instructed  him  to 
lay  on  the  whip  severely  in  an  adjoining  room.     His 
nature  was  repugnant  to  the  execution  of  the  duty 
which  was  imposed  on  him.     He  gave  a  wink  to 
the   girl,    who  understood  it  and  bellowed  lustily, 
while  he  made  the  whip  crack  on  the  walls  of  the 
room.     Mrs.  Street  expressed  herself  quite  satisfied 
with  the  way  in  which  Ferguson  had  executed  her 
instructions  ;  but  unfortunately  for  him,  his  lenity 
to  the  girl   became  known  in  the   house,  and   the 
subject  of  merriment,  and  was  one  of  the  reasons  for 
his  dismissal  before  I  left  the  house ;  but  I  did  not 
know  of  the  most  atrocious  of  all  the  proceedings 
of  this  cruel  woman  until  the  very  day  that  I  quitted 
it.     I  had  put  up  my  clothes  in  my  portmanteau, 
when  I  was  about  to   set  out,  but  finding  it  was 
rather  too  full,  I  had  difficulty  in  getting  it  closed  to 
allow  me  to  lock  it ;   I  therefore  told  one  of  the  boys 
to  send  me  one  of  the  stoutest  of  the  men  to  assist 
me.     A  great  robust  fellow  soon  afterwards  appeared 
whom  I  found  to  be  the  cook,  with  tears  in  his  eyes  ; 
I  asked  him  what  was  the  matter?     He  told  me 
that,  just  at  the  time  when  the  boy  called  for  him, 
he  had  got  so  sharp  a  blow  on  the  cheek  bone,  from 
this  devil  in  petticoats,  as  had  unmanned  him  for 
the  moment.     Upon  my  expressing  commiseration 
for  him,  he  said  he  viewed  this  as  nothing,  but  that 
he  was  leading  a   life   of  terrible   suffefing ; — that 
about  two  years  had  elapsed  since  he  and  his  wife, 


TREATMENT    OF    SLAVES    IN    CHARLESTON.        77 

with  his  too  children,  had  been  exposed  in  the 
public  market  at  Charleston  for  sale, — that  he  had 
been  purchased  by  Mr.  Street, — that  his  wife  and 
children  had  been  purchased  by  a  different  person ; 
and  that,  though  he  was  living  in  tlie  same  town 
with  them,  he  was  never  allowed  to  see  them, — he 
would  be  beaten  within  an  ace  of  his  life  if  he  ven- 
tured to  go  to  the  corner  of  the  street. 

Whenever  the  least  symptom  of  rebellion  or  in- 
subordination appears  at  Charleston  on  the  part  of  a 
slave,  the  master  sends  the  slave  to  the  gaol,  where, 
for  a  trifling  douceur  to  the  gaoler  or  his  assistants, 
he  is  whipped  or  beaten  as  the  master  desires.  The 
Duke  of  Saxe  Weimar,  in  his  travels,  mentions  that 
he  visited  the  gaol  in  December,  1825;  that  the 
"  black  overseers  go  about  everywhere  armed  with 
cow-hides ;  that  in  the  basement  story  there  is  an 
apparatus  upon  which  the  negroes,  by  order  of  the 
police,  or  at  the  request  of  the  masters,  are  flogged  ; 
that  the  machine  consists  of  a  sort  of  crane,  on  which 
a  cord  with  too  nooses  runs  over  pulleys  ;  the  nooses 
are  made  fast  to  the  hands  of  the  slave  and  drawn 
up,  while  the  feet  are  bound  tight  to  a  plank ;  that 
the  body  is  stretched  out  as  much  as  possible, — and 
thus  the  miserable  creature  receives  the  exact  number 
of  lashes  as  counted  off.  The  pubhc  sale  of  slaves 
in  the  market-place  at  Charleston  occurs  frequently. 
I  was  present  at  two  sales,  where,  especially  at  one 
of  them,  the  miserable  creatures  were  in  tears  on 
account  of  their  being  separated  from  their  relations 
and  friends.  At  one  of  them,  a  young  woman  of 
sixteen  or  seventeen  was  separated  from  her  father 
and  mother,  and  all  her  relations,  and  every  one  she 
had  formerly  known.  This  not  unfrequently  hap- 
pens, although  I  was  told  and  believe  that  there  is  a 
general  wish  to  keep  relations  together,  where  it  can 
be  done.'' 

The  following  extract  of  a  letter  from  a  gentleman 
at  Charleston,  to  a  friend  of  his  at  New  York, 
contains  even  a  more  shocking  account  of  the  public 


78       TREATMENT    OF    SLAVES    IN    CHARLESTON. 

sales  of  slaves  here. — "  Curiosity  sometimes  leads 
me  to  the  auction  sales  9f  the  negroes.  A  few  days 
since  I  attended  one  which  exhibited  the  beauties  of 
slavery  in  all  their  sickening  deformity.  The  bodies 
of  these  wretched  beings  were  placed  upright  on  a 
table, — their  physical  proportions  examined, — their 
defects  and  beauties  noted. — '  A  prime  lot,  here  they 
go  ! '  There  I  saw  the  father  looking  sullen  con- 
tempt upon  the  crowd,  and  expressing  an  indignation 
in  his  countenance  that  he  dared  not  speak  ; — and 
the  mother,  pressing  her  infants  closer  to  her  bosom 
with  an  involuntary  srasp,  and  exclaiming,  in  wild 
and  simple  earnestness,  while  the  tears  chased  down 
her  cheeks  in  quick  succession,  '  I  can't  leff  my 
children  !  I  won't  leff  my  children  ! '  But  on  the 
hammer  went,  reckless  alike  whether  it  united  or 
sundered  for  ever.  On  another  stand  I  saw  a  man 
apparently  as  white  as  myself  exposed  for  sale.  I 
turned  away  from  the  humiliating  spectacle. 

*'  At  another  time  I  saw  the  concluding  scene  of 
this  infernal  drama.  It  was  on  the  wharf.  A  slave 
ship,  for  New  Orleans,  was  lying  in  the  stream,  and 
the  poor  nej>;roes,  handcuffed  and  pinioned,  were 
hurried  off  in  boats,  eight  at  a  time.  Here  I  wit- 
nessed the  last  farewell, — the  heart-rending  separa- 
tion of  every  earthly  tie.  The  mute  and  agonizing 
embrace  of  the  husband  and  wife,  and  the  convulsive 
grasp  of  the  mother  and  the  child  were  alike  torn 
asunder — for  ever  !  It  was  a  living  death, — the}' 
never  see  nor  hear  of  each  other  more.  Tears  flowed 
fast,  and  mine  with  the  rest." 

Charleston  has  long  been  celebrated  for^the  seve- 
rity of  its  laws  against  the  blacks,  and  the  mildness 
of  its  punishment  towards  the  whites  for  maltreating 
them.  Until  the  late  law,  there  were  about  seventy- 
one  crimes,  for  which  slaves  were  capitally  punished, 
and  for  which  the  highest  punishment  for  whites  was 
imprisonment  in  the  penitentiary. 

A  dreadful  case  of  murder  occurred  at  Charleston 
in  1806.     A  planter,  called  John  Slater,  made  an 


TREATMENT    OF    SLAVES    IN    CHARLESTON.       79 

unoffending,  unresisting  slave  be  bound  hand  and 
foot,  and  compelled  his  companion  to  chop  off  his 
head  with  an  axe,  and  to  cast  his  body,  convulsed 
with  the  agonies  of  death,  into  the  water.  Judge 
Wild,  who  tried  him,  on  awarding  a  sentence  of  im- 
prisonment against  this  wretch,  expressed  his  regret 
that  the  punishment  provided  for  the  offence  was 
insufficient  to  make  the  law  respected, — that  the 
delinquent  too  well  knew, — that  the  arm  which  he 
had  stretched  out  for  the  destruction  of  his  slave, 
was  that  to  which  alone  he  could  look  for  protection, 
disarmed  as  he  was  of  the  rights  of  self  defence. 

But  the  most  horrible  butchery  of  slaves  which 
has  ever  taken  place  in  America,  was  the  execution 
of  thirty-five  of  them,  on  the  lines  near  Charleston, 
in  the  month  of  July,  1822,  on  account  of  an  alleged 
conspiracy  against  their  masters.  The  whole  pro- 
ceedings are  monstrous.  Sixty-seven  persons  were 
convicted  before  a  court,  consisting  of  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  and  freeholders,  without  a  jury.  The  evidence 
of  slaves,  not  upon  oath,  was  admitted  against  them, 
and,  after  all,  the  proof  was  extremely  scanty. 
Perrault,  a  slave,  who  had  himself  been  brought 
from  Africa,  was  the  chief  witness.  He  had  been 
torn  from  his  father,  who  was  very  wealthy,  and  a 
considerable  trader  in  tobacco  and  salt  on  the  coast 
of  Africa.  He  was  taken  prisoner,  and  was  sold, 
and  his  purchaser  would  not  give  him  up,  although 
three  slaves  were  offered  in  his  stead.  The  judge's 
address  on  pronouncing  sentence  of  death  on  this 
occasion,  on  persons  sold  to  slavery  and  servitude, 
and  who,  if  they  were  guilty,  were  only  endeavouring 
to  get  rid  of  it  in  the  only  way  in  their  power,  seems 
monstrous.  He  told  them  that  the  servant  who  was 
false  to  his  master  would  be  false  to  his  God, — that 
the  precept  of  St.  Paul  was  to  obey  their  masters  in 
q<ll  things,  and  of  St.  Peter,  to  be  subject  to  their 
masters  with  all  fear,  and  that,  had  they  listened  to 
such  doctrines,  they  would  not  now  have  been  arres- 
ted by  an  ignominious  death. 


80       TREATMENT    OF    SLAVES    IN    CHARLESTON. 

The  pioceedinos  of  this  trial  made  some  noise  at 
the  time.  An  official  account  of  it  was  pubHshed, 
in  which  the  execution  of  so  great  a  number  of  per- 
sons was  justified  by  the  precedent  of  George  the 
Second,  who  executed  fifty-four  of  the  first  men  in 
Britain  for  the  rebellion  of  1745. 

The  existence  of  slavery  in  its  most  hideous  form, 
in  a  country  of  absolute  freedom  in  most  respects,  is 
one  of  those  extraordinary  anomilies  for  which  it  is 
impossible  to  account.  No  man  was  more  sensible 
of  this  than  Jefferson,  nor  more  anxious  that  so  foul 
a  stain  on  the  otherwise  free  institutions  of  the 
United  States  should  be  wiped  away.  His  senti- 
ments on  this  subject,  and  on  the  peculiar  situation 
of  his  countrymen  in  maintaining  slavery,  are  thus 
given  in  a  communication  to  one  of  his  fnends : — 
"  What  an  incomprehensible  machine  is  man  !  who 
can  endure  toil,  famine,  stripes,  imprisonment,  and 
death  itself,  in  vindication  of  his  own  liberty,  and 
the  next  moment  be  deaf  to  all  those  motives  whose 
power  supported  him  through  his  trial,  and  inflict  on 
ins  fellow -men  a  bondage,  one  hour  of  which  is 
fraught  with  more  misery  than  ages  of  that  which  he 
rose  in  rebellion  to  oppose.  But  we  must  await 
with  patience  the  workings  of  an  overruling  Provi- 
dence, and  hope  that  that  is  preparing  the  deliverance 
of  these  our  suffering  brethren.  When  the  measure 
of  their  tears  shall  be  full, — When  their  groans  shall 
have  involved  Heaven  itself  in  darkness, — doubtless 
a  God  of  justice  will  awaken  to  their  distress,  and, 
by  diffusing  light  and  liberality  among  their  oppres- 
sors, or  at  length,  by  his  exterminating  thunder, 
manifest  his  attention  to  the  things  of  this  world, 
and  that  thev  are  not  left  to  the  guidance  of  a  blind 
fatality." 

Stuart. 


81 

THE     COFFIN     MAKER. 

"The  first  few  weeks  of  my  employment  passed  pleasantly 
enough;  my  master  was  satisfied  with  me,  and  on  Sunday 
evenings  I  was  able  occasionally  to  enjoy  a  walk.  But  my 
spirits  soon  became  less  buoyant,  and  even  my  health  began  to 
suffer ;  I  entirely  lost  the  florid  look  which  was  ray  poor  mother's 
admiration ;  my  very  step  grew  slower,  and  there  were  Sundays 
when  I  declined  the  evening  walk,  which  had  been  my  only 
recreation,  merely  because  the  happy  laugh  and  continued  jests 
of  (my  friend)  Henry  Richards  annoyed  and  distressed  me  while 
contrasted  with  my  own  heaviness  of  heart.  Evening  after 
evening,  sometimes  through  a  whole  dismal  night,  I  worked  at 
my  melancholy  employment;  and  as  my  master  was  poor,  and 
employed  no  other  journeyman,  I  worked  most  commonly  alone. 
Frequently  as  the  heavy  hammer  descended,  breaking  at  regular 
intervals  the  peaceful  silence  of  night,  I  recalled  some  scene  of 
sorrow  and  agony  that  I  had  witnessed  in  the  day ;  and  as  the 
echo  of  some  shriek  or  stifled  moan  struck  in  fancy  on  my  ear, 
I  would  pause  to  wipe  the  dew  from  my  brow  and  curse  the 
trade  of  a  cofiin  maker.  Every  day  some  fresh  cause  appeared 
to  arise  for  loathing  my  occupation;  whilst  all  were  alike 
strangers  to  me  in  the  town  where  my  master  lived,  I  worked 
cheerfully  and  wrote  merrily  home;  but  now  that  I  began  to 
know  every  one,  to  be  acquainted  with  the  number  of  members 
which  composed  different  families,  to  hear  of  their  sicknesses  and 
misfortunes ;  now  that  link  after  link  bound  me  as  it  were  by  a 
spell,  to  feel  for  those  round  me,  and  to  belong  to  them,  my 
cheerfulness  was  over.  The  mother  turned  her  eyes  from  me 
with  a  shuddering  sigh,  and  gazed  on  the  dear  circle  of  little  ones 
as  if  she  sought  to  penetrate  futurity  and  guess  which  of  the 
young  things,  now  rosy  in  health,  was  to  follow  her  long  lost  and 
still  lamented  one.  The  doting  father  pressed  the  arm  of  his 
pale  consumptive  girl  nearer  to  his  heart,  as  he  passed  me : 
friends  who  were  yet  sorrowing  for  their  bereavement,  gave  up 
the  attempt  at  cheerfulness,  and  relapsed  into  melancholy  silence 
at  my  approach.  If  I  attempted  (as  I  often  did  at  first)  to 
converse  gaily  with  such  of  the  townspeople  as  were  of  my 
master's  rank  in  life,  I  was  checked  by  a  bitter  smile,  or  a  sudden 
sigh,  which  told  me  that  while  I  was  giving  way  to  levity,  the 
thoughts  of  my  hearers  had  wandered  back  to  the  heavy  hours 
when  their  houses  were  last  darkened  by  the  shadow  of  death. 

VOL.  V. — 1835.  L 


82  THE    COFFIN    MAKER. 

I  carried  about  with  me  an  unceasing  curse;  an  imaginary 
barrier  separated  me  from  my  fellow  men.  I  felt  like  an  execu- 
tioner, from  whose  bloody  touch  men  shrink,  not  so  much  from 
loathing  of  the  man,  who  is  but  the  instrument  of  death,  as  from 
horror  at  the  image  of  that  death  itself — death,  sudden,  appalling, 
and  inevitable.  Like  him,  I  brought  the  presence  of  death  too 
vividly  before  them  ;  like  him,  1  was  connected  with  the  infliction 
of  a  doom  I  had  no  power  to  avert.  Men  withheld  from  me 
their  affection,  refused  me  their  sympathy,  as  if  I  were  not  like 
themselves.  My  very  mortality  seemed  less  obvious  to  their 
imaginations  when  contrasted  with  the  hundreds  for  wfiom  my 
hand  prepared  the  last  narrow  dwelling  house,  which  was  to 
shroud  for  ever  their  altered  faces  from  sorrowful  eyes.  Where 
I  came,  there  came  heaviness  of  heart,  mourn  fulness,  and 
weeping.  Laughter  was  hushed  at  my  approach ;  conversation 
ceased;  darkness  and  silence  fell  around  my  steps — the  darkness 
and  the  silence  of  death.  Gradually  I  became  awake  to  my 
situation.  I  no  longer  attempted  to  hold  free  converse  with  my 
fellow  men.  I  suffered  the  gloom  of  their  hearts  to  overshadow 
mine.  My  step  crept  slowly  and  stealthily  into  their  dwellings ; 
my  voice  lowered  itself  to  sadness  and  monotony ;  I  pressed  no 
hand  in  token  of  companionship ;  no  hand  pressed  mine,  except 
when  wrung  with  agony,  some  wretch,  whose  burden  was  more 
than  he  could  bear  restrained  me  for  a  few  moments  of  maddened 
and  ccmvulsive  grief,  from  putting  the  last  finishing  stroke  to  my 
work,  and  held  me  back  to  gaze  yet  again  on  features  which  I 
was  about  to  cover  from  his  sight.  It  is  well  that  God,  in  his 
unsearchable  wisdom,  hath  made  death  loathsome  to  us.  It  is 
well  that  an  undefined  and  instinctive  shrinking  within  us,  makes 
what  we  have  loved  for  lonof  years,  in  a  few  hours 

"  That  lifeless  thing,  the  living  fear." 

It  is  well  that  the  soul  hath  scarcely  quitted  the  body  ere  the 
work  of  corruption  is  begun.  For  if,  even  thus,  mortality  clings 
to  the  remnants  of  mortality,  with  '  love  stronger  than  death;'  if, 
as  T  have  seen  it,  warm  and  living  lips  are  pressed  to  features 
where  the  gradually  sinking  eye  and  hollow  cheek  speak  horribly 
of  departed  life ;  what  would  it  be  if  the  winged  soul  left  its 
tenement  of  clay,  to  be  resolved  only  into  a  marble  death ;  to  re- 
main cold,  beautiful,  and  imperishable ;  every  day  to  greet  our 
eyes;  every  night  to  be  watered  with  our  tears  ?  The  bonds 
which  hold  men  together  would  be  broken  ;  tlie  future  would  lose 
its  interest  in  our  minds;    we  should  remain  sinfully  mourning 


THE    COFFIN    MAKER.  83 

the  idols  of  departed  love,  whose  presence  forbade  oblivion  of 
their  loveliness;  and  a  thin  and  scattered  population  v^^ould 
wander  through  the  world  as  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 
death  !  How  often  have  I  been  interrupted  when  about  to  nail 
down  a  coffin,  by  the  agonizing  entreaties  of  some  wretch  to 
whom  the  discoloured  clay  bore  yet  the  trace  of  beauty,  and  the 
darkened  lid  seemed  only  closed  in  slumber;  How  often  have  I 
said,  *  Surely  that  heart  will  break  with  its  woe ! '  and  yet,  in  a 
little  while,  the  bowed  spirit  rose  again,  the  eye  sparkled,  and  the 
lip  smiled,  because  the  dead  were  covered  from  their  sight ;  and 
that  which  is  present  to  man's  senses  is  destined  to  affect  him  far 
more  powerfully  than  the  dreams  of  his  imagination  or  memory. 
How  often,  too,  have  I  seen  the  reverse  of  the  picture  I  have 
just  drawn ;  when  the  pale  unconscious  corse  has  lain  abandoned 
in  its  loveliness,  and  grudging  hands  have  scantily  dealt  out  a 
portion  of  their  superfluity,  to  obtain  the  last  rites  for  one  who  so 
lately  moved,  spoke,  smiled,  and  walked  amongst  them  !  And 
I  have  felt,  even  then,  that  there  were  those  to  whom  that  neglect- 
ed being  had  been  far  more  precious  than  heaps  of  gold,  and  I 
have  mourned  for  them  who  perished  among  strangers.  One 
horrible  scene  has  chased  another  from  my  mind  through  a  suc- 
cession of  years;  and  some  of  those  which,  perhaps,  deeply 
affected  me  at  the  time,  are,  by  the  mercy  of  Heaven,  forgotten. 
But  enough  remains  to  enable  me  to  give  a  faint  outline  of  the 
causes  which  have  changed  me  from  what  I  was,  to  the  gloomy, 
joyless  being  I  am  at  length  become.  There  is  one  scene  indel- 
libly  impressed  upon  my  memory. 

"I  was  summoned  late  at  night  to  the  house  of  a  respectable 
merchant,  who  had  been  reduced,  in  a  great  measure,  by  the 
wilful  extravagance  of  his  only  son,  from  comparative  wealth  to 
ruin  and  distress.  I  was  met  by  the  widow,  on  whose  worn  and 
weary  face  the  calm  of  despair  had  settled.  She  spoke  to  me  for 
a  few  moments,  and  begged  me  to  use  dispatch  and  caution  in 
the  exercise  of  my  calling  : — '  for  indeed,'  said  she,  *  I  have 
watched  my  living  son  with  a  sorrow  that  has  almost  made  me 
forget  grief  for  the  departed.  For  five  days  and  five  nights  I  have 
watched,  and  his  bloodshot  eye  has  not  closed,  no,  not  for  a  mo- 
ment, from  its  horrible  task  of  gazing  on  the  dead  face  of  the 
father  that  cursed  him.  He  sleeps  now,  if  sleep  it  can  be  called, 
that  is  rather  the  torpor  of  exhaustion ;  but  his  re;it  is  taken  on 
that  father's  death-bed.  Oh  !  young  man,  feel  for  me !  Do 
your  task   in  such   a   manner,  that  my  wretched  boy  may  not 


84  fHE    COFFIN    MAKER. 

awake  till  it  is  over,  and  the  blessing  of  the  widow  be  on  you  for 
ever  ! '  To  this  strange  prayer  I  could  only  offer  a  solemn  assu- 
rance that  I  would  do  my  utmost  to  obey  her ;  and  with  slow, 
creeping  steps  we  ascended  the  narrow  stairs  which  led  to  the 
chamber  of  death.  It  was  a  dark,  wretched-looking,  ill-furnish- 
ed room,  and  a  drizzling  November  rain  pattered  unceasingly  at 
the  latticed  window,  which  was  shaken  from  time  to  time  by  the 
fitful  gusts  of  a  moaning  wind.  A  damp  chillness  pervaded  the 
atmosphere,  and  rotted  the  falling  paper  from  the  walls;  and,  as 
I  looked  towards  the  hearth,  (for  there  was  no  grate,)  I  felt  pain- 
fully convinced  that  the  old  man  had  died  without  the  common 
comforts  his  situation  imperiously  demanded.  The  white- wash- 
ed sides  of  the  narrow  fire-place  were  encrusted  with  a  green 
damp,  and  the  chimney- vent  was  stuffed  with  straw  and  fragments 
of  old  carpet,  to  prevent  the  cold  wind  from  whistling  through 
the  aperture.  The  common  expression,  *  lie  has  seen  better 
days,'  never  so  forcibly  occurred  to  me  as  at  that  moment.  He 
had  seen  better  days :  he  had  toiled  cheerfully  through  the  day, 
and  sat  down  to  a  comfortable  evening  meal.  The  wine  cup  had 
gone  round ;  and  the  voice  of  laughter  had  been  heard  at  his 
table  for  many  a  year,  and  yet  here  he  had  crept  to  die  like  a 
beggar  !  I  looked  at  the  flock  bed,  and  felt  my  heart  grow  sick 
within  me.  The  corpse  of  a  man,  apparently  about  sixty,  lay 
stretched  upon  it,  and  on  his  hollow  and  emaciated  features  the 
hand  of  death  [)ad  printed  the  ravages  of  many  days.  The  veins 
had  ceased  to  give  even  the  appearance  of  life  to  the  discoloured 
skin ;  the  eyelids  were  deep  sunken,  and  the  whole  countenance 
was  (and  none  but  those  accustomed  to  gaze  on  the  face  of  the 
dead  can  understand  me)  utterly  expressionless.  But  if  a  «ight 
like  this  was  sickening  and  horrible,  what  shall  I  say  of  the 
miserable  being  to  whom  a  temporary  oblivion  was  giving  strength 
for  renewed  agony  ?  He  had  apparently  been  sitting  at  the  foot 
of  the  corpse,  and,  as  the  torpor  of  heavy  slumber  stole  over  him, 
had  sunk  forward,  his  hand  still  retaining  the  hand  of  the  dead 
man.  His  face  was  hid  ;  but  his  figure,  and  the  thick  curls  of 
dark  hair,  bespoke  early  youth.  I  judged  him  at  most,  to  be 
two-and-twenty.  I  began  my  task  of  measuring  the  body,  and 
few  can  tell  the  shudder  which  thrilled  my  frame  as  the  carpen- 
ter's rule  passed  those  locked  hands — the  vain  effort  of  the 
living  still  to  claim  kindred  with  the  dead  !  It  was  over,  and  I 
stole  from  the  room,  cautiously  and  silently  as  I  entered.  Once, 
and   only    once,    I    tiirned    to   gaze   at  the    melancholy    group. 


THE    COFFIN    MAKER.  85 

There  lay  the  corpse,  stiff  and  unconscious;  there  sat  the  son, 
in  an  unconsciousness  yet  more  terrible,  since  it  could  not  last. 
There,  pale  and   tearless,   stood  the  wife  of  him,   who,   in   his 
dying  hour,  cursed  her  child  and  his.     How  little  she  dreamed 
of  such  a  scene  when  her  meek  lips  first  replied  to  his  vows  of 
affection  !     IIow  little  she  dreamed  of  such  a  scene  when  she 
first  led  that  father  to  the  cradle  of  his  sleeping  boy !  when  they 
bent  together  with  smiles  of  affection,  to  watch  his  quiet  slumber, 
and  catch  the  gentle  breathing  of  his  parted  lips  1     I  had  scarcely 
reached   the  landing-place  before   the   wretched  woman's  hand 
was  laid  lightly  on  my  arm  to  arrest  my  progress.     Her  noiseless 
step   had   followed  me  without  my  being  aware  of  it.     *  How 
soon  will  your  work  be  done?'  said   she,  in  a  suffocated  voice. 
*  To-morrow  I  could  be  here  again,'  answered  I.     *  To-morrow  ! 
and  what  am  I  to  do,  if  my  boy  wakes  before  that  time  ? '  and 
her  voice  became  louder  and  hoarse  with  fear.      *  He  will  go 
mad,  I  am  sure  he  will;  his  brain  will  not  hold  against  these 
horrors.     Oh  !  that  God  would  hear  me  ! — that  God  would  hear 
me!  and  let  that  slumber  sit  on  his  senses  till  the  sight  of  the 
father  that  cursed  him  is  no  longer  present  to  us !     Heaven  be 
merciful  to  me ! '  and  with  the  last  words  she  clasped  her  hands 
convulsively,  and  gazed  upwards.     I  had  known  opiates  admin- 
istered to  sufferers   whose  grief  for   their   bereavement  almost 
amounted   to   madness.     I   mentioned  this   hesitatingly  to  the 
widow,  and  she  eagerly  caught  at  it.     ^  Yes !  that  would  do/ 
exclaimed  she;  '  that  would  do,  if  I  could  but  get  him  past  that 
horrible  moment !     But  stay ;  I  dare  not  leave  him  alone  as  he 
is,  even  for  a  little  while  : — what  will  become  of  me  ! '     I  offered 
to  procure  the  medicine  for  her,  and  soon  returned  with  it.     I 
gave  it  into  her  hands,  and  her  vehement  expressions  of  thank- 
fulness wrung  my  heart.     I  had  attempted  to  move  the  pity  of 
the  apothecary  at  whose  shop  I  obtained  the  drug,  by  an  account 
of  the  scene  I  had  witnessed,  in  order  to  induce  him  to  pay  a 
visit  to  the  house  of  mourning;  but  in  vain.     To  him,  who  had 
not  witnessed  it,  it  was  nothing  but  a  tale  of  every-day  distress. 
All  that  long  night  I  worked  at  the  merchant's  coffin,  and  the 
dim  grey  light  of  the  wintry  morning  found  me  still  toiling  on. 
Often,  during  the  hours   passed   thus  heavily,   that  picture  of 
wretchedness  rose  before  me.     Again   I  saw  the  leaning  and 
exhausted  form  of  the  young  man,   buried   in    slumber  on  his 
father's  death-bed  :  again  my  carpenter's  rule  almost  touched  the 
clasped' hands  of  the  dead  and  the  living,  and  a  cold  shudder 


86  THE    COFFIN    MAKER. 

mingled  with  the  chill  of  the  dawning  day,  and  froze  my  blood. 
"  As  I  passed  up  one  of  the  streets  which  led  to  the  merchant's 
lodgings,  my  head  bending  under  the  weight  of  the  coffin  I  was 
carrying,  at  every  step  I  took,  the  air  seemed  to  grow  more  thick 
around  me,  and  at  length,  overcome  by  weariness,  both  of  body 
and  mind,  I  stopped,  loosed  the  straps  whicli  steadied  jny  me- 
lancholy burden,  and,  placing  it  in  an  upright  position  against 
the  wall,  wiped  the  dew  from  my  forehead,  and  (shall  I  confess 
it?)  the  tears  from  my  eyes.  I  was  endeavouring  to  combat  the 
depression  of  my  feelings  by  the  reflection  that  I  was  the  support 
and  comfort  of  my  poor  old  mother's  life,  when  my  attention  was 
roused  by  the  evident  compassion  of  a  young  lady,  who,  after 
passing  me  with  a  hesitating  step,  withdrew  her  arm  from  that  of 
her  more  elderly  companion,  and,  pausing  for  an  instant  put  a 
shilling  into  my  hand,  saying,  *  You  look  very  weary,  my  poor 
man ;  pray  get  something  to  drink  with  that/  A  more  lovely 
countenance  (if  by  lovely  be  meant  that  which  engages  love)  was 
never  moulded  by  nature  ;  the  sweetness  and  compassion  of  her 
pale  fi\ce  and  soft,  innocent  eyes;  the  kindness  of  her  gentle 
voice,  made  an  impression  on  my  memory  too  strong  to  be  effaced. 
I  saiv  her  once  again  !  I  reached  the  merchant's  lodgings,  and 
ray  knock  was  answered,  as  on  the  former  occasion,  by  the  widow 
herself.  She  sighed  heavily  as  she  saw  me,  and  after  one  or  two 
attempts  to  speak,  informed  me  that  her  son  was  awake,  but  that 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  administer  the  opiate,  as  he  refused 
to  let  the  smallest  nourishment  pass  his  lips ;  but  that  he  was 
quite  quiet,  indeed  had  never  spoken  since  he  woke;  except  to 
ask  her  how  she  felt;  and  she  thought  I  might  proceed  without 
fear  of  his  interruption.  I  entered  accordingly,  followed  by  a  lad, 
son  to  the  landlady  who  kept  the  lodgings,  and  with  his  assist- 
ance I  proceeded  to  lift  the  corpse,  and  lay  it  in  the  coffin.  The 
widow's  son  remained  motionless,  and,  as  it  were,  stupified 
during  this  operation :  but  the  moment  he  saw  me  prepare  the 
lid  of  the  coffin  so  as  to  be  screwed  down,  he  started  up  with  the 
energy  and  gestures  of  a  madman.  His  glazed  eyes  seemed 
bursting  from  their  sockets,  and  his  upper  lip,  leaving  the  teeth 
bare,  gave  his  mouth  the  appearance  of  a  horrible  and  convulsive 
smile.  He  seized  my  arm  with  his  whole  strength ;  and,  as  I 
felt  his  grasp,  and  saw  him  struggling  for  words,  I  expected  to 
hear  curses  and  execrations,  or  the  wild  howl  of  an  infuriated 
madman  I  was  mistaken.  The  wail  of  a  sickly  child,  who 
dreads  its  mother's  departure  was  the  only  sound  to  which  I  could 


THE    COFFIN    MAKEK.  87 

compare  that  wretched  man's  voice.  He  held  me  with  a  force 
almost  supernatural ;  but  his  tongue  uttered  supplications  in  a 
feeble  monotonous  tone,  and  with  the  most  humble  and  beseech- 
ing manner.  *  Leave  him,'  exclaimed  he,  *  leave  him  a  little 
while  longer.  He  will  forgive  me;  I  know  he  will.  He  spoke 
that  horrible  word  to  rouse  my  conscience.  But  I  heard  him 
and  came  back  to  him.  I  would  have  toiled  and  bled  for  him  ; 
he  knows  that  well.  Hush  !  hush  !  I  cannot  hear  his  voice  for 
my  mother's  sobs ;  but  I  know  he  will  forgive  me.  Oh  !  father, 
do  not  refuse  1  I  am  humble — I  am  penitent.  Father,  I  have 
sinned  against  Heaven  and  before  thee — father,  I  have  sinned  ! 
Oh  !  mother,  he  is  cursing  me  again.  He  is  lifting  his  hand  to 
curse  me — his  right  hand.  Look,  mother,  look  !  Save  me, 
Oh,  God  !  my  father  curses  me  on  his  dying    bed  !     Save  me, 

oh  ! '     The  unfinished  word  resolved  itself  into  a  low,  hollow 

groan,  and  he  fell  back  insensible.  I  would  have  assisted  him, 
but  his  mother  waved  me  back.  *  Better  so,  better  so,'  she  re- 
peated hurriedly  ;  it  is  the  mercy  of  God  which  has  caused  this 
— do  you  do  your  duty,  and  I  will  do  mine,'  and  she  continued 
to  kneel  and  support  the  head  of  her  son,  while  we  fastened  and 
secured  down  the  coffin.  At  length  all  was  finished,  and  then 
and  not  till  then  we  carried  the  wretched  youth  from  the  chamber 
of  death,  to  one  as  dark,  as  gloomy,  and  as  scantily  furnished,  but 
having  a  wood  fire  burning  in  the  grate,  and  a  bed  with  ragged 
curtains  at  one  end  of  it.  And  here,  in  comparative  comfort,  the 
landlady  allowed  him  to  be  placed,  even  though  she  saw  little 
chance  of  her  lodgers  being  able  to  pay  for  the  change.  Into  the 
glass  of  water  held  to  his  parched  lips,  as  he  recovered  his  senses, 
I  poured  a  sufficient  quantity  of  the  opiate  to  produce  slumber, 
and  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  his  mother  fervently  thank 
God,  as  still  half  unconscious,  he  swallowed  the  draught.  I 
thought  he  would  not  have  survived  the  shock  he  had  received ; 
but  I  was  mistaken.  The  merchant  was  buried  and  forgotten ; 
the  son  lived,  and  we  met  again  in  a  far,  far  different  scene." 


88 

THE    THEATRE. 

Jan.  1.,   Oihelloy  and  The  Poor  Soldier. 

The  character  of  Othello,  the  ardent,  impetuous,  misled  Moor,  in 
allowed  to  be  one  of  the  most  difficult  undertaken  by  an  actor; 
and,  though  Mr.  Kean  displayed  talent  of  the  highest  order 
in  his  performance,  and  was  really  excellent  in  numerous 
instances,  yet  it  must  be  admitted  that  he  stood  much  higher  in 
the  enactment  of  Richard,  and  infinitely  more  so  in  his  personifi- 
cation of  Hamlet.  Mr.  Hield,  as  lago,  and  Miss  M^sou^^^ 
Desderaona,  rendered  very  able  support.  ,  .- 

In  the  afterpiece,  Vivash  burlesqued  tlie  boozing  priest  with 
much  humour,  and  Wilton  was  respectable  as  the  gasconading 
barber. 

Jan.  2.,  Merchant  of  Venice^  and  Rosina, 
Mr.  Kean  as  Shy  lock.  Shylock  has  little  to  do,  but  that  little 
was  done  "excellent  well  i'  fiiith."  Hield  made  the  most  of 
Gratiano.  Why  did  he  nut  take  the  part  of  Anthonio  ?  Miss 
Mason's  Portia  was  highly  creditable,  and— we  speak  it  not  pro- 
fanely— she  made  "  an  excellent  young  man,"  a  most  "  upright 
judge." 

Jan.  5.  6.  7.  8.  9.  10.,  Sardanupulus. 
At  a  great  expence,  and  evidently  after  much  and  incessant  care 
and  preparation,  Mr.  Sandford  brought  out  Lord  Byron's  cele- 
brated tragedy  of  Sardanapalus.  The  new  and  splendid  scenery, 
dresses,  decorations,  &c.,  rendered  it  magnificent  as  a  spectacle. 
As  a  drama,  it  depends  on  three  characters,  whicli  were  ably 
sustained  by  Mr.  Kean,  Mr.  Hield,  and  Miss  Mason.  Mr. 
Kean  availed  himself  of  whatever  scope  for  acting  the  princi- 
pal personage  of  the  tragedy  affords.  The  part  of  Salamenes — 
noble,  loyal,  and  heroic — was  adequately  sustained  by  Mr.  Hield. 
Miss  Mason,  entering  fully  into  the  character  of  Myrrha — a  cre- 
ation of  devoted  love  and  noble  heroism, — displayed  taste,  judg- 
ment, and  pathos.  She  dressed  the  character  chastely  and 
gracefully.  O  !  that  our  fair  countrywomen  would  extirpate 
balloon  sleeves  and  prodigious  bustles,  and  not  so  disguise  the 
most  lovely  of  God's  works,  that  it  appears  the  veriest  monster 
which  walks  upon  the  earth. 

Jan.  12.,   Hainletjixud  The  Hunter  of  the  Alps. 
Mr   Keen's  benefit.     Hamlet  has  been  recognised  as  Mr.  Kean's 
chef  d'  oeuvre.     He  was  particularly  excellent  in  the  scenes  with 
Horatio  and  Marcellus — that  in  which  he  catches  the  conscience 


THE    THEATRE.  Olf 

of  the  king  by  the  play — the  closet  scene  with  his  mother — and 
the  concluding  scene.  Miss  Jarman's  Ophelia  was  well  acted, 
and  her  singing  beautifully  adapted  to  the  character.  Mr.  Kean's 
cunning  of  fence  found  a  very  good  foil  in  the  Laertes  of  the 
night,  Mr.  J.  B.  Hill. 

Jan.  13.,  SardanapaLuSj  and  Mt/  Neighbour  s  Wife. 
Under  the  patronage  of  Admiral  Codrington.     My  Neighbour's 
Wife  is  a  highly  laughable  extravaganza,  in  which  Mr.  Hield 
acquits  himself  admirably,  and  Miss  Hemipel  performs  conamore. 

Jan.  14.,  Last  night  of  Sardanapalus. 

Jan.  16.,  The  Wedding  Gown,  Lock  and  Key,  and  Mi/ 
Neighbours  Wife. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  story  of  a  refugee  Polish  noble.  Count 
Lubeski,  (Hield)  and  his  daughter,  Augusta,  (Miss  Mason)  are 
in  England  with  very  precarious  means  of  subsistence.  The 
Count  finds  a  friend  in  Mr.  Beeswing,  (Vivash)  whose  nephew, 
(Hill)  by  especial  command  of  his  uncle,  is  about  to  contract  a 
marriage  of  interest  with  a  Lady  Margaret,  (Miss  Jarman)  Lady 
Margaret  cordially  hates  her  intended  bridegroom,  having  pre- 
viously intrusted  her  heart,  to  the  keeping  of  Effingham,  (Moore) 
a  man  after  her  own  desire.  The  nephew  as  magnanimously 
detests  Lady  Margaret,  having  plighted  his  troth  to  Augusta 
Lubeski,  two  years  before,  at  Dresden.  The  course  of  these  two 
couple  of  true  lovers  is,  as  usual,  thickly  beset  with  most  disastrous 
chances,  moving  accidents,  and  hair  breadth  scapes ;  however, 
as  usual,  they  are  all  surmounted :  Lady  Margaret  allows 
Effingham  to  run  away  with  her,  and  the  good  natured  priest 
who  has  been  summoned  to  unite  her  to  Beeswing's  nephew,  is 
doomed  to  effect  a  comfortable  splice  between  Augusta  and  her 
devoted  swain,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties. 

The  dialogue  is  spirited  throughout,  and  the  interest  well 
sustained ; — but  one  incident  towards  the  close  of  the  piece  is  as 
unnatural  as  it  is  uncalled  for. — The  Pole  knowing  that  his 
daughter  loves  Clarendon,  (Hill)  and  that  he  is  equally  attached 
to  her,  commands  her  to  act  as  bridesmaid,  at  his  expected 
marriage  with  Lady  Augusta,  and  she  consents; — this  may  be 
heroism  after  the  old  Roman  fashion,  but  not  after  the  fashion  of 
poor  human  nature.  The  piece  was  well  cast  and  well  acted 
throughout. 

In  "  Lock  and  Key,'^  Vivash,  as  old  Brummagem,  performed 
with  abundance   of  humour;  and  Norman,  as  Ralph,  made  a 
very  good  hit:  we  owe  it  to  the  latter  actor  to  say  now  (what we 
VOL.  v. — 1835.  M 


90  THE    THEATRE. 

unintentionally  omitted  last  month)  that  his  Ezekiel  Homespun, 
in  the  Honey  Moon,  was  a  highly  spirited  and  really  clever  piece 
of  acting,  and  would  assuredly  have  been  creditable  even  on  the 
Metropolitan  boards. 

Jan.  19.,  School  for  Scandal,  ^nd  Simpson  and  Co. 
Under  the  patronage  of  J.  Collier,  Esq.,  M.  P.,  and  T.  Bewes, 
Esq.,  M.  P.  Mr.  Sandford's  Sir  Peter  Teazle  was,  by  far,  the 
best  character  of  this  evening — he  sustained  the  part  throughout 
with  a  vigour  which  surprised  and  delighted  us.  In  the  scene 
with  the  two  Surfaces,  after  his  wife  has  been  discovered  behind 
the  screen,  he  threw  a  truth  and  earnestness  into  his  acting  which 
rendered  the  illusion  perfect.  Miss  Mason  personated  the  young 
wife  in  a  very  creditable  manner.  Vivash  (Sir  Oliver  Surface), 
Norman  (Sir  Benjamin  Backbite),  Wilton  (Crabtree),  Fuller 
(Moses),  and  Hield  (Charles  Surface),  were  good  also. 

Jan.  20.,  I'he  Wedding  Gown,  Lovers'  Quarrels,  and  Plot 
and  Counterplot. 

—=—  22.,   The  Wonder,  and  The  happiest  day  of  my  life. 

23.,  Laugh  when  you  can,  and  Turn  out. 

26.,   The  Wedding  Gown,  and  Aladdin. 

Under  the  patronage  of  Admiral  and  Lady  Hargood.  The  splen- 
did spectacle  of  Aladdin  was  again  brought  forward  by  Mr. 
Sandford,  on  this  evening,  and  well  deserved  the  patronage  of  the 
overflowing  house  which  had  assembled  to  witness  it.  It  is  as 
superb  as  gorgeous  scenery,  splendid  dresses  and  decorations,  and 
ingenious  machinery,  can  make  it.  Mr.  Horsman,  as  Abenazar, 
dressed  the  character  well,  and  acted  it  excellently  :  it  is  by  far 
the  best  thing  which  he  has  done  this  season .  Mr.  Hill,  as 
Kazrac,  gave  great  satisfaction  to  the  gods,  and  little  boys  and 
girls,  for  he  buffooned  it  to  the  top  of  their  bent.  Miss  Hempel 
did  her  best  for  Aladdin ;  and  Miss  Dearlove,  as  the  fairy  of  the 
ring,  received  much  applause.  Miss  Jarman  sang  *' Tyrant  soon 
I  '11  burst  thy  chains"  in  her  usual  exquisite  style.  On  the 
whole,  every  thing  went  off  well. 

On  Monday  next,  February  2nd,  will  be  brought  forward,  for 
the  first  time,  the  new  melo-dramatic  play  called  Henriette,  or 
the  Forsaken,  which  has  been  for  some  time  in  rehearsal.  The 
performances  of  the  evening  have  been  announced  to  be  under 
the  patronage  of  Sir  Willoughby  and  Lady  Augusta  Cotton. 


91 

PLYMOUTH     INSTITUTION. 

PROCEEDINGS     IN     THE    ATIIEN^UM. 

December  4rn. — Rev.  G.  Smith's  Lecture  on   Meinory. 

Tlie  Lecturer  commenced  by  introducing  some  observations  on 
the  advantages  of  mental  science  in  general,  and  tlie  importance 
of  a  correct  acquaintance  with  the  faculty  of  memory  in  particu- 
lar, arising  from  its  value  in  connecting  the  past  with  the  present, 
and  aiding  the  judgment  in  all  transactions  in  life.  In  defining 
the  capabilities  and  powers  of  memory,  he  enquired  into  the 
propriety  of  classing  this  property  of  the  mind  with  conception 
and  imagination  as  an  original  power,  and  endeavoured  to  prove 
that  they  should  rather  be  resolved  into  the  more  general  mental 
tendency  denominated  suggestion. 

The  lecturer  examined  some  varieties  of  memory,  and  attempt- 
ed to  fix  their  peculiarities  and  illustrate  their  distinctive  features 
by  some  remarkable  instances  of  susceptibility,  retentiveness,  and 
readiness.  He  next  estimated  the  properties  and  value  of  a  good 
memory,  and  adverted  to  some  natural  and  artificial  methods  of 
attaining  that  object.  In  the  course  of  his  paper  he  showed  the 
importance  of  attention,  discrimination,  and  philosophic  arrange- 
ment in  reference  to  this  acquisition ;  -and  examined  the  utility  of 
the  topical  memory  of  the  ancient  rhetoricians,  the  Memoria 
Technica  of  Grey,  and  some  other  schemes  of  artificial  memory. 

December  11th. — Mr.  Hearder's  Lecture  on  Gaseous 
Combustion. 

The  Lecturer  began  by  pointing  out  the  difference  which 
exists  between  the  combustion  of  solid  matter  and  that  of  gaseous 
bodies,  showing  that  this  latter  state  of  combustion  was  the  more 
perfect,  in  consequence  of  the  combining  bodies  being  presented 
to  each  other  under  the  most  favourable  conditions.  The  princi- 
pal characteristics  of  flame,  he  stated,  were  heat  and  light ;  and 
then  showed,  by  analysing  flame,  that  different  portions  of  it 
possessed  different  properties,  one  part  giving  light  and  another 
heat.  He  considered  that  the  light  of  flame  depended  upon  two 
causes;  first,  the  quantity  of  solid  matter  contained  in  it,  and, 
secondly,  the  degree  to  which  that  solid  matter  was  ignited.  He 
showed  that  the  heat  depended  upon  the  energy  of  combination 
between  the  bodies,  and  exhibited,  in  proof  of  this,  the  combus- 
tion of  oxygen  and  hydrogen  gases,  with  tlie  oxy-hydrogen  blow- 


92  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

pipe.  Here  the  most  intense  heat  was  produced,  though  the 
light  of  the  flame  was  scarcely  appreciable,  in  consequence  of  the 
absence  of  solid  matter.  He  next  explained  that  the  light  pro- 
duced by  the  combustion  of  different  volatile  substances  was 
limited  in  consequence  of  the  energy  of  their  combination  produ- 
cing only  a  limited  degree  of  temperature. 

He  took  the  flame  of  a  common  candle; — the  light  produced 
by  this  depended  upon  the  temperature  to  which  the  carbon  con- 
tained in  it  was  ignited  ;  this  temperature  being  limited,  the 
ignition  was  limited.  If  then  this  temperature  could  be  increased 
by  extraneous  means,  the  light  would  be  increased  in  proportion. 
This  was  proved  by  passing  the  flame  of  the  oxy-hydrogen  blow- 
pipe through  the  bright  part  of  the  flame  of  th^"  candle,  the 
increased  brilliancy  of  which  was  instantly  evident.  The 
same  effect  was  still  more  strikingly  produced  by,  submitting 
the  flame  of  spirit  of  turpentine  to  the  same  trial.  Light  was 
shown  still  further  to  depend  on  the  power  of  the  solid  matter  to 
sustain  ignition  without  combustion  ;  several  refractory  solid 
substances  were  submitted  to  the  action  of  the  oxy-hydrogen 
blowpipe,  and  it  was  found  that  the  light  kept  pace  with  the  tem- 
perature up  to  the  point  at  which  they  either  entered  into  com- 
bustion or  were  volatilized.  Lime  and  magnesia,  offering  the 
greatest  resistance  to  the  action  of  the  heat,  produced  consequently 
the  greatest  light. 

The  lecturer  then  proceeded  to  show  that  when  the  combustion 
of  the  solid  matter  took  place,  the  liglit  diminished;  and  then 
explained  the  conditions  necessary  for  producing  the  greatest 
degree  of  light  in  the  combustion  of  ordinary  flames. 

After  detailing  to  the  Society  the  result  of  his  late  investigations 
on  the  effects  of  pressure  on  flame,  which  we  shall  give  at  length 
in  a  future  number,  the  lecturer  concluded  by  enumerating  some 
of  the  many  practical  advantages  which  had  accrued  to  mankind 
from  the  researches  of  philosophers  in  this  department  of  science. 
Two  of  the  most  prominent  were  the  safety  lamp  of  Sir  H.  Davy, 
and  the  introduction  of  gas  lighting.  This  latter  was  illustrated 
by  a  small,  simple  apparatus,  in  which  oil  gas  was  manufactured 
in  a  few  minutes,  in  the  presence  of  the  society. 

December  18th. — Mr.  H.  VVoollcombe's  Lecture  on 
Public  Records. 

Rev.  Mr.  Rowe's  name  stood  on  the  card  for  a  Lecture  this 
evening  on  the  Origin  and  Progress  of  the  English  Language — 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  93 

but  circumstances  having  occurred  which  prevented  him  from 
delivering  it,  his  place  was  supplied  by  Mr.  Woollcombe,  the 
President,  who  read  a  paper  (which  was  intended  for  Jan.  1st, 
1835)  on  Public  Records. 

The  lecturer  commenced  by  showing  the  value  and  importance 
which  should  be  attached  to  public  records  in  general;  and  the 
absolute  necessity  for  their  preservation.  He  pointed  out  their 
value  to  the  lawyer,  by  their  affording  him  precedence  in  cases 
of  doubt;  to  the  historian  and  topographer,  since  they  are  fur- 
nished from  them,  with  numerous  facts  and  incidents,  whether 
connected  with  national  history  or  only  confined  to  the  history  of 
a  borough  or  parish.  He  considered  that  every  one  who  has 
reflected  at  all  on  this  subject  must  be  aware  that  a  vast  mass  of 
works  of  our  parliamentary  proceedings  and  of  our  courts  of  law 
and  equity  exist  somewhere,  and  must  therefore  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  if  they  exist,  and  are  of  the  value  they  are  alledged 
to  be,  it  is  desirable  that  they  should  be  preserved  somewhere, 
beyond  the  reach  of  common  accident  of  fire  or  damp,  where 
they  should  be  rendered  easy  of  access  to  all  who  might  desire  to 
consult  them. 

The  lecturer  described  the  principal  places  where  national 
and  other  important  records  were  preserved,  viz.  the  Tower,  the 
Rolls^^'  Chapel,  in  Chancery  Lane,  comprising  the  Petty-bag 
office,  the  Crown  office,  the  Examiners'  office,  as  well  as  the  Six 
Clerks' office,  also  in  Chancery  Lane;  at  Westminster  (though 
these  records  have  been  since  deposited  in  the  Rolls'  Chapel,  or 
in  apartments  in  the  basement  story  of  the  eastern  wing  of 
Somerset  Place;)  also  at  the  British  Museum,  in  the  Chapter 
House  of  Westminster,  the  Temple,  the  King's  Bench  Treasury, 
the  common  Pleas'  Treasury,  and  the  Treasury  of  the  receipts  of 
the  Exchequer. 

The  earliest  records  now  extant  in  the  Tower  are  the  Cartae 
Antiques,  the  charter  and  rolls  of  the  first  year  of  King  John, 
and  divers  records  of  the  court  of  Chancery,  in  the  2nd,  3rd, 
and  6th  years  of  that  King's  reign. 

These  records,  together  with  the  returns  of  the  Knights  and 
Burgesses  to  Parliament,  the  petitions  and  proceedings  in  Par- 
liament, all  matters  relating  to  the  See  of  Rome,  the  Rolls  of 
Scotland,  Treaties  of  peace.  Instructions  to  ambassadors. 
Inquisitions  post  mortem,  and  a  variety  of  other  instruments, 
forming  a  collection  of  memorials  of  great  national  importance, 
were,  in  the  reigns  of  the  three  first  Edwards,  preserved  in  the 
archives  of  the  Court  of  Chancery  in  the  King's  Treasuries. 


94  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

After  describing  of  what  the  records  in  the  Tower  principally 
consisted,  he  descanted  on  the  adaptation  and  eligibility  of  other 
places  used  as  depositories  of  this  kind.  But  the  society  would 
be  surprised  to  hear,  that  the  situation  selected  in  the  White 
Tower,  called  Caesar's  Chapel,  is  actually  over  a  magazine  in 
which  the  Ordnance  Board  has  a  quantity  of  gunpowder, 
sufficient  to  annihilate  all  our  precious  records;  and,  although 
the  greatest  exertions  had  been  made  to  get  the  gunpowder 
removed  yet  the  Board  of  Ordnance  retains  it  to  this  very  moment, 
for  the  same  purpose.  Again,  it  has  been  reported  to  Parliament, 
that  the  records  deposited  in  the  roof  of  the  Rolls'  Chapel,  have 
suffered  very  materially  from  being  exposed  in  summer  to  too 
much  heat,  and  in  the  wet  season  to  too  much  damp.  Yet 
there  they  still  remain  to  rot. 

The  lecturer  then  described  some  of  the  means  which  have 
been  adopted  for  the  security  of  public  records;  he  noticed 
several  complaints  which  had  been  made  to  the  crown  respecting 
their  insecurity,  none  of  which  complaints  were  attended  to  until 
the  year  1800,  when,  in  consequence  of  the  solicitation  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  Doomsday  book,  the  rolls  of  Parliament,  and 
other  ancient  and  valuable  monuments  of  our  history.  Laws, 
and  Government,  were  printed ;  and,  in  consequence  of  the 
regulations  made  in  furtherance  of  this  object,  the  Plymouth 
Library  received  as  a  deposit  72  folio  volumes,  containing  many 
interesting  and  very  important  documents. 

The  king  appointed  a  commission,  called  the  record  commission, 
for  carrying  those  measures  into  effect  and  much  has  been  done 
in  the  way  of  making  indexes  and  arranging  them ;  but  much, 
very  much,  remains  to  be  done  in  this  way,  and  with  regard  to 
the  procuring  of  more  safe,  commodious  and  capacious  reposi- 
tories, nothing  has  been  done. 

Having  reached  thus  far  in  the  subject,  the  lecturer  proceeded 
to  examine  into  the  cause  of  the  apathy  under  which  the  govern- 
ment appear  to  slumber,  and  detailed  some  of  the  propositions 
which  have  been  made,  with  a  design  of  providing  for  the  con- 
servation of  records  and  the  erection  of  record  offices. 

The  plan  suggested  by  Mr.  Cooper  appeared  to  be  the  most 
unobjectionable,  especially  to  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
since  he  proposes  encountering  the  expence  without  drawing  upon 
his  money  bags,  or  laying  any  additional  burthen  on  the  pockets 
of  the  people.  There  is  a  fund  set  apart,  in  the  court  of  Chance- 
ry, called  the  Suitor's  Fund,  which  is  now  invested  in  the  three 
per  cent  Consols,  and  returned    annuities,  producing,   clear  of 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  VO 

certain  charges  which  the  Parliament  have  allowed  from  time  to 
time  upon  it,  an  income  of  £25,490.  yearly. 

Mr.  Cooper  proposes  to  avail  himself  of  a  portion  of  this  fund, 
to  carry  his  design  into  execution  ;  and  then  points  out  the  eligi- 
bility, as  far  as  regards  the  Temple,  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  the  other 
official  residences  of  the  lawyers,  of  the  site  of  the  Rolls'  Chapel, 
in  Chancery  Lane,  for  the  erection  of  an  edifice,  to  be  adapted  in 
every  respect  to  the  deposit  and  preservation  of  all  the  public 
records  of  the  kingdom,  now  dispersed  about  in  different  parts  of 
the  metropolis- 
After  having  given  further  details  of  Mr.  C.'s  plan,  the  lecturer 
drew  the  attention  of  the  society  to  the  fact  that,  in  the  northern 
metropolis  of  our  sister  kingdom,  a  magnificent  edifice  has  been 
lately  raised  for  the  same  purpose  that  we  are  contemplating.  It 
is  called  the  General  Register  House,  and  cost  the  nation  £37,643. 
It  is  erected  in  the  New  Town,  at  the  head  of  Prince's  Street, 
and  is  a  great  ornament  to  that  splendid  city. 

This  building  contains  not  only  all  the  Parliamentary  and 
Judicial  records  of  Scotland,  but  the  voluminous  records  of  land 
rights,  of  the  immense  extent  of  which  last  some  notion  may  be 
formed  when  it  is  stated,  that  the  index  to  one  particular  species 
of  instrument,  comprising  a  period  only  of  twenty  years,  which 
has  lately  been  printed,  forms  3,500  pages  in  folio. 

The  lecturer  then  expatiated  on  the  value  and  absolute  neces- 
sity of  copious  indexes  ;  and  concluded  with  some  remarks  on 
the  qualifications  necessary  for  the  individuals  who  should  under- 
take the  office  of  deciphering,  and  judiciously  arranging,  matters 
of  such  vast  moment,  in  whatever  point  we  view  them. 

1835,  January  1st. — Mr.  Owen's  Lecture  on  the  Consump- 
tion of  Smoke. 

On  this  evening  Mr.  Owen  read  a  paper  on  the  consumption 
of  smoke  by  means  of  combustion  in  which,  after  dwelling  on  the 
importance  of  the  subject  as  it  regarded  public  comfort,  &c.,  he 
explained  the  phenomenon  of  combustion  and  then  showed  the 
application  of  its  principles  to  the  consumption  of  smoke. 
Several  plans  were  explained,  which  had  been  introduced  for 
this  purpose,  and  the  paper  was  concluded  by  referring  to  the 
combustion  of  smoke  as  connected  with  the  use  of  coal  tar  for 
fuel  on  board  steam  vessels. 

The  lecturer  illustrated  his  observations^by  several  exceedingly 
neat  and  ingenious  diagrams. 


96  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

January   8th. — Mr.    W.    Walker*s    Lecture  on  Geological 
Changes  resulting  from  Meteorological  Agency. 

The  Lecturer  introduced  his  paper  by  some  prefatory  remarks 
on  the  importance  of  Geology  as  a  science;  and  alluded  to  the 
errors  committed  by  early  geologists,  in  mixing  up  cosmological 
theories  with  geological  facts.  He  then  gave  a  brief  summary  of 
the  present  state  of  our  geological  knowledge,  which  may  be  con- 
densed as  follows.  The  planet  we  inhabit  is  an  oblate  spheroid, 
having  a  mean  diameter  of  about  42  millions  of  feet.  Its  polar 
axis  is  about  26  miles  less  tlian  its  equatorial  diameter.  The 
earth  is  enveloped  in  a  transparent  atmosphere,  whose  weight 
would  equal  that  of  a  volume  of  water  sufficient  to  cover  the 
whole  globe  to  a  depth  of  35  feet. 

After  noticing  the  relative  proportions  of  land  and  water,  and 
their  geographical  distribution,  the  lecturer  went  on  to  say  that 
the  Earth,  taken  as  a  homogeneous  mass,  had  a  mean  density, 
five  times  greater  than  an  equal  volume  of  water;  and  that  its 
central  parts  must  have  a  specific  gravity  equal  to  many  of  the 
metals  known  to  us. 

To  be  concladed  in  onr  next. 


ON     SEEING     DARTMOOR    AFTER    A     FALL     OF 
SNOW. 

The  Moor  !  the  moor !  O,  such  a  sight 

Hath  seldom  met  the  human  view ; 
The  Sun  shines  o*er  it  calmly  bright 

Clothing  its  hills  with  dazzling  hue. 
Tor  above  tor — the  craggy  peaks. 

Proud  rising,  seem  to  kiss  the  sky 
The  wind  alone  the  silence  breaks 

And  distant  shrieks  the  sea-mew's  cry. 
How  few  can  feel  the  love  to  roam 

'Mid  scenes  so  desolate  and  wild  ? 
Cities  to  me  afford  no  home, 

For  I  was  formed  for  Nature's  child ; 
To  worship  in  her  lonely  fane — 

To  linger  o'er  her  wond'rous  forms, 
While,  round  me,  o'er  tlie  desert  reign 

The  thunder's  voice  and  rack  of  storms. 
Here  though  her  tors  may  barren  be, 

Invested  with  a  waste  of  snow,  ^ 

The  wilderness  hath  joys  for  me — 

The  lone  hill  makes  my  spirit  glow.       M.  A.  P. 


G.    p.    UEARDER,    PLYMOUTH. 


THE     SOUTH     DEVON 
MONTHLY     MUSEUM. 

PLYMOUTH,    MARCH    1st,    1835. 
No.  27.]  Price  Sixpence.  [Vol.  V. 

ST.     PAUUS    CHAPEL,     STONEHOUSE. 

The  inhabitants  of  Stonehouse,  a  town  daily  increas- 
ing in  population  and  importance,  had  long  been 
greatly  inconvenienced  for  want  of  church-room. 
The  parochial  chapel  does  not  furnish  accommodation 
for  more  than  one  eighth  of  the  parishioners,  while 
there  is  a  lamentably  undue  proportion  of  free  sittings 
for  the  poor.  His  Majesty's  Commissioners  there- 
fore determined  to  erect  a  chapel  capable  of  contain- 
ing nearly  one  thousand  persons  within  the  precincts 
of  the  parish.  A  spot  of  ground,  at  the  west  end  of 
Durnford  Street,  having  been  munificently  granted 
by  the  Rt.  Hon.  the  Earl  of  Mount  Edgcumbe,  the 
structure,  of  which  we  give  an  engraving,  was  built 
thereupon,  at  an  expense  not  exceedilig  £3,000,  from 
designs  furnished  by  J.  Foulston,  Esq.,  the  commis- 
sioners' architect.  It  has  been  thought  that  the 
objects  for  which  the  chapel  was  erected  would  have 
been  better  promoted  by  a  more  central  site  than  the 
present,  but  it  should  be  remembered  that,  at  the 
time  when  the  spot  was  fixed  upon,  a  much  more 
rapid  increase  of  buildings,  in  the  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood, was  contemplated  than  has  since  taken 
place. 

The  chapel,  the  most  pleasing  view  of  which  is 

from  the  Mill-bay  road  to  Plymouth,  is  in  the  early 

Enghsh  style,  with  the  principal  entrance  at  the  west 

end,  under  a  tower  surmounted  by  four  lofty  pinna- 

voL.  V. — 1835.  N 


98  ST.    PAULAS    CHAPEL. 

cles.  A  chaste  and  decorous  simplicity  prevails 
throughout  all  the  arrangements  of  the  interior.  The 
pulpit,  reading  desk,  &c.,  are  of  wainscot,  the  pews 
and  free  benches  being  judiciously  painted  to  corres- 
pond. The  communion  table  is  handsome  and 
massive,  also  of  wainscot,  designed  in  correspondence 
with  the  style  of  the  chapel.  The  altar-piece  is  in 
imitation  of  granite,  and  the  usual  inscriptions  of  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  Creed,  and  Decalogue  are  exceedingly 
well  executed  in  the  manner  of  letters  graven  on 
stone.  The  communion  rail  is  of  cast  iron,  of  an 
appropriate  pattern. 

The  composition  (we  suppose  we  may  call  it)  of 
the  entire  east  end,  including  the  altar  recess  and 
the  great  window,  is  exceedingly  pleasing,  but  we 
decidedly  object  to  the  appearance  of  the  two  pulpits, 
for  the  reading  desk  and  pulpit  are  really  so,  being 
precisely  similar  in  height  and  in  every  other  respect. 
We  are  advocates  for  a  central  situation  for  the 
pulpit,  as  well  as  for  its  greater  height,  on  the 
grounds  of  ecclesiastical  propriety  ;  and  always  feel 
that  it  is  putting  the  clergyman  to  unnecessary 
trouble  to  cause  him  to  come  down  from  the  pulpit 
on  one  side  of  the  church,  to  go  up  into  the  pulpit 
on  the  other  side,  without  any  apparent  reason  what- 
ever, except  for  the  purpose  of  preserving  architectu- 
ral uniformity,  which  might  be  far  better  consulted 
by  a  different  arrangement  of  the  pulpit  and  reading 
desk. 

The  font,  at  the  west  end,  is  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  we  have  seen  ;  executed  in  dark  Plymouth 
marble,  (by  Mr.  Greenham,  of  Russell  Street,  Ply- 
mouth) octagonal  in  form,  with  the  faces  adorned  by 
quatrefoils.  The  exterior  of  the  chapel  presents  a 
substantial  appearance, — the  buttresses,  door  and 
window  frames,  drip  stones  pinnacles.  Sec,  being  all 
of  wrought  lime  stone,  as  are  likewise  the  pinnacles 
by  which  the  body  of  the  edifice,  and  the  tower,  are 
ornamented. 

The  chapel  was  opened  for  divine  service  on  the 
5th  of  July,  1832,  with  a  sermon  by  the  late  minister, 


ST.  Paul's  chapel.  99 

the  Rev.  S.  Rowe, — and  was  consecrated  by  the 
Bishop  of  Exeter,  .on  the  27th  Sept.  1833.— The 
pews  are  capable  of  accommodating  more  than  400 
persons,  and  in  addition  more  than  500  free  sittings 
are  reserved  for  the  poor,  a  large  portion  of  which 
are  in  the  very  best  situations.  We  earnestly  wish 
that  equal  accommodation  for  the  poorer  classes  of 
the  community  was  to  be  found  in  all  the  churches. 

The  chapel  has  received  some  munificent  dona- 
tions. The  Earl  of  Mount  Edgcumbe  presented  a 
handsome  service  of  communion  plate.  The  late 
Robert  Bint,  Esq.,  of  Mount  Stone,  generously  gave 
fifty  pounds  towards  the  necessary  expenses  atten- 
dant on  the  opening  and  fitting  up  of  the  chapel  for 
divine  service  ;  and  Mrs.  Bint,  with  her  accustomed 
liberality,  gave  two  large  and  handsome  chandeliers 
for  lightincr  up  the  chapel  at  the  evening  service. 

We  might  be  disposed  to  criticise  some  of  the 
features  of  the  building,  did  we  not  know  that  the 
means  at  the  command  of  the  architect  were  strictly 
limited.  We  are  rather  disposed  to  w^onder,  consid- 
ering the  expense  of  wrought  stone,  that  he  could 
have  raised  a  fabric  which  forms  so  pleasing  an 
object,  for  a  sum  within  £3,000.  It  has  only 
served  to  confirm  an  opinion  which  we  have  long 
held,  that  the  Gothic,  or  Pointed,  or  whatever  archi- 
tects may  be  pleased  to  designate  the  glorious  style 
of  our  forefathers,  is  that  which  should  be  uniformly 
adhered  to  for  ecclesiastical  structures.  With  no 
other  can  an  architect  do  so  much  and  so  well  at  the 
same  expense  ;  though  we  should  have  been  pleased 
had  Mr.  Foulston's  means  allowed  him  to  raise  St. 
Paul's  tower  about  20  feet  higher. 


^Ji:  100 

ON     MOUNTAINS. 

There  are  a  thousand  natural  objects  on  the  surface 
of  our  earth,  which  afford  pleasure  to  the  eye,  and 
delioht  to  the  senses,  but  none  in  a  greater  degree 
than  the  contemplation  of  a  lofty  and  magnificent 
mountain.  The  enthusiastic  young  artist  ascends 
the  mountain  ravine,  or  climbs  its  rugged  precipice ; 
in  order  to  pourtray  the  mimic  landscape  beneath  ; 
or  else  to  paint  all  the  beauties  of  the  mountain 
gorge,  with  its  brawling  brook,  its  rough  grey  rocks, 
hanging  woods,  and  sylvan  scenery.  The  Devotee 
retires  to  mountainous  regions  to  select  the  cave,  or 
construct  the  hermitage,  in  which  he  may  muse  on 
the  follies  of  a  sinful  world  :  here  he  is  sure  to  enjoy 
Nature  in  her  most  engaging  attire:  he  may  **  woo 
lone  quiet  in  her  silent  walks,"  and  at  the  same  time 
inspire  his  votaries  with  awful  reverence ;  for  super- 
stition has,  in  all  ages,  assigned  the  holy  men — and 
supernatural  beings,  a  lofty  and  mountainous  resi- 
dence. The  Natural  Philosopher  is  governed  by 
wider  views :  he  knows  that  mountains  are  the 
sources  of  a  thousand  blessings;  their  elevated  and 
cold  peaks  condense  the  vapours  floating  in  the  air : 
it  is  here  where  magazines  of  cold  and  moisture  are 
stored,  and  give  rise  to  springs  which  trickle  down 
the  mountain  sides,  watering  the  woods  and  flowery 
fields.  All  the  rivers  of  the  earth  are  the  offspring 
of  high  and  mountainous  regions,  the  largest  and 
longest  rising  in  the  most  elevated  parts.  By  the 
length  of  a  river's  course  the  geographer  is  enabled 
to  estimate  the  elevation  of  its  source  above  the 
level  of  the  ocean. 

Mountains  not  only  modify  the  temperature  of  the 
air  passing  over  them,  but  without  mountains  the 
earth  would  be  unfit  for  its  present  inhabitants. 
There  are  extensive  plains,  such  as  the  Sahara  of 
Africa  ;  the  central  deserts  of  Asia,  and  the  Pampas 
of  America,  that  are  almost  barren  and  desolate  for 
want  of  mountains  to  condense  vapours  and  water 


ON    MOUNTAINS.  101 

these  districts  with  occasional  showers  :  even  the  flat 
and  fertile  fields  of  Egypt  owe  their  fertility  to  the 
River  Nile,  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  Abyssinian 
mountains.  There  are  mountains  within  the  Torrid 
Zone  that  possess  a  tropical  climate  at  their  base,  a 
temperate  climate  at  a  certain  elevation  above  the 
sea,  and  per|>etual  snow  at  their  summits.  Teneriffe 
is  of  this  kind,  and  the  Andes  afford  other  examples. 
The  traveller,  in  his  ascent,  meets  with  a  gradual 
succession  of  different  vegetables  and  animals  whose 
natures  are  suited  for,  and  governed  by,  the  temper- 
ature and  other  circumstances  due  to  their  elevation 
above  the  sea  level.  Without  changing  his  parallel 
of  latitude  he  may,  in  a  few  hours,  pass  from  a  torrid 
to  a  frigid  zone.  In  such  a  journey  there  are  some 
peculiarities  that  occur  which  require  notice.  We 
reach  the  region  of  clouds  and  get  enveloped  in  mist, 
moisture,  and  rank  vegetation.  We  then  emerge 
into  blue  sky,  keen  air,  and  bright  sunshine  ;  while 
the  white  fleecy  clouds  lie  beneath  our  feet,  and 
conceal  from  our  view  the  whole  world  and  its  con- 
cerns, unless  it  be  that  a  craggy  cliff*  or  clump  of 
trees  breaks  through  the  upper  stratum  of  clouds, 
and  appears  like  a  black  ship  in  a  white  ocean  of 
clouds.  Above,  we  behold  a  region  of  perpetual 
snow  and,  perad venture,  a  cone,  giving  out  volumes 
of  light  blue  smoke  or  white  steam.  A  little  higher 
up,  and  the  cold  becomes  very  sharp  and  pinching, 
the  barometer  now  stands  at  18®.,  the  thermometer 
at  27*^.,  of  Farenheit,  and  water  is  found  to  boil  at  a 
temperature  of  190 ''.  instead  of  212®. 

The  mountaineer  is  a  child  of  liberty :  though 
clad  in  humble  garb  he  possesses  an  elevated  mind 
and  heroic  qualities.  He  detests  tyranny  in  any 
shape,  and  looks  down  with  disdain  on  the  serfs  of 
the  plain.  His  ancient  dialect,  primitive  manners, 
and  picturesque  costume,  are  carefully  preserved  and 
faithfully  transmitted  down  from  one  generation  to 
another. 

A  mountain  is  a  natural  acropolis  of  liberty  !  The 
natives  of  the  mountains  of  Switzerland  won  their 


102  ON    MOUNTAINS. 

independance,  and  have  preserved  their  Hbeity,  from 
the  attacks  of  European  despotism.  The  Marouetes 
of  Syria,  housed  among  the  heights  of  Mount 
Libanus,  manage  to  keep  Turkish  tyranny  at  a 
distance ;  Hke  the  great  Cedars  of  Lebanon  they 
owe  their  safety  to  their  mountain  defiles.  The 
mountains  of  the  Morea  have  preserved  a  remnant 
of  Spartan  independance,  for  the  Mainhottes  have 
preserved  their  liberty  from  the  armies  of  the  Ven- 
etian, the  Turk,  and  Egyptian.  The  mountain 
ridge  is  the  last  refuge  which  nature  has  reared  to 
preserve  liberty  in  the  Earth,  "  to  preserve  to  man 
his  highest  hopes,  his  noblest  emotions,  his  dearest 
treasures,  his  faith,  his  freedom,  his  health  and  home. 
How  glorious  do  these  mountain  ridges  appear  when 
we  look  upon  them  as  the  unconquerable  abode  of 
free  hearts ;  as  the  stern,  heaven-built  walls  from 
which  the  few,  the  feeble,  the  persecuted,  the  des- 
pised, the  helpless  child,  the  delicate  woman  have, 
from  age  to  age,  in  their  last  perils,  in  all  their  weak- 
nesses and  emergencies,  when  power  and  cruelty 
were  ready  to  swallow  them  up,  looked  down  and 
beheld  the  million  waves  of  despotism  break  at  their 
feet !  "  The  murderous  host  avoids  the  mountain 
defiles:  it  passes  on  and  subjugates  the  natives  of 
the  plain  ;  while  the  stern  mountaineer  looks  down 
with  contempt  and  scorn,  on  the  instruments  of  am- 
bition and  tyranny.  In  all  ages,  and  in  every  part 
of  the  Earth,  have  mountains  been  held  in  veneration. 
The  Muses  were  natives  of,  and  lived  among,  moun- 
tains. Old  Admiral  Noah,  struck  soundings,  and 
laid  his  Ark  aground,  on  the  top  of  Mount  Ararat, 
here  he  disembarked  and  built  an  altar.  Homer  tells 
us  that  the  Gods,  having  met  in  council  to  deliberate 
on  Greek  and  Trojan  affairs  ;  Jupiter  took  coach  for 
Mount  Ida,  to  survey  the  approaching  fight: — 
"  High  on  the  throne  he  shines  ;  his  coursers  fly 
Between  the  extended  earth  and  starry  sky. 
But  when  to  Ida's  topmost  height  he  came, 
Fair  nurse  of  fountains,  and  of  savage  game, 
Where,  o'er  her  pointed  summits  proudly  raised, 
His  fane  breath'd  odours,  and  his  altar  blazed, 


INGENIOUS    TYPOGRAPHY.  103 

There,  from  his  radiant  car,  the  sacred  sire 
Of  Gods  and  men,  released  the  steeds  of  fire. 
Blue  ambient  mists  th'  immortal  steeds  embraced ; 
High  on  the  cloudy  point  his  seat  he  placed ; 
Thence  his  broad  eye  the  subject  world  surveys, 
The  town,  and  tents,  and  navigable  seas." 

Certainly  Jupiter,  as  a  general,  could  not  have  chosen 
a  better  position  than  Mount  Ida,  in  order  to  survey 
a  battle  in  the  plains  of  Troy.  But  where  are  the 
Trojans?  what  has  become  of  Baylon,  Nineveh, 
Thebes,  and  other  great  cities  built  in  plains  ?  Alas  ! 
they  have  fallen  a  prey  to  the  conqueror ;  and  have 
disappeared  before  the  sword  of  the  destroyer.  But 
Athens,  with  its  little  acropolis,  still  exists  among 
its  attic  mountains  ;  and  the  banners  of  freedom  are 
again  floating  over  the  venerable  remains  of  Minerva's 
temple. 

W. 


INGENIOUS     TYPOGRAPHY. 

Considering  the  rapidity  with  which  matter  for  newspapers  is 
collected,  written,  printed,  revised,  and  published,  the  general 
and  great  accuracy  of  their  typography  cannot  be  sufficiently 
commended.  English  newspapers  rank  higher  than  any  others 
in  the  world  in  this  respect,  whilst  the  majority  of  those  of 
Ireland,  the  sister  island,  may  be  known  at  a  glance,  by  the 
inferior  paper  used,  their  slovenly  printing,  and  random  arrange- 
ment. 

Typographical  errors  in  English  newspapers  seem  generally 
the  result  of  accident,  but  the  mistakes  of  a  Hibernian  compositor 
very  often  appear  as  if  they  had  been  made  on  purpose,  for  the 
pure  fun  of  the  thing,  under  the  enlivening  influence  of  mountain 
dew.  In  one  or  two  late  numbers  of  the  "Cork  Southern  Re- 
porter," may  be  found  the  following  choice  sentences  : — 

"  That  gallant  corpse,  the  Galway  volnnteers." 
"  His  wife  kept  a  diary  which  supplied  excellent  milk." 
"To  give  up  the  privilege  oi  shelling  (feeling)  for  ourselves." 
^     "  West  end  Heels."  (Hells) 

"  Dying  as  he  thought  of  aseites  and  oe  of  the  lower  extremidities." 
"  Sio  AustUy  Coopss's  Lectneres." 
**  Laid  down  on  our  cJiear  tc."  (charts) 
"  Eight  sail  of  sels.'*  (vessels)  &c.  &c. 


104 
ZEPHYR    AND     CHLORIS. 

Round  her  glen,  the  live-long  day. 

He  would  stray  and  sigh  : 
Noon  and  eve  and  twilight  came. 

Still  he  lingered  nigh. 

When  her  sister,  the  young  Dawn, 

Hurried  from  the  gaze  of  day. 
She  would  sit,  among  the  flowers. 

To  weep  her  grief  away. 

Zephyrus,  with  a  violet  wreathe 

Dried  up  her  tears  of  dew; 
And  where  the  fragrant  chaplet  fell 

More  odorous  blossoms  grew. 

At  noon-tide  when  she  sought  the  shade 

He  still  was  near  her  there, 
And  wafted  through  the  green-wood  gloom 

A  cool  and  perfumed  air. 

When  she  slept  he  wove  a  song. 

Full  of  passion's  pain ; 
Wild  and  sweet,  yet  sometimes  sad. 

Like  a  spirit's  strain. 

Then  he  whispered  in  her  ear — 

With  a  playful  wile — 
Some  soft  words  :  she  slumbered  on  ; 

Fair  dreams  made  her  smile. 

Many  a  long — long  kiss  of  love 
He  sealed  on  her  warm  breast ; 

So  bland  in  touch,  it  never  stirred 
Her  deep  and  balmy  rest. 


Franz. 


105 

SKETCHES      BY      A      PRACTISING      ARCHITECT. 
No.     VII. 

*'  A  thing  of  shreds  and  patches." 

A  GKNTLEMAN  Called  on  me  some  weeks  back  to 
know  whether  I  would  receive  his  son  as  an  articled 
clerk,  to  which  I  took  the  liberty  of  replying,  that 
the  willingness  of  an  architect  to  undertake  the 
instruction  of  a  youth,  should,  in  a  great  measure, 
depend  upon  the  real  willingness  of  the  latter  to 
receive  that  instruction.  To  this  the  applicant 
acceded  ;  politely  stating  his  conviction,  that,  should 
his  "  boy  ''  be  placed  in  my  office,  no  attention  on 
my  part  would  be  wanting.  The  conference  on  this 
occasion  was  brief;  for  the  subject  of  "terms"  was 
next  touched  upon,  evidently  to  the  discomfiture  of 
my  visitor,  who,  nevertheless,  managed  a  tolerably 
graceful  exit,  under  intimation  of  calling  again. 

Two  days  after,  the  gentleman  made  good  his 
word,  and  re-appeared  with  his  "  boy," — of  Corin- 
thian proportions,  as  to  tallness,  and  bearing  marks 
of  having 

"  Discontinued  school  above  a  twelve-month." 

He  was  dressed  after  the  most  approved  fashion, 
and  greeted  me  with  a  kind  of  sickly  bow,  as  the 
father  introduced  him — 

"  My  son,  sir." 

The  progress  of  conversation  soon  developed  the 
qualifications  of  the  young  gentleman.  By  his 
mother's  particular  request,  he  was  to  climb  no 
ladders — mount  no  scaffolds.  At  his  father's  urgent 
desire,  he  was  to  be  put  in  the  way  of  ascending  the 
topmost  height  of  his  profession.  According  to  his 
own  agreement,  he  was  to  do  no  cross  multiplication, 
and  to  stand  exempt  from  all  co-operation  with 
vulgar  workmen  and  "  measures."  Having  ventured 
to  explain  the  utter  incompatibility  of  the  father's 
desire  with  the  stipulations  of  mother  and  son,  I 
bade  them  a  very  respectful  farewell ;  nor  did  I  see 
more  of  this  hopeful  youth,  until  a  few  days  past, 

VOL.  v.— 183.S.  o 


106       SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 

when  to  my  surprise  he  strutted  by  the  window  in  a 
coat  of  fearful  scarlet,  accoutred  with  feather,  sword 
and  epaulette,  and  looking  great  guns  ! 

Of  course  there  was  an  especial  clause  in  his 
articles  of  service,  exempting  him  from  scaling-lad- 
ders and  breach  mounting. 


"  Pray,  sir,"  said  my  patron,  "  which  of  the  orders 
of  architecture  do  you  really  prefer?  You  must 
have  a  preference  :  all  may  have  much  merit,  but 
which  the  most  ?  " 

"Pray,  sir,"  said  I  in  return,  "uhich  article  of 
dress  do  you  really  prefer?  Your  hat,  vour  coat, 
breeches  or  boots  ?  All  may  be  of  use,  feut  which 
is  most  useful  ?  " 

"  Nay  sir,"  he  replied,  "  you  speak  of  things 
differing  in  kind.  The  orders  are  all  of  one  kind — 
of  one  general  form — differing  only  in  certain  deco- 
rative features.  It  is  not,  therefore,  whether  you 
prefer  your  hat  to  your  coat ;  but  which  of  your 
hats,  or  which  of  your  coats  is  it  you  prefer." 

"Taking  the  question,"  said  I,  "on  your  own 
terms,  it  is  still  not  a  question  of  preference :  for  it 
were  scarcely  less  absurd  to  say,  that  you  prefer 
your  light  straw  to  your  beaver  hat,  than  your  hat 
to  your  coat.  A  hat  is  for  the  head,  a  coat  for  the 
body ;  a  light  straw  hat  is  for  a  hot  day,  a  beaver 
hat  for  colder  weather.  A  chintz  dressing  gown 
and  drab  box  coat  do  not  more  essentially  differ 
than  the  Corinthian  and  Doric  orders.  The  prefer- 
ence of  one  order  to  another  will  therefore  depend 
upon  its  superior j^Ywess.  Each  is  the  most  beau- 
tiful on  certain  occasions  ;  and  I  grant  there  might 
be  occasions,  when  either  order  could  be  used  with 
good  effect  and  critical  propriety.  It  is,  therefore, 
fit  the  occasion  should  be  distinctly  stated.  The 
purpose  of  the  building  will  possibly  at  once  decide 
the  question  as  regards  that  building  alone.  Should 
the  building  have  a  mixed,  and  undecided  purpose, 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.       107 

or  none  save  that  of  pictorial  effect,  the  question 
will  be  more  open  to  consideration:  though  even 
then  the  nature  of  the  site,  and  character  of  the  con- 
tiguous objects  must  be  consulted." 

Though  comparisons  are  odious  to  a  proverb, 
people  v^ill  still  persist  in  making  them. 

The  orders  of  Greek  architecture,  are,  like  the 
plays  of  Shakspeare,  co-equal  in  distinct  merit,  and 
each  meeting  with  occasional  preference,  agreeably 
to  the  ever  differing  circumstances  under  which  we 
peruse  them.  It  is  but  a  thoughtless  and  ignorant 
mind  which  would  propose  a  comparison  between 
Hamlet,  Falstaffand  Imogen. 


Perhaps  there  is  no  pleasure  more  genuine  than 
that  experienced  by  the  young  architect  when  com- 
missioned to  give  palpable  being  to  some  well 
studied  design  of  his  own  invention.  To  watch  its 
daily  growth  in  solid  masonry  and  Memel  timber, 
from  the  basement  of  infancy  to  the  chimney  top  of 
maturity  ;  feeding  it  constantly  with  working  draw- 
ings, and  cherishing  it  with  paternal  superin tendance  ; 
witnessing  with  grateful  pride  the  skill  and  industry 
of  the  numerous  workmen  employed  on  the  building, 
and  confidently  anticipating  the  ultimate  effect  of 
the  whole  in  its  perfect  state  of  completion.  All 
this  is  purely  delightful.  We  do  not,  on  this  occasion, 
admit  into  our  consideration  those  several  annoy- 
ances which  are  always  more  than  probable.  It  is 
sufficient  to  know,  that  they  may  be  possibly 
avoided  ;  so  happy  a  circumstance,  not  being  solely 
dependant  upon  an  employer's  liberality  and  good 
temper,  but  in  a  great  measure,  upon  the  architect 
himself,  who  too  frequently  gets  into  difficulty  by 
neglecting  to  obtain  a  clear  insight  into  his  patron's 
meaning,  and  by  omitting  to  qualify  those  glowing 
anticipations  which  "  fair  drawings,"  as  they  are 
termed,  are  too  apt  falsely  to  excite. 


10^       SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 

Delightful,  too,  is  the  contemplation  of  a  work, 
which,  having  been  carried  on  amid  the  impediments 
of  meddling  ignorance  and  the  censures  of  vulgar 
malice,  now  commands  the  admiration  of  the  gen- 
eral spectator,  and  enforces  silence  upon  the  imper- 
tinent. In  such  contemplation  did  the  great  and 
good  Sir  Christopher  Wren  freely  indulge,  when, 
after  his  dismissal  from  service  in  the  eighty-sixth 
year  of  his  age,  he  took  an  occasional  trip  from 
Hampton  Court  to  St.  Paul's  Church-yard.  The 
majestic  monument  of  his  genius  stood  before  him. 
It  was  not  (ever  detested  be  the  memory  of  the 
babbling  blockheads  who  thwarted  him!) — it  was 
not  all  he  could  have  wished  :  but,  though  he  knew 
it  not,  it  was  still  the  finest  building  of  its  class  in 
the  universe  ;  and  honestly  proud  must  he  have  felt, 
when  he  stood  beneath  the  vaulting  cavity  of  its 
dome,  and  reflected  upon  the  singularly  glorious 
chance  which  had  appointed  so  pious  a  Chiistian  as 
himself  to  erect  such  a  temple  to  his  God  1 


If  it  be  a  pleasure  to  behold  the  realization  of  a 
cherished  design,  what  must  be  our  pain  in  witnessing 
its  subsequent  destruction?  The  most  positive 
proof  that  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  the  rising 
of  an  angry  ghost,  is  afforded  in  the  destruction  of 
Wanstead  House.  Had  there  been  any  truth  in  the 
theory  of  apparitions,  and  in  the  idea  that  departed 
spirits  are  susceptible  of  vexation,  most  unquestion- 
ably the  ghost  of  Colin  Campbell  would  have  risen 
simultaneously  with  the  fall  of  the  auctioneer's 
hammer  !  It  is  sufficiently  discouraging  to  contemp- 
late the  probabihties  of  earthquake,  fire  and  civil 
broil,  together  with  the  certainty  of  destructive  time: 
but  it  were  surely  beyond  the  power  of  philosophy 
to  support  an  architect  under  the  heavy  affliction  of 
seeing:  his  noblest  work  disappear  stone  by  stone,  as 
though  it  were  no  more  than  a  common  quarry  from 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.       109 

which  material  for  ordinary  building  was  being  ab- 
stracted piece-meal !  The  preservation  of  Wanstead 
House,  in  a  critical  sense,  would  have  been  cheaply 
purchased  by  the  destruction  of  every  royal  palace 
in  England — Windsor  alone  excepted.  While  open 
to  the  public  view  previous  to  its  sale,  a  strong  illus- 
tration was  afforded  of  the  utter  indifference  with 
which  a  national  ornament  can  be  regarded  in  com- 
parison with  the  superficial  finery  of  its  furniture 
and  hangings.  Crowds  were  assembled.  They 
mounted  the  platform  of  its  noble  portico  without  a 
glance  upwards  or  around.  If  they  retreated  from 
the  house  into  the  lawn,  it  was  not  to  gain  a  fair 
view  of  one  of  the  finest  Palladian  elevations  ever 
seen  :  their  main  object  was  to  stir  up  the  water 
of  the  fish-pond  with  their  walking  sticks,  or  to 
gather  a  nosegay  from  one  of  the  flower  beds.  I 
remember  walking  about  for  half  an  hour,  in  anxious 
hopes  of  hearing  some  remarks  upon  the  beauty  of 
the  mansion  ;  but  it  was  not  alluded  to  in  any  way, 
save  by  a  young  lady,  who  energetically  observed 
upon  the  "  clearness  of  its  reflection  in  the  water." 
The  positive  building  never  elicited  a  comment ;  its 
inverted  semblance  threw  her  into  raptures.  Thus 
Macready's  Hamlet  is  neglected  for  a  sight  of  the 
man  who  walks  on  the  ceiling,  and  drinks  port  wine 
with  his  head  downwards. 

My  indentures  were  signed,  sealed  and  delivered, 
and  my  premium  paid,  some  time  before  Wanstead 
House  was  doomed  ;  otherwise — much  as  I  loved 
her— my  lady  architecture  would  have  been  deserted. 
The  contemplated  possibility  of  seeing  a  like  child 
of  my  own,  barbarously  pulled  to  pieces  limb  by 
limb,  would  have  driven  me  rather  to  seek  employ- 
ment in  an  excise  office,  than  paternity  in  architec- 
tural alliance.  But  the  die  was  cast;  and,  in  spite 
of  my  horrors  I  am  really  become  a  "practising 
architect." 

A  worse  case,  however,  than  that  of  seeing  a 
favorite  design  annihilated  may  be  readily  imagined. 


110  LOOK    UP    TO    ME    AGAIN. 

Let  us  suppose  an  elegant  mansion  transferred  by 
circumstances  from  its  original  tasteful  possessor  to 
a  vulgar  and  ignorant  self-styled  "  utilitarian." 
Behold  him  bricking  up  the  portico  to  form  a  counting 
house  ;  partitioning  off  the  picture  gallery  into  com- 
partments for  his  different  stores  ;  attaching,  to  your 
pure  Italian  front,  a  wing  of  Carpenter's  "  gothic  ;  " 
rfe-taching  your  ballustrade  to  make  way  for  his 
garret  windows ;  covering  part  of  your  enriched 
frieze  with  a  board  announcing  the  firm  of  "  Grub- 
bins,  Getall  and  Co." — No !  rather  than  this,  let 
"  castles  topple  on  their  warder's  heads — and  pala- 
ces and  pyramids  slope  their  heads  to  their  founda- 
tions !  "     Save  me  from  this,  beseech  ye,  Fates  ! 


LOOK     UP     TO     ME    AGAIN. 

look  up  to  me  again  with  that  s^veet  smile. 
Let  me  still  gaze  into  thine  infant  eyes 
And  shroud  the  weary  present  with  the  past; 
Dreaming  myself  a  child.     Thy  glance  of  love. 
Pure,  artless,  holy,  all-confiding  love, 
Is  lighted  with  a  sacred  ray  from  Heaven 
Shining  in  kindness  on  its  fairest  work. 
Unstained  by  sin — untouched  by  sorrow's  shade. 

Look  up  to  me  again  with  t!)at  sweet  smile ; 
It  has  a  spell  to  charm  away  sad  thoughts 
And  shed  a  quiet  o'er  the  troubled  breast. 
— A  single  star-beam,  in  the  lonely  night, 
Gleaming  from  one  blue  spot  of  cloudless  sky 
May  tranquillize,  with  mild  and  silver  light. 
Something  on  earth  unsoothed  by  downy  sleep 
And  heard,  amid  the  darkness,  by  its  sigh. 

Look  up  to  me  again  with  tliat  sweet  smile, 

That  I  may  live  on  it  a  little  more  ; 

And  fix  its  image  deep  in  Memory's  mine, 

Where  sometimes  I  can  dwell  on  it  in  thought. 

And  when  a  cloud  of  melancholy  lowers 

Or  secret  care  exerts  a  gloomy  power, 

Thy  small,  sweet  voice  shall  steal  into  my  heart — 

I  '11  look  on  thee  again  and  watch  thy  smile. 

Franz. 


Ill 

A     PIC     NIC. 

Concluded  from  page  71. 

Mrs.  Eglantine  (I  borrow  the  eloquent  words  of  her  friend,  Sir 
Namby  Pamby)  "  is  one  of  those  sensitive  beings,  the  children 
of  impulse,  unable  to  control  her  sympathies,  and  varying  ever 
under  the  varying  influences  of  gleam  and  shadow."  She  com- 
plains of  weak  health  and  uncertain  spirits.  She  describes  to 
you  her  griefs,  and  she  describes  to  you  lier  medicines ;  neither 
of  them  of  the  vulgar  sort.  Her  all  is  in  the  tomb,  or  rather 
worse,  out  of  the  tomb;  for  it  lies  murdered  and  a-bleaching  in 
the  Pyrennees.  But  she  7?iust  do  her  duty  to  society.  For  Mrs. 
Allington  (and  who  knows  and  feels  these  things  better?)  says 
so,  and  tells  her  she  must  not  bury  herself  in  her  loved  retirement. 
Mrs.  A.  hopes  indeed  to  see  her  make  a  second  choice.  But 
that  is  impossible,  absolutely  impossible.  Mrs.  Eglantine  fulfils, 
therefore,  a  generous,  painful,  task  to  the  public,  and  permits 
herself  to  be  led  forth  before  it.  She  begins  the  day,  languid 
and  lounging,  plaintive,  and  platonic.  As  it  advances  her 
spirits  improve.  By  dinner-time  she  assumes  the  attractive, 
retaining  still  much  of  the  abstracted,  the  inconsequent,  and  the 
simple.  But,  during  that  exhilarating  season,  her  reserve  sub- 
sides, and  she  becomes  very  agreeable,  and  loves  her  neighbour. 
After  dinner  she  is  exceedingly  confidential,  and  from  that  time 
she  frankly  takes  her  part  in  whatever  may  be  the  amusement  of 
the  evening. 

"  There  is  nae  white  but  hath  its  black."  And  this,  even  Mrs, 
Allington  was  doomed  to  find.  Tier  pic  nic  was  tending  to  its 
close — her  schemes  all  promising  to  take  effect — when  something, 
one  of  the  few  things  over  which  she  had  no  control,  came  to 
damp  the  general  joy.  The  time  for  the  fireworks  had  arrived. 
They  were  displayed  at  a  distance  from  the  house,  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  a  fine  piece  of  water.  Fireworks  never  show  so  well  as 
when,  repeated  in  that  element,  they  ''  float  double,"  as  the  poet 
says,  "squib  and  shadow."  Water  is  the  real  place,  where, 
according  to  the  suggested  Eton  inscription,  the  pyrotechnist's 
"  own  fireworks  are  excelled."  But  another  and  a  greater  motive 
occupied  the  ample  bosom  of  the  hostess,  and  directed  her  in  the 
choice  of  this  spot.  To  this  motive  Mrs.  Eglantine  was  party, 
and  so  indeed  was  I.  By  much  listening  and  prying  I  had 
discovered,  and  had  in  vain  tried  my  best  to  circumvent,  it.  It 
was  agreed  between   Mrs.   Allington  and  her  friend  that  the 


112  A    PIC    NIC. 

latter  should  arrange  matters  with  Lord  D.  for  his  elopement  with 
Adelaide.  And  now,  as  I  heard  it  whispered,  the  travelling 
chaise  and  four  was  waiting  at  the  park  gate  nearest  to  the  lake. 
The  fond  and  careful  mother  was  but  to  shut  her  eyes,  and  leave 
all  to  the  widow.  The  other  parent  was  supposed  to  be  suffici- 
ently secured  by  his  ignorance  of  the  plot,  and  by  the  habitual, 
uninquiring  indolence  of  his  nature.  But,  whether  from  hatred, 
of  Mrs.  Allington,  or  from  jealousy  of  Adelaide,  or  from  a  real 
good  and  upright  feeling  towards  honest  John,  I  know  not ;  this 
I  know,  that  I  had  not  failed  to  open  his  eyes  and  rouse  his 
mind  to  all  that  was  going  on.  And  what  got  I  for  it  ?  Thanks  , 
— yes,  thanks,  after  a  fashion;  but  absolutely  nothing  more. 
Honest  John  seemed  scarce  to  hear  me ;  and,  when  urged  to 
comprehend  the  whole  extent  and  force  of  the  information,  little 
seemed  it  to  interest  him.  Was  it  then  possible  he  could 
indeed  countenance  by  his  criminal  neglect  so  disgraceful  a 
proceeding? 

The  exibition  had  begun.  The  first  few  bars  of  "  God  save 
the  King"  (imposing  overture!  which,  much  to  the  credit  of  our 
loyalty,  is  always  appropriate  on  every  occasion  of  public  rejoic- 
ing, from  the  election  of  a  churchwarden,  upwards)  sounded 
from  the  full  band  of  B.  bari-acks;  and,  already,  among  the 
shouts  of  the  peasantry,  the  first  rockets  ruslied  upward  to  the 
sky.  But  they  were  the  signals  only  of  dissappointment.  The 
night  had  become  unusually  dark,  the  air  unusually  still  and 
sultry.  By  short-sighted  and  sanguine  mortals  the  latter  circum- 
stance had  been  hailed  as  one  of  comfort  to  the  spectators;  the 
former  as  favourable  to  the  effect  of  what  they  were  soon  to  be 
dazzled  withal.  But  after  a  vivid  flash  or  too  of  sheeted  light- 
ning, which  embraced  and  shamed  all  that  man  could  do  in  the 
way  of  coruscation,  the  thunder  began  to  growl,  and  large,  heavy 
drops  were  now  heard  to  plash  upon  the  calm,  blackened  water. 
And  scarcely  had  the  band,  surmounting  its  second  stanza, 
begun  to  give  effect  to  the  prayer  of  the  third,  "  On  him  be 
pleased  to  pour  ;  long  may  he  reign ;"  when  rain  it  did  in  right 
earnest ;  and  it  soon  poured. 

All  thoughts  were  turned,  instantly  and  eagerly,  towards  the 
house.  But  fear  misleads  judgment,  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
company  hurried  in  directions  wide  of  that  which  led  to  shelter. 
Mrs.  Allington  was  standing  in  her  Gothic  porch  distributing 
umbrellas,  shawls,  and  cloaks,  to  go  she  knew  not  whither;  and 
long  was  it  ere  she  was  joined  by  more  than  a  very  inconsiderable 


A     PIC    NIC.  113 

number  of  her  friends.  Nor  was  her  solicitude  for  the  general 
welfare  more  remarkable  than  her  entire  disinterestedness 
touching  the  fate  of  her  husband  and  daughter.  Not  once  did 
the  name  of  honest  John  escape  those  lips  which  once  had 
vowed  to  him  so  much  of  cherishing  and  of  obedience;  and 
when  not  a  few  friends  offered  to  search  for  the  general  favourite, 
Adelaide,  their  services  were  declined  by  the  mother,  with  an 
assurance  that  Adelaide  was  quite  safe ;  that  Maria  was  com- 
fortable in  a  summer-house  with  Sir  James  Burton,  and  Julia 
snug  under  a  tree  with  several  young  men,  who  would  of  course 
take  care  of  her.  In  the  general  need,  sundry  and  various  were 
the  destinies  of  each;  and  tedious  it  were  to  recount  them. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Proseit,  and  his  friend 
the  colonial  Jurist,  faithful  now  in  their  partnership  of  water,  as 
before  of  wine,  were  seen,  together  still,  slowly  returning,  midway 
up  the  lawn,  disdaining  the  pudder  o'er  their  heads,  each  impris- 
oning, with  tenacious  gripe,  a  button  of  the  other,  as  in  act  of 
argument,  as  he  enforced,  with  the  protruded  finger  of  the  other 
hand,  his  still  unfinished  syllogism.  Lady  Venena,  alone  still, 
and  shunned  of  all,  was  providing  singly  for  the  refuge  of  that 
hated  self,  in  whose  comfort  none  but  self  bore  any  interest; 
and  Mr.  Docet,  the  tutor,  mindful  of  classic  precedent,  had  fled, 
like  another  ^.neas, 

"  as  Love  or  Fortune  guides," 

with  the  elderly  Miss  Di.  Doleman,  to  the  inviting  shelter  of 
Dripstone  Cave. 

At  last  the  storm  subsided,  and  the  victims  began  to  arrive, 
wet  to  the  skin,  and  draggled  with  dirt.  But  that  was  now 
past  all  help.  And  if  hot  blankets,  dry  clothes,  negus,  and  punch, 
had  any  restorative  virtue,  every  restorative  was  there,  and  in 
plenty.  Then  began  inquiries  concerning  absentees.  Then  did 
Mrs.  Emery,  maugre  Mrs.  Aliington's  considerate  efforts  to  stop 
her,  lest  she  should  needlessly  alarm  fond  parents  by  proclaiming 
who  was  missing,  insist  on  calling  over  the  muster-roll.  All, 
save  three,  answered  to  their  names.  These  three  were  Adelaide, 
Mrs.  Eglantine,  and  young  Lord  D. 

P>ery  eye  turned  to  Mrs.  Allington — every  tongue  conjured 
her  not  to  be  uneasy  But  she,  "  mistress  of  their  passions  and 
her  own,"  was  perfectly  at  ease,  and  retaliated  their  entreaties  to 
her  to  be  composed  with  a  corresponding  command  to  them  to 
think  nothing  at  all  about  it :  "  Lord  D.  was  so  good-natured ; 
he  would  take  care  of  her  dear  child,  who  was  as  safe  as  with 
VOL.  v.— 1835.  p 


114 


A    PIC    NIC. 


her; — and  was  not  Mrs.  Eglantine  there?"  She  even  proposed 
that  the  dancing  should  recommence,  if  it  were  onlj  to  remove 
all  chance  of  chill  from  the  rain.  The  music  was  summoned 
into  the  hall  for  the  young  ones,  and  more  shawls  and  more  negus 
for  the  chaperons.  But  it  would  not  do.  The  effort  to  renew 
the  festivities  was  vain.  No  Adelaide  appeared,  and  no  Lord 
D.;  and,  what  seemed  really  to  surprise  and  annoy  Mrs.  Ailing- 
ton,  no  Mrs.  Eglantine.  *'  She  must  be  gone  home  to  the 
bower,"  said  Mrs.  Allington ;  "  and  she  has  taken  her  companions 
with  her.     Her  judgment  is  so  correct  I  cannot  be  uneasy." 

Morning  dawned.  All  were  tired,  and  glad  to  get  Home.  So 
all  departed,  kindly  hoping  that  nothing  fatal  had  happened; 
and  several,  in  their  solicitude,  suggesting  for  consideration  well 
authenticated  histories  of  death  by  lightning.  It  was  clear  that 
Mrs.  Allington  had  her  own  springs  of  comfort  in  her  own  strong 
mind.  How  she  slept  I  know  not,  but  slumber  was  a  stranger 
to  me.  The  more  I  reflected  on  what  I  had  seen,  the  more  was 
I  astonished  at  the  conduct  of  each  of  the  parties  concerned.  I 
was  at  a  loss  which  most  to  admire:  the  daring  reach  of  the 
mother's  ambition — the  criminal  supineness  of  the  father — the 
heartless  vanity  and  inconstancy  of  the  daughter,  or  the  officious 
interference  of  the  female  friend,  for  mere  mischiefs  sake.  I 
was,  however,  so  thoroughly  out  of  temper  with  all  things  and 
persons,  that  I  felt  ill  prepared  for  the  scene  of  deep  dissimula- 
tion which  awaited  me  at  the  family  breakfast.  So  I  walked  out, 
early,  and  alone,  to  indulge  myself  in  bad  humour  and  useless 
meditation. 

I  returned  about  the  middle  of  the  day.  More  wonders: 
Mrs.  Allington  was  in  fits.  Her  younger  daughters  ministering 
salts  and  sympathies.  Adelaide,  on  both  knees,  smiling,  weeping, 
blushing,  and  begging  pardon  and  a  blessing,  all  together. 
Accompanied  she  was,  and  supported  by  a  husband — not  Lord 
D.,  but  the  playmate  of  her  infancy,  and  the  lover  of  her  choice, 
Tom  Burton. 

And  all  was  soon  explained.  Honest  John  had  known  a  trick 
worth  two  at  least  of  his  wife's.  He  had  received  her  peremptory 
orders  to  shut  his  eyes  to  the  elopement  of  his  daughter.  He 
had  done  more — he  had  abetted  in  it.  He  had  played  the  prac- 
tical diplomatist.  He  had  procured  a  licence,  and  had  given  his 
formal  consent  to  the  two  parties  the  most  interested,  that  the 
marriage  should  be  solemnized  privately,  but  very  thoroughly, 
that  morning  in  his  own  parish  church.     Adelaide,  on  the  prece- 


A    PIC    NIC.  115 

ding  night,  had  only  appeared  to  elope.  She  had,  indeed,  left 
the  house  with  Lord  D.  and  the  widow,  but  had  returned  alone, 
before  the  storm,  and  had  taken  refuge  in  her  father's  study, 
where  she  remained,  alone  with  her  father,  till  the  canonical 
hours  of  the  morning  enabled  him  to  give  away,  to  his  young 
friend  and  neighbour,  a  hand  almost  as  dear  to  the  giver  as  to 
the  receiver. 

Poor  Mrs  Allington  !  On  the  same  morning,  but  a  few  hours 
later,  another  marriage  was  performed  in  the  same  church — Sir 
James  Burton  with  Miss  Carleton.  Still  later,  in  that  eventful 
day,  news  of  Mrs.  Eglantine  reached  her  dear  friend  at  Allington 
Park.  She  and  young  Lord  D.  were  far  on  their  road  to  Scot- 
land. Poor  Mrs.  Allington! — her  fits  returned.  "Well,  who 
would  have  thought  it !  Oh  !  never,  never  was  I  so  deceived  in 
woman  !  And  yet,  somehow,  I  always  saw  that  in  her  which 
made  me  think  it  prudent  not  to  repose  too  much  confidence  in 
her — the  artful,  unprincipled,  poor,  despicable,  creature  !  "  And 
then,  so  sincerely  did  Mrs.  Allington  pity  the  poor,  despicable, 
creature,  that  she  stamped  and  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

But  Mrs.  Allington  was  not  wholly  unfortunate.  She  had 
a  little  feeling  of  gratified  vengeance  to  enjoy.  After  the  first 
transports  of  her  mortification  were  passed,  she  had  the  merit  of 
sufficiently  subduing  her  anger  to  write  some  good  news,  and 
she  was  the  first  to  communicate  it,  to  her  dear,  sensitive,  friend. 
Very  late  on  the  evening  of  that  same  day  a  most  unexpected 
visitor  arrived  at  Eglantine  Bower,  the  report  of  whose  arrival 
spreard  like  wildfire  through  the  neighbourhood — Mr.  Eglantine 
of  that  Ilk; — the  supposed  defunct,  happily  restored,  lord  of 
that  bower; — never  having  been  murdered  at  all,  only  detained, 
and  a  little  the  worse  for  a  few  wounds  and  other  slight  severities, 
from  which,  with  a  few  month's  assiduous  nursing,  there  was 
every  prospect  of  an  entire  recovery,  and  a  long  life.  There,  in 
the  midst  of  his  own  bower,  he  sat  him  down,  awaiting,  with 
commendable  patience,  and,  as  the  civilians  have  it,  in  animo 
maritally  the  return  of  his  lady  from  her  premature  and  now 
unprofitable  journey  to  the  connubial  border  of  North  Britain. 
And  Mrs.  Allington  has  not  given  a  pic  nic  since. 


116 
FUNEREAL     SKETCHES. 

NO.    XXXIII. 

THE     OLD     MAN'S     BROTHERS. 

I  AM  sole  relic  of  a  line 

Whose  course  is  with  the  past ; 

The  rest  found  early  graves — and  mine 
Of  five  must  be  the  last : 

Yet  only  one — she  died  at  birth — 

Will  sleep  with  me  in  native  earth. 

Our  eldest — his  my  father's  skill 

To  drain  the  cavemed  mine, 
Gold  fettered  to  her  sordid  will 

Where  El  Dorados  shine : 
Their  crests  the  giant  palm-trees  wave, 
Perennial,  o'er  my  brother's  grave. 

Another  from  the  phial  drank 

For  Freedom's  martyr-land, 
When  Egypt  battled  with  tlie  Frank — 

He  died  by  Pylos'  strand  : 
They  laid  him,  by  a  moss-grown  pile. 
On  dark  Sphacteria's  lonely  isle. 

Our  youngest  fell,  an  utter  wreck 

In  spirit  and  in  form, 
Alas  !  on  our  fair  fame  a  speck. 

He  sleeps  where  howls  the  storm. 
Death  from  the  convict  struck  his  chain, 
Bermuda,  in  thy  wild  domain  ! 

Where  that  fair  infant  seemed  to  pay 

Our  first  fruits  to  the  tomb, 
I  love  at  silent  eve  to  stray 

Beneath  the  umbrageous  gloom ; 
And  ask  the  night  dews  if  they  weep. 
Like  me,  for  where  their  kindred  sleep. 


117 

F  E  E  D  I  N  G     T 1  M  E. 

People  who  are  uxorioiisly  affected,  and  young  gentlemen  deeply 
in  love,  may  say  what  they  please  about  comfortable  fire-sides 
and  secluded  groves  ;  a  seat  at  a  public  dinner  table  is  the  most 
comfortable  spot  in  existence.  You  may  be  seated  by  the  side 
of  a  journeyman  pig  killer,  who  demolishes  two  chickens,  bones 
and  all,  with  the  best  part  of  a  ham,  in  less  than  ten  minutes : — 
but  what  of  that  ?  You  also  may  eat  enough  to  serve  you  for  a 
fortnight  to  come,  there  is  no  restriction ;  legs  of  mutton  are  as 
plentiful  as  blackberries,  and  the  fragrance  of  roast  beef  arises  on 
all  sides.  You  may  be  placed  opposite  a  forge  bronzed  black- 
smith, who  tucks  up  his  sleeves  that  he  may  the  more  conveni- 
ently denude  the  rib  of  an  ox,  wolf  like,  with  his  grinders;  and 
afterwards  pokes  the  gristly  fragments  from  between  his  tusks 
with  a  fork  : — this  is  no  business  of  yours,  mind  your  own  plate. 
You  may  be  in  juxta  position  with  a  purse-proud  candle  maker, 
who  takes  every  possible  care  to  intimate  that  you  have  intruded 
between  the  wind  and  his  nobility — upsets  your  glass — thrusts 
his  elbow  into  your  eye — and  looks  as  if  he  expected  you  to  beg 
his  pardon .  Never  mind ,  it 's  a  trial  of  your  philosophy,  apologize 
to  him,  and  recollect  that,  when  a  school  boy,  you  often  wrote 
as  a  round  hand  copy — *'  Patience  is  a  virtue.'' 

Englishmen,  like  the  wild  beasts  in  the  Zoological  Society's 
collection,  are  exhibited  to  most  advantage  at  feeding  time.  That 
unity  of  purpose  which  renders  Britons  invincible  at  sea  and 
unconquerable  on  land  may  be  observed  in  their  gastronomic 
operations;  harmoniously  carnivorous  and  socially  bibulous  they 
go  to  work  with  an  intenseness  of  energy  which  is  highly  poetic. 
Their  elongated  and  bluish  countenances,  if  the  viands  are 
delayed  beyond  the  appointed  time,  show  how  unanimously  are 
they  eager  for  the  fray ;  and  their  disinclination  to  wait  for  any 
such  prelude  as  saying  grace  evinces  that  it  is  no  joke,  but  really 
and  truly  war  to  the  knife :  gash  after  gash  must  be  made  into 
flesh  of  some  denomination — a  boiled  elephant  would  be  famous 
eating,  at  such  times,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  tenderness  and 
succulency  of  a  slice  from  the  under  side  of  the  lumbar  vertebrof. 

The  more  mixed  the  operators  at  a  public  dinner  are,  the  more 
glorious  will  be  the  fun  thereat :  if  ever  variety  be  charming  it  is 
surely  in  such  a  case.  Philosophers,  who  would  study  mankind 
unsophisticated  by  sobriety,  should  be  regular  attendants  at 
public  dinners :  when  the  grog  is  well  in,  most  of  the  wit  may 


118  FEEDING    TIME. 

be  subdued,  but  some  of  the  truth  at  least  will  get  out,  which  is 
a  highly  important  matter.  It  is  rather  surprisins:  that  pliilo- 
sophical  societies,  whose  professed  object  is  tlie  attainment  or 
investigation  of  truth,  have  never  thought  of  making  the  disputants 
drunk  before  they  commenced  the  discussion  of  any  important 
point;  and  forbidding  the  use  of  all  manner  of  tea,  from  Bohea 
to  Gunpowder,  inclusive,  as  that  pernicious  gift  which  the  Hong 
merchants  have  sent  us  from  the  Celestial  empire,  has  been 
considered,  time  out  of  mind,  a  great  provocative  of  scandal, 
which  is  generally  but  another  name  for  untruth. 

Thehumourcommences  long  before  dinner,  and,  if  the  company 
be  expected  to  muster  strong,  it  will  not  be  amiss  to  take  a  post 
near  the  inn  door,  about  an  hour  before  the  time  for  opening  it. 
Some  ingenuous  observations  may  be  made,  by  the  himgry  group, 
worth  hearing. 

"  I  say.  Smith,  what  time  is  the  dinner  ready  ?  " 

"Not  till  six  o' clock ;  and  I  'm  blessed  if  I  have  n't  been 
waiting  here  ever  since  two,  to  get  a  good  place." 

**  Well  that  's  coming  the  Quality  hours,  is  n't  it  ?  and,  after 
waiting  such  a  time,  see  if  I  can't  do  a  decent  tuck-out :  if  I  do 
n't  get  a  skinful,  it  's  my  own  fault,  and   my  name  *s  not  Jim.** 

"  1  guess  I  feel  rather  queerish  in  the  inside ;  I  have  n't  made 
use  of  any  thing  since  yesterday." 

" 'Pon  me  conscience,  Misther  Casey,  i  've  just  got  an  appe- 
tite that  'd  ate  the  head  of  a  horse,  every  taste  of  id  ;  to  be  sure 
I  'd  prefer  it  byled  a  thrifle,  or  stewed  with  some  kidney  purtay- 
ties,  an'  a  dhrop  o'  whiskey  to  keep  it  from  risin'  in  me  stumuch.'* 

**Thrue  for  you,  Doolan,  me  honey,  and  it  's  myself  that 
would  be  mighty  glad  to  lend  you  a  hand  in  atin'  some  of  that 
same,  for  sorro'  the  bit  of  any  thing  has  crossed  me  lips  this 
blessed  day,  barrin'  a  sup  o'  rum  that  Misses  Phillips  gave  me 
when  I  brought  her  tlie  bag  o'  coals." 

"  Now,  Jack,  mind  what  I  tell  'e;  stand  by  me  and  I  '11  stand 
by  you,  d'  ye  see,  we  '11  get  opposite  the  biggest  piece  of  roast 
beef  in  the  room,  and  divvle  a  soul  shall  have  any  of  it  but  our 
own  two  selfs." 

"That's  all  very  well  to  talk,  Ned,  but  I  do  n't  see  why  we 
should  n't  get  some'at  better  nor  that  ere  ;  let  's  look  out  for  a 
turkey  or  a  whacking  fine  goose,  about  ten  pound  weight,  I  '11 
contrive  somehow  to  cut  it  in  two,  and  to  put  one  half  on  my 
plate  and  the  other  on  yours,  no  body  can  be  so  uncivil  as  to  ask 
for  any  of  it  then,  I  know." 


FEEDING    TIME.  119 

"  I  tells  you,  Moshes,  itsh  an  unposhibility  to  eat  two  shillin's 
vorth  o'  wittles  at  vonce,  and  I  paid  dat  mosh  monies  for  my 
ticket;  she  it  'II  be  quite  fair  to  put  as  mosh  as  I  can  into  me 
pockets.  I  can  shell  it  to  Levi  to-morrow,  or  perhapsh  he  '11 
give  me  someting  in  exshange  for  it." 

"Hollo!  Smith,  who 'd  ha' thought  of  seeing  you  here?  I 
wish  you  luck  and  hope  you  have  a  good  appetite." 

*^  My  dear  fellow,  its  not  amiss,  considering  that  I  've  just 
dined,  I  would  n't  give  a  button  for  the  dinner,  but  we  shall 
have  some  prime  speechifying  after  it." 

The  door  is  open  at  last — and  what  a  rush  !  There  is  some 
comfort  however  in  being  fairly  carried  up  a  flight  of  sixty  steps, 
without  ever  touching  a  deal  board,  and  being  safely  landed  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  a  roast  fowl.  Hunger  is  a  famous  stimulus : 
all  escalades  should  be  made  when  the  garrisons  are  getting 
dinner  ready,  and  the  assaulters  Englishmen. 

Well,  all  are  comfortably  seated,  provender  is  abundant;  the 
guests  are  in  a  hungry  case  as  aforesaid,  and  the  mere  sight  of  so 
many  good  things  has  screwed  up  the  appetite  to  such  a  pitch 
that  the  force  of  patience,  can  no  farther  go,  sundry  persons  are 
already  at  work  recreating  the  carnal  man. 

"  Gentlemen — gentlemen  !  pray  wait  a  few  moments  ;  our 
respected  chairman  has  not  yet  taken  his  place — I  hope  you  will 
not  commence  dining  till  grace  has  been  said,  and  the  band 
plays  up  the  *  Roast  beef  of  old  England.'  " 

"  We  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  we  were  only  carving  the  joint  to 
save  time  afterwards."  * 

*'  I  cannot  allow  any  thing  to  be  carved  till  grace  has  been 
said.'' 

^*  That  's  what  I  call  the  genteel  thing,"  said  a  voracious 
looking  large  man,  whilst  he  was  very  deliberately  shaking  out 
a  couple  of  reefs  from  his  waistcoat;  "  Let  's  all  start  fair." 

*'  Pass  the  word  along  the  table  for  somebody  that  knows  a 
grace,  is  there  ever  a  person  at  this  table  what  'il  say  grace  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  sir,  do  pray  be  orderly,  the  chairman 
will  say  grace  of  course." 

"  That 's  very  fine  words,  Mr.  Steward,  but  you  do  n't  consider 
that  the  wedgertables  are  cold  already." 

A  deafening  round  of  applause  hinted  that  the  chairman  was 
taking  his  seat;  grace  followed,  and  the  band  discoursed  most 
excellent  music  on  the  subject  of  grilled  oxen.  Then  arose  the 
busy  sound  of  multitudinous  knives  and  forks,  like  the  everlasting 


120  FEEDING    TIME. 

clatter  of  liorse  shoes  on  a  huge  piece  of  earthenware :  eacii  table 
presented  a  vista  of  most  eager  faces,  earnestly  gazing  on  the 
savoury  messes  before  them ;  hundreds  of  hands  were  passing 
too  and  fro  in  quest  of  the  most  relishing  mouthfuls,  and  waiters 
innumerable  were  continually  adding  to  the  already  superabun- 
dant stock  of  provisions. 

"  Allow  me  to  help  you  to  the  legs  of  this  goose,  sir,"  whis- 
pered a  wicked  looking  wag  to  an  aged  labourer  beside  him 
—who  had  just  finished  a  fourth  plateful  of  beef-steak  picj 
duly  qualified  with  potatoes. 

"  Thank  e,  sir,  I  think  I  could  pick  a  bit  more." 

These  being  demolished,  and  a  decent  quantity  of  plum-pud- 
ding sent  down  after  them,  the  latter  speaker  enquires, 

**  Is  there  any  thing  at  the  other  end  of  the  table  that  I  have 
not  tasted  yet  ? " 

"  O,  yes,  my  good  friend,  here  's  some  cheese,  some  celery, 
some  butter,  and  a  small  loaf." 

These  were  also  annihilated  by  the  old  man,  who  still  seemed 
nothing  loth  to  add  to  his  cargo. 

"Could  not  you  get  me  a  little  more  of  that  salery,  sir?  it  's 
very  nice." 

"  I  *m  sorry  it 's  all  gone/'  said  his  neighbour,  who  was  almost 
convulsed  in  endeavouring  to  restrain  outrageous  laughter,  "  but 
here  's  some  very  fine  parsley  which  is  much  better." 

The  garnish  of  three  or  four  dishes  was  quickly  sent  below,  to 
establish  a  fellowship  with  the  goose  legs,  and  the  operator  was 
at  length  obliged  to  exclaim  "  Hold  !  enough."  But  evidently 
much  against  his  grain. 

Through  the  zeal  of  amateur  carvers,  many  a  good  joint  of 
smoking  mutton  and  juicy  beef,  after  pirouetting  across  the  table, 
sought  repose  in  the  lap  of  some  innocent  citizen,  who,  being 
green  in  such  matters,  had  the  consideration  to  endue  himself 
with  his  holyday  inexpressibles  for  the  occasion.  Numerous 
praiseworthy  exertions  were  made  to  cut  through  the  bone,  by 
those  who  were  unconscious  that  sheep  and  bullocks  had  joints ; 
and  sundry  very  handsome  waistcoats  were  newly  dyed  with  very 
delicious  looking  gravy. 

*<  I  say,  Mr.  Peters,  I  do  n't  much  relish  that  joke,  you  've 
stuck  your  fork  three  inches  into  the  calf  of  my  leg." 

"On  my  soul  I  did  n't  intend  it,  Jenkins— my  roll  fell  down, 
and  I  mistook  your  white  stocking  for  it  under  the  table.  I  really 
beg  your  pardon." 


FEEDING    TIME.  121 

"  This  is  the  divil's  own  quare  soop ;  I  have  n*t  finished  one 
plateful,  and  it  goes  against  my  stumuch  intirely."  'q 

"  I  do  n't  wonder  at  it,  Sir." 

"  Sure  you  do  n*t  think  there  's  pyson  in  it — eh  ?  It  tastes  for 
all  the  world  as  if  the  cook  made  a  mistake  and  put  in  pigtail 
instead  of  leeks." 

"  Could  n't  you  see,  that  they  sent  it  up  here  from  the  other 
end  of  the  table,  because  that  fat  gentleman,  with  a  blind  eye, 
dropped  his  snuff  box  into  it,  by  accident,  whilst  he  was  taking 
a  pinch  ?'' 

"  Nick,  I  '11  trouble  you  for  some  of  the  gravy  of  that  pie/' 

"  I  want  some  myself,  too,  but  there  is  not  a  single  spoon  on 
this  table."  s  ^m-; 

"  Well,  knock  the  foot  off  that  salt-cellar,  and  put  the  salt  into 
Smith's  tumbler  of  porter,  whilst  he  's  groping  under  the  table 
for  his  toothpick — You  must  learn  to  make  shift  sometimes.'' 

After  dinner  comes  the  consideration  of  wine  and  grog  ;  some 
sober  people  evacuate  their  seats  altogether  and  travel  homeward 
for  a  cup  of  tea :  some  would  aid  chymification  with  the  fumes 
of  a  cigar;  and  divers  groups  may  be  noted  consulting  on  the 
most  economical  method  of  splicing  the  main  brace. 

"  What 's  the  use  of  paying  sixpence  a  glass,  here,  for  grog; 
when  we  can  get  it  at  the  *  Crown  and  Anchor,'  or  the  *  Pig 
and  Thunderbolt,'  for  fourpence,  come,  come  along.  What  's 
the  use  of  paying  the  price  of  three  glasses  for  two  ?  " 

Many  in  calculating  without  their  host,  had  a  notion  that  the 
two  shilling  tickets  for  dinner  would  not  only  afford  them  an 
opportunity  of  laying  in  a  good  store  of  solids,  but  also  of  getting 
glorious  with  potations,  pottle  deep,  of  wine,  afterwards.     . 

'*  Waiter,  I  '11  trouble  you  for  a  bottle  of  wine." 

"  Port  or  Sherry,  Sir  ?  " 

"  O  !  I  'm  not  particular,  which  ever  is  handyest." 

"  Three  and  sixpence,  if  you  please.  Sir  ? " 

"  Three  and  sixpence  !  I  've  paid  two  shillings  already  for  a 
dinner  ticket." 

"  We  do  n't  give  wine  with  dinner,  Sir." 

"  Well,  never  mind,  I  'm  not  difficult  to  please,  bring  me  a 
jug  of  grog." 

^*  Rum  or  gin.  Sir  ?  " 

"Why,  rum— I  think." 

"  Eighteen  pence,  Sir,— please  ?  " 
VOL.  v.— 1835.  Q 


m 


PEEKING   TIME. 


"  Here  's  a  go !  Give  neither  wine  nor  grog  with  a  dinner  that 
you  charge  two  shillings  for.     What  do  you  give  then  ? '' 

"  Nothing  but  beer,  sir/' 

"  Well,  bring  me  some  beer." 

"  None  to  be  had  now,  sir,  it  *s  all  drunk.** 

The  disappointed  guest  was,  however,  furnished  with  a  jug  of 
beer  from  another  table,  by  a  good  natured  neighbour,  but  as  his 
tumbler  had  been  removed  with  the  cloth,  he  used  his  wine  glass 
as  deputy;  and  by  its  means  contrived  to  empty  the  jug  during 
the  evening. 

The  usual  toasts  being  disposed  of,  the  Chairman's  health  is 
proposed. 

"Hip!  hip!  hip!    Hoo-riia-a — Hoo-raa— Hoo-raa — Hoo-raa!" 
Ditto.  Ditto.         Ditto.         Ditto. 

Ditto.  '  Ditto.         Ditto.         ml  libitum. 

[the  chairman  returns  thanks.] 

Gentlemen,  (cheers)  gentlemen,  (tremendous  cheers)  gentlemen, 
(thunders  of  applause)  gentlemen,  I  can  hardly — I  know — (hem) 
that  is,  gentlemen,  I  cannot  find  ideas  for  my  words,  in  thanking 
you  for  the  great — (hem)  that  is,  the  very  high  and  handsome 
manner  in  which  my  health  has  been  drunk  by  every  honorable 
man  in  this  very  honorable  company.  Gentlemen,  if  any  person 
ever  felt  their  hearts  so  enlarged  with  emotion  as  to  resemble  a 
sea,  which  completely  blocked  up,  that  is  to  say,  restrained  and 
bridled  his  words — those  persons,  I  say,  gentlemen,  can  know 
what  I  now  feel  on  this  important  occasion  ;  (cheers)  gentlemen, 
I  can  safely  say  that  I  have  always  based  my  actions  on  integrity, 
that  great  pinnacle  of  the  arch  of  life,  which,  like  the  sun  at 
noon  day,  shines  with  Aurora's  brightness,  (tremendous  cheering 
and  cries  of  "we  know  you  have.")  Gentlemen,  I  feel  that  I 
would  be  wanting  in  all — (hem)  in  every — (hem)  in  all  true — 
(hem)  that  is,  I  mean,  gentlemen,  in  all  that  is — (hem,  hem)  but 
I  am  afraid  gentlemen  that — that,  I,  I  am  intruding  upon  your 
invaluable  time,  and  unnecessarily  taxing  your  patience,  (loud 
applause,  with  cries  of  "  No,  no."  "  Bravo."  "  Hear  him."  "  Go 
on."  "Go  on  sir.")  Gentlemen,  you  know  that  Rome  was  not  built 
in  a  day,  and  you  know  that  the  pass  of  Thermopylee  was  not 
yieklod  to  the  Persians  till  all  but  two  of  the  three  hundred  had 
perished.  Gentlemen,  let  us,  like  the  brave  Lacedemonians, 
stand  by  our  guns  while  a  shot  remains  in  our  locker,  and  nail 
our  flag  to  the  mast,  (cheers  and  exclamations  "  We  will,"  "  we 
will.")     Gentlemen;  1  was  going  to  say  that  1  thought  I  could 


FEEDING    TIME.  123 

venture  to  cherish  a  dream  of  certainty  that,  whilst  1  am  your 
chairman ; — I  mean,  gentlemen,  that  whilst  each  person,  I  address 
is  unanimously  of  one  mind,  that  all  the  world  cannot  restrain 
your  honorable  designs.  Gentlemen,  I  really  feel,  from  the 
very  bottom  of  my  soul,  that  I  am — (hem,  hem)  really,  gentlemen, 
my  feelings  overpower  me ;  (tremendous  cheers)  and,  gentlemen, 
I  will  do  you  the  honour  of  drinking  your  very  good  health; — 
(hem)  that  is,  gentlemen,  before  I  sit  down,  I  will  do  myself  the 
honour  of  drinking  your  healths."     (loud  applause) 

When  the  wine  and  grog  begin  to  tell,  the  natural  philosopher 
may  commence  making  observations  on  the  various  phenomena 
which  present  themselves,  as  the  patients  are  progressing  towards 
the  great  crisis  :  they  are  comfortable,  exhilarated,  merry,  chatty, 
joyous,  voluble,  glorious,  oratorical,  vocal,  valiant,  top-heavy, 
pugnacious,  outrageous.  The  line  of  direction  has  a  wonderful 
propensity  to  fall  without  the  base ;  and  each  bacchanal  has  a 
surprising  notion  that  his  neighbour's  lap  is  the  most  convenient 
place  to  rest  in.  Some  few  content  themselves  with  a  birth  on 
the  floor ;  till,  after  being  walked  on,  tumbled  over,  and  kicked 
about,  for  half  an  hour,  they  crawl  under  the  table;  where  their 
melancholy  moans  and  stentorious  gruntings,  are  drowned  for  a 
time  by  the  uproar  of  such  companions  as  are  doing  their  best  to 
get  into  a  similar  condition. 

Order,  of  course,  walks  out  as  soon  as  the  brandy  and  port  get 
in ;  and  those  who  would  restore  tranquillity  contrive  to  make 
five  times  more  noise  than  all  the  rest  of  the  assemblage : — 
"  Order,  gentlemen."  "  Chair,  chair."  "  Sit  down,  gentlemen." 
'*  Tell  that  long  man,  with  the  hole  in  his  elbow,  to  take  off  his 
hat."  "  Order,  order,  pray  gentlemen  order."  "  Be  so  good,  sir,  as 
to  stand  down  off  the  table."  "  Chair,  chair."  "O  !  Ned,  you 
thief,  you  've  drunk  my  jug  of  grog,  and  filled  it  with  water." 
"Order,  order." 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Bullsnipe,  what  did  you — (hiccough)  mean  by 
saying  that  I  so — (hie.)  old  my  vote  ?  Sir,  I  ^11  have — (hie.)  you 
to  know — (hie.)  that  I  wants  satisfac — (hie.)  action." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  my  dear  friend,  that  my  observations 
referred  to  you  in   your   public  and   political  capacity,  solely.*^ 

"  Did  n't  you,  when  you  made  your — (hie.)  speech,  say  that 
I  was  a  traitor,  and  a  scou — (hie.)  oundrel  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but,  my  dear  fellow,  nothing  personal  was  intended — 
pray  do  n't  strangle  me — no  personal  offence  was  meant,  I  only 
spoke  on  public  grounds." 


124  TO    THE    WIDOW    ^  ^  ^  ^, 

"  Well  take  that — and  that — and  that.  You  see  I  can  knock 
an  honest  friend  down — though  I  'm — (hie.)  drun — (hie.)  runk. 
And  when  you  look  at  your — (hie.)  black  eye  to  morrow,  in  the 
gla — (hie.)  ass,  remember  there  's  nothing  personal  in  it,  it  refers 
solely  to  your  public  and  political  capa — (hie.)  acity." 

B. 


TO     THE     WIDOW    »  »  »  ♦. 

Hear  me  now  forswear  the  sins 

That  in  the  last  two  years  I  did  do  ; 

Wide  I  roved, 

But  seldom  loved  : 
Alas !  I  knew  not  you,  sweet  widow. 

When  I  deemed  each  suit  was  won 
Backwards  all  my  best  hopes  slid,  O  ! 

Let  me  not  sue. 

In  vain  to  you, 
While  kneeling  at  your  feet,  fair  widow. 

I  know  your  last  was  tall  and  strong. 
Your  first  all  other  men  outdid,  O  ! 

Make  me  the  fourth, 

And  prove  me  worth. 
The  three  together;  charming  widow. 

Others'  eyes  have  falsehood's  tears ; 

But  'neath  your  smile-enclosing  lid,  O  ! 

What  can  play 

But  Love's  bright  ray  ? 
Share  its  light  with  me,  dear  widow. 

And  never  more  'till  grim  death  come 
This  true  breast  of  its  life  to  rid,  O ! 
Shall  aught  delight. 
By  day  or  night, 
But  you,  my  blithe  and  buxom  widow. 

Leon  . 


125 

FLAME. 

Flame  is  considered  as  the  most  perfect  modification  of  combus- 
tion, that  is  to  say,  gaseous  bodies,  in  combustion  combine 
with  more  avidity,  and  produce  a  much  higher  temperature,  than 
solid  bodies. 

The  principal  properties  recognised  in  gaseous  combustion,  or 
as  it  has  been  termed.  Flame,  are  heat  and  light — and  it  will  be 
the  object  of  the  following  remarks,  to  endeavour  to  explain  or 
investiojate  some  of  the  causes  which  produce  and  modify  these 
appearances. 

On  examining  the  flame  of  any  burning  body,  it  appears  to 
consist  of  two  parts ;  first,  a  white  cone  of  bright  light,  and 
secondly,  an  outer  casing  of  faint  red  light,  producing  intense 
heat.  Some  have  included  the  dark  hollow  centre  of  the  flame 
as  a  third  part,  but  rather  improperly,  since  the  term  flame  can 
only  be  applied  to  those  parts  where  combustion  is  immediately 
going  on.  On  examining  the  properties  of  these  two  portions  of 
the  flame,  they  are  found  to  differ  considerably.  The  inner  one, 
or  that  from  which  the  light  proceeds,  gives  out,  comparatively, 
but  little  heat ; — whilst  the  outer  thin  film,  the  light  of  which  is. 
almost  eclipsed  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  other,  is  found  to  produce 
a  very  intense  degree  of  heat. 

The  writer  is  induced  to  suppose,  that  light  is  not  an  essen- 
tial product  of  combustion.  That  it  always  accompanies  gaseous 
combustion  cannot  be  denied ;  but  this  appears  to  arise  from  the 
admixture  of  heterogeneous  solid  matter,  either  in  the  atmosphere 
or  in  the  gaseous  matter,  undergoing  combustion ;  and  there  is 
every  reason  to  suppose,  that  if  by  any  means  the  presence  of 
these  solid  particles  could  be  prevented,  gaseous  bodies  would 
combine,  and  produce  heat  without  light. 

The  light  given  out  by  flame  appears  to  depend  upon  two 
causes:  first,  the  quantity  of  solid  matter  contained  in  it  and 
ignited,  and,  secondly,  the  heat  producing  this  ignition. 

Attempts  have  been  made  to  show  that  light  and  heat,  and 
heat  and  light  are  in  an  inverse  ratio  :  but  this,  on  examination, 
will  be  found  to  be  erroneous  ;  for  although  there  are  many  cases 
in  which  much  heat  is  produced,  with  very  little  light,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  paucity  of  solid  matter;  still  there  are  otlier  cases 
where  solid  matter  is  present  in  which  both  light  and  heat  are 
extremely  feeble.  For  example — carbonic  oxide  burns  with  a 
lambent  blue  flame,  and  produces  but  very  little  heat.     The  heat 


126  FLAME. 

appenrs  to  arise  from  the  great  energy  of  the  con>bination.  Now 
in  the  case  of  carbonic  oxide,  its  disposition  to  combine  with 
oxygen  is  but  limited,  in  consequence  of  the  carbon  contained  in 
it,  being  already  half  saturated  with  that  gas ;  the  remaining 
energy  of  combination,  therefore,  does  not  produce  a  degree  of 
temperature  sufficient  to  ignite  the  solid  matter  contained  in  it 
to  any  considerable  extent. 

The  energy  exerted  in  the  combination  of  hydrogen  with 
oxygen  is  amazingly  intense;  and  here,  as  might  be  expected, 
the  heat  is  the  greatest ;  as  may  be  shown  by  igniting  a  mixture 
of  these  gases,  at  the  jet  of  the  oxy-hydrogen  blowpipe.  In  this 
flame  platina  melts,  boils,  and  burns ;  pumice  stone,  pipe  clay, 
quartz,  granite,  &c.  vitrify  immediately.  The  appearance  of  this 
flame  is  very  insignificant,  and  the  light  extremely  feeble ;  and  it 
is  even  probable  that  the  light  which  is  produced  arises  merely 
from  the  ignition  of  extraneous  solid  matter,  of  which  we  have  at 
present  no  means  of  divesting  it. 

That  the  light  produced  by  any  flame  depends  on  the  high 
degree  of  ignition  of  the  solid  matter  contained  in  it,  is  evident 
from  this : — If  the  flame  of  the  oxy-hydrogen  blowpipe,  be  made 
to  pass  through  or  act  upon  the  ignited  portion  of  otlier  flames, 
the  light  will  be  increased.  For  instance — if  we  cause  the  flame 
from  the  blowpipe  to  play  immediately  upon  the  bright  portion 
of  the  flame  of  a  common  candle,  the  light  will  become  greater 
in  consequence  of  the  higher  degree  of  ignition  produced  in  the 
charcoal  contained  in  solution.  Tiie  same  eflect  niay  be  more 
strikingly  produced,  by  treating  the  flames  of  turpentine  or 
camphor  in  the  same  manner.  The  energy  exerted  in  combustion, 
by  the  gaseous  matter  of  these  substances,  only  producing  a 
limited  degree  of  temperature.  Here  then  an  increase  of  heat 
produces  an  increase  of  light. 

Again — the  light  of  a  flame  depends  greatly  upon  the  nature 
of  the  solid  matter  contained  in  it ;  those  substances  giving  the 
greatest  light  whose  particles  are  capable  of  sustaining  the 
greatest  heat,  prior  to  entering  into  combination;  thus  we  find 
sulphur  combined  with  hydrogen  gives  but  a  feeble  blue  flame, 
in  consequence  of  the  low  degree  of  temperature  necessary  to 
volatilize  tins  substance;  while  hydrogen  combined  with  carbon 
gives  a  brilliant  light,  increasing  in  proportion  to  the  quantity  of 
carbon  contained  in  the  flame,  in  consequence  of  the  high  degree 
of  temperature  capable  of  being  sustained  by  this  substance 
before    combination.       Phosphorus,    gives    out    an   extremely 


flamh:.  127 

brilliant  light  in  combustion.  This  light  is  further  increased  by 
the  fixed  and  dense  nature  of  the  phosphoric  acid  which  is 
produced.  This  substance,  unlike  the  gaseous  products  in  the 
two  former  instances,  is  a  solid  incombustible  substance,  capable 
of  being  ignited  to  an  extremely  high  point,  without  decompo- 
sition. 

Thus  we  perceive,  that  as  the  light  is  derived  from  the  ignition 
of  solid  matter,  and  as  these  solid  bodies  are  only  held  in  solution 
by  gases  in  definite  proportions,  our  chief  aim  should  be,  so  to 
conduct  the  process  of  combustion  as  to  produce  the  highest 
degree  of  temperature  without  the  actual  combustion  of  the  solid 
matter. 

Although  by  some  it  may  be  deemed  superfluous,  yet,  since 
much  depends  on  the  true   meaning  of  the  terms  ignition  and 
combustion,  it  will  not  be  amiss  here  to  point  out,  the  distinction 
between  them.     If  we  take  a  piece  of  lime,  or  a  common  brick, 
and  heat  it  to  redness,  it  will  be  found  that  its  properties  will  not 
be  altered,  for  it  will  resume  its  former  appearance  on  cooling  : 
this  is  ignition.     If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  submit  a  piece  of 
wood  to  the  action  of  fire,  we  perceive  that,  immediately  on  arriv- 
ing at  a  certain  temperature,  its  properties   suddenly  alter;  it 
becomes  black ;  and  heat  and  light  are  copiously  evolved  from 
it:  this  is  combustion.     Great  regard   should  be   paid   to  these 
two  peculiar  states  of  bodies,  as  the  light  depends  entirely  on  the 
ignition,  and  not  the  combustion  ;  because  when  the  combustion 
is  most  perfect,  and  the  solid  matter  entirely  consumed,  the  light 
is  least.     For  example,  if  we  allow  a  jet  of  carburetted  hydrogen 
gas  to  burn  as  it  issues   from  the  pipe,   the  light  produced  is  ^ 
brilliant,  but  only  in  that  part   in   which  the  carbon    is   ignited 
without  entering  into  combustion ;  for  in  those  parts  where  the 
combustion  is  most  perfect,  that  is  to  say,  in  those  parts  which 
are  immediately  in  contact  with  the  atmosphere,  the  light  is  very 
feeble.     In  order  to  prove  this,  it  is  only  necessary  to  insert  a 
piece  of  metal,  so  thick  as  not  to  be  readily  heated,  in  the  midst 
of  the  bright  flame;  this  will  conduct  away  the  heat  so  rapidly 
as  to  defend  from  its  action  the  carbon,  which  will  consequently 
become  deposited  in  abundance  on  the  surface  of  the  metal.     If 
the  piece  of  metal  be  now  applied  to  the  apex  of  the  flame  no 
charcoal  will  be  deposited,  in  consequence  of  its  having  entirely^ 
combined    with   oxygen,   and  become  converted  into  carbonic 
acid. 


128  FLAME. 

Again ;  if  we  allow  the  gas  which  issues  from  the  jet  to  be 
intimately  mixed  with  atmospheric  air  before  combustion,  no 
charcoal  will  be  given  off  by  the  flame,  the  light  of  which  will 
be  feeble,  though  the  heat  will  be  very  intense.  In  this  case  the 
combustion  is  perfect,  every  portion  of  the  carbon  being  brought 
into  contact  with  sufficient  oxygen  for  its  saturation  before  under- 
going combustion  :  but  here,  perhaps,  it  may  be  asked,  Is  not  the 
charcoal  ignited  ?  and,  if  so,  Why  does  it  not  give  out  light  ? 
This  may  be  easily  explained.  In  the  case  of  the  simple  jet,  the 
carbon  is  ignited  in  an  atmosphere  of  hydrogen,  »and  does  not 
come  immediately  into  contact  with  the  oxygen  of  the  atmosphere, 
except  in  the  outer  red  casing,  where  it  immediately  enters  into 
combustion,  gives  out  much  heat,  and  looses  its  light. 

If  in  the  combustion  of  carburetted  hydrogen  gas,  we  supply 
the  gas  too  quickly,  or  the  air  too  slowly,  the  combustion  will  be 
imperfect,  the  hydrogen  of  the  compound  will  by  its  superior 
attraction,  seize  on  the  oxygen  ;  but  the  temperature  produced 
by  its  combustion  will  be  insufficient  to  ignite  the  whole  of  the 
charcoal;  part  of  it  will  therefore  fly  off  unconsumed,  producing 
smoke.  This  may  be  easily  shown  by  an  argand  gas  burner;  in 
this  instrument  the  cylindrical  flame  of  gas,  being  supplied 
within  and  without  with  a  current  of  atmospheric  air,  is  burning 
under  the  most  favorable  conditions;  but,  if  the  aperture  which 
admits  air  to  the  inner  surface  be  stopped,  the  flame  immediately 
becomes  smoky ;  the  quantity  of  air  supplied  to  the  outer  surface 
being  insufficient  for  the  entire  combustion  of  the  whole  of  the 
charcoal,  which  consequently  flies  off  in  smoke. 

Tliat  the  liglit  of  flame  is  derived  from  the  solid  substance 
combined  with  it,  is  further  shewn  by  the  colour  of  the  light  vary- 
ing with  the  nature  of  the  substance  used  :  for  example,  lime  and 
strontian  communicate  a  red  or  crimson  colour  to  flame;  barytes, 
a  green;  soda,  yellow;  copper  and  borax,  green. 

Now  as  the  light  given  out  b}  the  substances  held  in  solution 
entirely  depends  upon  the  degree  of  ignition  capable  of  being  sup- 
ported by  those  substances,  without  their  entering  into  combus- 
tion, it  is  evident  that  in  these  cases  the  intensity  of  the  light  can 
never  exceed  a  certain  point :  it  is  not,  however,  absolutely  ne- 
cessary that  the  solid  matter  employed  to  produce  the  light  should 
be  held  in  solution  in  the  flame  :  it  is  quite  sufficient  that  flame 
at  a  high  temperature  should  be  caused  to  act  upon  solid  matter. 
Here  tlien  we  have  an  endless  variety  of  substances  for  experiment ; 


TO    THE    DEITY.  129 

and  itjwill  be  found  that  the  principle  just  stated,  namely,  that 
the  light  is  in  proportion  to  the  incombustible  nature  of  the 
ignited  solid  matter,  will  hold  good  to  any  extent: — for  it  will  be 
seen,  on  submitting  different  substances  to  the  action  of  the 
powerful  flame  of  the  oxy-hydrogen  blowpipe,  that  the  light 
given  out  by^them  will  increase  as  their  temperature  increases, 
until  it  arrives  at  that  point  when  they  either  enter  into  combustion, 
or  melt,  boil  and  evaporate — those  bodies  giving  out  the  most 
light  which  require  the  highest  temperature  for  this.  Lime  and 
magnesia  are  the  most  refractory  substances  with  which  we  are 
acquainted,  being  almost  infusible  by  the  most  intense  heat  of  the 
oxy-hydrogen  blowpipe;  from  these  bodies,  consequently,  the 
greatest  degree  of  light  is  produced,  and  its  gradual  increase  may 
be  observed  to  keep  pace  with  its  temperature,  arriving  at  such  a 
degree  of  intensity  as  to  cast  a  bold  shadow  of  any  object  in  the 
strongest  sunshine ; — therefore  it  may  be  deduced,  that  the  light 
of  flame  does  not  directly  proceed  from  the  combustion  itself,  but 
merely  from  the  ignition  produced  in  solid  matter  by  the  heat 
resulting  from  that  combustion. 

But  whence  this^light  originates ;  whether  it  may  be  considered 
as  a  component  part  of  the  solid  matter  in  which  it  may  exist  in 
a  latent  state,  and  be  only  rendered  evident  by  the  action  of  cal- 
oric ;  or  whether  caloric  itself,  by  being  absorbed  by  a  combus- 
tible body,  becomes  converted  into  light,  it  is  neither  within  the 
province  of  this  paper  nor  the  power  of  the  writer  to  determine. 

J.  N.  H. 

To  be  continued. 


TO     THE     DEITY, 

I  feel  Thee,  when  the  breeze  is  sweet, 
And,  in  the  fields,  Thy  presence  meet. 
I  see  Thy  power  in  insect  form, 
And  worship  Thee  amidst  the  storm, 
I  praise  Thee  when  I  rest  at  night : 
I  bless  Thee  for  the  morning's  light. 
I  thank  Thee  for  thy  favors  given ; 
And  hope  to  see  thy  face — in  Heaven. 

M.  A.  P. 


VOL.  v.— 1835. 


130 

A    CRITICAL     DISSERTATION     ON    FALCONER'S 
SHIPWRECK. 

It  is  a  characteristic  peculiar  to  Falconer's  ship- 
wreck, that  the  author  and  his  work,  the  seaman 
and  the  poet,  are  closely  and  intimately  united. 
The  discrimination  of  Virgil  gave  to  the  mouth  of 
iEneas,  a  narrative  of  the  scenes  and  dangers  in 
which  he  himself  had  borne  so  large  a  part.  Now 
Falconer's  situation  exquisitely  coincided  with  tliis 
beauty ;  and  our  poet,  in  the  plaintive  motto  of  his 
work,  intimates  that  he  too  had  been  exposed  to  all 
the  complicated  horrors  he  so  forcibly  and  patheti- 
cally describes.  The  young  sailor  had  been  left  at 
Alexandria,  in  Egypt ;  where,  in  fact,  he  had  lately 
joined  the  ill  fated  vessel.  The  classic  grounds  for 
his  assuming  the  name  of  Arion,  are  touched  with 
much  feeling.  The  hint  previously  given  in  the 
motto  is  then  confirmed. 

"  This  la<t  our  tragic  story  from  the  wave 
Of  (lark  oblivion  haply  yet  may  save." 

With  the  exception,  however,  here  noticed,  the 
soil  on  which  our  poet  came,  **  muse  inspired,"  to 
labour,  appeared  every  thing  but  promising.  It 
seems  recognised  both  by  poets  and  critics,  that  a 
good  epic  should  terminate  successfully.  Lucan's 
Pharsalia  is,  I  believe,  the  only  classic  exception  to 
this  rule  on  record  :  Falconer's  catastrophe  is 
necessarily  of  the  same  kind.  In  one  place,  after 
beautifully  touching  on  the  design  and  influence  of 
poetry  in  general,  he  notices  this  defect.  His  was  a 
tale  of  the  storm,  and  little  else  ;  a  narrative  of  the 
same  dangers,  a  repetition  of  nearly  the  same  vain 
efforts  to  avert  them.  The  masters  of  the  elder  song 
had,  he  confesses,  been  sometimes  engaged  on  such 
topics. — 

*"The  mournful  harp  of  yore 
Wept  the  sad  wanderer  lost  upon  the  shore." 

Yet  with  a  vast  difference  in  their  main  object ;  with 
them  the  wreck  was  merely  episodical,  with  him  it 
was  the  groundwork  of  his  tale. — 


falconer's  shipwreck.  131 

But  Falconer  had  yet  other  difficulties  to  combat ; 
his  was  a  poem  of  real  life,  and  that  again  as  it 
appeared  at  the  time  of  writing  :  as  such  it  is  natu- 
rally restricted  in  the  use  of  imagery.  The  critics 
hold  that  a  good  poet  may  improve  on,  but  not  con- 
trovert, the  popular  belief  of  his  date. 

To  subject  the  "Shipwreck"  to  this  canon — In 
Virgil  the  pilot  falls  overboard,  and  is  lost,  the 
accident  being  brought  about  by  supernatural  causes : 
Falconer's  period  confined  him  to  simpler  expedients. 
Father  Bossu,  speaking  of  the  poet  of  the  Odyssey, 
remarks,  that  nothing  can  be  more  natural  than 
making  it  turn  on  the  dangers  of  the  sea.  But  in 
all  its  subordinate  parts.  Homer  enjoyed  ampler 
range  to  diversify  the  simplicity  of  his  fable.  Who 
will  not  observe  how  much  Falconer  is  straightened 
by  the  sad  realities  of  his  tale  ? 

-  The  proposal  of  the  subject,  while  the  poet  and 
his  harp  are  alone  by  the  sea  shore  is  made  finely  in 
accordance  with  these :  and  the  invocation  that  follows 
is  conceived  in  terms  the  most  sublime  and  awful. 
His  appeal  is  made  by  the  roaring  of  the  blast,  and 
"  because  of  the  noise  of  the  water  pipes." 

"  By  the  long  surge  that  foams  through  yonder  cave 
Whose  vaults  remurmur." 

The  main  action  of  the  piece  commences  with 
Arion  being  startled  from  a  dream.  Childe  Harold 
has  been  dreaming:  of  his  daughter  : — 

"  Waking  with  a  start 
The  waters  rage  around  me,  and  on  high 
The  floods  lift  up  their  voices." 

The  seaman's  vision  is  appropriately  broken  by  the 
call  of  duty  and  the  boatswain's  whistle  : — 

"All  hands  unmoor! ! !  " 
"  The  Skimmer  of  the  Seas,"  in  Cooper's  novel 
under  that  title,  and  the  Grab  as  described  in  "  The 
Adventures  of  a  younger  son,"  both  wear  about  them 
more  or  less  of  a  romantic  feature.  Falconer  steadily 
rejects  all  such  ornament ;  his  ship  is  an  English 
merchantman  of  that  date  and  nothing  more. 


132  A    CRITICAL    DISSERTATION 

But  let  us  see  the  Bounty,  in  the  South  Seas,  an 
hour  before  the  mutiny. 

"  The  cloven  billow  flashed  from  off  her  prow 
/      In  furrows  foimed  by  that  majestic  plough." 

Or  the  vessel  in  the  Corsair — 

**  Speed  on  her  prow  and  terror  in  her  tier." 

Few  will  dispute  either  the  correctness  or  splendour 
of  those  images  ;  but  Falconer  unites  the  imagination 
of  the  poet  with  a  sailor's  pride  in  his  vessel. 

**  She  moves  in  trim  array 
Like  some  fair  virgin  on  her  bridal  day." 

The  author's  penetration — why  not  say  his  heart  ? 
— suggested  to  him  that  a  tale  of  the  softer  passions 
should  give  interest  to  his  work.  Thomson's  storm 
in  summer,  would  not  have  been  half  so  interesting 
without  the  story  of  the  two  lovers  :  a  similar  charm 
IS  thrown  over  the  "Shipwreck,"  by  the  episode  of 
Palemon  and  Anna.  The  Lady  Love  is  the  only 
daughter  of  Albert,  the  ship  master  ;  the  youth  is 
son  to  the  owner  of  the  vessel — whose  expostulation 
and  final  resolve  to  send  Palemon  to  sea,  introduce 
their   parting  interview.     The  sorrow  of  Palemon, 

"  Mingled  with  deep  passion 
For  the  sweet  downcast  virgin  ;" 

And  the  fond  expostulation  of  the  maiden, 

"  With  anguish  in  her  angel  face," 
Are  oiven  with  exquisite  pathos. 

Parting  scenes  have  ever  been  favorite  themes 
with  poets.  Ossian  tells  us  that  the  eve  of  an  expe- 
dition, was  always  dedicated  to  the  song  of  bards. 
"  Sing  on,  O  !  bards,"  says  the  King  of  Morven, "  to- 
morrow we  lift  the  sail" — Still  more  beautiful  is  the 
thought  in  "  the  Island." 

*'  To  morrow  for  the  Mooa  we  depart 

But  not  to  night,— to  night  is  for  the  heart." 

Observe  how  Falconer  enters  on  such  a  subject, 
the  Vessel,  he  says, 

"The  vessel  parted  on  the  falling  tide; 

Vet  Time  ouf  sa(  red  hour  to  I.ove  supplied  ; — 


,  ON  falconer's  shipwreck.  133 

Impatient  Hope  the  midnight  path  explored 
And  led  me  to  the  nymph  my  soul  adored."  * 

"  Ossian/'  says  Dr.  Blair,  "  almost  never  express- 
es himself  in  the  abstract/'  his  hill  is  the  hill  of 
Cromla  ;  his  storm  that  of  the  Lake  of  Lego  ;  a  mode 
of  expression  highly  favorable  to  descriptive  poetry. 
Falconer's  work  abounds  in  beauties  of  this  class  ; 
his  clouds  rest  on  Mount  Ida  ; — a  ruin  on  the  shore 
is  the  tomb  of  Jupiter,  and  the  last  point  of  the 
coast  Cape  Spado.  May  I  venture  another  remark 
in  this  place? — The  season  of  the  year  at  which  the 
^^  Shipwreck"  occurs — "  when  sailing  was  now  dan- 
gerous," as  well  as  other  local  and  atmospherical 
particulars,  forcibly  remind  us  of  the  voyage  and 
wreck  of  the  apostle  Paul. 

As  in  the  writings  of  Homer — and  especially  of 
our  own  Shakspeare-:— the  characters  of  the  shipwreck 
bear  a  marked  diversity ; — each  one  is  essentially 
different  from  the  other. 

The  chief  mate,  Rodmond's  disposition  claims 
our  praise  for  candour  rather  than  amenity. 

"  Blunt  was  his  speech  and  naked  was  his  heart." 

That  this  picture  was  drawn  to,  as  well  as  from, 
nature,  I  can  readily  conceive.  The  school  in  which 
this  first  rate  seaman  had  been  bred,  was  then  pro- 
ducing a  Cook  ;  and  in  both  cases  the  talents  of  the 
sailor  seem  to  have  been  shaded  by  austerity  in  the 
man. 

*  Notwithstanding  the  beauty  of  this  Episode,  I  venture  on 
classing  among  the  defects  of  the  poet's  fable  that  its  action  is 
almost  necessarily  devoid  of  the  charm  of  female  life; — and  yet 
this  makes  a  good  figure  on  shipboard,  witness  the  2nd  Canto  of 
Marmion.  Sir  W.  Scott  archly  unites,  with  the  wonder  of  the 
nuns  in  their  novel  situation,  the  coquetry  natural  to  their  sex. 

"  One  eyed  the  shrouds  and  swelling  sail, 

****** 

Another  at  the  snrge  grew  pale, 


Whyl 


And  one  would  still  adjust  her  veil 
Disorder'd  by  the  summer  gale." 


"  Perchance  because  such  action  graced 
A  fair  turned  arm  and  slender  waist." 


134  A    CRITICAL    DISSERTATION. 

"  But  see !  in  confluence  borne  before  the  blast, 
Clouds  roird  on  clouds." 

The  wind  which  had  been  increasing,  with  squalls, 
all  day,  becomes  a  gale  towards  evening  ;  Nature 
and  Truth  are  never  at  variance.  The  Corsair's  atten- 
dant is  surprised  at  the  suddenness  of  the  order  to 
weigh  anchor. 

"  To  night  Lord  Conrad  ? — aye,  at  set  of  sun  : 
The  breeze  will  freshen  when  the  day  is  done." 

I  notice  the  shoal  of  porpoises  in  this  place,  as  it 
affords  a  comparison  with  the  noble  author  just 
quoted. 

Lord  Byron's  picture  is  that  of  a  vessel  just 
before  sunrise  in  fine  weather ; — 

"The  dolphins,  not  unconscious  of  the  day, 
Swam  high,  as  eager  of  the  coming  ray." 

But  Falconer  sets  before  us  the  porpoises  rolling 
themselves  along,  in  the  manner  peculiar  to  those 
fish,  as  something  more  than  merely  adjunct  to  the 
scene:  they  are  aptly  made  to  indicate  the  approach 
of  foul  weather ; 

"Tlieir  rout  sagacious  form 
To  shun  the  fury  of  the  approaching  storm." 

Would  any  view,  a  sketch  of  this  kind  as  height- 
ened by  the  resources  of  Greek  mythology  ?  let  him 
look  at  Amphitrite  and  her  train  in  the  4th  book  of 
Telemachus. 

The  incidents  of  a  voyage  are  almost  uniform ; 
with  little  relief  from  the  ordinary  routine  of  a  ship's 
duty  ;  we  cannot  therefore  but  admire  the  art  with 
which  Falconer  has  contrived  to  diversify  his  narra- 
tive. Besides  the  instance  given  above,  the  sea  view 
in  one  place  is  enlivened  by  a  waterspout  and  the 
means  taken  to  destroy  it; — ^just  after  we  have  the 
beauties  of  a  dying  dolphin  faithfully  and  vividly 
pourtrayed.  I  say  faithfully,  though  in  the  only  case 
that  lias  fallen  under  my  observation,  the  poet's  col- 
oring mioht  perhaps  wear  a  hue  in  advance  of  nature. 
But  what  say  the  critics  ?  The  poet's  province  is  to 
embellish  nature — to  give  her  features  an  attraction 


LINES.  135 

they  do  not  possess  in  the  eye  of  common  observers  : 
— "  His  ocean  must  be  more  varied  with  islands, 
more  splendid  with  shipping  and  more  agitated  by 
storms  than  as  it  exists  in  reality." 

To  be  continued. 


LINES. 


Bending  before  the  symbol  of  her  creed, 

In  holiness  of  heart,  she  kneeled  to  pray ; 

Devotion  on  her  pale  and  lofty  brow 

Sate  like  a  tranquil  glory.     On  her  cheek 

A  tear,  that  gushed  unbidden  from  its  cell, 

Lay  like  a  star-lit  dew  drop  on  the  rose. 

From  her  mild-beaming  eye  raised  up  to  Heaven 

Flowed  forth  a  speaking  look — a  silent  prayer — 

More  eloquent  than  words.     Thus  she,  whose  soul 

Was  innocent  as  aught  of  life  on  earth, 

Sought  pardon  for  her  sin,     I  could  have  gazed, 

Untiring,  on  that  loveliness  ;  till  rapt 

With  too  much  beauty — like  the  Egyptian  seer 

Who  found  an  idol  in  some  radiant  star — 

Love  became  Adoratimi. 

*         iff         ***-*-*         * 

Ere  her  strain 
Of  fervent  supplication  died  away 
One  name  was  uttered,  with  a  faltering  tone; 
As  though  her  bosom  trembled  lest  the  Night, 
With  its  still  ear,  might  hear  that  cherished  sound. 
O,  Passion's  strength  !  as  yet  *t  was  but  a  flame 
Of  mortal  power  :  but  then  my  heart  confessed 
A  holier  feeling  that  has  lived  through  time 
And  darkening  change — itself  alone  unchanged. 

Mentor. 
Stoke. 


136 

PLYMOUTH     INSTITUTION. 

PROCEEDINGS     IN     THE     ATHEN.IU'M. 

January  8th. — Mr.    W.    Walker*s    Lecture  on    Geological 
Changes  resulting  from  Meteorological  Agency. 

Resumed  from  page  90. 

The  depths  to  which  man  had  penetrated  below  the  earth's 
surface,  bore  so  small  a  proportion  to  the  distance  from  the 
surface  to  the  centre,  that  all  our  excavations  and  mining  opera- 
tions might  be  considered  as  so  many  scratches  on  the  earth's 
external  crust.  Those  portions  of  the  solid  surface  that  have 
been  examined  by  geologists,  consist  of  series  of  layers,  or  strata, 
arranged  in  a  certain  determinate  order  which  is  never  inverted ; 
the  lower  series  being  of  a  somewhat  more  compact  nature  than 
the  superincumbent  mass.  Geologists  have  classed  these 
successive  layers  of  rocks  into  three  grand  divisions,  namely 
primary,  secondary,  and  tertiary  formations ;  and  tliese  are 
again  subdivided;  the  primary  formation  consists  of  granite, 
slate,  porphyry,  and  other  hard  rocks,  traversed  by  metallic  veins, 
but  without  any  traces  of  organic  remains.  The  secondary 
formations  rest  upon  the  primary,  and  consist  of  sandstone, 
limestone,  clay,  coal,  iron-stone,  chalk,  Sec,  these  strata  contain 
fragments  of  more  ancient  strata,  corals,  marine  shells,  and 
bones  of  animals  now  extinct.  The  tertiary  series  consist  of  clay, 
limestone,  gravel,  sand,  alluvion,  and  vegetable  soil ;  with  petri- 
fied organic  remains  of  some  extinct  fishes,  animals,  and  plants, 
imbedded  in  the  lower  members  of  the  series ;  and  near  the 
surface,  remains  of  amphibia,  land  and  aquatic  animals,  and 
plants  of  the  same  species,  as  now  occupy  the  land  and  water. 
The  lecturer  stated,  that  these  organic  remains,  imbedded  and 
preserved  in  the  different  strata  of  the  earth's  external  crust, 
formed  an  authentic  and  historical  record  of  the  different  animals 
and  plants  that  had  succeded  each  other  in  tiie  course  of  time  : 
and  that  the  different  layers  of  rocks,  containing  a  succession  of 
mineral  fragments  of  more  ancient  rocks,  formed  a  chronological 
record  of  the  world,  from  the  period  when  the  secondary  rocks 
began  to  be  formed,  up  to  the  present  time.  Since  geologists 
have  begun  to  register  facts,  instead  of  dealing  in  vague  and 
visionary  cosmological  specluations,  all  their  researches  go  to 
establish    the  authenticity  of  the  Mosaic  account  of  the  creation. 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  137 

The  importance  of  the  study  of  organic  remains  was  insisted 
on  as  forming  a  key  to  geological  research.  Tliese  important 
records  informed  us,  that  all  the  dry  land,  with  which  we  are 
acquainted,  had,  at  some  former  period  of  time,  been  covered 
with  water;  that  other  plants  and  otlier  animals  inhabited  the 
earth  and  sea,  under  a  different  state  of  things,  and  that  there 
was  a  gradual  succession  of  animal  and  vegetable  life,  until  man 
was  created.  The  lecturer  stated,  that  no  human  bones  were 
found,  unless  in  the  alluvions  or  newest  strata,  at  the  surface,  or 
in  caverns.  The  various  meteoric  and  atmospherical  agencies, 
producing  geological  changes  on  the  earth's  surface,  and  in  the 
bed  of  the  ocean,  were  then  alluded  to :  such  as  the  weathering, 
abrasion  and  degradation  of  rocks,  together  with  the  effects 
produced  on  them,  by  the  expansive  force  of  freezing  water,  and 
dislocations  caused  by  hydrostatic  pressure.  Deposits  are  formed 
and  consolidations  take  place,  in  the  bed  of  the  ocean ;  and  many 
curious  examples  were  given,  of  the  wonderful  changes  brought 
about  by  the  transporting  and  cutting  power  of  rivers  and 
running  streams,  whereby  the  higher  lands  are  worn  away  and 
conveyed  to  the  ocean,  there  to  form  new  strata. 

The  lecturer  then  adverted  to  the  curious  circumstance,  of  the 
slow  but  gradual  rise  of  Scandinavia  above  the  waters  of  the 
Baltic  Sea  and  German  Ocean — a  circumstance  hinted  at  by 
Pliny,  Gibbon  and  others,  and  recordedhy  Celsius  a  Swedish  natu- 
ralist, 130  years  ago,  but  treated  by  geologists  as  an  idle  fiction. 
The  fact  is  however  established  beyond  a  doubt.  Mr.  Ryall  last 
year  visited  Scandanavia;  he  found  that  marks  cut  in  the  solid 
rocks,  in  retired  creeks  of  the  Bothnic  Gulf,  20  years  ago,  were 
several  inches  above  the  sea,  and  similar  marks  cut  70  years  ag^o, 
were  now  several  feet  above  the  water's  surface.  Sea  shells  of 
the  same  species  as  now  live  in  the  adjacent  waters,  were  found 
imbedded  in,  or  adhering  to  the  rocks,  at  heights  from  one  to  two 
hundred  feet  above  the  present  level  of  the  sea.  A  mass  of 
evidence,  historical,  traditional,  and  ocular,  proves  that  Scan- 
danavia is  slowly  but  gradually  rising  out  of  the  water,  at  the  rate 
of  about  three  feet  in  a  century. 

The  transporting  power  of  currents  and  tidal  streams  was  next 
alluded  to,  and  the  constant  changes  they  produce  in  the  bed  of 
the  ocean ^  and  on  the  coasts  of  continents  and  islands.  These 
great  streams  of  water,  moving  in  different  directions,  and  trans- 
ferring portions  of  caloric  from  one  locality  to  another,  modify 
the  temperature  of  different  countries  and  produce  changes  in 
VOL.  v.— 1835.  s 


138  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

the  animal  and  vegetable  productions  of  the  same  countries  at 
different  geological  periods. 

The  lecturer  concluded  his  paper  by  producing  maps  and 
diagrams  to  prove  that  England  owes  her  insular  situation  to 
agencies  now  in  operation.  He  thinks  that  at"  some  compara- 
tively recent  geological  period,  England  was  joined  to  the  Con- 
tinent by  an  Isthmus  near  Dover,  and  that  in  those  days  extraor- 
dinary high  tides  of  102  feet,  obtained  to  the  westward  of  the 
Isthmus :  and  that  inferior  tides  obtained  in  the  German  Ocean  : 
that  the  constant  chafing  of  the  waves,  gradually  diminished  the 
distance  across;  that  equinoctial  tides  accompanied  by  equinoc- 
tial gales,  and  great  diminution  in  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere 
would  produce  exceedingly  high  tides  in  this  locality,  whereby  a 
breach  might  be  made,  and  a  torrent  precipitated  into  the  German 
Ocean;  bearing  along  with  it,  all  the  flints,  gravel,  chalk,  sand, 
and  mud  that  composed  the  isthmus.  These  materials  would 
be  deposited  in  a  succession  of  banks,  bearing  some  relation  to 
the  velocity  of  the  tide,  as  it  gradually  diminished  as  the  distance 
from  the  Strait  increased  ;  now  this  is  exactly  what  we  find  here, 
for  a  series  of  shoals  extending  along  the  coast,  from  the  Straits 
of  Dover  to  the  Texel  exist ;  those  nearest  to  Calais,  being  com- 
posed of  the  most  coarse  and  hard  materials,  and  those  further 
to  the  eastward  being  of  softer  and  more  soluble  n:atter.  An 
opening  being  once  made,  a  total  change  took  place  in  the  range 
of  the  tide,  and  in  the  direction  of  its  streams;  lands  that  were 
once  covered  by  the  tide  in  the  English  Channel,  would  now  be 
left  40  feet  above  high  water  mark;  other  lands  on  the  shores  of 
the  German  Ocean,  would  now  be  drowned  by  the  tides: 
because,  before  the  disruption,  the  North  Sea  could  only  be 
filled  by  a  tide  wave  passing  between  Scotland  and  Norway, 
whereas,  after  the  disruption,  another  tide  wave  passed  into  the 
North  Sea,  through  the  Straits  of  Dover.  Now  in  some  localities, 
these  tide  waves  would  combine  to  produce  higlier  tides,  whereas, 
in  other  localities,  they  might  become  tides  of  interference  and 
mutually  destroy  each  other;  all  the  consequences  resulting  from 
such  a  catastrophe  are  too  numerous  for  us  to  mention.  We 
shall  therefore  conclude  this  notice  in  the  lecturer's  own  words. 
"  We  may,  however,  conclude,  that  the  external  crust  of  our 
earth  is  continually  but  slowly  changing  its  geological  and  geo- 
graphical features,  by  the  various  agencies  now  in  operation. 
Water  is  raised,  by  heat,  into  steam,  and  mounts  into  the  atmos- 
phere to  form   clouds,  which   are  wafted   by   the   winds  to  the 


PLYxMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  139 

summits  of  the  loftiest  mountains ;  here  they  are  condensed  and 
give  birth  to  springs,  rills,  rivulets,  and  rivers ;  and  all  the  con- 
sequences resulting  from  them.  The  hardest  rocks  are  worn 
aw^ay  by  meteoric  phenomena,  and  their  ruins  conveyed  by  fluids, 
to  form  new  lands.  Volcanoes  vomit  their  liquid  lava  to  form 
rocks,  or  eject  ashes  into  the  air,  which  are  borne  away  by  the 
winds,  to  fertilize  the  surrounding  country.  Rivers  protrude 
their  deltas  into  the  sea.  The  Ocean  undermines  and  demolishes 
its  rocky  barrier.  Here  we  behold  a  whole  country,  with  its 
mountains,  rivers,  and  lakes,  slowly  but  gradually  rising  above 
the  level  of  the  sea.  There  we  find  islands  just  peering  above 
the  waves,  and  again  sinking  beneath  them.  The  great  oceanic 
currents  roll  on  their  mighty  streams,  and  bring  together  the 
produce  of  both  Torrid  and  Frigid  Zones ;  while  the  ever 
changing  tide  invades,  frets,  and  fritters  away  the  softest  and 
most  soluble  portions  of  our  coasts.  On  one  hand,  we  behold 
the  destruction  of  our  continents  and  islands ;  on  the  other  hand, 
reproduction.  Yet  although  so  many  destructive  agents  be  in 
operation,  filling  the  earth  with  the  monuments  of  ruin  and  dis- 
order, yet  there  are  conservative  principles  in  operation,  which 
preserve  the  stability  of  the  system,  and  render  the  Earth  a  fit 
habitation  for  its  sojourner— : Man." 


January  15tii. — Mr.  Barnes'  second  Lecture  on  Moral 
Philosophy. 

The  object  of  the  lecturer  was'to  show  the  mode  in  which  this 
science  should  be  pursued.  To  this  end  he  stated  what  moral 
philosophy  is,  viz.,  the  knowledge  of  the  moral  qualities  of  human 
actions  ;  which  he  showed,  by  reference  to  his  former  lecture,  to 
be  the  relations  of  agreement  or  disagreement  between  their 
natural  qualities  and  the  laws  of  the  Divine  Will. 

He  then  pointed  out  the  method  of  classifying  the  natural 
qualities  of  human  actions,  and  of  obtaining  a  knowledge  of  the 
laws  of  the  Divine  Will  regarding  each ;  and  explained  how  from 
a  knowledge  of  the  things  related  is  to  be  drawn  that  of  their 
relations  to  each  other;  i.  e.,  of  the  /wora/ qualities  of  human 
actions. 

The  lecture  was  concluded  by  some  observations  on  Paley's 
work  on  this  subject. 


140  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

January  22nd. — Mr.  Ciiatfi eld's  third  Lecture  on 
Naval  Architecture. 

The  lecturer  observed  that,  on  referring  to  his  two  former  pa- 
pers, he  found  that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  matter  yet  untouched, 
lie  had  explained  the  leading  principles  in  the  theory  of  naval 
construction,  and  had  described,  in  a  summary  way,  the  mechan- 
ical mode  of  ship-building:  he  had  also  treated  on  the  "moving 
forces"  employed  to  propel  vessels,  more  particularly  the  action 
of  the  wind  vtpon  a  ship's  sails — and  had  illustrated  the  principle 
upon  which  ships,  by  a  series  of  diagonal  movements,  work  to 
windward  of  the  place  of  departure. 

The  lecturer  considered  that  from  the  period  at  wliich  we  find 
a  ship  built  upon  the  "stocks"  until  the  lime  of  her  being  acted 
upon  by  the  moving  forces  employed  to  propel  her,  many  operations 
are  performed  in  the  department  of  naval  architecture  which  might 
witli  propriety,  occupy  one  of  the  evenings  of  the  Institution. 
He  therefore  proposed  to  speak,  first,  of  the  principle  and  mode 
of  launching ;  and  then,  of  the  manner  in  which  the  stowage  and 
internal  arrangements  are  planned  and  proceeded  with. 

1.  The  lecturer  described,  by  means  of  a  very  complete  model, 
the  whole  process  of  fitting  a  launch ;  he  actually  launched  the 
model,  and  thus  elucidated  the  operation  of  constructing  a 
"  cradle,'  capable  of  sustaining  the  entire  weight  of  the  ship 
when  all  other  support  is  removed,  and  which  is  so  contrived  as 
to  move  with  the  vessel  until  she  is  safely  in  the  water.  The 
system  of  launching  was  shewn  to  be  exceedingly  simple ;  but 
the  details  are  too  numerous  to  admit  of  repetition  in  the  short 
outline  which  we  are  enabled  to  give  of  the  lectures  of  the  Insti- 
tution. 

2.  The  lecturer  proceeded  to  treat  on  stoivage,  which  signifies 
the  method  of  arranging  the  posit ioiiSj  and  subsequently  disposing 
of  all  great  weights — viz.,  the  ujumunltion,  provisions,  diud  stores  ; 
with  a  view  to  promote  tliose  good  qualities  which,  when  com- 
bined, constitute  excellence  in  naval  construction.  A  vessel's 
stability  under  canvass,  the  easiness  of  her  evolutions,  and  her 
durability,  are  all  affected  in  an  important  degree  by  the  system 
of  stowage.  Here  the  lecturer  described  the  mode  of  determining 
the  trim  of  a  vessel,  or  her  "  seat"  in  the  water;  which  depends 
on  the  relative  positions  of  the  weights  before  and  abaft  the 
centre  of  gravity  of  the  volume  of  water  which  the  naval  architect 
designs  his  ship  to  displace,  when  equipped  for  sea.  But  the 
predicted  "  line  of  floatation"  may  be  adjusted  under  a  variety 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  141 

of  modifications,  because  the  mere  libration  of  weights  which 
keep  each  other  in  equilibrio  depends  on  their  relative  (not  their 
actual)  situations,  in  reference  to  the  axis  of  rotation :  conse- 
quently, the  "trim"  of  a  ship  alone,  is  not  the  only  principle 
which  a  naval  constructor  has  to  consider. 

A  ship  floating  in  a  quiescent,  stkte  will  be  liable  to  strain, 
unless  the  distribution  of  the  weights  on  board  be  regulated  by 
the  vertical  pressure  of  the  water  under  the  vessel's  bottom 
which  varies  according  to  the  form  of  the  submerged  part  of  the 
body,  from  one  extremity  to  the  other.  An  example  was  quoted 
by  the  lecturer,  of  the  effect  of  this  principle  in  actual  practice, 
(on  a  74  gun  ship)  as  given  by  Dr.  Young,  in  a  paper  published 
in  the  Philosophical  Transactions,  1814.  The  argument  was  then 
applied  to  a  ship  in  motion,  the  lecturer  demonstrating  that  the 
weights  at  the  extremities  of  a  ship  cause  her  to  plmige  into  the 
sea  with  a  force  proportional  to  the  squares  of  the  distances  of  the 
weights  from  the  centre  of  rotation  :  hence  it  follows  that  ships 
become  strained  by  loading  them  with  heavy  weights  towards 
the  extremities,  by  which  they  are  not  only  torn  to  pieces,  but 
their  progress  through  the  water  is  materially  impeded. 

The  lecturer  invited  the  attention  of  the  society  to  some 
general  rules  by  which  the  required  cavity  of  a  ship's  hold  may 
be  correctly  estimated,  and  subdivided.  He  read,  from  official 
reports  on  ships'  qualities  their  various  characters  as  regards  their 
capabilities  for  s^owd/^*-^ ;  and  thus  proved  that  even  in  vessels 
of  the  same  '^  class,"  their  characters  are  widely  different.  Some 
vessels  bear  the  character  of  stowing  an  unusual  quantity  of 
w^ater:  others  will  stow  a  particularly  large  proportion  of  bread  : 
others  have  a  very  capacious  after  hold,  spirit  room,  magazine, 
and  so  forth :  at  the  same  time  many  ships  are  respectively  defec- 
tive in  one  or  other  of  these  particulars.  Facts  of  this  kind  re- 
flect on  the  naval  architectural  department ;  they  certainly  betray 
a  want  of  method:  because,  if  a  ship  will  stow  water,  or 
bread,  or  any  other  species  of  provisions,  for  a  given  period  ;  it 
should  follow  as  a  thing  of  course,  that  her  capacity  for  stowage 
be  perfect  in  every  other  particular  for  the  same  length  of  time. 
In  the  opinion  of  the  lecturer,  such  would  be  the  effect  of  a  sys- 
tem founded  upon  rules  of  proportion,  which  it  would  be  his 
endeavour  to  make  clear.  He  took  his  position  upon  the  "  Re- 
gulations of  the  service,"  by  which  he  perceived  that  a  very  me- 
thodical arrangement  may  be  made  for  determining  with  precision 
the  relative  magnitudes  of  all  the  compartments  for  stowage. 


142  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

The  whole  system  of  stowage  may  be  placed  under  the  four 
following  heads,  viz.: — the  Ordnance,  Victualling,  Medical,  ^nd 
Mechanical  departments.  This  mechanical  branch  includes  the 
boatswain's  and  carpenter's  departments,  by  which  the  rigging  and 
hull  are  kept  in  an  efficient  state. 

Here  the  lecturer  referred  to  the  drawing  of  a  seventy-four  gun 
ship,  shewing  the  internal  arrangements,  the  principal  part  of 
which  were  minutely  explained,  from  the  poop-deck  down  to  the 
orlop-deck ;  and,  having  arrived  at  the  lowest  platform,  he  then 
described  the  principle  upon  which  the  required  capacity  of  a 
ship's  hold  may  be  estimated,  and  accurately  subdivided,  that 
she  may  be  enabled  to  receive  stores  and  provisions  of  every  kind 
for  any  given  number  of  men,  for  a  given  period. 

The  principle  on  which  Mr.  Chalfield  proposes  to  do  this,  is 
by  calculating  the  Jiet  cubical  content,  as  well  as  the  net  weight, 
of  powder,  shot,  provisions,  water,  &c.  ;  he  then  finds  the  additi- 
onal space  occupied  by  the  vessels  in  which  provisions,  &c.  are 
respectively  contained,  and  the  loss  of  room  sustained  by  the 
figures  of  those  vessels.  Thus,  it  appears  that  bee/'is  stowed  in 
barrels  containing  38  pieces  of  8  lbs.  each  ;  but  a  barrel  of  beef, 
including  beef,  salt,  and  pickle,  amounts  to  499  lbs.,  out  of  which 
the  cask  alone  weighs  69  lbs.,  which  leaves  430  lbs.  for  the  beef, 
brine  and  salt;  or  126  lbs.  for  brine  and  salt.  Hence  in  the 
article  beef,  the  tare  of  pickle  and  salt  amounts  to  40  per  cent, 
on  the  primitive  weight,  and  a  further  tare  of  23  per  cent,  should 
be  added  for  the  weight  of  the  cask,  making  altogether  63  per 
cent.,  on  this  article  of  provision.  It  was  stated  that  the  loss  on 
stowage  was  still  greater,  viz.  143  per  cent,  on  the  original  cubi- 
cal content  of  the  article  beef.  The  lecturer  knew  of  no  other 
principle,  upon  which  correct  calculations  can  be  made,  in  order 
to  predict  with  accuracy,  the  entire  weight  of,  and  space  occupied 
by,  all  the  provisions,  &c.,  for  a  man-of-war  for  a  given  period. 
He  deemed  it  important  to  act  upon  that  principle,  for  he  thought 
it  often  happened,  that  a  ship's  hold  was  quite  capacious 
enough  to  receive  every  thing,  but  that  an  injudicious  mode  of 
partitioning  off'the  various  compartments  cramped  the  stowage  of 
some  and  left  unnecessary  room  in  others.  This  opinion  was 
confirmed  by  extracts  from  official  documents. 

The  lecturer  concluded  by  observing,  that  the  beauty  of  every 
system  is  the  harmony  of  its  parts :  it  is  so  in  Nature,  and  it  is 
the  same  in  the  works  of  Art.  It  was  his  wish  to  shew  that 
naval  architecture  admits  of  being  harmonized,  with  great  practical 


THE    THEATRE.  143 

advantage,  even  in  the  departments  of  stowage.  He  feared  that 
the  details  which  he  had  brought  before  the  society,  had  proved 
uninteresting,  but  they  were  not  unimportant;  he  was  free  to 
confess  that  his  knowledge  of  the  subject  was  very  imperfect, 
and  that  he  should  have  hesitated  to  write  a  paper  on  "Stowage,'' 
if  he  had  not  experienced  the  most  enlightened  attention  at  those 
public  departments  in  the  neighbourhood,  where  he  had  sought 
for  information,  on  the  subjects  to  which  his  observations  had 
reference. 

The  lecturer  reminded  the  Society  that  he  had  said  on  former 
occasions,  in  that  hall,  that  it  yet  remains  for  English  ship  build- 
ers to  reduce  naval  architecture  to  a  scientific  system :  he  wished 
he  could  see  reason  to  alter  that  opinion — but  he  could  not;  his 
sentiments  on  that  point  were  unchanged.  "  They  order  matters 
better  in  France."  In  England,  we  want  that  encouragement  to 
prosecute  naval  philosophy,  which,  in  France,  is  so  liberally  prof- 
fered. The  French  Academy  of  Sciences  have  offered  several 
prizes,  from  time  to  time,  for  the  best  Memolres  on  the  stowage 
of  ships.  In  1757,  Daniel  Bernouilli  received  a  prize;  in  1759, 
Mon.  L.  Euler  divided  the  prize;  in  the  same  year,  and  again  in 
1765,  Mon.  Groignard,  Constructeur  des  vaisseaux  du  Roi,  k 
L'  Orient,  divided  a  prize;  in  1761,  Mon.  L'  Abbe  Bossut,  and 
Mon.  J.  A.  Euler  divided  a  prize;  and,  in  1766,  Mon.  Bourd^ 
de  Villehuet  obtained  a  prize.  Besides  these,  many  other  com- 
petitors were  candidates  for  the  honours  to  be  awarded. 

But  where  shall  we  look  for  essays,  (I  will  not  say  prize  essays) 
in  the  English  language?  If  it  be  true  that  the  destinies  of 
an  empire  may  be  read  in  the  characters  of  its  public  institutions, 
let  us  hope  that  in  proportion  as  we  value  our  naval  supremacy, 
so  shall  we  cherish  every  means  of  becoming  superior  to  rival 
countries  in  every  thing  that  relates  to  our  maritime  resources. 


THE    THEATRE. 

Jan.  30.,   Henriette,  and  Turn  Out. 

Ilenriette,  or  the  Forsaken,  was  brought  out  for  the  first  time, 
on  the  above  evening.  It  is  a  melo-drama,  founded  on  the 
German  novel,  "The  Patrician,"  and  dramatized  by  Buckstone, 
author  of  "  Victorine."  It  was  received  with  unbounded  ap- 
plause, and  was  well  worthy  of  such  a  reception.  Miss  Mason 
appeared  to  great  advantage  as  Henriette ;  her  conception  of  the 


144  THE    THEATRE. 

character  was  correct,  and  her  performance,  especially  towards 
the  close  of  the  second -act,  was  truly  touching.  Miss  Jarman, 
as  Rose,  was  very  good.  Mr.  Hield's  Monval  was  not  inferior  to 
Miss  Mason's  Henriette;  and  Mr.  Horsman's  Philippe  was 
acted  better  than  any  thing  we  have  seen  him  do  this  season. 

Fuller,  as  Chevalier  Pirouette,  would  have  done  much  better 
with  a  wig  less  outrageously  outre. 

Feb.  2.,   Henriette f  and  Turn  Out. 

Under  the  patronage  of  Sir  W.  Cotton  and  the  officers  of  the 
Garrison.  The  performances  were  well  received  by  an  overflow- 
ing house. 

Feb.  5.,  Rural  Felicity y  and  The  Housekeeper  were  announ- 
ced for  this  evening,  but  no  performance  took  place  in  conse- 
quence of  the  fatal  illness  of  Mr.  Sandford,  who,  to  the  deep 
sorrow  of  his  relatives  and  friends,  and  to  the  great  regret  of  tlie 
public,  died,  on  the  7th,  three  days  after  an  apoplectic  seizure. 

Without  condescending  to  fulsome  or  unmerited  eulogy,  we 
will  sum  up  the  character  of  this  upright  and  high-minded  indi- 
vidual, in  the  words  which  Shakspeare  put  into  the  mouth  of 
Antony — 

"  Nature  might  stand  up, 
And  say  to  all  the  world,  Tuis  was  a  man  ! " 

Feb.  16.,  Jane  S/forf,  and  Don  Juan. 

Miss  Mason's  Jane  Shore  was  the  main  attraction  of  this 
evening.  She  was  equally  successful  in  the  depiction  of  humili- 
ated penitence,  passive  endurance,  and  the  withering  despair 
which  bows' down  the  soul  when  its  last  hope  has  perished.  She 
gave  many  passages  with  power  and  pathos,  and  in  the  scene 
subsequent  to  her  supplication,  for  a  morsel  of  bread,  at  the  door 
of  Alicia,  (Mrs.  Ilorsman)  she  identified  herself  so  closely  with 
the  forlorn  condition  of  the  character,  as  to  merit  the  unanimous 
applause  with  which  she  was  greeted  by  the  audience. 

Feb.  17.,   Eugene  Arauiy  and  Tekeli. 

Miss  Mason,  as  Madeline,  and  Mr.  Hield,  as  Eugene  Aram, 
acted  with  their  usual  ability,  and  vvere  very  flatteringly  encour- 
aged by  unanimous  plaudits.  Richard  Houseman  is  a  character 
well  adapted  to  Mr.  Horsman's  line  of  acting.  By  a  few  minute 
touches  he  threw  a  sternness  of  truth  into  his  picture  of  the 
heartless  murderer,  which  made  it  tell  strikingly;  whilst  he  also 
developed,  with  fidelity  of  feeling,  the  only  one  redeeming  trait  in 
his  character — the  solicitude  of  a  father. 

Feb.  19.,  The  Wedding  Goimi,  (which  we  noticed  in  a  former 
number)  and  Hurul  Ftliciti/. 

The  performances  of  this  evening  were  under  the  patronage  of 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  West  end  of  the  town  ;  but,  owing 
to  the  extreme  inclemency  of  the  weather,  the  house  was  not  so 
full  as  had  been  anticipated. 


G.    p.    HEARDER,    PLYMOUTH. 


APR.  22 


J.    lOri.STON,   Eby.,    DJ.h. 


THE     SOUTH     DEVON 
MONTHLY    MUSEUM. 

PLYMOUTH,    APRIL     1st,     1835. 

No.  28.]  Price  Sixpence.  [Vol.  V. 

DEVON  PORT. 

The  subjects  of  our  engraving,  this  month,  are  the 
Town  Hall,  the  Column,  and  Mount  Zion  Chapel, 
Devonport. 

For  the  drawing  from  which  they  were  taken  we 
are  highly  indebted  to  John  Foulston,  Esq.,  who, 
with  great  kindness,  prepared  it  for  the  "  Museum." 
The  favor  which  has  thus  been  conferred  upon  us 
was  much  enhanced  by  its  being  as  unexpected  as  it 
was  unsoHcited. 

We  believe  our  engraving  is  the  most  accurate 
which  has  been  presented  to  the  pubhc.  That  in 
"  Fisher's  Devonshire  Illustrated  "  is  incorrect  in  the 
relative  proportions ;  the  Column  being  much  too 
small  in  comparison  with  the  other  edifices. 

The  three  structures  are  enduring  monuments  of 
the  taste  and  skill  of  the  architect,  Mr.  Foulston,  to 
whom  Devonport  and  Plymouth  are  indebted  for 
the  designs  of  so  many  classic  public  buildings. 

The  Town  Hall  was  designed  from  the  Parthenon, 
at  Athens.  The  builder  was  the  late  Mr.  Rickard, 
of  Devonport.  It  was  commenced  in  1821,  and  w^as 
completed  in  the  following  year,  at  an  expense  of 
£2902.,  which  was  raised  by  subscription,  in  shares. 
The  portico  exhibits  four  Doric  columns ;  each 
twenty-seven  feet  six  inches  in  height,  and  five  feet 
six  inches  in  diameter.  Within  its  recess  is  a  flight 
of  six  steps,  leading  to  the   Hall  itself,  which   is 

VOL.  v.~1835.  T 


146  DEVON PORT. 

seventy-five  feet  long,  forty  feet  wide,  and  thirty-one 
feet  in  height. 

The  interior  is  fitted  up  as  a  court  of  justice,  for 
the  transaction  of  such  business  as  comes  under  the 
cognizance  of  the  local  magistrates  :  but,  as  the 
Hall  is  frequently  used  for  other  public  purposes, 
the  fittings  are  so  constructed  as  to  be  capable  of 
removal  when  necessary.  At  the  back  of  the  edi- 
fice, and  otherwise  contained  within  it,  are  several 
smaller  apartments.  There  are  also  cells  for  prison- 
ers, which  have  a  communication  with  the  Hall. 
The  meetings  of  the  Devonport  Mechanics'  Institute 
are  held  within  the  building. 

His  late  Majesty,  George  the  fourth,  granted  to 
the  inhabitants  the  privilege  of  changing  the  former 
name  of  the  town,  Plymouth  Dock,  to  that  of 
Devonport;  and  on  the  first  of  January,  1824,  its 
new  appellation  was  proclaimed  in  many  public 
places,  with  every  demonstration  of  rejoicing.  In 
order  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  this  event,  the 
Column  was  erected,  from  Mr.  Foulston's  design,  it 
was  to  be  surmounted  by  a  colossal  statue  of  the 
King  who  sanctioned  the  change  of  name.  This 
structure  also  was  built  by  the  late  Mr.  Rickard,  at 
an  expense  of  £2750.,  but  this  does  not  include  the 
remuneration  of  the  architect.  It  may,  here,  be 
observed  that  the  Column  was  erected  without  the 
aid  of  any  exterior  scaffolding. 

The  Column  stands  upon  a  solid  rock,  twenty-two 
feet  above  the  pavement ;  which  height  is  ascended 
by  a  handsome  flight  of  steps,  enclosed  by  parapets 
of  wrought  marble  ashler  work,  and  communicating 
with  an  arched  gateway,  of  similar  materials,  that 
opens  to  the  terrace  surrounding  the  base. 

Including  the  plinths  and  foundation  rock,  the 
entire  elevation  of  the  Column  from  the  street  to  the 
pedestal,  whereupon  the  figure  is  to  stand,  is  125 
feet.  On  the  upper  plinth,  which  is  nine  feet  high, 
are  pannels  for  inscriptions  ;  the  height  of  the  lower 
plinth  is  nineteen  feet.     The  whole  is  constructed  of 


DEVONPORT.  147 

granite,  of  a  very  superior  quality.  The  shaft  is 
fluted,  and  of  the  Grecian  Doric  order,  having  within 
it  a  spiral  staircase  leading  to  a  balcony  on  the 
summit  of  the  capital.  This  is  surrounded  by  an 
elegant  iron  railing,  and  commands  as  fine  an  ex- 
panse of  prospect  as  any  in  the  country; — it  is 
bounded  by  Hengist  down,  on  the  north,  and  extends 
to  the  British  Channel  on  the  south  ;  and  comprises 
every  variety  of  landscape,  lying  between  Dartmoor 
on  the  east,  and  the  far  hills  of  Cornwall  on  the  west. 
A  person  is  always  in  attendance  at  the  Column : 
visitors  are  allowed  to  ascend  to  the  top,  and  avail 
themselves  of  the  beautiful  view  which  it  unfolds,  on 
payment  of  a  shiUing. 

To  the  right  of  the  Column  is  seen  Mount  Zion 
Chapel.  It  is  designed  after  the  Hindoo  style,  with 
the  ornaments  and  accompaniments  appropriate  to 
that  fantastic  manner ;  but  of  massive  and  bold  pro- 
portions ;  these  are  so  judiciously  arranged,  that  the 
whole  front  presents  a  highly  effective  and  pleasing 
appearance;  and  the  building,  though  placed  in 
juxta- position  with  the  fine  portico  of  the  Town 
Hall,  maintains  its  rank,  and  seems  to  suffer  nothing 
from  a  contrast,  which  would  be  destructive  to  many 
buildings,  in  which  bold  and  picturesque  effects 
have  been  less  the  objects  of  the  architect's  attention. 

The  building  of  this  chapel  was  commenced  in 
November,  1823,  and  finished  in  July,  1824,  at  a 
cost  of  about  £2,000. 

To  the  "right  of  Mount  Zion  Chapel  is  the  Devon- 
port  Library  (an  engraving  of  which  has  been  pre- 
pared for  publication  in  a  future  number).  The 
building  was  originally  used  as  the  Devonport  and 
Stonehouse  Classical  and  Mathematical  Subscription 
School.  The  business  of  that  establishment  is  now 
carried  on  in  another  building,  in  Fore  Street, 
Devonport.  Subsequently  to  this  removal,  the 
edifice  was  purchased  for  a  Public  Library,  for 
which  purpose  it  is  exceedingly  well  adapted.  It  is 
supported  by  annual  subscriptions,  every  subscriber 


148  THE    PLEASURES    OF    CHILDHOOD. 

having  the  privilege  of  introducing  a  friend,  with  free 
access  for  three  months.  The  Libraiy  consists  of  a 
highly  valuable  collection  of  books,  both  ancient  and 
modern,  and  a  constant  supply  of  the  London,  pro- 
vincial, and  local  newspapers. 

The  building  is  in  the  Egyptian  style  of  architec- 
ture; much  judgment  has  been  displayed  by  the 
architect  in  combming  the  massive  parts,  appropriate 
to  this  style,  with  the  greatest  effect.  Monsieur 
Denon  observed,  when  a  design  of  the  building  was 
shown  to  him,  that  it  was  the  best  attempt  to  appro- 
priate Egyptian  architecture  to  domestic  purposes 
that  had  ever  come  under  his  notice.  The  building 
was  erected  in  1823,  at  the  cost  of  £1500. 

For  parts  of  the  above  disci iption  we  are  indebted 
to  "  Carrington's  Guide,"  "  Rowe's  Panorama  of 
Plymouth,"  "  Brindley's  Directory,"  and  "  Fisher's 
Devonshire  and  Cornwall  Illustrated." 


THE     PLEASURES    OF     CHILDHOOD. 

What  are  the  pleasures  of  childhood  ?  For  pity's  sake,  interested 
reader,  if  you  have  an  inkling  thereof,  make  it  known  to  the 
editor;  who,  perhaps,  may  have  sufficient  charity  to  publish  the 
matter  for  the  benefit  of  all  whom  it  may  concern.  I  must 
candidly  confess  that  I  have  never  seen  any  thing  like  pleasure 
in  childhood — except  in  print,  especially  in  the  writings  of  those 
mendacious,  half-witted  varlets,  the  poets. 

No  doubt  they  would  persuade  us  that  the  pleasures  commence 
shortly  after  we  make  our  entrance  into  the  world, — to  wit,  the 
pleasures  of  smell,  taste,  sight,  hearing,  and  feeling.  What  an 
exquisite  odour  of  gin  and  aniseed  salutes  a  new  born  infant  on 
the  lap  of  its  nurse — how  comfortable  must  it  feel  when  half  a 
teacup  full  of  brandy,  rhubarb,  and  other  drugs,  is  thrust  down 
its  throat,  "just  to  comfort  its  dear  little  stomach — it  wants 
something  to  keep  up  the  natural  heat,  poor  little  soul."  What 
a  favorable  picture  of  humanity  it  first  opens  its  eyes  upon — the 
half  boiled,  blood-shot  eyes  of  an  old  woman,  who  is  doing  her 
utmost,  by  means  of  every  species  of  swathing  and  bandaging,  to 
render    it   as  uncomfortable   as   is   consistent  with   appropriate 


THE  PLEASURES  OF  CHILDHOOD.      149 

nursing.  Then  the  precious  darling  is  presented  to  papa — who 
adds  to  its  pleasures  by  pronouncing  it  tlie  ugliest  object  he  ever 
beheld ;  whilst,  to  prove  his  paternal  feeling,  he  gives  it  a  kiss — 
that  is,  rasps  half  the  skin  from  its  face  with  the  black  stubble  of 
his  bristly  chin. 

From  this  period  to  that  of  cutting  its  teeth,  which  of  course 
is  another  pleasure,  it  experiences  the  diurnal  delight  of  cold 
water  ablutions,  which  it  acknowledges  by  exerting  its  lungs  to 
the  top  of  their  ability;  and  by  this  proclamation  of  its  felicity, 
no  doubt,  adds  to  that  of  the  aforesaid  papa,  if  he  happen  to  be 
within  hearing  range. 

"And  vaccination  certainlyi^has  been 

A  kind  antithesis  to  Congreve's  rockets." 

But  it  also  has  certainly  been  for  some  time  one  of  the  plea- 
sures of  childhood,  for  who  will  deny  the  pleasantness  of  having 
a  lancet  thrust  into  each  arm,  and  a  dose  of  castor  oil  into  the 
stomach. 

A  new  and  enlarged  series  of  pleasure  commences  with  the 
event  of  Master  Dickey's  going  to  school — a  preparatory  delight 
is  his  being  encased  in  a  pair  of  breeches,  and  a  button  spangled 
jacket  withal.  That  he  feels  comfortable  in  these  habiliments  is 
evinced  by  the  ease  of  his  attitudes,  which  are  not  a  whit  more 
graceful  than  that  of  a  dead  pig  planted  on  its  hind  legs  against 
a  brick  wall,  on  a  frosty  morning. 

At  Doctor  Birchrod's  establishment,  he  has  the  pleasure  of 
sitting  quietly  at  a  desk,  for  six  hours  per  diem,  with  the  super- 
addition  of  being  placed  near  a  window,  whence  he  has  a  pros- 
pect of  sunshine  and  green  fields.  The  big  boys  "leather"  him 
because  he  cannot  box,  or  haply  because  his  mamma  never  sends 
a  plumcake  large  enough  to  give  them  a  feed  all  round.  The 
master  "  thrashes  "  him  because  he  has  learned  to  box,  and  has 
sported  a  black  eye  in  testimony  thereof. 

Whatever  mischief  may  be  done  in  school-room  or  play-ground 
is  sure  to  be  laid  to  the  credit  of  him  and  his  co-mates,  the  little 
fellows ;  for  the  children  of  larger  growth  have  sufficient  ingenuity 
in  most  cases,  to  keep  themselves  clear  of  such  scrapes :  they 
fancy  that  it  is  quite  enough  to  be  birched  for  the  sake  of  Homer 
and  Euclid — poetry  and  philosophy. 

Other  pleasures  of  childhood  may  be  enumerated,  under  the 
denomination  of  scarlet  fever,  measles,  hooping  cough,  chicken 
pox,  nettle  rash,  and  sundry  other  matters,  id  genus ;  too  numerous 
to  mention  here,  but  which  are  duly  set  forth  in  the  advertise- 
ments of  all  quack  doctors. 

X. 


»i  150 

LOVE    AND     CANNIBALISM. 

*'  Who  is  that  blocking  up  the  hatchway  ?  "  said  I,  as  somednrk 
body  nearly  filled  the  entire  aperture. 

Presently  the  half-naked  figure  of  Sergeant  Quacco  descended 
the  ladder.  He  paid  no  attention  to  me  nor  any  body  else;  but 
spoke  to  some  one  on  deck  in  the  Eboe  tongue,  and  presently  his 
wife  appeared  at  the  coamings  of  the  hatchway,  hugging  and 
fondling  the  abominable  little  graven  image  as  if  it  had  been  her 
child — her  own  flesh  and  blood.  She  handed  it  down  to  the 
black  sergeant,  who  placed  it  in  a  comer,  nuzzling  and  rubbing 
his  nose  all  over  it,  as  if  he  had  been  propitiating  the  tiny  Moloch 
by  the  abjectness  of  his  abasement.  I  was  curious  to  see  how 
Lennox  would  take  all  this,  but  it  produced  no  effect :  he  looked 
with  a  quizzical  expression  of  countenance  at  the  figure  for  some 
time,  and  then  lay  back  in  his  hammock,  and  seemed  to  be  com- 
posing himself  to  sleep.  I  went  on  deck,  leaving  the  negro  and 
his  sable  helpmate  below  amongst  the  men,  and  was  conversing 
with  Mr.  Sprawl,  who  had  by  this  time  made  his  appearance, 
when  we  were  suddenly  startled  by  aloud  shriek  from  the  negress, 
who  shot  up  from  below,  plunged  instantly  overboard,  and  began 
to  swim  with  great  speed  towards  the  shore.  She  was  instantly 
followed  by  our  friend  the  sergeant,  who  for  a  second  or  two 
looked  forth  after  the  sable  naiad,  in  an  attitude  as  if  the  very 
next  moment  he  would  have  followed  her.  I  hailed  the  dingy 
Venus — "  Come  back,  my  dear — come  back."  She  turned  round 
with  a  laughing  countenance,  but  never  for  a  moment  hesitated 
in  her  shoreward  progress. 

"What  sail  become  of  me!"  screamed  Sergeant  Quacco. — 
"  Oh,  Lord,  I  sail  lose  my  vife — cost  me  feefty  dollar — Lose  my 
vife! — dat  de  dam  little  Fetish  say  mosh  be  save.  Oh,  poor 
debil  dat  I  is ! " — and  here  followed  a  long  tirade  in  some 
African  dialect  that  was  utterly  unintelligible  to  us. 

"  My  good  fellow,  don't  make  such  an  uproar,  will  ye?" 
said  I.  "  Leave  your  wife  to  her  fate :  you  cannot  better  yourself 
if  you  would  die  for  it." 

"  I  do  n't  know,  massa;  I  do  n't  know.  Ilim  cost  me  feefty 
daller.  Beside,  as  massa  must  have  seen,  him  beautiful — oh, 
wery  beautiful ; — and  what  you  tink  dem  willain  asore  will  do  to 
him  ?     Ah,  massa,  you  can't  tell  what  dem  will  do  to  him." 

"  Why,  my  good  man,  what  will  they  do?  " 


LOVE    AND   CANNIBALISM.  151 

"  Eat  him,  massa,  may  be;  for  dey  look  on  him  as  one  who 
HOW  is  enemy — dat  is,  dey  call  me  enemy,  and  dem  know  him 
is  my  vife — Oh,  Lord — feefty  dollar — all  go,  de  day  dem  roast 
my  vife." 

I  could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing;  but  on  the  instant  the 
poor  fellow  ran  up  to  the  old  quartermaster,  who  was  standing 
near  the  mast,  admiring  the  construction  of  the  canoe, — as  beau- 
tiful a  skiff,  by  the  way,  as  was  ever  scooped  out  of  tree.  "  Help 
me,  old  man  :  help  me  to  launch  de  canoe.  I  must  go  on  sore 
— I  must  go  on  sore." 

The  seaman  looked  at  me — I  nodded  ;  and,  taking  the  hint,  he 
instantly  lent  Blackie  a  hand.  The  canoe  was  launched  over- 
board, and  the  next  moment  Sergeant  Quacco  was  paddling  after 
his  adored,  that  had  cost  him  fifty  dollars,  in  double-quick  time. 

He  seemed,  so  far  as  we  could  judge,  to  be  rapidly  overtaking 
her,  when  the  little  promontory  of  the  creek  hid  them  from  our 
view ;  and  under  the  impression  that  we  had  seen  the  last  of  him, 
I  began  to  busy  myself  in  the  hope  of  getting  over  the  bar  that 
forenoon.  An  hour  might  have  elapsed,  and  all  remained  quiet, 
except  at  the  bar,  where  the  thunder  and  hissing  of  the  breakers 
began  to  fail ;  and  as  the  tide  made,  I  began,  in  concert  with 
Mr.  Sprawl,  to  see  all  ready  to  go  to  sea ;  but  I  soon  was  per- 
suaded, that,  from  the  extreme  heaviness  of  the  ground  swell 
that  rolled  in,  there  was  no  chance  of  extricating  ourselves  until 
the  evening  at  the  soonest,  or  it  might  be  next  morning,  when 
the  young  ebb  would  give  us  a  lift;  so  we  were  walking  up  and 
down,  to  while  away  the  time,  when  poor  Lennox,  who  had  by 
this  time  come  on  deck,  said,  on  my  addressing  him,  that  he  had 
seen  small  jets  of  white  smoke  rise  up  from  among  the  green 
mangroves  now  and  then ;  and  although  he  had  not  heard  any 
report,  yet  he  was  persuaded  they  indicated  musket-shots. 

"  It  may  all  be  as  you  say,  Lennox ;  but  I  hope  we  shall 
soon  be  clear  of  this  accursed  river,  and  then  they  may  blaze 
away  at  each  other  as  much  as  they  please." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  my  mouth,  when  we  not  only 
saw  the  smoke,  but  heard  the  rattle  of  musketry,  and  presently  a 
small  black  speck  shot  rapidly  beyond  the  headland,  or  cape, 
that  shut  in  our  view,  on  the  larboard  side,  up  the  river.  On  its 
nearer  approach,  we  soon  perceived  that  it  was  our  friend  Quacco 
once  more,  in  his  small  dory  of  a  canoe,  with  the  little  fetish  god 
stuck  over  the  bow;    but  there  was  no  appearance  of  his  wife. 


152  LOVE    AND    CANNIBALISM. 

On  his  near  approach  to  the  vessel,  the  man  appeared  absolutely 
frantic.  He  worked  and  sculled  away  with  his  paddle  as  if  he 
had  been  mad;  and  when  at  last  he  got  on  deck,  having  previ- 
ously cast  the  little  horrible  image  up  before  him,  he  began  to 
curse  and  to  swear,  at  one  moment  in  the  Eboe  tongue,  at  another 
in  bad  Creole  English,  as  if  he  had  been  possessed  with  the 
devil — 

"  Hoo  chockaro,  chockaro,  soo  ho — Oh,  who  could  tink  young 
woman  could  hab  so  mosh  deceit ! — Ahj  Queykarre  tol  de  rol 
zig  tootle  too — to  leave  me  Quacco,  and  go  join  dera  Eboe  wil- 
lain  I  "  Then,  as  if  recollecting  himself — "  But  how  do  I  know 
dat  dem  no  frighten  him  for  say  so  ?  Ah,  now  I  remember  one 
ogly  dag  stand  beside  him  hab  long  clear  knife  in  him  hand. 
Oh,  Lord!  Tooka,  tooka — Cookery  Pee  Que — Ah,  poor  ting! 
dem  hab  decoy  him — cheat  him  into  dem  power — and  to  morrow 
morning  sun  will  see  dem  cook  him — ay,  and  eat  him.  Oh  dear, 
dem  will  eat  my  vife — oli,  him  cost  me  feefty  dallar — eat  my 
feefty  dallar — oh  Kickerehoo,  Rotan !  "  And  straightway  he 
cast  himself  on  the  deck,  and  began  to  yell  and  roll  over  and 
over,  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  greatest  agony.  Presently  he 
jumped  on  his  legs  again,  and  ran  and  laid  hold  of  the  little 
graven  image.  He  caught  it  up  by  the  legs,  and  smashed  its 
head  down  on  the  hard  deck.  "You  dam  Fetish— you  false 
willain,  dis  what  you  give  me  for  kill  fowl,  eh  ?  and  tro  de  blood 
in  you  face,  eh  ?  and  stick  fedder  in  you  tail,  eh  ?  and  put 
blanket  over  you  shoulder  when  rain  come,  and  night  fog  roll 
over  we  and  make  you  chilly  ?  What  you  give  me  for  all  dis  ? 
You  drive  me  go  on  board  dat  footy  little  Englis  crusier,  and 
give  my  vife,  cost  me  feefty  dallar,  to  be  roast  and  eat  ?  Oh, 
Massa  Carpenter,  do  lend  me  one  hax  ;"  and  seizing  the  tool  that 
had  been  brought  on  deck,  and  lay  near  him,  he,  at  a  blow  split 
open  the  Fetish's  head,  and  continued  to  mutilate  it,  until  he  was 
forcibly  disarmed  by  some  of  the  men  that  stood  by  him. 

From  the  Cruise  of  the  Midge. 


153  J 

SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 
No.    VIII. 

**  I  must  have  liberty  withal : — as  free  a  charter  as 
The  wind  to  blow  on  whom  I  please;  for  so  fools  have." 

Shakspeare. 

*' What  is  your  opinion,"  said  my  companion,  "of 
Mr. 's  buildings  ?  " 

"  Simply  this,"  said  I  :  "  They  exhibit  as  much 
merit  as  may  be  looked  for  in  the  designs  of  a  man 
not  regularly  educated  as  an  architect." 

There  was  a  slight  tinge  of  the  contemptuous  in 
the  expression  of  his  countenance,  as  he  demanded 
^^  What  I  meant  by  a  regularly  educated  architect  ?" 
and  that  expression  became  still  more  apparent  as 
he  continued,  in  the  same  breath,  to  answer  his  own 
question,  by  supposing  that  "the  regular  education 
of  an  architect  could  mean  little  more  than  a  suffici- 
ency of  constructive  acquirement  added  to  a  fair 
proportion  of  natuml  taste." 

It  is  thus  that  architects,  even  in  this  day  of  im- 
proved knowledge,  and  by  men  of  approved  educa- 
tion and  accomplishments,  are  confounded  with 
cabinet  makers — no  offence  to  the  latter.  Construc- 
tive acquirement  perfects  the  carpenter,  and  is 
necessary  to  the  architect,  who,  without  it,  might 
give  his  " taste"  impracticable  scope;  fascinating 
his  employer  by  the  beauty  of  a  design  that  he  may 
afterwards  be  disappointed  by  the  impossibility  of  its 
realization.  As  it  has  just  been  hinted,  natural 
taste  may  convert  a  joiner  into  a  cabinet  maker,  and 
possibly  stimulate  him  to  become  an  architect ;  but 
the  practice  of  architectural  design  is  just  as  much 
dependant  upon  acquirement  as  that  of  constructive 
carpentry.  A  man  may  become  a  very  tolerable 
architect  without  having  an  iota  of  natural  taste, 
which  signifies,  that  the  art  is  much  less  of  a  Jine 
arty  and  much  more  of  a  science y  than  is  usually 
imagined.  It  is  scientific  in  respect  to  its  positive 
laws  of  proportion — the  distinct  classification  of  its 
several  varieties — the  established  observances  which 

VOL.  v.— 1835.  V 


154       SKEFCHES    BY    A    PRACTISIxNG    ARCHITECT. 

each  variety  peremptorily  demands — and  particularly 
in  respect  to  the  fact  of  its  being  so  slightly  referable 
to  that  principle  of  imitation  which  is  the  great 
governing  motive  of  painting  and  sculpture.  It  is  a 
"fine  art  "  only  in  respect  to  the  allowed  ^nodijica" 
tions  of  its  several  styles  established,  and  to  the 
permitted  invention  of  total  novelty.  It  is  not, 
therefore,  a  matter  of  mere  science,  though  greatly 
accessible  to  a  merely  mechanical  mind  ;  and  the 
reader  will  now  clearly  understand  how  far  acquire- 
ment is  indispensable,  and  how  far  natural  taste  is 
beneficial.  Of  two  architects  equally  educated,  the 
one  of  most  natural  taste  will  prove  the  better;  but 
natural  taste  can  much  better  be  spared  than  the 
industriously  acquired  knowledge  of  established 
propriety. 

Taste  and  architectural  taste  are  two  very  different 
things.  The  one  enables  its  possessor  to  take  delight 
in  any  combination  of  forms  which  may  generally 
display  an  abstract  harmony,  but  a  building  may  be 
tolerably  harmonious  as  an  entire  object,  and  yet 
intolerably  anomalous  in  its  component  parts.  The 
pleasure,  therefore,  experienced  by  the  man  of  mere 
natural  taste  is  dependant  upon  his  remaining  igno- 
rant of  architectural  science  ;  or,  in  other  words,  it  is 
held  under  the  tenure  of  apathetic  indolence.  Should 
he,  by  some  unfortunate  accident,  fall  into  the  way 
of  an  agreeable  architectural  essay,  or  suffer  himself 
to  imbibe  that  ^wr(/)i/ knowledge  which  the  frequent 
recurrence  to  illustrated  woikswill  in  time  occasion, 
he  will  become  unhappy  under  reflections  of  ill- 
bestowed  admiration.  It  is  true,  he  may  derive 
additional  pleasure  from  much  that  has  before 
pleased  ;  but  he  will  be  shocked  at  many  things 
which  he  might  otherwise  comfortably  endure.  O, 
beware  of  the  cultivation  of  an  architectural  taste  ! 
It  w  ill  fascinate  you  into  the  expenses  of  building  !  - 
It  will  involve  yon  in  the  dangers  of  criticism ! 
Your  newly  awakened  zeal  will  render  you  ridiculous, 
and  your  provoked  spirit  of  censure  detested.     You 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.      155 

will  have  left  the  republic  of  free-love  for  the  abso- 
lute monarchy  of  prescribed  affection.  You  will  no 
longer  admire  as  your  unfettered  will  has  hitherto 
prompted  ;  you  will  only  admire  what  you  may. 
Back  to  the  open  wilds  of  your  native  ignorance  ! 
Send  for  your  carpenter.  Tell  him  to  "  knock  you 
up''  a  comfortable  house  after  his  own  fancy,  and 
then  innocently  comment  upon  the  skill  with  which 
he  has  intermingled  principles  of  every  genius,  ex- 
amples of  every  age,  and  impossibihties  of  every 
description. 

I  have  thus  shewn  you,  that  architectural  taste, 
like  that  for  pickled  olives  and  Havannah  cigars,  is 
an  acquired  tsiste ;  and  that,  as  the  subjects  of  my 
simile  induce  the  expensive  habit  of  drinking,  so  the 
subject  to  which  they  assimilate  induces  measures 
just  as  intoxicating.  I  should  regret  the  fatality 
which  has  compelled  me  to  adopt  the  practice  of 
architecture  as  a  means  of  existence  ;  but  I  am  in  a 
great  measure  supported  by  the  consideration  that 
my  friend  Freiburg  sells  tobacco,  and  that  I  have  a 
cousin  who  keeps  a  gin-shop.  While  we  all  three 
complain  of  the  public,  we  are  yet  comforted  in  the 
companionship  of  complaint,  and  the  enmity  which 
I  should  otherwise  exhibit  towards  carpenter-archi- 
tects is  much  subdued  by  the  consideration  that 
there  are  Temperance  Societies  to  counteract  the  too 
prominent  success  of  gin  and  tobacco. 

Nothing  more  decidedly  proves  the  artificial 
nature  of  architectural  taste,  than  the  ever  continued 
ignorance  of  it,  as  exampled  in  many  eminent  paint- 
ers. In  fact,  no  body  of  men  is  more  destitute  of 
true  architectural  feeling  than  the  gentlemen  of  the 
brush.  This  is  the  more  remarkable,  because  they 
have  often  to  do  with  architectural  subjects,  and 
might  therefore,  under  the  assistance  of  their  "  na- 
tural taste,"  be  expected  to  become  architecturally 
informed.  The  case  is  far  otherwise,  and  so  it  must 
remain  while  they  look  at  columns  and  buildings,  as 
they  do  at  trees  and  bushes,  unmindful  that  accuracy 


156       SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT. 

of  form,  proportion,  and  detail,  are  as  necessary  to 
the  one  as  generalization  and  sentiment  are  to  the 
other.  No  one  can  more  admire  Prout  (as  an  artist 
solely  considered)  than  the  author  of  these  sketches  ; 
but  it  is  certain  that  all  architects  must  be  unani- 
mously shocked  at  his  offences  against  proportion 
ai  d  detail  whenever  he  has  to  manage  an  architec- 
tural subject.  Corinthian  columns  are  not  pollards, 
and  the  relative  proportions  of  their  parts,  of  their 
entablatures,  &:c.  are  not  accidental ,  like  those  of  a 
Cornish  hut.  Upon  the  just  observance  of  these 
proportions  depends  much  that  would  give  interest 
to  Mr.  Front's  drawings,  supposing  they  were  de- 
ficient in  that  mastery  of  color  and  general  effect, 
which  renders  them  valuable  notwithstanding  their 
architectural  delinquencies.  Canaletti  has  made  it 
certain,  that  an  artist  may  be  at  once  poetically 
pictorial  and  mathematically  true  ;  and  here  we  come 
to  the  point  whence  we  started,  for  the  mathematics 
of  architectural  design  are  not  to  be  learned  in  a  day, 
and,  in  the  full  acquirement  of  their  knowledge,  the 
"regular education ofan architect" consists:  Q.  E.  D. 


A  young  gentleman,  recently  from  college,  and 
suddenly  coming  into  an  unexpected  fortune,  called 
upon  me  the  other  day,  to  know  whether  I  would 
undertake  to  build  him  a  new  manor  house  ?  "  With 
much  pleasure,  and  with  every  attention  to  your 
desires,  sir,*'  said  I. 

**  I  am  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  said  he,  "  here  are  the 
plans : — 

"  THE  PLANS  !  "  echoed  I  :— 

He  had  confounded  me  with  the  contractor,  think- 
ing the  architect  was  merely  a  practical  operative ! 

You  will  say, — "  not  so, — he  had  aheady  obtained 
his  plans  from  one  whom  he  acknowledged  as  an 
architect,  and  came  to  you  under  a  correct  motive, 
though  false  impression,  thinking  you  a  builder:" — 

No  such  thing.  His  plans  had  been  prepared  by 
a  country  factotum,  chiefly  known  as  a  land  survey- 


SKETCHES    BY    A    PRACTISING    ARCHITECT.       157 

or;  and  he  thought  it  the  architect's  business  to 
carry  into  effect  the  designs  of  another. 

He  was  a  gentleman ;  and,  therefore,  a  brief  ex- 
planation of  his  error  soon  put  things  into  a  more 
orthodox,  if  not  better,  train.  The  land  surveyor 
was  paid  off — his  plans  put  into  the  fire — and  an 
entirely  new  design  ordered  to  be  made  : — But,  stay  ! 
— The  excavations  for  the  cellarage  of  the  ^'  land- 
lubber's" model  were  already  made ;  so  that  my 
new  design  must  be  made  to  suit  them  ! — No  matter. 
The  half  of  a  professional  man's  employment  consists 
in  making  good  the  enors  of  blundering  predecessors. 
The  greatest  evil  in  the  matter  was  simply  a  moral 
one :  for  he  who  would  thus  have  supplanted  me  in 
the  legitimate  practice  of  my  dearly  purchased  pro- 
fession, was  one  whom  I  had  employed  more  than 
once  in  his  own  proper  business.  He  had  measured 
ground,  laid  down  lines,  and  taken  levels  for  me. 
If  he  were  not  humbled  in  thus  assisting  one  who 
could  have  done  without  him,  was  he  not  presump- 
tuous in  subsequently  attempting  to  supersede  his 
employer  ? 

Not  in  the  least :  or,  at  any  rate,  he  stands  greatly 
excused ;  for  where  is  the  man  to  whom  money  is 
necessary,  who  will  not  esteem  himself  at  full  the 
price  which  others  seem  ready  to  pay  for  him  ? 

Charitably  to  speak  it,  perhaps  there  is  no  blame 
attachable  to  any  party.  The  patron  erred  in  igno- 
rance ;  the  surveyor  from  substantial  necessity  ;  and 
the  circumstances  under  which  both  have  acted,  are 
rather  pitiful  than  criminal. 

No.  Men  individually  must  not  be  attacked. 
The  manners  of  society,  however,  are  free  game ; 
and  there  is  surely  no  harm  in  the  statement  of  par- 
ticular examples  when  they  are  honestly  pointed  at 
the  world  in  general,  and  with  no  invidious  aim  at 
the  parties  involved.  Where  is  the  Radical,  who, 
having  abused  the  half  measures  of  the  Whigs,  or 
the  Whig,  who,  having  vituperated  the  whole  mea- 
sures of  the  Tories,  would  not  be  proud  to  give  his 


158  A    CRITICAL    DISSERTATION 

best  fare  to  Earl  Grey,  or  to  take  "  pot  luck''  with 
the  Duke  of  WeUington  ? 

Let  manners  and  habits  be  amended ;  but,  till 
they  are  so,  let  men  be  forgiven.  When  a  pervading 
propriety  shall  govern  the  world,  it  will  be  found  to 
afford  place  and  means  for  every  man  within  it. 


A     CRITICAL     DISSERTATION     ON      FALCONER'S 
SHIPWRECK. 

Continued  from  page  133. 

We  have  the  poetry  of  a  voyage  drawn  by  a  talented 
native  of  this  country.  His  apostrophe  to  a  con- 
stellation not  visible  in  our  hemisphere,  but  familiar 
to  many  of  my  fair  readers,  from  the  tale  of  Paul 
and  Virginia ;  I  say  Mr.  Osier's  apostrophe  to  the 
Cross  of  the  South  is  so  beautiful  that  I  make  no 
apology  for  introducing  it. 

"  Fair  Southern  Cross  !  tliou  charm  to  every  eye, 
The  loved  Shechinah  of  the  templed  sky ; 
Nursed  in  Rome's  faith  the  wanderer  on  the  sea 
Prefers  his  midnight  orisons  to  thee." 

But  to  resume, — 

Critics  have  observed  that  nothing  like  a  simile 
occurs  throughout  the  first  book  of  Homer :  the  poet, 
say  they,  bent  on  unfolding  his  fable,  has  no  time  to 
wSste  on  figures  of  rhetoric.  Falconer's  work,  up 
to  this  point,  has  been  open  to  nearly  the  same 
remark.  The  progress  of  the  main  design  now 
admits  of,  requires  even,  every  ornamental  resource, 
every  beauty  of  diction,  that  may  diversify  it;  and 
accordingly  we  find  similes  thick  strewn, 
*'  Like  leaves  in  V^allombrosa." 

The  boatswain's  voice  heard  through  the  storm, 
is  like  the  hoarse  bay  of  a  mastiff;  the  wind  flies  on 
its  quarry  like  a  ruffian,  and  the  ship  labouring  in 
the  sea,  is  like  a  war  horse  reeling  in  the  shock  of 
battle.     I  shall  merely  refer  to  the  beautiful  simile 


ON  falconer's  shipwreck.  159 

of  the  gangrene  and  its  amputation,  as  given  in  the 
closing  lines  of  the  2nd.  canto. 

Transition  from  the  author's  work  to  himself,  when 
well  executed,  forms  an  effective  figure  in  poetry. 
Milton's  lament  over  his  blindness,  in  opening  the 
3rd.  book  of  Paradise  Lost,  has  never  perhaps  been 
equalled  ; — what  marvel  then  if, 

"  A  ship  boy  on  the  high  and  giddy  mast," 
Should  fail  in  comparison  with  him  ?     But  Milton 
complains  that  he  was  shut  out, 

"  From  sight  of  vernal  rose  or  summer's  bloom." 
The  seaboy's  regret  is  at  being  called  away  from 
rural  life  and  its  delights  ; — 

^*To  me  those  happier  scenes  no  joy  impart 
But  tantalize  with  hope  my  aching  heart," 

And  then  the  fine  turn  into  his  more  kindred  theme. 
"  Hail  social  honors  !  " 

Some  of  the  difficulties  our  poet  had  to  contend 
with  have  been  already  noticed  :  there  remain  others 
of  a  nature  to  affect  the  reviewer  equally  with  the 
work  itself.  Homer  mentions  that  the  names  of 
persons  and  things,  differed  in  the  language  of  the 
gods,  from  what  these  commonly  bore  among  men  : 
— But  on  shore  the  language  of  the  sea  has  neither 
place  nor  name.  I  approach  with  diffidence,  and 
shall  dispatch  with  all  consistent  brevity  the  tech- 
nicalities of  the  "  Shipw^reck." 

A  commentator  on  this  poem  has  remarked,  that 
"  it  partakes  more  of  the  effusions  of  fancy  than  of 
the  labours  of  art ;"  but  this  hardly  allows  Falconer 
all  the  credit  due  to  him  ;  credit  for  the  consummate 
skill  with  which  he  has  versified — 

"  The  terms  uncouth,  and  jarring  phrases," 
of  naval  duty.  Lord  Byron  fully  admits  this. 
^^  What,"  says  he  "  makes  Falconer's  ^  Shipwreck' 
so  infinitely  superior  to  all  others  ?  It  is  the  admi- 
rable apphcation  of  the  terms  of  art  to  his  subject. 
His  is  a  poet  sailor's  description  of  the  sailor's  fate — 
and  how  has  he  been  able  to  perform  this?  because 
he  was  a  poet,  and  in  such  hands  art  is  not   less 


160  A    CRITICAL    DISSERTATION 

ornamental  than  nature;"  —  now,  Falconer,  and 
perhaps  Camoens,  excepted  ;  no  poet  was  ever  more 
conversant  with  ocean  than  Byron  himself;  why 
then  has  he  not  in  his  own  sea  pieces,  had  more 
frequent  recourse  to  such  ornament  ?  It  might  be 
because  such  terms,  however  appropriate  in  them* 
selves,  can  hardly  fail  of  impairing  the  general  effect. 
Few  are  induced  to  take  delight  in  what  they  do  not 
understand — except  ladies  sometimes :  and  what 
landsman  knows  much  of  such  mysteries  as  a  "  wea- 
ther earing,"  or  the  **  lee  clue  garnet." 

But  let  us  see  what  Falconer  himself  thought  of 
the  matter ;  and  here  it  is  of  consequence  to  discrim- 
inate rightly  between  his  somewhat  amphibious 
character — as  a  seaman  and  as  a  poet.  As  the 
former^  Falconer  is  in  no  wise  devoid  of  a  sailor's 
pride  in  his  art,  he  invokes  the  companions  of  similar 
toil  for  his  judges;  but  with  confidence  of  their 
approval. 

"  In  practice  train'd,  and  conscious  of  his  power, 
The  muse  intrepid,  meets  the  trying  hour." 

And  yet  at  other  times  he  is  found  lamenting  that 
his  theme  involved  him  in, 

"The  wilderness  of  rude  mechanic  lore." 

As  a  foet  he  confesses  that  he  has  been  entangled 
among  such  terms  hke  Daedalus  in  his  Labyrinth, 
and  exults  when,  Hke  him,  he  has  found  wings  to 
escape  from  them. 

The  art  of  the  poet,  rose  superior  to  those  difficul- 
ties :  he  appealed,  as  it  were,  to  the  spirit  of  melan- 
choly to  throw  a  charm  over  his  rough  notes, 
"And  coming  events  cast  tlieir  shadows  before.'* 

The  first  knell  of  death  rings  on  us  through  the 
harshest  sounds  ;  the  loss  of  four  seamen — washed 
overboard  early  in  the  gale,  gives  a  plaintive  interest 
to  the  subject;  while  the  escape  of  Arion,  hiYnself 
engaged  in  the  same  perilous  duty,  affords  another 
notice  of  his  identity  with  the  author. 

One  personage  of  the  drama  remains — Albert  the 
shipmaster.      The   celebrated   critic  above  quoted, 


ON  falconer's  shipwreck.  161 

remarks  that  the  ^'  two  great  characteristics  of  Ossi- 
an's  poetry  are  tenderness  and  subHmity."  Falco- 
ner's train  of  thought  is  uniformly  grave  and  solemn, 
yet  the  native  tenderness  of  his  feelings  breaks,  at 
every  turn,  through  the  wild  gloom  around  him.  A 
glance  over  the  character  of  Albert  will  illustrate 
this  position. 

And  here  I  must  again  observe  that  the  "  Ship- 
wreck," is  a  tale  of  modern  life  and  manners;  as 
such  depriving  Falconer  of  resources  open  to  more 
ancient  poets.  Homer,  in  the  simple  but  melodious 
language  of  the  Odyssey  can  describe  Eumseus  as 
making  his  own  shoes  when  Ulysses  came  to  his 
door ;  and  this  without  impairing  the  dignity  of  his 
theme.  Falconer  had  a  more  difficult  task  to  per- 
form : — he  was  to  preserve  due  elevation  of  thought, 
and  yet  be  in  keeping  with  the  humbler  station  of 
his  hero — the  plebeian  ship  master.  Lord  Byron 
introduces  such  a  personage  in  one  of  his  dramas, 
but  a  foreigner  and  under  the  screen  of  a  foreign 
idiom. 

"  How  !  did  you  say  the  patron  of  a  galley  ?  '^ 

But  to  take  Albert  as  he  is  drawn :  and  in  him 
we  find  the  qualities  of  a  perfect  seaman  adorned  by 
the  admixture  of  every  social  virtue  ; — his  heart  had 
passed  unaffected  from  the  boisterous  element  in 
which  he  had  been  trained.  The  poet's  art  is  no 
where  more  to  be  admired  than  in  throwing  those 
soft  traits  over  a  spirit  that 

"  Rose  with  the  storm  and  all  its  dangers  shared." 
In  every  vicissitude  his  cottage  home  is  still  present 
to  him  ;  his  thoughts  turn  throusfh  all  to 

"  The  hope  and  pleasure  of  his  life, 
A  pious  daughter,  with  a  faithful  wife." 

Campbell  has  partly  noticed  this  ruling  passion  in 
Albert  at  the  closing  moment  of  his  life  : — 
"  By  Lonna's  steep 
The  seaman's  cry  was  heard  along  the  deep  : 
There,  on  his  funeral  waters  dark  and  wild, 
The  dying  father  blessed  his  darling  child." 
VOL.  v.— 1835.  w 


16*2  A    CRITICAL    DISSERTATION 

I  say  partly ;  because  Falconer,  in  the  last  words  of 
Albert,  seems  to  have  had  in  mind  that  beautiful 
passage  in  Ovid — 

"  Plurima  nautes  in  ore, 
Haley  one  conjux." 

The  poet  has  found  scope  for  the  workin<x  of  yet 
other  feelings.  The  friendship  of  Nisus  and  Eurya- 
lus,  and  the  episode  of  their  deaths  in  the  9th.  Book 
of  Virgil,  were  doubtless  known  to  him :  he  has 
transferred  some  of  its  beauties  into  his  own  work  ; 
where  Arion  and  the  young  merchant  are  found  united 
by  similar  ties.  Sympathy  for  a  lover's  grief,  kin- 
dred age,  for  the  sailor  had  not  yet  numbered, 
"Twic^  nine  summers;" 

These  anticipated  the  want  of  longer  intercourse. 
Their  mutual  regard  is  well  introduced  to  soften  the 
rigors  of  the  tale  ;  we  meet  it  as  a  spring  in  the 
desert.  One  instance  of  this  may  be  adduced  as 
aflTording  perhaps  the  most  striking  metaphor  of  the 
poem.  Palemon's  fears  keep  pace  with  the  storm's 
increase  ;  the  consolation  of  the  friend  soothes  what 
the  skill  of  the  seaman  would  avert; 

"  His  drooping  spirit  cheers  with  healing  art, 
And  tunes  the  jarring  numbers  of  the  heart." 

I  have  taken  the  moral  and  poetical  beauties  of 
the  "  Shipwreck  '*  rather  indiscriminately ;  let  us 
review  one  or  more  which  incline  to  the  latter  class. 

The  "  Shipwreck  ''  is  most  complete  in  a  principle 
requisite  to  a  good  epic — unity  of  action  in  its  fable. 
In  the  time  occupied  by  the  action.  Falconer  has 
complied  with  another  rule  of  sound  criticism ;  it 
hardly  reaches  to  the  sixth  day.  The  author  of  the 
"  Pleasures  of  Hope,"  has  fallen  into  an  error  which 
I  venture  on  pointing  out.  Campbell  makes  the 
wreck  occur, 

"  At  the  dead  of  night," 
^  hereas  in  the  original  it  takes  place  in  the  morning. 
The  poet  makes  a  fine  turn  from  this  hopeless  state 
at  day  break  to  apostrophize  the  sun. 


ON  falconer's  shipwreck.  163 

"  Oh  yet  in  clouds,  thou  genial  source  of  light, 
Conceal  thy  radiant  glories." 

Homer's  picture  of  the  stars,  with  a  solitary  shep- 
herd gazing  on  them,  cannot  be  too  much  admired  ; 
Falconer  approaches  an  imitation  of  this  in  two  in-^ 
stances.     The  ship  ghding  along  the  shore  of  Candia, 

"Majestically  slow  before  the  breeze/' 
presents  too  beautiful  an  object  to  remain  without 
admirers :  accordingly  we  have  the  Candiotes  lining 
the  beach  to  look  on  her  and 

"  Hear  the  shrill  whistle  which  doth  order  give 
To  sounds  confused." 

The  other  is  a  darker  scene,  the  officers  meet  in 
consultation  by  night  in  the  vessel's  cabin.  Pale- 
mon,  says  the  poet,  looked  on  in  fear ;  as  when  a 
swain  has  discovered  the  midnight  conclave  of 
wizards, 

"  Trembling  approached  their  incantations  fell, 
And  chilled  with  horror  heard  the  songs  of  hell." 

Of  the  use  of  metaphor  one  instance  must  suffice, 

"  The  impatient  axe  hung  gleaming  in  his  hands." 
But  the  subject  warns  me  to  proceed  :  I  shall  not 
follow  the  poet  in  his  digressive  range  over 
"  The  Isles  of  Greece,  the  Isles  of  Greece, 
Where  burning  Sappho  loved  and  sung." 

We  must  like  him  tear  ourselves  from  these  and 
the  haunts  of  the  muses,  to  hold  converse  with  the 
spirits  of  the  storm. 

In  every  change  the  sea  is  still  beautiful ;  beauti- 
ful— 

*'  By  the  moon's  pale  light, 
With  her  long  ray  of  glory  that  we  mark 
On  the  wild  waves  when  all  beside  is  dark." 

And  beautiful  no  less  in  the  midst  of  perils. 
"  Through  the  gloom  of  night 
The  glimmering  watch  tower  casts  a  mournful  light." 

What  shall  we  say  to  these  sketches,  when  the 
half  educated  sailor  is  brought  into  contact  with  a 
scholar,  and  a  poet  united — with  George  Crabbe  ? 

To  be  eoncliided  in  om  next. 


m^  164 

BURIED     ALIVE. 

About  three  o  'clock,  p.  m.,  when  we  were  within  ten  miles  of 
the  Cape,  without  any  appearance  of  the  tender,  we  fell  in  with 
a  Liverpool  trader,  who  was  bound  to  the  Brass  River  to  load 
palm  oil  and  sandalwood.  She  reported  that  the  niglit  before 
they  had  come  across  a  Spaniard,  who  fired  into  them,  when  they 
sheered  to  with  an  intent  to  speak  him.  The  master  said,  that 
when  first  seen,  the  strange  sail  was  standing  right  in  for  the 
river  ahead  of  us  ;  and,  from  the  noises  he  heard,  he  was  sure  he 
had  negroes  on  board.  It  was  therefore  conjectured  that  she 
was  one  of  the  vessels  who  had  taken  in  part  of  her  cargo  of 
slaves  at  the  Bonny  River,  and  was  now  bound  for  the  Nun  or 
Brass  River  to  complete  it.  They  were  if  anything  more  con-  * 
firmed  in  this  by  the  circumstance  of  his  keeping  away,  and 
standing  to  the  south-west,  the  moment  he  found  they  were 
hauling  in  for  the  land,  as  if  anxious  to  mislead  them,  by  inducing 
a  belief  that  he  was  off  for  the  West  Indies  or  Brazil.  This  was 
the  sum  total  of  the  information  received  from  the  Liverpool-man; 
but  the  same  afternoon  we  fell  in  with  an  American,  who  rejoiced 
our  hearts  by  saying  that  he  had  that  morning  been  chased  by  a 
vessel  answering  the  description  of  the  felucca,  and  immediately 
after  we  hove  about,  and  stood  out  to  sea  again,  making  sail  in 
the  direction  indicated. 

The  next  forenoon  I  was  the  officer  of  the  watch,  and,  about 
nine  o'  clock  the  Commodore,  who  had  just  come  on  deck, 
addressed  me : — *'  Mr.  Brail,  do  you  see  any  thing  of  the  small 
hooker  yet,  to  windward  there?" 

**  I  thought  I  saw  something  like  her,  sir,  about  half  an  hour 
ago,  but  a  blue  haze  has  come  rolling  down,  and  I  cannot  make 
any  thing  out  at  present." 

*'  She  must  be  thereabouts  somewhere,  however,"  continued 
he,  "  as  she  was  seen  yesterday  by  the  Yankee  brig, — so  keep  by 
the  wind  until  four  bells,  Mr.  Brail,  and  then  call  me,  if  you 
please." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir ; "  and  I  resumed  my  walk  on  the  weather  side 
of  the  quarter-deck. 

As  the  breeze  freshened  the  mist  blew,  off",  and,  unexpectedly 
enough,  although  we  knew  she  must  be  in  our  neighbourhood, 
in  half  an  hour  afterwards  the  felucca  was  seen  about  three  miles 
to  windward  of  us,  staggering  along  before  it  like  a  large  nautilus 
under  her  solitary  lateen  sail,  and  presently  she  was  close  aboard 
of  us. 


BURIED     ALIVE.  165 

I  was  looking  steadfastly  at  the  little  vessel  as  she  came  rolling 
down  before  the  wind,  keeping  my  eye,  some  how  or  other,  on 
the  man  that  was  bending  on  the  ensign  haulyards.  He  immed- 
iately began  to  hoi^t  away  the  ensign,  until  it  reached  about  half- 
way between  the  end  of  the  long  drooping,  wire-like  yard  and  the 
deck,  where  the  man  jerked  it  upwards  and  downwards  for  a 
minute,  as  if  irresolute  whether  to  run  it  choke  up,  or  haul  it 
down  again ;  at  length  it  did  hang  half-mast-high,  and  blew  out 
steadily. 

My  mind  suddenly  misgave  me,  and  I  looked  for  the  pennant; 
it  was  also  hoisted  half-mast — "  Alas  !  alas  !  poor  Donovan,"  I 
involuntarily  exclaimed — but  loud  enough  to  be  overheard  by 
the  Commodore  who  stood  by — "another  victim  to  this  horrid 
coast." 

"  What  is  wrong,  Mr.  Brail  ?  "  said  Sir.  Oliver. 

"  I  fear  Mr.  Donovan  is  dead,  sir.  The  felucca's  ensign  and 
pennant  are  half-mast,  sir." 

"  Bless  me,  no — surely  not,"  said  the  excellent  old  man, — 
"  hand  me  the  glass,  Mr.  Brail.  Too  true — too  true — where  is 
all  this  to  end  ? "  said  he  with  a  sigh. 

The  felucca  was  now  within  long  pistol-shot  of  our  weather- 
quarter,  standing  across  our  stern,  with  the  purpose  of  rounding- 
to  under  our  lee.  At  this  time  Sir  Oliver  was  looking  out  close 
by  the  tafFerel,  with  his  trumpet  in  his  hand.  I  was  still  peering 
through  the  glass.  "  Why,  there  is  the  strangest  figure  come  on 
deck,  on  board  the  Midge,  that  ever  I  saw — what  can  it  be? 
Sir  Oliver,  will  you  please  to  look  at  it  ?  " 

The  Commodore  took  the  glass  with  the  greatest  good  humour, 
while  he  handed  me  his  trumpet, — "  Really,"  said  he,  "  I  cannot 
tell — Mr.  Sprawl,  can  you  ?  "  Sprawl  (the  first  lieutenant) — 
honest  man — took  his  spell  at  the  telescope — but  he  was  equally 
unsuccessful.  The  figure  that  was  puzzling  us,  was  a  half-naked 
man,  in  his  shirt  and  trousers,  with  a  large  blue  shawl  bound 
round  his  head,  who  had  suddenly  jumped  on  deck,  with  a 
hammock  thrown  over  his  shoulders  as  if  it  had  been  a  dressing  . 
gown,  the  clue  hanging  half-way  down  his  back,  while  the  upper 
part  of  the  canvass  shroud  was  lashed  tightly  round  his  neck, 
but  so  as  to  leave  his  arms  and  legs  free  scope;  and  there  he  was- 
strutting  about  with  the  other  clue  trailing  away  astern  of  him, 
like  the  train  of  a  lady's  gown,  as  if  he  had  in  fact  been  arrayed 
in  what  was  anciently  called  a  curricle-robe.  Over  this  extraor- 
dinary array,  the  figure  had  slung  a  formidable  Spanish  trabiwo, 


166  BURIED    ALIVE. 

or  blunderbuss,  across  his  body;  and  one  hand,  as  he  walked 
backwards  and  forwards  on  the  small  confined  deck  of  the  felucca, 
held  a  large  green  silk  umbrella  over  his  head,  although  the  sail 
of  itself  was  shade  enough  at  the  time,  while  the  other  clutched 
a  speaking  trumpet. 

The  craft,  freighted  with  this  uncouth  apparition,  was  very 
peculiar  in  appearance.  She  had  been  a  Spanish  gun-boat — 
originally  a  twin-sister  to  one  that  we  had,  during  the  war,  cut 
out  from  Rosas  Bay.  She  was  about  sixty  feet  long  over  all, 
and  seventeen  feet  beam,  her  deck  being  as  round  as  her  bottom ; 
in  fact  she  was  more  like  a  long  cask  than  any  thing  else,  and 
without  exception  the  roomiest  vessel  of  her  size  that  I  ever  saw. 
She  had  neither  bulwarks,  nor  quarters,  nor  rail,  nor  in  fact  any 
ledge  whatsoever  round  the  gunnel,  so  she  had  no  use  for 
scuppers.  Her  stern  peaked  up  like  a  New  Zealand  war-canoe, 
tapering  away  to  a  point,  which  was  perforated  to  receive  the 
rudder-head,  while  forward  she  had  a  sharp  beak,  shaped  like 
the  proa  of  a  Roman  galley  ;  but  she  was  as  strong  as  wood  and 
iron  could  make  her — her  bottom  being  a  perfect  bed  of  timbers, 
so  that  they  might  almost  have  been  caulked — and  tight  as  a 
bottle.  What  answered  to  a  bowsprit  was  a  short,  thick  thumb 
of  a  stick  about  ten  feet  high,  that  rose  at  an  angle  of  thirty 
degrees  to  the  deck  of  the  vessel ;  and  she  had  only  one  mast,  a 
strong  stump  of  a  spar,  about  thirty  feet  high,  stayed  well  forward, 
in  place  of  raking  aft,  high  above  which  rose  the  large  lateen  sail 
already  mentioned,  with  its  long,  elastic,  spliced  and  respliced 
yard,  tapering  away  up  into  the  sky  until  it  seemed  no  thicker 
than  the  small  end  of  a  fishing  rod,  which  it  greatly  resembled, 
when  bent  by  the  weight  of  the  line  and  bait.  It  was  ofjmmense 
length,  and  consisted  of  more  than  half-a-dozen  different  pieces. 
Its  heavy  iron-shod  heel  was  shackled  by  a  chain  a  fathom  lon;^^, 
to  a  strong  iron  bar,  or  bolt,  that  extended  athwart  the  forepart 
of  the  little  vessel,  close  to  the  end  of  the  bowsprit,  and  to  which 
it  could  be  hooked  and  unhooked,  as  need  were,  when  the  little 
vessel  tacked,  and  it  became  necessary  to  jibe  the  sail. 

The  outlandish-looking  craft  slowly  approached,  and  we  were 
now  within  hail.  **  I  hope  nothing  is  amiss  with  Mr.  Don- 
ovan ?"  sung  out  the  Commodore. 

"  By  the  powers,  but  there  is  tl^ough  !  "  promptly  replied  the 
curious  figure  with  the  trumpet  and  umbrella,  in  a  strong  clear 
voice.     A  pause. 


BURIED    ALlVIi.  167 

All  our  glasses  were  by  this  time  levelled  at  the  vessel,  and 
ever}  one  more  puzzled  than  another  what  to  make  of  this. 

"  Who  are  you,  sir?  "  again  asked  the  Commodore.  "  Where 
is  Mr.  Donovan,  sir?'' 

Here  Mr.  Binnacle,  a  midshipman  on  board,  hailed  us  through 
his  hand,  but  we  could  not  hear  him  ;  on  which  the  man  in  the 
hammock  struck  him,  without  any  warning,  across  the  pate  with 
bis  trumpet.  The  midshipman  and  the  rest  of  the  crew,  we 
could  see,  now  drew  close  together  forward,  and,  from  their 
gestures,  seemed  to  be  preparing  to  make  a  rush  upon  the  figure 
who  had  hailed. 

Sir  Oliver  repeated  his  question — "  Who  are  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  Who  am  I,  did  you  say?  That  's  a  good  one,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  Why,  Sir  Oliver,"  said  I,  "  I  believe  that  is  Mr.  Donovan 
himself.     Poor  fellow,  tie  must  have  gone  mad." 

"  No  doubt  of  it — it  is  so,  sir,"  whistled  Sprawl. 

Here  the  crew  of  the  felucca,  led  by  little  Binnacle,  made  a 
rush,  and  seized  the  Lieutenant,  and  having  overpowered  him, 
they  launched  their  little  shallop,  in  which  the  midshipman,  with 
two  men,  instantly  shoved  off;  but  they  had  not  paddled  half-a- 
dozen  yards  from  the  felucca's  side,  when  the  maniac,  a  most 
powerful  man,  broke  from  the  men  that  held  him,  knocked  them 
down,  right  and  left,  like  so  many  nine-pins,  and,  seizing  his 
trabnco,  pointed  it  at  the  skiff,  while  he  sung  out  in  a  voice  of 
thunder — "Come  back,  Mr.  Binnacle;  comeback,  you  small 
villain,  or  I  will  shoot  you  dead." 

The  poor  lad  was  cowed,  and  did  as  he  was  desired. 

"Lower  away  the  jolly  boat,"  cried  the  Commodore;  but, 
checking  himself,  he  continued — "  Gently,  men — belay  there — 
keep  all  fast  with  the  boat,  Mr.  Brail," — I  had  jumped  aft  to 
execute  the  order — "  We  must  humour  the  poor  fellow,  after  all, 
who  is  evidently  not  himself." 

I  could  hear  a  marine  of  the  name  of  Lennox,  who  stood  by, 
whisper  to  his  neighbour — "  Ay,  Sir  Oliver,  better  fleech  with  a 
madman  than  fecht  with  him." 

"  Are  you  Mr.  Donovan,  pray  ? "  said  the  Commodore  mildly, 
but  still  speaking  through  the  trumpet. 

"  I  WU8  that  gentleman,"  was  the  startling  answer. 

"  Then  come  on  board,  man  ;  come  on  board,"  in  a  wheedling 
tone. 


168  BURIED    ALIVE. 

*•  How  would  you  have  me  to  do  that  thing?  "  said  poor  Don- 
ovan. "Come  on  board,  did  you  say?  Divil  now,  Sir  Oliver, 
you  are  mighty  unrasonable." 

His  superior  officer  was  somewhat  shoved  off  his  balance  by 
this  reply  from  his  Lieutenant,  and  rapped  out  fiercely  enough 
— "  Come  on  board  this  instant,  sir,  or  by  the  Lord,  I — " 

"  How  can  1  do  that  thing,  and  me  dead  since  three  bells  in 
the  middle  watch  last  night  ? ''  This  was  grumbled  as  it  were 
through  his  trumpet,  but  presently  he  shouted  out  as  loud  as  he 
could  bellow — "  I  can  't  come ;  and,  what  's  more,  I  won't ; 
for  I  died  last  night,  and  am  to  be  buried  whenever  it  goes  eight 
bells  at  noon." 

"  Dead  !  '*  said  the  Commodore,  now  seriously  angry.  "  Dead, 
did  he  say?  Why,  he  is  drunk,  gentlemen,  and  not  mad. 
There  is  always  sojne  method  in  madness  ;  here  there  is  none." 
Till  recollecting  himself — "  Poor  fellow,  let  me  try  him  a  little 
farther;  but  really  it  is  too  absurd" — as  he  looked  round  and 
observed  the  difficulty  both  officers  and  men  had  in  keeping 
countenance — "  Let  me  humour  him-  a  little  longer,"  continued 
he.  "  Pray,  Mr.  Donovan,  how  can  you  be  dead,  and  speaking 
to  me  now  ?  " 

"Because,"  said  Donovan,  promptly,  "I  have  a  forenoon's 
leave  from  purgatory  to  see  myself  decently  buried,  Sir  Oliver." 

Here  we  could  no  longer  contain  ourselves,  and,  notwithstand- 
ing the  melancholy  and  humiliating  spectacle  before  us,  a  shout 
of  laughter  burst  from  all  hands  simultaneously,  as  the  Commo- 
dore, exceedingly  tickled,  sung  out — "  Oh,  1  see  how  it  is — I  see 
— so  do  come  on  board,  Mr.  Donovan,  and  we  will  see  you 
properly  buried." 

"  You  see,  Sir  Oliver !  "  said  the  poor  fellow  ;  "  to  be  sure 
you  do — a  blind  horse  might  persave  it." 

"  I  say,  Dennis,  dear,"  said  I,  "  I  will  be  answerable  that  all 
the  honors  shall  be  paid  you."  But  the  deceased  Irishman  was 
not  to  be  had  so  easily,  and  again  refused,  point-blank  to  leave 
the  Midge. 

"  Lower  away  the  boat  there,  Mr.  Sprawl,"  said  Sir  Oliver; 
"no  use  in  all  this;  you  see  he  won  't  come.  Pipe  away  her 
crew ;  and,  Mr.  Brail,  do  you  hear,  take  half-a-dozen  marines 
with  you.  So,  brisk  now — brisk — be  off.  Take  the  surgeon 
with  you,  and  spill  no  blood  if  you  can  help  it, ♦but  bring  that 
poor  fellow  on  board  instantly,  cost  what  it  may." 


BURIED    ALIVE.  169 

I  shoved  off— two  of  the  marines  being  stuck  well  forward  in 
the  bows,  the  remaining  four  being  seated  beside  me  on  the 
stern-sheets.  Instantly  we  were  alongside — "  What  cheer  Don- 
ovan, my  darling  ?  How  are  you,  man,  and  how  do  ye  all  do  ?  " 
"Ah,  Benjamin,  glad  to  see  you,  my  boy.  I  hope  you  have 
come  to  read  the  service :  I  'm  to  be  buried  at  noon,  you  know." 
"  Indeed !  "  said  I,  "  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  have 
come  on  board  from  the  Commodore  to  know  how  you  are ;  he 
thought  you  had  been  ill." 

"Very  much  obliged,"  continued  the  poor  fellow;  "  all  that 
sort   of  thing   might  have   brought  joy   some   days   ago — but 

now!'^ 

"Well,  well,  Donovan,"  said  I,  "come  on  board  with  me, 
and  buried  you  shall  be,  comfortably  from  the  frigate." 

"  Well,  I  will  go.  This  cursed  sailmaker  of  ours  has  twice 
this  morning  refused  to  lash  me  up  in  the  hammock,  because  he 
chose  to  say  I  was  not  dead  ;  so  go  with  you  I  will." 

The  instant  the  poor  fellow  addressed  himself  to  enter  the 
boat,  he  shrank  back.  "  I  cannot — I  cannot.  Sailmaker,  bring 
the  shot  aft,  and  do  lash  me  up  in  my  hammock,  and  heave  me 
comfortably  overboard  at  once." 

The  poor  sailmaker,  who  was  standing  close  to,  caught   my 
eye,  and  my  ear  also.     "  What  shall  I  do,  sir?  "  said  he. 
I  knew  the  man  to  be  a  steady,  trustworthy  person. 
"  Why,  humour  him,  W^alden ;  humour  him.     Fetch  the  shot, 
and  lash  him  up ;    but  sling  him  round  the  waist  by  a   strong 
three-inch  rope,  do  you  hear." 

The  man  touched  his  forehead,  and  slunk  away.  Presently 
he  returned  with  the  cannon-balls  slung  in  a  canvass  bag,  the 
usual  receptacle  of  his  needles,  palms,  and  thread,  and  deliber- 
ately fastened  them  round  Mr.  Donovan's  legs.  He  then  lashed 
him  up  in  the  hammock,  coaxing  his  arms  under  the  swathing, 
so  that  presently,  while  I  held  him  in  play,  he  had  regularly 
sewed  him  up  into  a  most  substantial  straight  waistcoat.  It 
would  have  been  laughable  enough,  if  risibility  had  been  par- 
donable under  such  melancholy  circumstances,  to  look  at  the 
poor  fellow  as  he  stood  stiff  and  upright,  like  a  bolt  of  canvass, 
on  the  deck,  swaying  about,  and  balancing  himself,  as  the  vessel 
rolled  about  on  the  heave  of  the  sea;  but  by  this  time  the  sail- 
maker had  fastened  the  rope  round  his  waist,  one  end  of  which 
was  in  the  clutch  of  three  strong  fellows,  with  plenty  of  the  slack 
VOL.  v. — 1835.  X 


170  BURIED    ALIVE. 

coiled  down  and  at  hand,  had  it  proved  necessary  to  pay  out,  and 
give  him  scope. 

**  Now,  Donovan,  dear,  come  into  the  boat;  do,  and  let  us  get 
on  board,  will  ye  ?  "  4 

"  Benjamin  Brail,  I  expected  kindlier  tilings  at  your  hands, 
Benjie.  How  can  I  go  on  board  of  the  old  Gazelle,  seeing  it  has 
gone  six  bells,  and  1  'm  to  be  hove  overboard  at  twelve  o'  clock  ?  '^ 

I  saw  there  was  nothing  else  for  it,  so  I  whispered  little 
Binnacle  to  strike  eight  bells.  At  the  first  chime,  poor  Donovan 
pricked  up  his  ear;  at  the  second,  he  began  to  settle  himself  on 
deck ;  and  before  the  last  struck,  ^he  was  stretched  out  on  a 
grating  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  really  as  still  and  motionless  as 
if  he  had  been  actually  dead.  I  jumped  on. board,  muttered  a 
sentence  or  two,  from  recollection,  from  the  funeral  service,  and 
tipping  the  wink,  we  hove  him  bodily,  stoop  and  roop,  overboard, 
where  he  sank  for  a  couple  of  fathoms,  when  we  hauled  him  up 
again.  When  he  sank,  he  was  much  excited,  and  flushed,  and 
feverish,  to  look  at ;  but  when  he  was  now  got  into  the  boat,  he 
was  still  enough,  God  knows,  and  very  blue  and  ghastly ;  his 
features  were  sharp  and  pinched,  and  he  could  only  utter  a  low 
moaning  noise,  when  we  had  stretched  him  along  the  bottom  of 
the  boat.  "  Mercy  !  "  said  I,  "  surely  my  experiment  has  not 
killed  him."  However,  my  best  plan  now  was  to  get  back  to 
the  frigate  as  soon  as  might  be,  so  I  gave  the  word  to  shove  off, 
and  in  a' minute  we  were  all  on  the  Gazelle's  quarterdeck,  poor 
Donovan  being  hoisted  up,  ^ashed  into  an  accommodation  chair. 
He  was  instantly  taken  care  of,  and,  in  our  excellent  surgeon's 
hands,  I  am  glad  to  say  that  he  recovered,  and  lived  to  be  an 
ornament  to  the  service,  and  a  credit  to  all  connected  with  him 
for  many  a  long  day  afterwards. 

The  first  thing  little  Binnacle  did  was  to  explain  to  Sir  Oliver 
that  poor  Donovan  had  been  ill  for  three  days  with  brain  fever, 
having  had  a  stroke  of  the  sun;  but  aware  of  the  heavy  responsi- 
bility of  taking  forcibly  the  command  of  a  vessel  from  one's 
superior  officer,  he  was  allowed  to  have  it  all  his  own  way  until 
the  Gazelle  hove  in  sight. 

After  little  Binnacle  had  made  his  report  to  Sir  Oliver,  he, 
with  an  arch  smile,  handed  me  the  following  letter  open,  which 
I  have  preserved  to  this  hour  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  curious. 
Many  a  time  have  I  since  laughed  and  cried  over  this  production 
of  poor  Donovan's  heated  brain.  , 


BURIED    ALIVE.  171 

"  My  dear  Brail, — When  you  receive  this  I  shall  be  at  rest  far 
down  amongst  the  tanglevveed  and  coral  branches  at  the  bottom 
.of  the  deep  green  sea,  another  sacrifice  to  the  insatiable  demon 
of  this  evil  climate — another  melancholy  addition  to  the  long  list 
of  braver  and  better  men  who  have  gone  before  me.  Heaven 
•knows,  and  I  know,  and  lament  with  much  bitterness  therefore, 
that  I  am  ill  prepared  to  die,  but  I  trust  to  the  mercy  of  the 
Almighty  for  pardon  and  forgiveness. 

"  It  is  now  a  week  since  I  was  struck  by  a  flash  of  lightning 
at  noon-day,  when  there  was  not  a  speck  of  cloud  in  the  blue 
sky,  that  glanced  like  a  fiery  dart  right  down  from  the  fierce  sun, 
and  not  having  my  red  woollen  nightcap  on,  that  I  purchased 
three  years  ago  from  old  Jabos  of  Belfast,  the  Jew  who  kept  a 
stall  near  the  quay,  it  pierced  through  the  skull  just  in  the  centre 
of  the  bald  spot,  and  set  my  brain  a  .boiling  and  poppling  ever 
since,  making  a  noise  for  all  the  world  like  a  buzzing  bee-hive; 
so  that  I  intend  to  depart  this  life  at  three  bells  in  the  middle 
watch  this  very  night,  wind  and  weather  permitting.  Alas,  alas  ! 
who, shall  tell  this  to  my  dear  old  mother.  Widow  Donovan,  who 
lives  at  No.  1050,  in  Sackville  Street,  Dublin,  the  widest  tho- 
roughfare in  Europe  ? — or  to  poor  Cathleen  O'Haggarty  ?  You 
know  Catbleen,  Benjie;  but  you  must  never  know  that  she  has 
a  glass  eye — Ah,  yes,  poor  thing,  she  had  but  one  eye,  but  that 
was  a  beauty,  the  other  was  a  quaker  ;*  but  then  she  had  five 
thousand  good  sterling  pounds,  all  in  old  Peter  Macshane's 
bank  at  the  back  of  the  Exchange ;  and  so  her  one  eye  was  a 
blessing  to  me ;  for  where  is  the  girl  with  two  eyes,  and  five 
thousand  pounds,  all  lodged  in  Peter  Macshane's  bank  at  the 
back  of  the  Exchange,  who  would  have  looked  at  Dennis 
Donovan,  a  friendless,  penniless  lieutenant  in  the  Royal  Navy, 
and  son  of  Widow  Donovan,  who  lives  at  1050,  Sackville  Street, 
Dublin,  the  widest  thoroughfare  in  Europe — Ah  how  Cathleen 
will  pipe  her  real  eye — I  wonder  if  she  will  weep  with  the  false 
one — I  am  sure  my  story  might  bring  tears  from  a  stone,  far 
more  a  piece  of  glass — Oh,  when  she  hears  I  am  gone,  she  will 
be  after  breaking  her  tender  little  heart — Oh,  murder  for  the 
notion  of  it — that  's  the  thought  that  I  can  't  bear — that  is  the 
blow  that  kills  Ned  !  The  last  words  of  Dennis  Donovan,  who 
has  nothing  on  earth  to  brag  of  beside  a  mighty  pretty  person, 
and  a  brave  soul — that  's  a  good  one.     Adieu,  adieu.     God 

*  A  ;<ham  wooden  iimi. 


172  THE    EVENING    HOUR. 

bless  the  King  and  the  Royal  Family  entirely.  Dennis  Dono- 
van, Lieutenant,  R.  N.;  and  son  of  Widow  Donovan,  who 
lives  at  1050,  Sackville  Street,  Dublin,  the  widest  thoroughfare  in 
Europe.'* 


THE     EVENING     HOUR. 

It  was  the  sweetest — stillest  hour 

Of  Autumn's  golden  eventide : 
No  rude  wind  touched  the  closing  flowers : 

No  ripple  murmured  on  the  tide. 

All  things  were  sleeping — and  the  blush 
Of  beauty  glowed  on  earth  and  sky ; 

The  glen  sent  up  its  last  sweet  gush ; 
The  zephyr's  wing  was  resting  nigh. 

And  Evening  looked  in  love  below 

O'er  hill  and  valley — dale  and  sea 
One  lone  star  on  her  quiet  brow 

Flung  out  a  small,  still  radiancy. 

Nature  slept  on — each  winding  stream 

Forgot  its  daylight  song  awhile. 
The  field  flowers  closed  their  eyes  to  dream ; 

The  bending  daisy  veiled  its  smile. 

Night  rose !     The  waveless  lake  expressed, 

In  softer  glory,  every  gem 
That  sparkled  on  her  sombre  vest 

Or  quivered  in  her  diadem. 

Still  all  lay  hushed— Still  Nature  slept 
Like  one  beyond  the  reach  of  woes  : 

For  very  depth  of  joy  I  wept. 
While  gazing  on  such  sweet  repose. 

Who  would  not  flee  his  daily  thrall 

And  yield  to  such  benignant  sway 
As  man,  the  boasted  lord  of  all. 

Can  neither  give  nor  take  away, 

E.  B. 


173 

MY    FRIEND    AND    HIS    CAT. 

A  MAN,  whose  mind  is  softened  with  a  little  feeling,  will  allow 
few  objects  to  pass  his  notice,  without  deriving  interest  therefrom  ; 
and  if  he  be  highly  sensitive,  a  large  field  must  open  before  him, 
in  which  he  can  either  occupy  his  agreeable  leisure,  or  pursue  his 
odd  likings.  Let  it,  therefore,  be  supposed,  that  such  a  character 
was  applicable  to  my  friend,  since  any  other  would  be  inconsis- 
tent; and  then  it  may  be  admitted,  that,  while  he  stood  conspi- 
cuous for  affection  among  the  more  noble  of  his  household,  a 
diverging  ray  might  extend  in  the  name  of  attachment  to  the 
igr^oble  ;  and  that  he  might  therefore  like  a  tabby  cat,  which, 
indeed,  forms  the  only  subject  of  the  present  lengthy  communi- 
cation. 

At  the  time  of  the  catastrophe,  Tabby's  master  was  a  bachelor; 
and  having  leisure  promoting  inclination,  like,  perhaps,  the  single 
of  the  other  sex,  he  shewed  great  attention  to  all  the  instinctive 
movements  of  his  pussy.  This  attention  was  either  so  becomingly 
appreciated  or  kindly  repaid  by  his  cat,  that  she  invariably  re- 
lieved him  from  the  necessity  of  a  call ;  for  where  he  was,  she 
managed  to  be  in  juxta-position,  or  pretty  nearly  so.  At  meal 
times,  in  particular,  she  took  her  seat  with  such  orderly  silence, 
as  induced  her  master  to  hold  her  up  as  a  suitable  example  to 
little  misbehaved  bipeds.  At  night,  she  would  follow  him  to  his 
bedroom  door,  take  the  mat  for  her  couch;  and  in  the  morning 
would  greet  him  with  a  kindly  purr,  and  accompany  him,  stair 
by  stair,  tail  erect,  and  stop  as  he  might  stop,  for  the  agreeable 
purpose  of  witnessing  her  sagacity.  These  qualities  \{  not  great, 
were  good  in  a  cat ;  and  therefore  frequently  formed  the  subject 
of  conversation. 

How  long  thus  happily  puss  and  her  master  lived,  I  cannot  to 
a  day  or  two  determine ;  but  it  could  not  be  less  than  three 
years,  and  that  period  of  comfort  might  have  extended  to  the 
present,  had  it  not  been  for  the  intrusion  of  another  of  her 
species,  which  my  friend  no  sooner  saw,  than  he  opened  his 
hospitable  door,  and  took  the  stranger  in.  This  cat  was  not  half 
grown,  but,  looking  cleanly,  was  allowed  a  few  minutes  dalliance 
upon 'the  knee  of  Tabby's  master,  and  in  this  caressed  position,  it 
was  first  seen  by  the  household  pussy.  It  was  an  indulgence 
not  even  allowed  to  Tabby,  but  whether  she  felt  so  much,  must 
be  left  to  the  nice  determination  of  the  philosophic  zoologist. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  it  is  necessary  to  remark,  in  support  of  her 


174  MY    FRIEND    AND    HIS    CAT. 

master's  character,  that  she  was  neither  forgotten  nor  forsaken. 
The  vacant  knee  was  offered  to  her,  and  on  it  she  was  placed,  it 
being  her  master's  wish  to  reconcile  the  furry  strangers.  The 
hope  of  friendly  introduction  was  however  vain,  though  it  proved 
remarkably  pacific ;  for  the  little  cat  was  probably  too  young  to 
quarrel,  and  the  greater  too  well-bred.  Tabby  left  her  master's 
knee  and  disdained  his  attentions — loathed  the  food  which  was 
placed  before  her — and  walked  off  at  a  pace  slow,  and  in  a 
manner  the  most  dejected.  Fancying  this  whim  would  wear 
away,  he  took  no  farther  notice,  but  "  hied  him  to  his  labour," 
and  left  the  cats  at  their  ease.  When  the  shop  was  closed,  and 
supper  ended,  he  drew  his  chair  to  the  fire,  as  was  his  usual 
custom ;  an  inquiry  was  then  made  after  tabby  ;  but  none  having 
seen  her  since  the  morning,  no  additional  question  was  put ;  so 
that  sleep  soon  followed,  and  thought  was  postponed  till  the 
morrow. 

The  morning  arrived,  but  with  it  no  tabby  companion;  neither 
was  the  young  cat  to  be  seen.  Breakfast  time  followed,  but  no 
cats  appeared.  Dinner  time  approached,  still  unoccupied  was 
the  hearth  rug.  "  What  can  have  become  of  the  cats  ?  "  was  the 
remark  of  both  master  and  maid — and  indeed,  of  all.  Such  a 
circumstance  was  little  short  of  a  mystery  to  my  sensitive  friend, 
and  he  began  to  feel  a  concern  far  greater  than  many  stoical 
souls  would  allow ;  but  he  could  not  help  it ; 

•'  A  man  of  feeling  to  his  beast  is  kind  :  " 

And  if  ever  a  man  lived  deserving  this  epithet,  he,  in  his  sphere, 
stood  pre-eminently  conspicuous. 

A  grave  consultation  now  took  place,  which  decided  that  a 
thorough  search  should  be  made  for  the  cats,  and  so.  great  was 
the  interest  of  tlie  household,  .that  the  shop 'itself,  in  the  mean 
time,  could  find  no  better  guardian  than  the  youngest  apprentice. 

To  effect  this  "important  discovery,"  their  duties  were  thus 
apportioned.  Master  took  the  closed  warerooms,  thinking,  that 
from  Tabby's /br»2er  fondness  she  might  have  followed  him  into 
one,  and  he  had  shut  the  door  upon  her.  ,  The  maid  took  the  bed- 
rooms, and  their  appurtenances;  and  others,  the  outhouses,  &c. 
A  quarter  of  an  hour  had  elapsed  without  success,  and  the 
matter  began  to  grow  yet  more  mysterious,  till,  at  length,  my 
friend  recollected  the  underground  cellar,  which  in  the  earnestness 
of  search  had  been  omitted ;  and  there,  high  on  an  empty  tea 
chest,  he  found  poor  Tabby,  living  it  is  true,  but  seated 

*  "  Like  patience  on  a  monument, 

"  .  Smiling  at  grief." 


MY    FRIEND    AND    HIS    CAT.  175 

With  an  almost  childish  eagerness,  he  communicated  the  glad 
tidings  to  the  household  ;  and  being  desirous  of  observing  "  her 
utmost  stretch  of  intellect,"  as  he  termed  it,  he  requested  that  a 
small  portion  of  milk  might  be  brought,  and  set  before  the  cat; 
while  he  placed  himself  in  his  chair  to  watch  her  proceedings. 
The  milk  was  not  at  the  moment  agreeably  palatable.  In  about 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  pussy  arose,  and  weakly  drawing  her  body 
by  her  master's  legs,  surveyed  the  parlour,  smelled  at  the  cup- 
board doors — entered  the  kitchen  adjoining,  and  then  made  the 
circuit  of  the  stairs — returning,  she  approached  her  master,  and 
lapped  up  the  milk. 

My  friend,  like  his  cat,  felt  once  more  "  at  home,"  and  being 
satisfied  that  this  remarkable  change  was  occasioned  by  the 
unsolicited  visit  of  the  stranger,  he  gave  explicit  directions,  that 
if  it  again  appeared,  an  inquiry  should  be  instituted  among  his 
neighbours,  as  to  owner aiiip,  and  if  not  claimed,  it  should  be 
given  away  ;  but  on  no  account  allowed  to  remain  a  guest  in  his 
house.  His  own  tabby  had  now  become  doubly  interesting. 
For  the  first  time  he  noticed  her  extraordinary  physical  proportions 
— discovered  that  she  was  remarkably  small  for  her  age — her  ears 
were  more  round — her  stripes  more  regular — her  colors  bolder — 
and  her  sagacity  far  surpassing  that  of  any  other  of  her  species. 
From  a  man  of  feeling  he  became  a  man  of  scientific  observation ; 
and  if  truth  could  decide,  valued  his  tabby  even  more  than  the 
celebrated  Whittington  did  the  cat  of  his  fortune  ^nd  civic  conse- 
quence. 

Not  many  hours,  however,  after  my  friend  had  expressed  his 
pleasure  to  the  maid,  the  little  cat  re-appeared.  It  entered,  as 
was  supposed,  through  the  passage,  the  door  of  which  was  then 
open;  and  a  collar  of  red  ribband  around  its  neck,  removed  all 
fear  of  destitution.  It  pursued  its  course  to  the  fire  place,  unob- 
served by  the  slumbering  tabby ;  but  the  moment  it  approached, 
so  near  as  to  touch  her.  Tabby  gave  a  sudden  spring,  and,  soft- 
ening by  degrees  her  erect  fur,  walked  slowly  off,  and  left  the 
stranger  in  undisputed  possession  of  the  fire  place.  This  occurred 
on  Saturday,  which,  being  a  day  of  bustle  to  the  maid,  and  busi- 
ness to  the  master,  no  farther  notice  was  taken  of  the  cats, 
beyond  a  ready  compliance  with  instructions,  which  gave  young 
pussy  to  the  street,  and  the  passage  door  power  of  opposing 
renewed  intrusion.  The  Sunday  was  a  day  of  absence.  On 
Monday,  at  dinner  time.  Tabby  was  inquired  for,  but  none  of  the 
parlour  guests  had  seen  her.     In  the  evening  the  inquiry  was 


176  QUERIES. 

renewed,  wheii  the  maid  related  what  had  happened ;  but  no 
disposition  was  shewn  by  my  friend  to  prosecute  a  candle-light 
search  among  loose  straw  and  other  ignitable  substances.  In 
the  morning  he  was  the  first  stirring,  and  the  first  discoverer  of 
Tabby's  petreat,  which  was  near  her  formerly  selected  spot,  but 
more  elevated.  There  he  found  her,  insensible  to  call  or  caress, 
for  she  lay  cold  and  lifeless. 

Although  in  this  paper,  much  of  feline  instinct  has  been 
omitted,  from  forgetfulness,  I  may  be  excused  an  expression  of 
my  friend's  feelings,  beyond  the  assurance,  that  never  was  a 
favorite  cat  more  deeply  lamented.  Its  memory  is  however 
cherished.  The  skin  is  preserved  as  a  wrapper  or  wallet,  in 
which  are  inclosed,  "  to  this  day,"  all  little  ctirious  quisquilUa  ; 
and  whenever  shewn,  the  high  character  of  its  once /air  possessor 
is  sure  to  form  a  very  amusing  half-hour's  detail. 

John  R.  B. 


QUERIES. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  "  South  Devon  Monthly  Museum'' 

Sir,  The  insertion  of  the  following  queries  will  greatly  oblige, 

Yours  &c. 
A  Constant  Reader. 

1st.  On  what  principle  can  we  account  for  the  apparently  in- 

.  creased  magnitude  of  the  Moon's  disc,  at  the  time  of  her  rising, 

when  viewed  under  ordinary  circumstances;  while  at  the  same 

time  if  viewed  through  a  tube  or  even  tlirougli  a  hand  partly 

closed,  she  appears  no  larger  than  when  on  the  meridian  ? 

2nd.  What  causes  the  change  of  color  in  polished  steel,  while 
undergoing  the  process  of  tempering  ? 

3rd.  What  law  of  mechanics,  will  account  for  the  superior 
power  of  a  long  screw-driver,  though  the  handle  be  no  larger  than 
that  of  a  short  one  ? 

4tli.  \Miy  does  a  wedge  shaped  piece  of  timber  require  less 
force  to  draw  it  through  water,  with  the  butt  end  than  with  the 
sharp  end  foremost  ? 

5th.  In  what  manner  do  the  rays  of  the  Sun  act,  to  produce 
that  deadening  influence,  so  observable  when  they  shine  on  the  fire  ? 


177 

PLYMOUTH     INSTITUTION. 

PROCEEDINGS     IN     THE     ATHENiEUM. 

January  29th. — Mr.  Purdon's  Lecture  on  Ireland. 

After  some  preliminary  observations,  the  Lecturer  proceeded 
to  examine  into  the  causes  t)f  the  evils  of  Ireland,  on  the  testi- 
mony of  history,  and  to  show  that  the  policy  observed  towards 
that  country  compelled  the  mass  of  people  to  become  barbarous. 

Ireland  had  been  severely  and  unskilfully  dealt  with  prior  to 
the  Union— she  was  deprived  of  her  manufacturing  industry — 
her  commerce  was  extremely  reduced,  and  she  was  left  without 
the  means  of  acquiring  true  religious  instruction,  national  educa- 
tion and  useful  knowledge ;  because  England  would  not  come 
down  to  the  vernacular  idiom.  These  circumstances  subsequently 
compelled  the  Irish  to  become  barbarous. 

The  harsh  and  injudicious  conduct  of  Ireland's  legislators 
would  be  strikingly  contrasted  by  that  of  the  kind  and  wise 
Agricola,  the  Roman  conqueror  of  Briton,  who  treated  his  newly 
acquired  subjects  as  friends  and  children — not  as  slaves  and 
enemies.  The  stern  Norman  conquerer  of  England,  governed 
by  the  same  laws,  which  had  existed  prior  to  his  descent  upon 
the  Island ;  and  Edward  1st,  communicated  the  English  laws  to 
the  Welsh,  after  he  had  conquered  their  country ;  in  short,  every 
where  but  in  Ireland,  the  maxim  seemed  to  be 

"  Tros,  Tyriusque  mihi  nullo  discrimine  habetur." 

There  indeed  had  been  practised  that  Machiavelian  policy 
"  Divide  et  impera." 

The  English  statesmen  of  that  period  took  advantage  of  the 
religious  dissensions  between  the  Protestants  and  Catholics  to 
treat  the  country  with  a  more  selfish  policy  than  ever  was  exer- 
cised towards  any  colony  however  distant  or  degraded. 

When  a  government  was  first  organized,  an  attempt  was 
made  to  rule  Ireland  by  an  interest  purely  English,  but  the 
native  interests  so  increased  as  to  paralyze  the  government  whilst 
some  of  them  tended  to  demoralize  the  wronged  population. 

Then  succeeded  an  attempt  to  govern  the  country  by  means  of 
undertakers,  who  were  Irishmen  by  birth,  and  possessed  of  influ- 
ence.' These  persons  acted  as  deputy  Lords  Lieutenant,  and 
managed  the  public  affairs  during  the  continued  and  long  absences 
of  the  Viceroys;  but  this  scheme  was  replete  with  evils  and 
effected  no  good  purpose.  British  statesmen  who  had  some 
VOL.  V. — 1835.  X 


178  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

part  to  perform  in  directing  the  administration,  and  appointing 
the  rulers  of  Ireland,  were  lamentably  ignorant  of  the  real  state 
of  the  country,  and  took  very  little  trouble  to  enquire  into  the 
subject.  Agitators  too  were  never  wanting  to  keep  the  people 
continually  in  a  disturbed  and  insubordinate  state. 

The  Revolution  of  1688,  which  established  the  freedom  of 
Britain,  had  no  such  advantage  for  Ireland,  her  people  were  not 
allowed  the  privileges  of  freemen,  they  had  no  Bill  of  Rights — 
no  Habeas  Corpus  Writ,  and  they  were  deprived  of  their  com- 
mercial interests.  The  latter  was  done  in  order  to  advance  t!ie 
commercial  advantages  of  England.  By  arbitrary  acts,  in  the 
reigns  of  Charles  II.  and  William  III.,  her  woollen  manufactory 
was  virtually  annihilated,  and  the  country  was  plunged  into  the 
depth  of  misery.  By  mock  bounty,  the  linen  manufacture  was 
given  in  lieu,  which  was  uncongenial  to  the  climate  and  habits  of 
the  people,  and  entailed  a  loss  of  800  per  cent,  per  annum,  in 
prime  cost  alone. 

Thus  was  the  Irish  government  in  times  past  not  a  system  but 
an  entanglement,  partly  from  false  principles  of  commerce — 
chiefly  from  carelessness  in  the  arrangements  of  the  state,  and  a 
want,  in  the  outset,  of  proper  governors  to  reside  in  the  country, 
and  perform  their  duties  in  person. 

Since  the  Union,  Ireland  has  been  gradually  improving,  and 
recovering  herself,  peace  and  prosperity  have  been  located  wher- 
ever the  people  have  been  able  to  find  emploi/ment,  though  the 
reverse  is  the  case  where  there  is  no  demand  for  their  main  strength, 
labour-capital.  They  are  willing  to  work,  and  to  do  more  than 
most  others  would  do,  and  those  who  treat  them  kindly  might 
have  at  command  their  hearts — their  lives — their  all :  as  a  proof 
of  this,  it  may  be  shown,  that  in  Ulster  there  is  as  much  peace 
and  security  for  property  as  in  any  part  of  England. 

There  must  then  be  some  mismanagement  in  certain  places : 
this  could  be  remedied  by  a  Board  of  Review,  which  should 
examine  minutely  and  carefully  into  the  condition  and  capability 
of  the  whole  island,  and  declare  the  result  to  a  permanent  govern- 
ment of  uniform  cimsistenci/ ;  it  would  then  be  enabled  to  act  in 
the  light — not  in  the  dark.  Such  a  board  would  also  afford 
numberless  other  important  advantages. 

From  certain  uncontroverted  facts  which  have  lately  been  made 
public,  it  is  evident,  that  many  improvements,  incompatible  with 
vmiversal  anarchy  are  ])rogressing,  and  that  local  disturbances 
will  be  quelled,  by  the  me;\ns  which  are  in  action  for  that  purpose. 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  179 

In  order  to  provide  for  the  want  of  security,  skill  and  money- 
capital,  and  also  to  provide  employment  for  the  people;  the 
lecturer  suggested  that  a  full  dominion  should  be  given  to  the 
law,  to  guarantee  to  each  man  the  fruits  of  his  labour — that  joint 
stock  companies  should  obtain  a  right  over  uncultivated  reclaim- 
able  land — that  the  improvement  should  commence  on  a  prin- 
ciple of  colonization — that  the  workmen  should  have  allotments 
of  land,  which  would  stimulate  them  to  exertion,  whilst  their 
increasing  numbers  would  be  a  defence  against  the  assaults  of 
jealous  neighbours;  and  that  the  operative  part  should  be  under 
the  direction  of  practised  agriculturists. 

The  lecturer  next  proceeded  to  show  by  a  fair  calculation,  that 
all  monies  invested  by  companies,  would  yield  from  10  to  15  per 
cent,  interest. 

Such  a  scheme  would  also  prove  beneficial  to  England,  for 
the  Irish  labourer  finding  employment  at  home,  would  not  have 
to  emigrate  to  England  in  search  of  it;  so  that  the  English 
labourer  would  not  be  undersold  in  the  price  of  his  work,  and 
consequently  the  poor  rates  would  not  be  so  heavy.  But  as  all 
poor  persons  could  not  at  once  be  employed  in  the  mode  above 
mentioned,  a  system  of  public  works  might  also  be  carried  on, 
such  as  road  and  bridge  making,  bog  draining  and  river  clearing, 
as  should  seem  best — these  works  ought  to  have  a  prospect  of 
continuance.  In  order  that  the  peasant  should  rather  be  en- 
gaged in  agriculture,  than  government  work  ;  the  wages  given  by 
the  latter  should  be  less  than  those  paid  by  the  companies,  whilst, 
at  the  same  time,  the  workman  should  be  under  no  restraint,  but 
be  permitted  to  engage  himself  for  a  longer  or  shorter  period. 

The  lecturer  proceeded  at  some  length  to  show  the  importance 
of  having  the  land  cultivated  in  small  farms ;  he  contrasted 
these  with  large  farms,  in  order  to  show  the  advantage  of  the 
former,  especially  under  such  cirumstances  as  he  had  been  pro- 
posing. 

It  was  not  merely  needful  to  provide  physical  employment  for 
the  Irish,  they  should  have  mental  education  and  religious 
instruction  conveyed  to  them  through  the  medium  of  their  own 
tongue :  one  peculiarly  important  effect  would  result  from  this, 
viz.  a  counteraction  would  be  opposed  to  the  influence  of  certain 
men,  who  acting  as  guides- to  the  people,  had  it  in  their  power  to 
do  much  good  or  much  evil,  and  they  unfortunately  very  often 
held  the  people  under  a  species  of  tyranny,  perverted  their 
thoughts  and  actions  to  the  worst  ends,  and  instilled  into  their 


180  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

minds  prejudices  hurtful  to  their  own  happiness,  and  dangerous 
to  the  well  being  of  society.  Wherever  the  power  of  these  guides 
was  great,  disturbance  and  insubordination  prevailed,  and  vice 
versa;  as  might  be  shown  by  contrasting  Ulster  with  certain  other 
parts  of  the  Island. 

The  lecturer  concluded  his  highly  important  paper  to  the 
following  effect.  Ireland  does  not  require  any  pecuniary  gratuity. 
A  gift  of  a  million  divided  among  the  people,  would  be  like  the 
alms  of  a  penny  to  an  importunate  beggar,  which  only  mcites  him 
to  go  to  the  nearest  gin  shop  to  drink  away  his  sorrows — such 
gifts  only  help  the  poor  to  beg  again.  Ireland  requires  attentioriy 
not  money,  and  for  capital  laid  out  there,  a  large  rental  would  be 
received,  the  capital  itself  would  be  improved  and  substantially 
increased  from  300,  to  400  per  cent.  Ireland  requires  to  be  aided 
by  the  enterprise,  spirit,  skill,  good  sense  and  understanding  of 
England:  which  would  swell  her  own  national  income  and 
enrich  England — would  make  her  income  exceed  her  expenditure, 
by  £6  or  7,000,000.,  and  would  place  the  surplus  to  the  credit  of 
Britain.  England  would  thus  gain  positively  an  annual  sum  of 
£9  or  10,000,000.;  because  she  would  no  longer  be  obliged  to 
make  up  the  deficiency  of  Ireland's  revenue;  she  would  find  not 
only  that  supplied — but  also  a  surplus. 

February  5th. — Mr.  Prideaux's  Lecture  on  Thermo- 
Electric  it  I/. 
The  subject  being  new,  and  hitherto  little  published;  the  Lectu- 
rer displayed  the  leading  experiments  of  his  former  lecture,  by 
way  of  introduction;  by  which  it  was  shown  that  zinc  and  bis- 
muth warmed  together,  give  an  electric  current,  capable  of 
diverting  the  magnetic  needle.  That,  with  instruments  of  greater 
delicacy,  a  similar  current  is  detected  in  any  two  metals;  and 
even  in  two  pieces  of  the  same  metal,  at  different  temperatures ; 
exhibiting,  in  the  latter  case,  an  essential  difference  among  the 
metals ;  those  at  the  head  of  the  series,  giving  the  positive  current 
with  that  of  heat;  the  others  against  it.  Whence  an  inference 
was  drawn,  that  the  thermo-electric  order  depended  on  this 
difference,  modified  by  conduction. 

With  this  hypothesis,  however,  cadmium  was  shewn  not  to 
agree :  and  some  alloys  of  the  most  active  thermo-electric  metals 
present  still  greater  anomalies.  This  property  was  shown  to  be 
exalted  by  softening,  and  weakened  by  hardening  the  metals 
employed. 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  181 

The  Lecturer  supposed  that  thermo-electricity  is  perhaps  de- 
veloped by  elective  affinity ;  as  the  electric  fluid  was  proved  to 
be  compound.  But  such  elective  affinity  has  not  yet  been 
detected. 

It  was  subsequently  shown  that  electricity  can  be  decomposed 
by  metallic  contact  in  galvanism;  notwithstanding  the  demon- 
strative experiment  of  Dr.  Faraday :  and  that  simple  metallic 
contact,  even  without  the  aid  of  heat  or  liquid,  was  capable  of 
such  decomposition. 

The  paper  was  concluded  by  a  summary  of  our  present  know- 
ledge of  thermo-electricity,  and  the  practical  application  of  this 
power.  

February  12tii. — Rev.  Mr.  St.  John's  Lecture  on  Rhetoric. 

Section  1st,  treated  on  rhetorical  subjects — such  as  are  neither 
demonstratively  certain  nor  morally  impossible,  but  contingent. 
Contingent  subjects  were  distinguished,  either  as  beyond  human 
controul  or  partly  depending  on  human  will  and  exertions,  and 
partly  on  an  unforeseen  combination  of  circumstances.  Reasons 
were  given  why  the  former  kind  of  contingent  subjects  are  exclu- 
ded from  Rhetoric.  The  Lecturer  illustrated  and  explained  the 
subdistinction  of  contingent  subjects,  in  relation  to  past,  present, 
and  future  time.  From  which  subdistinction  were  deduced  three 
kinds  of  hearers;  the  judicial  judge,  the  member  of  a  popular 
assembly,  and  the  spectator  or  listener.  From  the  kinds  of 
hearers  moreover  were  deduced  three  kinds  of  oration;  the  judic- 
ial, the  deliberative,  and  the  laudatory  or  demonstrative.  The 
business  and  end  of  the  judicial,  deliberative  and  demonstrative 
orator  were  illustrated  and  explained. 

Section  2nd,  treated  on  persuasives  peculiar  to  demonstrative 
speeches,  and  the  origin  of  the  term  demonstrative — as  well  as  its 
equivocal  sense  and  improper  use.  The  definition  of  a  demon- 
strative speech  was  given,  and  this  definition  was  considered. 
ISt.  With  reference  to  the  subject  matter,  its  twofold  arrangement 
—  the  historical  method  and  the  logical :  the  historical  and  logical 
methods  were  explained  and  illustrated.  2nd.  With  reference  to 
the  argument.  The  general  question  and  the  special,  were  dis- 
tinguished, explained  and  illustrated.  1st.  On  Virtue,  2nd.  On  . 
Actions.  Elements  or  sources  of  argument  on  each  question 
were  explained  and  illustrated. 

February  19th. — The  Rev.  Dr.  Jacob  Lectured  on  Education. 


182 
THE    THEATRE. 

Since  our  last  observations  on  the  performances  of  the  Plymouth 
company  were  published,  several  novelties  have  been  brought 
forward ;  but  we  regret  very  much  to  say,  that  the  support  which 
they  met  with  on  the  part  of  the  public  was  not  a  tithe  of  what 
they  deserved — whether  we  regard  the  intrinsic  merit  of  the 
pieces  or  the  exertions  of  the  actors. 

"  Secret  Service,"  a  two  act  piece,  by  (we  believe)  Planche, 
gives  some  insight  into  the  means  adopted  by  Napoleon,  during 
his  consulate,  of  acquiring  a  secret  knowledge  of  every  thing 
passing  around  him.  Fouch^  his  minister  of  Police,  and  numer- 
ous subsidiary  spies,  were,  as  is  pretty  well  known,  the  instru- 
ments. The  interest  of  this  drama  depends  upon  the  circumstance 
of  an  old  Cur^  bein;?  engaged  to  act  as  a  spy  and  actually  doing 
so — through  the  diplomatic  skill  of  f  ouche's  secretary — without 
being  at  all  aware  of  the  service  he  is  engaged  in.  The  Cure  has 
passed  his  life  far  from  Metropolitan  scheming; — he  is  ignorant 
of  the  world,  and  full  of  simplicity,  benevolent  in  thought^  and 
much  attached  to  good  feeding,  and  true  religion.  The  incidents 
which  are  brought  about  by  the  singular  situation  of  this  pious 
priest,  are  highly  interesting  as  well  as  amusing.  The  character 
was  supported  by  Wilton,  who  did  not  perform  badly. 

IJield,  as  Fouch6,  entered  well  into  the  spirit  of  his  part,  and 
was  highly  successful :  Horsman  was  not  less  so  as  his  Secretary, 
the  character  suited  him  exactly. 

It  is  not  in  the  power  of  a  Provincial  Manager  to  engage  a 
company  so  numerous  that  each  actor  may  choose  his  parts,  and 
appear  in  none  which  he  knows  to  be  unfitted  for  him.  Mr. 
Horsman  has  much  ability  in  a  certain  range  of  characters — in 
some  he  is  perfectly  natural  and  just;  but  from  being  obliged, 
by  a  necessity  which  cannot  be  avoided,  to  sustain  parts  for  which 
he  is  totally  unfit,  and  in  which  he  knows  he  must  fail :  a 
prejudice  is  very  often  formed  against  him,  which  honest  criticism 
ought  to  deprecate. 

In  addition  tg  its  innate  interest,  "Secret  Service'*  derives 
another  attraction  from  its  scenic  arrangement,  which  is  on  a  plan 
new  to  the  Plymouth  theatre,  and  has  a  very  striking  effect. 

"  Rural  Felicity,"  that  is  to  say,  rural  infelicity,  is  a  clever 
affair  of  little  Buckstone's.  It  is  a  most  laughable  developement 
of  the  effects  of  village  scandal;  all  the  rurals  seem  to  endure  a 
transmigration  of  Paul  Pry's  soul  into  their  several  bosoms,  and 
to  do  tlieir  utmost  in  making  themselves,  and  all  around  them 
ludicrously  miserable.  The  piece  is  a  school  for  scandal,  on  a 
small  scale. 

All  the  performers  actt'd  with  spirit,  and  were  greeted  with 
much  applause. 

**  Married  Life,"  is  the  gem  of  the  new  attractions.  It  can 
hardly  be  designated  by  the  title  of  a  comedy ;    but  we  mistake 


THE    THEATRE.  183 

much  if  the  mass  of  play  goers  would  not  prefer  it  to  the  best 
comedy  which  could  be  presented  to  them.  It  is  full  of  good 
natured  satire,  rich,  stirring  mirth,  and  really  glorious  fun.  It 
abounds  with  incident,  on  no  occasion  flags,  but  keeps  up  ex- 
citement to  the  last,  and  presents  some  highly  amusing  situations. 
It  cannot  but  become  a  favorite  on  the  first  night,  wherever  it  is 
played. 

We  had  but  one  regret,  whilst  witnessing  "  Married  Life," 
namely,  that  it  never  had  been  seen  by  our  late  good  humoured 
correspondent,  the  author  of  *'  Bachelor's  Blessedness,"  who,  to 
our  great  grief,  gave  up  the  ghost  about  six  weeks  since,  in  con- 
sequence of  some  disorder  of  the  heart. 

The  dramatis  personae  consist  of  five  couple,  who  contrive  to 
find  very  substantial  reasons  for  quarrelling  and  ultimately 
separating — the  ladies  with  a  determination  never  to  see  their 
lords  more,  and  the  gentlemen  with  a  resolution  to  forswear  all 
manner  of  wedded  bliss.  We  are  next  introduced  to  the  husbands, 
who  are,  by  various  causes,  brought  together,  doing  the  dismal, 
and  regretting  the  loss  of  their  wives,  in  very  lamentable,  long 
measure.  The  ladies  are  next  seen,  not  a  whit  more  at  ease  than 
their  consorts,  for  each  one  declares  that  she  is  the  most  miserable, 
of  the  feminine  gender,  in  existence.  Last  scene  of  all  comes  a 
reconciliation — for  though  married  they  are  still  lovers  and, 
according  to  Terence, 

"  Amantium  iren?,  &c.  &c." 

One  of  the  worse  halves  acts  as  fugleman — his  "  Ready,  present, 
fire  !  "  brings  into  union  ten  several  pair  of  most  affectionate  lips, 
which  seal  the  compact.     The  characters  were  well  supported. 

On  Friday,  the  6th,  ult.,  the  house  was  patronised  by  Lord 
Boringdon,  and  was  tolerably  attended. 

On  Tuesday,  10th,  ult.,  the  perforrtiances  were  under  the 
countenence  of  Capt.  Superintendant  Ross,  C.  B.,  but  owing 
probably  to  the  state  of  the  weather,  there  was  a  very  thin  atten- 
dance. The  pieces  selected  were  Sheridan's  Operatic  Comedy, 
The  Duenna,  and  Ferfection.  Mr.  Hield  took  the  part  of  Don 
Ferdinand,  Mr.  Vivashthat  of  Isaac  Mendoza,  and  Mrs.  Penson 
officiated  as  Duenna,  which  was  decidedly  the  best  sustained 
character  during  the  performance.  Miss  Jarman  as  Clara,  in 
*'  The  Duenna,"  and  as  Kate  O'Brien,  in  "■  Perfection,"  acquitted 
herself  most  creditably;  it  would  be  superfluous  for  us  to  ex- 
patiate on  this  lady's  musical  talents  ;  it  must  be  apparent  to  all 
who  hear  her,  whether  judges  or  not,  that  her  rich  mellow  voice, 
delicate  and  finished  style,  and  brilliant  execution,  are  equal,  if  not 
superior  to  those  of  any  provincial  actress  who  has  visited  this  town. 
She  gave,  with  admirable  effect,  a  great  number  of  songs,  some 
of  which  were  encored;  but,  notwithstanding  the  fatigue  necess- 
arily attendant  on  so  much  exertion,  there  was  not  even  the 
slightest  appearance  of  exliaustion.  In  addition  to  this,  her 
talent  as'an  actress  renders  her  a  most  efficient  member  of  a  corps 


184  THE    THEATRE. 

dramatique.  We  were  likewise  much  pleased  with  Miss 
Hempel's  Louisa,  in  "  The  Duenna,"  which  she  sustained  with 
great  spirit  and  vivacity.  We  have  witnessed,  with  much 
satisfaction,  the  improvement  which  Miss  Hempel  has  made 
since  her  first  appearance,  both  in  singing  and  acting;  and 
we  recommend  her,  by  all  means,  to  persevere  in  that  very  laud- 
able spirit,  which  must  doubtlessly  raise  her  in  her  profession, 
and  in  the  good  opinion  of  all  who  know  her. 

Friday  the  13th. —  The  Stranger  and  Perfection.  The  former 
celebrated  drama  is  known  to  depend  on  two  characters.  The 
Stranger,  and  Mrs.  Haller;  both  of  which  are  admitted  to  be 
highly  arduous,  Mr.  Hield  personated  the  former,  and  Miss 
Mason  the  latter.  They  gave  much  satisfaction  to  the  auditors, 
as  was  manifested  by  frequent  applause.  In  the  course  of  the 
piece  Miss  Jarman  sang  "  I  have  a  silent  sorrow  here,"  in  an 
exquisitely  tender  and  gracefully  plaintive  style.  Mr.  Horsman's 
Baron  Steinfort  was  much  better  than  we  had  expected. 

Monday,  March  16th. — Sheridan  Knowles' celebrated  tragedy, 
Virginlus,  with  the  romantic  drama,  Robinson  Crusoe.  Mr. 
Hield's  \  irginius  was  an  energetic  and  spirited  performance;  he 
was  most  successful  in  the  early  part  of  the  prison  scene,  with 
Appius  Claudius.  Miss  Mason's  Virghn'a  merited  the  highest 
commendation — were  we  to  point  out  one  portion  of  her  enact- 
ment more  to  be  praised  than  the  rest,  it  would  be  the  scene  with 
Virginius,  after  his  return  from  the  camp,  in  the  house  of  Numi- 
torius.  "  Robinson  Crusoe"  is  a  rattling  affair,  with  plenty  of 
wild  Indians  and  musket  firing,  clap-trap  and  rum  drinking,  &c. 
&c.  The  scenery  and  machinery  were  prepared  expressly  for  the 
occasion;  both  were  good .  Mr.  Norman*s  Nipcheese  was  the 
best  sustained  character  in  the  piece.  Nipcheese  is  a  boozing, 
bottle-valiant  ship-steward,  amazingly  truculent  when  no  danger 
is  at  hand,  but  labouring  under  a  strong  aversion  to  the  smell  of 
gunpowder.  Mr.  Fuller,  as  Friday,  Mr.  Mason,  as  Friday's 
father,  Mr.  Horsman,  as  a  mutineer,  and  Mr.  Vivash,  as  an  honest 
sailor,  were  severally  entitled  to  great  credit. 

March  17th. —  Married  Life,  A  day  after  the  Wedding,  and 
High  Life  Below  Stairs.  This  evening's  performances  were 
under  the  patronage  of  the  Mayor  and  Commonalty  ;  and  we  are 
glad  to  state  that  the  boxes  were  not  only  fashionably,  but  also 
well  filled. 

Mr.  Ilield  sustained  the  character  of  Col.  Freelove,  in  the 
interlude,  we  think  that  he  rather  overacted  the  part  in  some 
points,  and  appeared  deficient  in  ease  in  others.  Miss  Mason 
was  verv  respectable  as  Lady  Elizabeth  Freelove.  The  little 
Vivash  had  to  do  was  done  with  his  usual  broad  humour,  which 
told  well  among  the  gods. 

Mr.  Hield's  Lord  Duke,  in  the  farce,  was  performed  much 
better  than  the  character  he  personated  in  the  interlude.  Mr. 
Vivash,  as  Philij),  and  Mr.  Norman,  as  Tom,  were  both  excellent. 


7  APR  as 


..  roi;K.n.).N. 


r^j^j 


TOM    HYNES.  185 

Lady  Bab  and  Lady  Charlotte  received  justice  at  the  hands  of 
Mesdames  Ilorsman  and  Stamford :  they  also  dressed  the  cha- 
racters very  appropriately.  Miss  Jarman,  as  Kitty,  sang  "  Nice 
young  maidens,"  '*  Come  here  fellow  servants,"  and  "  Au^ay, 
away,  to  the  mountain's  brow  "  with  her  usual  feeling  and  taste. 
The  chorus  and  mock  quadrille  proved  a  source  of  much  merri- 
ment to  the  audience. 


PUBLIC     CHARACTERS,     No.  1. 
THE     LIFE     OF     TOM      HYNES. 

FROM    HIS    OWN    NARRATION. 

"I  RECOLLECT  vcry  well,"  said  Tom,  "for  it  was  one  day  when 
I  was  n't  very  swipey,  that  somebody  told  me  a  very  curous 
story  about  a  king  in  old  times,  I  think  it  was  a  king  of  the 
Scilly  Islands,  who,  somehow  or  other,  got  up  into  Heaven  ;  and 
the  gods  and  goddesses  were  very  good  to  him,  and  gave  him 
plenty  of  beer  and  tobacco,  and  a  new  suit  of  clothes,  and  every 
thing  else  that  he  wanted.  Well,  sir,  this  king  had  murdered 
somebody  in  the  world  before  he  got  into  Heaven,  and  he  was 
so  pleased  with  the  gods  and  goddesses,  and  himself,  that  he 
wrote  in  a  book  belonging  to  one  of  them — 

*  Adventures  are  to  the  adventurous.' 

Now  this  is  very  true,  sir,  for  nobody  has  been  more  adventurous 
than  myself  and  nobody  has  had  more  adventures  in  one  particular 
line." 

'^ixty-one  years  since,  Tom,  for  the  first  time,  found  himself 
"  wide  awake"  to  the  world,  in  the  village  of  Rattery,  about  two 
miles  from  Totnes ;  he  was  one  of  four  brothers.  His  father  was 
an  agricultural  labourer,  and  his  mother  earned  an  honest  penny 
by  thinning  turnip  crops,  weeding,  gleaning,  (or,  in  the  vernacular, 
ear-picking)  digging  potatoes,  or  any  other  light  work  suited  to 
her  sex  and  constitution.  Before  Tom  was  eight  years  old  he 
had  been  initiated  in  the  mysteries  of  using  a  mattock,  wielding  a 
spade,  pig-feeding,  and  cow-driving;  indeed  he  became  so  pro- 
ficient in  these  several  crafts,  that  at  the  age  of  seven  years  and 
a  half,  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  farmer,  one  Master  Ford,  of  South 
Brent  parish. 

There  Tom  remained  till  he  had  attained  his  eighteenth  year, 
he  became  lusty  and  handsome:  the  barley  bread  was  unadulter- 
ated with  the  chalk,  ground  bones,  alum,  bad  potatoes,  and 
sawdust  which  find  their  way  into  town  made  loaves:  the  pigs 
were  not  fed  with  the  offal  of  butcher's  slaughter  houses,  so  that 
the  pork  on  which  Tom  luxuriated  was  rich,  juicy,  and  so  fiit 
that  it  slipped  down  his  throat  without  needing  the  process  of 
VOL.  v.~1835.  z 


1^6  THE    LIFE    OF 

mastication.  No  wonder  then  that  Tom  became  a  very  proper 
man:  all  the  girls  in  the  village  admired  his  comely  proportions 
— they  absolutely  were  all  in  love  with  him,  but  he  was  reserved 
and  mode«t,  never  going  beyond  a  Platonic  kiss,  even  with  the 
prettiest.  In  this  state  of  affairs  Tom  saw  he  must  marry  one  to 
save  himself  from  the  importunities  of  the  rest,  or  else  bid  good 
bye  to  the  village.  Other  circumstances  induced  him  to  adopt 
the  latter  plan.  .Firstly,  he  did  not  want  a  wife;  secondly,  he 
had  become  tired  of  farms  and  farming  implements,  barley  bread 
and  unadulterated  bacon  :  and,  lastly,  by  some  singular  chance, 
he  had  an  opportunity  of  smelling  gunpowder. 

Tom  would  be  a  soldier ! 

Not  one  of  the  common  sort,  though;  his  native  pride  would 
not  brook  such  a  thing — lie  would  either  be  a  dragoon  or  a  marine. 
"I  'II  toss  up  for  it,". says,  Tom.  "Heads,  a  marine;  tails,  a 
dragoon.  Heads!  '  heads  came  uppermost,  and  Tom  came  to 
Plymouth,  where  he  was  made  a  Royal  Marine,  placed  under 
the  tuition  of  a  drill  sergeant,  and  introduced  to  Stonehouse  bar- 
racks. Tom's  master  in  the  mean  time  not  knowing  the  rationale 
of  these  proceedings,  came  to  Plymouth,  and  demanded  his  run- 
away apprentice.  So  good  a  man,  so  fit  a  hero  for  his  Majesty's 
service,  was  not  to  be  parted  with  so  easily.  Tom  was  sent  on 
board  the  CuUoden,  then  lying  in  Cawsand  Bay,  and  Master 
Ford  returned  unsuccessfully  to  South  Brent. 

Whilst  practising  the  great  gun  exercise,  in  hopes  of  soon 
getting  a  whack  at  the  French,  Tom  was  seized  with  the  small 
pox,  and  was  sent  to  the  Royal  Naval  Hospital :  here,  in  spite 
of  the  disease  and  the  doctors,  Tom  soon  got  well,  and  in  a  very 
short  period  found  himself  standing  out  to  sea,  as  sentry,  on  the 
forecastle  of  the  Am[)hion  frigate  ;  in  this  vessel  he  saw  something 
of  the  world,  had  some  jollifications  with  the  lasses  of  Milford, 
drank  whisky  at  Cork,  eat  ripe  lemons  at  Madeira,  and  caught 
capelings  on  the  shores  of  Newfoundland  :  time  past  so  pleasantly 
and  so  rapidly  that  he  was  astonished  to  find  himself  again  in 
barracks  at  Stonehouse. 

Tom's  next  cruise  was  in  the  Hussar  frigate,  which  was 
wrecked  on  the  coast  of  France:  this  circumstance  proved  the 
source  of  all  his  troubles:  he  was  cast  on  shore,  senseless,  from 
a  wound  which  he  had  received  in  the  head  either  by  being 
driven  violently  against  a  rock  or  some  part  of  the  vessel  after 
she  had  struck.  Since  that  time  Tom  has,  occasionally,  shown 
symptoms  of  some  disease  in  his  upper  works. 

Having  remained  six  months  in  a  French  prison  near  Brest, 
growing  thin  on  garlic  and  soup  maigre,  he  was  released  in  an 
exchajit;e  of  prisoners,  returned  to  Plymouth  and  was  again  estab- 
lished at  the  Stonehouse  barracks. 

He  was  short'y  d raited  to  the  Saturn,'  74  guns,  and  cruised  for 
two  years  in  the  channel.  During  these  two  years,  he  was  not 
unfrequently  very  erratic  in  his  conduct :  sometimes  so  much  so 


TOM    HYNES.  187 

as  to  require  the  aid  of  double  irons  to  tranquillize  him.  He  was 
in  consequence  sent  to  the  Naval  Plospital,  and  thence  to  the 
Hoxton  Madhouse,  London,  where  he  remained  under  medical 
treatment  for  six  weeks ;  and  was  then  sent  to  Chatham  for  chano^e 
of  air,  and  to  join  the  division  of  marines  stationed  at  that  place. 
From  Chatham  he  was  marched  to  his  old  quarters  in  Stonehouse, 
and  subsequently  he  was  sent  on  board  the  Windsor  Castle,  then 
lying  in  Hamoaze.  Poor  Tom  exhibited  so  many  marks  of 
flightiness,  and  committed  so  many  vagaries,  during  his  next 
cruise,  that,  as  soon  as  the  ship  reached  shore,  he  was  discharged 
mad! 

Tom  bears  no  particular  affection  to  the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty, 
for  not  granting  him  a  pension :  he  considers  himself  as  much 
entitled  to  one,  on  the  score  of  the  wound  which  he  received  by 
shipwreck,  as  he  would  have  been,  had  he  lost  a  limb  in  action. 
For  a  time  Tom  was  completely  on  his  beam  ends ;  at  length 
he  plucked  up  his  courage,  and  visited  the  home  of  his  fathers. 
On  arriving  at  Rattery,  he  found  all  the  admirers  of  his  not  yet 
obliterated  charms,  comfortably  married ;  and,  though  they  might 
have  something  to  do  in  the  way  of  chronicling  small  beer,  it  is 
quite  certain  that  they  did  not  suckle  fools;  their  numerous 
offspring  being  shrewd,  sharp-witted,  and  plump. 

Tom  lived  at  Rattery  and  other  places  as  an  agricultural 
labourer  for  ten  years;  at  the  end  of  which  period  he  set  out  for 
Plymouth,  on  a  matrimonial  speculation;  for  he  found  that 
bachelor's  blessedness  did  not  exactly  suit  his  constitution. 
After  many  hair  breadth  escapes  in  this  expedition,  he  at  length 
met  with  a  damsel  after  his  own  heart ;  who  by  a  singular  coin- 
cidence was  casting  about  for  a  husband,  as  earnestly  as  Tom 
was  for  a  wife:  during  two  long  weeks  the  happy  pair  spoke 
many  soft  words  to  each  other,  according  to  the  wont  of  lovers. 
On  the  first  day  of  the  third  week,  they  were  united  in  the  bonds 
of  matrimony. 

Tom  being  a  prudent  man,  and  a  good  natured  fellow  withal, 
(except  on  such  occasions  as  he  puts  an  enemy  into  his  mouth, 
to  steal  away  his  brains,  or  as  he  himself  says,  gets  swipey)  very 
wisely  considered  that  he  ought  to  provide  himself  with  the  ways 
and  means  to  support  any  family  which  might  result  from  his 
marriage:  he  scraped  an  acquaintance  with  divers  bricklayers, 
who  with  much  kindness  of  heart  appointed  him  as  their  secretary; 
the  duties  of  his  office  being  to  sift  lime,  make  mortar,  and  carry 
bricks  to  whatever  elevation  might  be  needed.  Lime  dust,  how- 
ever, proved  hurtful  to  Tom's  eyes — so  he  tendered  the  resigna- 
tion of  his  secretaryship,  which  the  bricklayers  were  most 
graciously  pleased  to  accept. 

Tom's  next  step  was  to  enlist  in  that  heroic  and  honorable 
corps  the  old  Plymouth  Watch.  His  courage  being  always  of  an 
indomitable  kind,  many  and  many  a  drunken  and  disorderly  nigiit- 
brawler  was  by  its  means  conveyed  to  the  watch  house ;  and  Tom 


188  THE    LIFE    OF 

was  likely  to  become  a  shining  ornament  to  the  profession,  but  in 
a  luckless  hour  he  was  discharged. 

About  this  period  of  Tom's  career,  Billy  Cobbelt  was  blazing 
away  in  all  directions,  through  the  medium  of  his  Political  Re- 
gister. Public  attention  was  roused  by  his  fulminations,  and 
Tom  thought  it  would  be  no  bad  plan  to  turn  wandering  pam- 
phlet seller.  He  strolled  about  the  country,  retailing  the  liegister 
and  other  publications  of  a  similar  stamp  :  small  profits  but 
quick  returns  seemed  to  be  putting  him  in  the  way  of  making  a 
fortune.  He  had,  however,  calculated  without  his  host,  for  wjien 
at  Truro,  the  authorities  gave  him  to  understand  that  he  had 
been  operating  as  an  unlicensed  hawker;  the  reward  of  which 
was  imprisonment  in  Bodmin  jail  for  three  months. 

On  his  liberation,  Tom  felt  his  courage  not  a  whit  abated; 
pamphlets  he  would  sell,  be  the  consequences  what  they  might. 
He  returned  to  Plymouth,  and,  in  the  course  of  his  career,  sold 
certain  papers  which  reflected  in  some  manner  on  General  Brown, 
then  residing  in  the  Plymouth  Citadel :  he  was  tried  for  selling 
a  libellous  publication,  and  was  provided  with  a  lodging  in  Exeter 
jail  for  six  months. 

Once  more  free,  Tom  resumed  his  favorite  occupation,  of 
hawking  pamphlets;  and,  in  the  course  of  his  peregrinations, 
found  the  way  to  Penryn.  Certain  political  papers  which  he  had 
disposed  of  there,  again  brought  him  under  the  cognizance  of 
the  law  :  he  was  convicted  of  selling  libellous  publications,  and 
was  sentenced  to  eight  months  imprisonment  in  Bodmin  jail. 
During  his  confinement  here,  he  was  provided  with  handcuffs 
and  fetters,  which  were  applied  with  the  view  of  giving  weight 
and  steadiness  to  his  character. 

Released  for  the  third  time. — "Adventures  are  to  the  adven- 
turous," thought  Tom.  He  provided  himself  with  anew  stock 
of  pamphlets,  and  strolled  about  the  country,  dispensing  politics 
to  the  country  people :  he  was,  however,  brougiit  up,  all  standing, 
at  Yealmpton,  conducted  to  Devonport,  tried  for  hawking  without 
a  licence,  convicted,  and  sent  to  Exeter  jail  for  three  months. 

Being  freed  once  more,  Tom  piirchased  a  licence,  and  again 
appeared  on  the  stage  as  an  itinerant  bookseller  :  but  his  evil  genius 
still  pursued  him;  he  soon  found  himself  in  one  of  the  dungeons 
of  the  Plymouth  Guildhall,  where  he  remained  for  six  weeks. 

Out  again.  Still  dabbling  in  pamphlets  and  politics;  but 
safely — under  the  protection  of  a  licence.  When  the  time  of  this 
licence  had  expired,  Tom's  exchequer  did  not  posses  funds, 
sufficiently  ample,  to  purchase  a  new  one;  and  his  character  had 
become  so  marked,  that  he  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  procure 
one,  even  when  he  had  mustered  a  sufficient  sum  for  the  purpose, 
which  he  did  a  few  days  afterwards.  At  length,  he  obtained  the 
needful  document  at  Honiton.  Between  the  expiration  of  his 
old  licence,  and  the  procuration  of  a  new  one,  he  had  sold  in 
Plymouth,  an    account  of  the   sentences   pronounced   on   suc!i 


TOM    HYNES.  189 

prisoners  as  had  been  tried  at  a  recent  assize.  For  this  he  was 
tried  at  Devon  port,  and  sentenced  to  three  months  grinding  in 
the  Tread  Mill. 

Tom  next  appeared  on  the  stage  of  life  as  an  itinerant  preacher, 
at  Kingsbridge;  self  ordained  and  self  endowed  for  the  purpose. 
As  he  was  never  able  to  collect  a  congregation  sufficiently 
numerous  to  afford  him  the  means  of  building  a  chapel ;  and  as 
he  could  not  persuade  any  other  preacher  to  lend  his  place  of 
»  worship,  pro  tempore;  he  was  fain  to  hold  forth  in  the  highways 
and  hedges.  Tom  states  that,  at  such  times,  his  plan  of  service 
was  a  hymn,  a  prayer,  a  sermon,  and  a  hymn  in  conclusion.  If 
the  congregation  appeared  very  devout,  he  usually  paused  in  the 
middle  of  his  sermon,  and  sent  round  his  hat  for  a  collection. 
If  he  perceived  no  symptoms  of  devotion,  he  concluded  the 
service  abruptly,  and  went  to  some  other  place.  It  happened 
one  day  that  his  congregation  was  much  more  numerous  than 
usual;  (a  fair  held  the  day  before  had  brought  an  influx  of 
visitors)  the  greatest  attention  was  paid  to  Tom's  discourse,  and 
the  field  in  which  he  was  sermonizing  was  crowded — he  sent 
round  his  hat  as  usual,  and  found  his  zeal  becoming  highly  ani- 
mated, as  he  perceived  a  vast  number  of  half-pence  dropped 
into  it:  much  to  his  astonishment  when  the  hat  was  handed  to 
him,  it  contained  but  two  pence  half-penny — the  remainder 
having  escaped  through  a  hole  in  the  crown,  which  had  been 
inflicted  in  a  scuffle,  on  the  preceding  night,  while  Tom  and  the 
keeper  of  a  wild  beast  show  were  getting  drunk. 

Tom's  evil  stars  were  always  in  the  ascendant :  he  appeared 
before  his  congregation  drunk  on  three  Sundays  in  succession, 
and,  instead  of  giving  his  auditors  a  sermon,  narrated  his  experi- 
ence in  Bodmin  and  Exeter  jails.  This  was  a  finishing  stroke 
for  the  preacher,  he  never  could  draw  an  assembly  of  hearers 
together  afterwards,  and,  in  consequence,  returned  to  his  former 
trade.  Being  quite  out  of  cash,  Tom  contrived  to  get  relief  from 
three  different  parishes,  Ilarburton,  Holberton,  and  Plymouth, 
by  representing  himself  as  a  parishioner :  he  tried  to  do  the  same 
at  West  Allington,  but  the  guardians  of  the  poor  were  too  clever 
for  him.  He  had  however  a  sufficient  sum  to  procure  some 
pamphlets,  for  selling  one  of  which,  containing  a  libel,  he  was 
again  sent  to  Exeter  jail  for  eleven  months.  In  a  fortnight  after 
his  release,  Tom  contrived  to  get  sent  back  again  for  hawking 
without  a  licence.  The  same  tiling  occurred  twice  afterwards ; 
for  nothing  could  persuade  Tom,  that  it  was  wrong  to  sell 
without  a  licence,  when  he  could  not  afford  to  purchase  one. 

After  his  sixth  imprisonment  in  Exeter  jail,  Tom  bid  good 
bye  to  Plymouth  for  a  time,  hoping  to  meet  with  better  luck  in 
other  places.  lie  was,  nevertheless,  doomed  to  disappointment, 
for,  during  his  peregrination,  he  found  lodging  within  prison  walls 
at    Falmouth,    Penryn,    Lostwithiel,    Totnes,    Barnstaple,   and 


190  THE    LIFE    OF 

Tavistock; — all  for  the  old  offences  of  selling  libels,  or  acting  as 
an  unlicensed  hawker. 

Tom  asserts,  with  much  apparent  satisfaction,  that  though  he 
has  been  in  prison  twenty-two  times,  he  was  never  confined  for 
the  commission  of  any  crime.  No  logic  can  persuade  him  that 
his  offences  are  crimes. 

In  addition  to  his  regular  imprisonments,  Tom  has  been  con- 
fined very  frequently  in  the  dungeons  of  the  Plymouth  Guildhall, 
for  being  drunk  and  disorderly  in  the  streets :  he  however  thinks 
very  stoically  of  such  trifles,  though  he  protests  in  strong  terms 
against  the  treatment  of  such  wights  as  are  under  the  influence  of 
John  Barleycorn,  who  (according  to  Tom's  account)  are  provided 
with  mucli  worse  accommodation  for  the  night,  than  that  which 
is  granted  to  felons. 

To  add  to  Tom's  adventures,  he  became  a  widower  about  five 
years  since ;  and,  shortly  after  that,  he  was  knocked  down  and 
robbed,  on  the  Plympton  road,  between  the  "  Rising  Sun,"  and 
the  "  Crabtree  Inn ;"  he  made  a  gallant  defence,  on  this  occasion, 
and  was  severely  beaten  for  his  heroism.  The  culprits  were  cap- 
tured, committed  to  Exeter  jail,  tried,  and  acquitted. 

The  following  may  be  considered  as  a  good  trait  in  Tom's 
character.  Shortly  after  he  had  married,  a  child  was  placed  with 
his  wife  to  be  nursed,  for  which  a  payment  of  five  shillings  per 
week  was  promised.  The  child  was  subsequently  abandoned, 
and  left  on  his  hands  :  instead  of  taking  it  to  the  overseers  of  the 
poor,  or  getting  rid  of  it  in  any  oltjer  way,  Tom  fostered  the  child 
as  his  own,  and  many  who  have  seen  him  carrying  the  little  girl 
about  in  his  arms,  have  accorded  to  him  the  honors  of  paternity, 
which  he  never  enjoyed.  He  has  ever  since  been  as  a  father  to 
the  girl,  she  is  now  married,  and  has  two  children;  she  lives  in 
the  same  house  with  him,  in  Palace  Court. 

Tom  fully  admits  the  justice  of  his  various  commitments, 
(though  he  calls  in  question  the  Ien2;th  of  some  of  his  imprison- 
ments) except  one,  an  assault  which  he  was  charged  with  having 
conm]iUed,  near  Plymstock  ;  in  this  affair  he  solemnly  avers  that 
he  was  the  aggrieved  party,  though  he  could  not  make  it  appear 
so  to  the  magistrates,  who  were  about  to  give  him  another  throe 
months  at  the  Tread  Mill;  this  punishment  was  however  com- 
muted for  a  fine,  which,  with  costs,  amounted  to  fourteen  shil- 
lings; for  this  sum  Tom  pawned  his  watch,  and  has  not  since 
been  able  to  recover  it. 

At  present  Tom  gains  a  livelihood  by  selling  blacking,  which 
he  not  only  disposes  of  in  the  town,  but  carries,  on  stilted  days, 
to  the  neighbouring  hamlets  and  villages. 

The  following  may  be  taken  as  tolerably  fair  samples  of  the 
non-libellous  dispensations  of  our  hero,  in  contradistinction  to 
those  of  the  "  Society  for  the  Diflfusion  of  Useful  Knowledge." 


TOM    HYNES. 


m 


[copy.] 

"To  the   Right   Honorable   Robert  Peel,  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Home 

V.epartment." 

"  SIR. — Every  body  speaks  well  of  you,  and  what  every  body  says  must 

be  true ;    therefore,  I  make  no  doubt  but  you  will  be  so  good   as   to   forward 

my  letter  to  the  King,  and  assist  me  all  you  can — so  1  beg  you  will  lose  no 

time  in  doing  it,  and  let  me  know  as  soon  as  his  Majesty  has  considered  of  it. 

Direct  for  me  at  No.  5,  Middle  Lane,  Plymouth,  inclosing  my  discharge. 

I  am  respectfully,  your  humble  Servant, 

T.  IIYNES," 

"  To  King  George  the  Fourth,  my  beloved  Sovereign.'* 

"  SIRE. — I  hope  your  Majesty  will  allow  me  to  petition  your  humanity, 
as  I  observe  you  have  graciously  been  pleased  to  help  the  Spitalfields'  Weavers 
in  their  distresses,  and  why  not  help  an  old  and  faithful  subject;  one  who  has 
served  your  late  Father  both  with  his  person  and  his  purse — about  30  years 
ago,  when  I  was  serving  as  a  Marine  on  board  the  Saturn,  74,  Captain  Tim- 
mings  (I  believe  he  is  a  Colonel  now,  at  Portsmouth)  who  was  Captain  of  the 
Marines,  came  and  told  us  that  George  the  Third,  your  Father  was  in  great 
distress  for  money  to  carry  on  the  war,  and  asked  what  we  would  give  to 
help  him— I  lemember  I  gave  7s.  to  help  him,  when  he  wanted  it,  and  I 
hope  you  will  think  of  me,  now  1  am  past  labour,  and  in  the  greatest  of  dis- 
tress. Captain  Timmings  said  then,  '  Hynes,  you  sha'  n't  lose  any  thing  for 
your  loyalty  ;  '  but  after  that  I  was  shipwrecked,  and  then  I  got  a  cracked 
sktdl,  was  thrown  into  French  prison,  and,  when  I  came  home,  I  was  sent  to 
Hoxton  Mad-house,  in  London ;  and  after  that  I  was  discharged  from  your 
father's  service  for  a  mad-man,  and  the  children  to  this  day  call  me  Mad  Tom  : 
now  I  never  got  any  thing  for  my  good  will — I  have  sent  the  certificate  of  my 
discharge,  and^you  '11  see  that  what  I  say  is  true,  and  Captain  Timmings  can 
testify  about  the  7s.,  if  you  ask  him.  Now  I  ought  to  let  your  Majesty  know 
that  the  Magistrates  here  at  Plymouth  have  sent  me  20  times  to  jail,  some- 
times for  a  month,  sometimes  for  three  months,  because  I  sell  blacking  without 
a  licence,  not  for  being  a  thief,  thank  God.  I  have  paid  your  Majesty,  first 
and  last,  £32.  for  licences.  Now  this  is  the  way  poor  old  Tom  rubs  along, 
and,  as  I  have  been  a  good  friend  to  your  father  and  you,  and  helped  all  I 
could,  and  would  again,  so  I  hope  you  will  try,  and  I  dare  say  if  you  was 
only  to  ask  the  Gentlemen  who  give  the  Marines  their  pension,  they  would  do 
it  for  you,  and  order  me  something  to  live  upon,  for  I  am  getting  old,  and  I 
dare  say  sha'  n't  live  long  to  be  a  burden  to  you. 

Hoping  your  Majesty  will  be  kind  enough  to  excuse  the  liberty  I  have 
taken,  because  I  thought  to  go  to  the  head  of  the  well  at  once — 

I  remain  your  Majesty's  . 

most  loyal  and  faithful  subject, 

THOMAS     HYNES. 
No.  5,  Middle  Lane,  Plymouth." 

"  LONG   LIVE  THE   KING." 

Mr.  Peel's  answer. 

"  Whitehall,  12th.  March,  1827. 

"  SIR. — I  am  directed  by  Mr.  Secretary  Peel,  to  acknowledge  the  receipt 
of  your  Letter,  with  its  enclosure  (herewith  returned),  and  to  acquaint  you  that 
he  cannot  lay  before  the  King  a  Letter  in  the  form  which  you  have  adopted. 
1  am  Sir,  your  most  obedient  humble  Servant, 

H.  HOBHOUSE. 
Mr.  Thomas  Hynes,  Middle  Lane,  Plymouth." 

Copy  of  the  Discharge. 

"These  are  to  certify  (as  it  appears  by  the  Divisional  Books)  that  Thomas 
Hynes,  served  in  the  Plymouth  Division  of  Marines,  honest  and  faithful,  from 
the  5th.  February,  1793,  to  the  21st.  February,  1800,  when  he  was  discharged, 
being  deranged  in  mind. 


192 


TOM    HYNES. 


"  The  said  Thomas  Hynes,  at  his  enlistment,  was  aged  16  years,  5  feet  4 
inches  high,  light  brown  hair,  fresh  complexion,  hazlc  eyes,  a  native  of  Rattery, 
in  Devonshire,  by  trade  a  labourer. 

"  Given  under  my  hand,  at  the  Royal  Marine  Barracks,  Plymouth,  April 
20th.,  1810." 

(Signed)  "SAMUEL    MALLOCK, 

Lieut,  and  Adjt." 


[COPY.] 

**  To  his  Grace  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury." 

**The  Petition  of  THOMAS  HYNES,  now   residing   in    Wright's   CohtI, 

Catte  Street,  Plymouth." 

"  SHEWETH,— That  your  petitioner  is  a  very  poor  man  indeed,  of  the 
great  age  of  W  years ;  and  having  no  friend  on  earth  but  himself  and  wife,  it 
induces  him  to  apply  to  your  Grace,  as  one  of  the  king's  friends,  hoping  you 
will  lay  this  before  His  Majesty,  and  use  your  interest  to  procure  a  pension 
for  me,  or  any  situation  in  your  Grace's  or  His  Majesty's  gift,  that  my  shining 
abilities,  and  my  noble  and  glorious  character,  may  qualify  me  for. 

"That  1  have  gloriously  fought  and  suffered,  but  without  any  honour  or 
profit  to  myself,  (to  my  praise  be  it  spoken)  for  his  late  majesty,  our  royal 
King's  father,  upwards  of  seven  years,  and  for  my  disinterested  and  praise- 
worthy conduct,  was  discharged  for  being  deranged  in  mind  ;  and  I  hope  your 
grace  will  agree  with  me,  that  it  was  no  wonder  after  being  shipwrecked, 
then  I  got  a  cracked  skull,  and  a  situation  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  in  a  French 
prison,  and  after  I  came  home,  I  made  interest  to  get  into  Hoxtou  Madhouse, 
near  London,  and  if  all  that  I  have  stated  above  (and  I  assure  your  grace 
upon  the  honor  of  a  crazy  man,  that  I  have  not  exaggerated)  is  it  not  enough 
to  make  a  man  crazv,  I  hope  you  will  say  so  at  once.  But  stand  my  friend 
only  this  once,  and  I  will  pray  for  you  as  long  as  yon  live,  and  after  you  are 
dead  too;  only  first  obtain  my  request,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it; 
but  as  I  SHid  before,  after  I  came  home,  and  out  of  the  Mad-house,  I  was 
discharged  for  a  mad  man,  and  I  believe  nobody  disputes  about  it  but  myself 
and  the  doctor,  who  says,  "  that  I  am  downright  staring,  stark,  roaring  mad," 
and  I  in  return  tell  him  that  it  is  himself  who  is  mad  and  that  be  is  a  fool  for 
not  know'ing  better  ;  and,  as  we  cannot  agree  on  this  point,  I  wish  you  to 
judge  between  us  ;  but  1  hope  that  you  will  hold  on  my  side,  for  if  you  do  not, 
your  judgment,  in  my  grand  ideas  and  opinion,  will  not  be  worth  a  straw; — 
but  get  me  a  pension,  or  a  good,  snug,  warm,  comfortable  berth  of  a  situation, 
of  £'2,Q00.  or  £3,000.  per  year,  and  I  will  proclaim  your  Grace  to  the  whole 
world,  as  the  wisest  man  on  the  face  of  the  globe. 

"  Your  Grace  knows,  by  this  time,  how  1  stand  with  the  world,  and  how 
that  a  man's  will  is  of  no  use  until  he  be  dead,  but  my  good  will  has  been  of 
service,  while  1  am  yet  alive.  First,  in  serving  my  king  and  country,  then  in 
undergoing  so  many  sntterings,  and  almost  last,  though  not  least,  is  my  goml 
WILL,  in  having  been  in  Exeter  jail  about  twenty  dirterent  limes,  not  for 
being  a  tliief,  but  for  hawking  my  best,  shining,  Japan  blacking,  without  a 
licence;  and,  lastly,  I  adopted  a  little  girl,  who  had  no  parents,  as  a  daughter  ; 
^  and  one  time,  when  I  was  in  jail,  the  parish  officers  took  the  child  from  my 
wife,  and  bound  her  apprentice  to  a  brute  of  a  farmer,  in  the  country,  where 
she  was  compelled  to  work  hard,  fare  hard,  lie  hard,  and  all  but  go  naked  ; 
upon  my  learning  and  understanding  the  usage  she  received,  I  had  her  hard 
hearted  master  J)eforc  the  Magistrates,  who  cancelled  her  indentures,  and  I 
took  home  my  darling  adopted  child  once  more. 

"  Now  if  my  (good)  will  has  not  been  of  service  in  my  life  time,  say  so  ; — 
but,  only  get  me  a  good  pension,  or  some  situation — I  think  that  of  Master 
General  of  the  Ordnance,  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  or  of  the  Admiralty,  or 
General  of  Marines,  would  make  myself  and  family  quite  comfortable  for  life. 
If  you  cannot  assist  me,  yon  can  show  to  some  of  your  friends,  who  may 
perhaps  lend  me  one  of  their  good  ortices,  to  do  something  for  me.    As  for  my 

character,  y»)u  may,  if   you  please,  enquire  of  the of ;  or  else  of 

.     Hoping  you  will  comply  with  my  request,  your  petitioner,  as, 

in  duty  bound,  will  ever  pr;:y. 

(Signed,)  THOMAS    HYNES." 


G.    P.    IIEAIIDER,    PLYMOUTH. 


^1 


THE     SOUTH     DEVON 

MONTHLY    MUSEUM. 

PLYMOUTH,    MAY     1st,    1835. 

No.  29.]  Price  Sixpence.  [Vol.  V. 

LONG    BRIDGE. 

The  Bridge,  here  delineated,  was  built  in  the  year 
1753,  at  the  expense  of  the  county;  and  is  now 
about  to  be  taken  down  and  re-erected,  being  ill- 
adapted  to  the  increased  number  of  carriages  and 
horses  which  now  pass  over  it,  and  especially  to  the 
degree  of  velocity  with  which  our  mail  and  other 
coaches  now  travel.  Its  width  is  only  ten  feet,  and 
its  position,  at  a  right  angle  across  the  river,  renders 
it  peculiarly  incommodious,  not  to  say  dangerous. 
It  has  been  absurdly  enough,  continued  to  be  called 
the  New  Bridge,  in  contradistinction  to  the  older 
bridge  across  the  Plym,  higher  up  on  that  river,  and 
called  Plym  Bridge.  Those  who  ought  to  have 
given  it  a  name,  neglected  to  do  so,  but  it  is  hoped 
that  a  name  will  be  now  given  ;  though  it  must  be 
acknowledged  that  the  bridges  in  its  vicinity  have 
superseded  the  more  obvious  names  of  Plym  and 
Plympton.  This  name  has  been  sometimes  con- 
founded with  Long  Bridge,  which  is  properly  appli- 
cable only,  to  the  raised  road  or  bridge  over  the 
marshes  ;  extending  from  the  bridge  over  the  stream 
that  flows  by  the  side  of  Marsh  House  to  New 
Bridge.  Before  the  turnpike  road  was  constructed 
here  in  1758,  there  was  merely  a  beaten  track  lead- 
ing across  these  marshes  (subject  therefore  to  inun- 
dation, and  other  impediments)  communicating  on 
one  side  with  the  road  leading  by  Leigham  Gate  to 
Knackersknowle    Village,   and    on    the  other   with 

VOL.    V. 1835.  A  A 


194  LONG    BRIDGE. 

Plymptoh,  by  a  ford  across  the  river,  and  thence 
by  a  narrow  lane  to  Plympton,  through  the  Tory 
(then  running  across  a  lane  called  Lincotta  Lane), 
and  thence  through  Underwood  to  that  town.  In 
1758  the  wants  of  the  increased  population  required 
better  accommodation,  and  an  act  of  parliament  was 
applied  for  to  constitute  the  gentlemen  of  the 
country,  and  adjacent  towns,  a  body  of  trustees; 
authorizing  them  to  collect  tolls  from  all  persons 
using  the  road,  and  to  widen  and  improve  the  then 
almost  impassable  highways.  Before  this  bridge 
was  built,  the  most  accustomed  road  to  Plymptdn 
was  across  the  sands  from  Crabtree  to  Blaxton,  under 
Saltram,  and  thence  by  a  road  to  Underwood, 
since  thrown  into  Saltram  grounds.  But  as  this 
road  was  dependant  on  the  state  of  the  tide,  it  was 
of  course  extremely  inconvenient,  and  frequently 
dangerous.  When  therefore  a  new  road  to  Exeter 
became  necessary,  great  controversy  arose  whether 
that  road  should  be  carried  from  Crabtree  over  a 
bridge  to  be  built  at  Blaxton,  thence  and  through 
Underwood  and  Plympton,  to  Ivy  Bridge  ;  or  over 
the  New  Bridge,  and  through  Ridgevvay  to  Ivy 
Bridge.  The  dispute  was  conducted  with  much 
unnecessary  acrimony  and  ill  will,  and  sadly  divided 
the  families  of  the  district.  At  the  head  of  the 
successful  party  was  Sir  John  Rogers  ;  at  the  head 
of  the  defeated  one  Mr.  Parker,  of  Saltram.  Not 
content  with  the  direful  conflicts  which  turnpike 
meetings  afford  to  provincial  oratory  ;  lampoons  and 
squibs  were  most  unsparingly  issued,  and  some 
of  them  so  humorously  written,  as  to  have  been  long 
retained  in  the  memory  of  the  men  of  that  day :  but 
Time,  the  assuager  of  all  conflicts,  whether  concern- 
ing highways  or  empires  has  long  since  laid  the 
heroes  of  this  scene,  as  well  as  their  lampoons,  in 
the  silent  grave,  and  smiles  in  scorn  at  the  ephemeral 
contest.  But  to  us,  men  with  earthly  passions,  it  does 
seem  strange,  that  a  line  so  comparatively  level  and 
straight  as  the  rejected  one,  should  have  given  way 


THE    HOMERIC    PALACE.  195 

to  the  adopted  circuitous  and  hilly  road.  However, 
it  is  but  fair  to  presume  that  its  supporters  were 
deterred  from  adopting  the  rejected  ones  by  consi- 
derations of  expense,  as  it  is  obvious, that  two  bridges 
and  an  embankment  at  Blaxton,  must  have  occasi- 
oned a  considerable  expenditure,  and  that  such  hills 
as  occur  from  Plympton  St.  Mary  Bridge  to  Chad- 
dlewood  Lodge  were  not  then  deemed  impediments 
to  the  existing  mode  of  traveUing.  The  far  greater 
part  of  the  yeomanry  were  furiously  opposed  to  all 
tolls.  (Short  sighted  men  !  ! !  are  they  yet  cured  ?) 
And  therefore  the  popular  side  was  probably  with 
the  Rogers'  party,  as  ulterior  expence  is  rarely  con- 
sidered in  popular  meetings,  the  immediate  burthen 
being  chiefly  adverted  to. 

In  our  next  number,  it  is  our  design  to  give  an 
engraving  of  the  intended  bridge,  with  some  account 
of  its  dimensions,  its  probable  expense,  period  of 
completion,  and  of  those  who  have  contracted  to 
execute  it. 


THE     HOMERIC     PALACE. 

In  the  Homeric  times,  a  royal  or  princely  house 
was  uniformly  situated  in  the  midst  of  an  area,  en- 
compassed by  a  wall,  in  which  the  exterior  gate  un- 
folded its  double  leaves  to  admit  a  chariot  and 
horses  to  pass. 

Opposite  to  this  gateway  was  the  inner  door  of 
entrance  into  the  hall ;  which,  occupying  the  middle 
and  main  part  of  the  dwelling,  served  to  entertain 
more  than  a  hundred  guests  :  it  contained  a  fire- 
place, answering  the  purposes  of  a  kitchen :  its 
windows,  small  and  on  high,  let  in  the  light  of  the  sun, 
and  emitted  the  smoke  of  lamps :  its  ceihng  was  the 
upper  roof,  forming  a  gallery,  whither  the  inmates 
repaired  to  sleep  ;  or  refresh  themselves  in  the  cool 
of  evening.  Thus  it  is  said  of  Elpenor  ;  who,  in  a 
fit  of  ebriety,  missing  the   stair,  fell    outward    from 


196  THE    HOMERIC    PALACE. 

^Ihe  top  of  the  building.     Whether  the  fire  lay  in  the 

"^centre  of  the  hall,  or  beneath  a  chimney  in   a  side- 

*  wall,  is  not  easy  to  ascertain  ;  yet  the  more  ancient 

and  simpler  usage  renders  it  likely  that   the   hearth 

was  placed  mid-way,  in  the  floor. 

This  principal  apartment  was  sustained  by  two 
rows  of  wooden  columns,  with  niches  in  which 
spears  were  fixed  ;  and  having  settles  hollowed  out 
in  them  towards  the  fire  ;  so  that  those  who  were 
seated  might  warm  themselves,  and  at  the  same 
time  recline  against  the  pillars :  a  twofold  con- 
venience, that  a  single  colonnade  could  not  afford, 
in  such  a  spacious  room.  Pavement  there  was 
none, — not  even  a  layer  of  gravel,  clay,  or  sand  ; 
and  the  ground  itself  was  so  little  planed  and  hard- 
ened, or  consolidated  with  entire  surface,  that 
Telemachus  with  no  difficulty,  and  without  incon- 
venience to  any,  dug  in  it  a  hole  for  a  contest  at  bow 
and  arrow.  However,  not  far  in  the  area,  near  the 
fore-door,  there  was  a  level  space,  perhaps  paved 
with  stone,  fitted  for  exercise  and  sport  on  fiestive 
occasions. 

Adjoining  the  front  door  on  either  side,  under  the 
extended  roof  of  the  house,  were  vestibules,  in 
which  the  guests  passed  the  night,  so  that  each  might 
depart  at  his  pleasure  without  molesting  any  of  the 
domestics ;  and  upon  these,  were  open  porticos,  in 
which  the  inhabitants,  in  the  day-time,  partook  of 
the  winter  sunshine ;  or  at  night,  of  the  summer 
breeze. 

Behind  the  hall  were  bed-rooms  and  more  retired 
cells  ;  in  which  the  father  and  mother  of  the  family, 
and  the  more  select  female  attendants  reposed  :  the 
more  precious  stores  were  kept  there  in  safety  ;  and 
baths  were  heated  by  fire,  apphed  from  the  outside ; 
and  above  them  other  chambers  and  receptacles,  in 
which  servant-girls,  widows,  and  wives,  whose  hus- 
bands were  absent,  slept  securely  in  company  with  the 
more  respectable  maidens ;  whilst  all  the  men  servants 
seem  to  have  passed  the  night  in  sheds  beyond  the 
out-wall  of  the  mansion. 


THE    HOMERIC    PALACE.  197 

Separate  stairs,  by  which  they  might  ascend  to 
the  upper  chambers  and  dormitories,  the  open  por- 
ticos and  pleasure  gallery,  appear  to  have  been 
outwardly  adjusted  to  the  walls  on  both  sides  ;  so 
that  any  female  might  descend,  and  go  to  the  hall- 
door,  at  will,  without  being  obstructed  or  observed  ; 
but  nobody  could  escape  out  of  it,  by  the  passage 
open  towards  the  lower  bedrooms  and  cells,  unless 
by  breaking  through  the  inner  wall,  constructed 
perhaps  of  wood,  or  wickerwork,  or  clay  ;  by  the 
fragments  and  fissure  of  which,  Melanthius  seems 
to  have  mounted  into  the  closet,  where  the  arms 
w^ere  deposited. 

I  am  not  unconscious  of  the  various  senses,  in 
which  the  terms  of  the  original  Greek  have  been  in- 
terpreted ;  but  waiving  every  estimate  of  their  com- 
parative worth,  I  prefer  that  acceptation,  which 
seems  to  agree  best  with  their  etymology,  provided 
it  accords  with  the  strain  of  the  sentence. 

The  rafters  of  the  roof  and  gallery  seem  to  have 
been  brought  forward  beyond  the  walls,  on  every 
side;  and  beams  protruded  and  jutting  out  were  up- 
held by  other  external  columns :  for  Telemachus, 
about  to  enter  into  the  house,  affixes  the  spear  of 
Minerva  to  the -pillar,  in  its  wonted  nook,  as  if  he 
had  already  entered  within  the  doors  ;  the  rope,  by 
which  the  guilty  female  servants  were  to  be  sus- 
pended, each  in  her  noose,  extends  round  the  ceiling 
from  a  great  column.  This  column  must  have 
been  one  of  the  props  by  which  the  roof  was  sus- 
tained, as  is  obvious  from  its  name  in  the  original ; 
though  Eustathius,  and  his  interpreter,  Ernesti,have 
egregiously  erred  in  supposing  this  pillar  to  stand 
within  rather  than  without  the  partition  of  the  edi* 
fice.  It  is  manifest  that  this  dome  was  a  circular 
erection,  consisting  of  stone,  between  the  house  and 
the  outer  wall ;  but  its  use,  whether  for  liberal  or 
servile  purposes,  has  not  been  intimated  by  the 
poet. 

Similar  in  forms  perhaps,  though  larger  in  dimen- 
sions, were  the  dormitories,  successively  neighbouring 


198  THE    HOMERIC    PALACE. 

each  other  and  yet  distinct,  and  each  under  its 
separate  roof,  appropriated  to  the  Prince's  sons  and 
sons-in-law,  with  their  respective  wives  :  not  other- 
wise than  on  the  River  Niger  in  the  interior  of  Africa, 
the  wives  of  the  chiefs  at  this  day  possess  each  her 
own  lodge,  near  the  abode  of  their  common  husbands. 
Of  this  kind  appears  to  have  been  the  lodging  room 
of  Telemachus  ;  and  likewise  those  sixty-two  bed- 
chambers, bordering  on  one  another,  constructed 
around  the  palace  of  Priam.  In  it  however  no 
mention  is  made  of  columns ;  and  since  the  walls 
were  entirely  built  of  rough-hewn  or  cut  stones  ; 
pilasters  or  buttresses  of  angular  blocks,  were  sub- 
stituted for  columns,  as  well  within  as  without  the 
structure. 

That  the  separate  edifices,  whether  bedrooms  or 
receptacles  were  covered  with  pointed  roofs  is  pro- 
bable from  their  round  form  ;    and  also  that  appar- 
ently the  extremities  of  the  house  itself  were  joined 
on  both  sides  to  the  mid-hall — as  in  temples  hereafter 
to  be  mentioned, — for  that  rafters  of  this  sort,  even  in 
houses  of  greater  size,  were  sufficiently  known  to  the 
poet  and  his  auditors  is  plain  from  the  comparison  of 
their  intersertion  to  the  gmpple  of  Ajax  and  Ulysses 
in  their  wrestling  match.     In  the  more  private  recess 
of  the  house  lay  Menelaus  and  Helena  ;  but  Ulysses 
and  Penelope  had   their   bedroom   on   the   outside 
among  the  range  of  apartments,  as  the  female  atten- 
dant,  having   prepared   their  bed,  returned  to  the 
interior  of  the  dwelling.      In  the  porches,  between 
the  external  columns  and  the  walls,  horses  and  beasts 
of  burden  at  their  stalls,  and  carriages,  were  kept  in 
their  proper  stations  ;  and  where  nothing  of  this  kind 
existed,  as  in   Ithaca,  there  stood    hand-mills;    at 
which,  in  the  residence  of  Ulysses,  twelve  menial 
girls  incessantly  laboured  in  grinding  corn  to  feed 
the  suitors  :    they  were  so  near  the  vestibule,  where 
he  past  the  night,  that  he  could  hear  the  voice  of  one 
of  them  praying  ;  and  in  a  spot  so  open  that,  leaving 
her  mill-work,  she  looked  round  to  the  sky,  but  at 
the  same  time  was  so  protected  from  a  shower,  that  the 


THE    HOMERIC    PALACE.  199 

work  suffered  no  hindrance,  or  disturbance  from  it. 

It  has  already  been  observed  that  the  columns 
were  grooved  or  fluted  to  retain  commodiously  and 
securely  the  spears  affixed  to  them,  and  the  middle 
space  lay  between  the  two  series  of  columns,  like  the 
mainmast  in  the  midst  of  a  ship  :  in  like  manner,  the 
chimney  was  placed  with  the  support  of  pilasters. 

From  edifices  of  this  sort,  in  such  rude  simplicity, 
constructed  for  the  use  and  accommodation  of  men  in 
a  rustic,  uncultivated  state,  the  temples  of  the  gods, 
reared  and  adorned  by  their  descendants  with  sump- 
tuous magnificence  and  exquisite  elegance,  seem  to 
have  derived  their  primary  forms ;  since  they  were 
distributed  into  three  compartments,  in  front,  in  the 
middle,  and  in  the  rear  ;  as  well  as  the  abodes  of  the 
more  ancient  princes.  Of  these  sacred  structures,  the 
middle  or  nave,  which  occupied  the  place  of  the  hall, 
was,  in  most  of  the  greatest,  open  to  the  air ;  as  the 
hall  was  covered  only  with  the  gallery :  whilst  in 
both  the  two  extremities  were  covered  with  a  pentice, 
according  to  the  dictates  of  utility  and  the  examples 
of  ancient  fanes,  as  at  Poestum,  and  in  other  Doric 
remains.  The  dormitories  and  cells  of  the  more 
honorable  women,  were  secured  with  greater  care 
and  pains  against  the  severity  of  the  weather,  than 
were  the  seats  of  the  men,  only  occupied  in  the  day 
time.  The  distribution  of  the  columns  also,  both 
within  and  around  the  walls,  appears  to  have  been 
the  same  in  both  instances :  the  sacred  enclosure 
was  fenced  round  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Homeric 
hall. 

In  the  temples,  the  sloping  roofs  were  covered 
with  tiles  of  marble  or  brick ;  while  in  the  royal 
house  of  olden  times  both  roofs  and  galleries  were 
only  planked  or  boarded  :  and  the  various  lodges, 
placed  outside,  were  thatched  with  reed  or  straw — 
for,  in  their  ignorance  of  art,  neither  lime  for  mortar 
nor, burnt  bricks  were  known :  but  it  was  always 
easy  and  at  hand  to  seam  the  edges  of  the  boards 
with  a  mixture  of  resin  and  sand  ;  and  to  fill  and 
stop  up  their  chinks  and  interstices. 


200  THE    HOMERIC    PALACE. 

Taking  these  circumstances  into  consideration,  we 
may  justly  conclude  that  the  ancient  Greeks  derived 
the  elegances  as  well  as  the  rudiments  of  art  from 
experience  and  the  method  of  usefulness ;  and  that 
they  neither  learned  nor  borrowed  any  invention  of 
moment  from  the  Egyptians,  or  Phoenicians,  or  any 
other  foreign  nation.  The  houses  of  mankind  were 
adapted  to  the  exigencies  and  usages  of  life,  the  ad- 
vantages of  situations,  and  temperature  of  climate ; 
and,  after  their  likeness,  the  sacred  fanes  were  erected, 
only  of  firmer  structure,  of  more  stable  materials,  and 
ampler  scope :  all  their  parts  being  enlarged,  and 
what  were  originally  of  wood,  then  constructed  of 
rock — yet  the  plan  and  antique  disposition  of  the 
work,  as  transferred  to  sacred  from  profane,  were 
religiously  retained. 

The  columns  themselves  differed  in  magnitude  and 
substance  only ;  while  the  more  ancient,  which  were 
each  of  single  trunks  of  trees,  and  supported  only  a 
wooden  story  of  light  weight,  were  doubtless  more 
slender  in  proportion  to  their  height,  than  the  mature 
perfection  of  art  would  allow  any  of  that  order  to  be  ; 
neither  did  usefulness  suffer  their  altitude  to  exceed 
the  measure  of  twenty  feet,  which  then  set  the  limit 
to  all  erections  of  this  nature.  In  the  estimation  of 
the  present  age,  they  would  be  accounted  more  worthy 
the-name  of  posts  than  of  pillars. 

When  wooden  beams  were  to  be  placed  for  those 
chapitres  of  pillars,  they  were  allowed  to  be  not  only 
more  slender  and  thin,  but  also  more  rare  in  number, 
and  more  remote  from  each  other  in  relative  distance  ; 
of  which  form  and  distribution  in  the  more  elegant 
edifices  of  wood,  the  use,  even  during  the  empire  of 
the  Caesars,  plainly  appears  from  paintings  at  Her- 
culaneum  not  to  have  grown  obsolete,  and  become 
altogether  extinct. 

W.  E. 
Parkwood. 


201 

A.    CRITICAL      DISSERTATION     ON     FALCONER^S 
SHIPWRECK. 

-  '  :;co 

Concluded- from  page  163.  -T^^ 

Milton  has  attempted  to  remedy  the  deficiency  of 
actors  in  his  piece,  by  creating  two  imaginary  beings ; 
— Falconer  might  have  had  this  in  view  where  he 
introduces  his  ''  Angel  of  the  wind/* 

"  And  lo !  tremendous  o'er  the  deep  he  springs, 
Th'  inflaming  sulphur  flashing  from  his  wings  ! 
Hark  !  his  strong  voice." 

A  less  aspiring  genius  had  been  content  with  the 
subhmity  of  this  picture  ;  not  so  Falconer,  unless  he 
make  it  pathetic  also.  Telemachus  takes  the  helm 
on  account  of  the  pilot  being  intoxicated,  an  indul- 
gence natural  enough  in  a  native  of  Cyprus.  Arion 
is  brought  to  the  wheel  by  a  more  affecting  incident 
— the  helmsman  has  been  struck  by  lightning.  And 
then  the  delicate  glance  at  the  rough  master. 
"  Touched  with  compassion  gazing  on  the  blind  " 

Who  has  not  admired  Gray's  "  Wierd  Sisters," 
hurrying  to  the  field  of  battle  ? 

"  Each  astride  her  sable  steed." 

Falconer  has  recourse  to  them  to  accelerate  the 
catastrophe  of  the  poem, 

"'  The  fatal  sisters  on  the  surge  before. 
Yoke  their  infernal  horses  to  the  prore." 

In  the  "  Iphigenia  sacrificed,"  Timanthes,  aware 
that  his  art  was  unequal  to  cope  with  the  father's 
grief,  threw  a  veil  over  the  face  of  Agamemnon ;  I 
plead  the  same  excuse  for  passing  over  the  horrors 
of  the  wreck.  One  or  two  incidents  connected  with 
it,  and  we  proceed  to  the  last  point  for  our  consider- 
ation, the  sentiments  and  moral  of  the  piece. 

The  poet,  in  noticing  the  fate  of  Palemon,  simply 
tells  us,  that  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  quit  the 
ship  on  a  raft :  Shakspeare  in  his  wild  drama  of  the 
Tempest,  touches  on  such  a  point  more  fancifully  : — • 

VOL.    v.— 1835.  BR 


202  FALCON  ER^S    SHIPWRECK. 

"  The  King's  son  Ferdinand, 
He  was  the  first  that  leaped,  crying  hell  is  empty 
And  all  the  devils  are  here." 

In  the  natural  working  of  that  all  pervading 
passion — love,  at  such  a  season,  Falconer  meets  him 
with  actual  experience,  for  his  vantage  ground  :  the 
dying  youth  bids  Arion  touch  lightly  on  the  dire 
scene  of  the  shipwreck  to  his  Anna;  but 

"  Say  that  my  love  inviolably  true 
No  change  no  diminution  ever  knew  : 
Lo!  her  bright  image  pendant  on  my  neck 
Is  all  Palemon  rescued  from  the  wreck." 

Arion  escapes  by  keeping  himself  seated  on  the 
floating  mainmast: — turn  to  where  Telemachus  is 
found  in  a  similar  situation  at  the  close  of  the  sixth 
book. 

"  We  held  ourselves  firm,"  says  he,  "as  the  sea 
broke  over  our  heads,  being  fearful,  lest  the  violence 
of  the  shock  might  deprive  us  of  our  only  hope — 
the  mast  on  which  we  floated." 

You  will  observe  that  Falconer  calls  in  the  figure 
alliteration  to  express  the  wild  fury  of  the  surge  ; — 

'*  Another  billow  bursts  in  boundless  roar, 
Arion  sinks,  and  Memory  views  no  more — 
But  see,  emerging  from  the  watery  grave, 
Again  they  float." 

Persius,  in  his  5th  satire,  remarks  that  there  is 
nothing  like  a  thirst  for  wealth  to  make  a  man  an 
early  riser: — Falconer,  with  a  fine  moral  on  this 
universal  pursuit,  tells  us,  that  Albert,  with  all  his 
virtues,  was  still  but 

"  A  captive  fettered  to  the  oar  of  Gain." 

It  is  time  to  make  an  end. 

I  have  essayed  in  our  progress  through  the  main 
action,  to  point  out  its  scenes  of  paternal  affection, 
of  warm  but  chastened  love,  of  high  yet  patient  re- 
solve under  distress,  of  mutual  regard  in  youth  and  of 
compassion  in  a  strong  mind.  The  devout  turn  per- 
ceptible in  Falconer's  work  shall  bring  my  observa- 
tions on  it  to  a  close. 


falconer's  shipwreck.  203 

There  is  a  fine  passage  in  Milton,  where  the  poet 
catching  sympathy  from  our  first  parents,  joins  in 
their  evening  worship. 

"  They  adored 
The  God  who  made  the  moon's  resplendent  globe 
And  starry  pole." 

And  then  the  fine  transition 

"  Thou  also  madest  the  night, 
Maker  omnipotent,  and  thou  the  day." 

Longinus  has  an  instance  of  this  kind  out  of 
Homer;  and  Virgil  in  addressing  Hercules  adopts  a 
similar  figure. 

I  give  this  at  some  length — because  in  almost 
every  devout  aspiration  in  this  poem  Falconer  has, 
I  think,  as  far  as  the  flow  of  his  verse  admitted, 
resorted  to  this  manner  of  transition.  One  instance 
may  suffice. 

Albert,  the  shipmaster,  has  been  giving  all  the 
necessary  directions  their  perilous  situation  called 
for: — 

"  Great  in  distress  the  master  seaman  stood." 

And  most  so  where  he  breaks  off  to  apostrophize 
him,  at  whose  word  "the  stormy  wind  ariseth." 

"  Oh  !  source  of  life,  our  refuge  and  our  stay. 
Whose  voice  the  warring  elements  obey — 
Tis  our's  on  thine  unerring  laws  to  trust 
With  thee,  great  Lord,  "whatever  is,  is  just." 


204       ' 

THE     MARTYR      STUDENT.     . 

/ 

BY    MISS    DIXON. 

Mind  wrestles  with  Mortality  ! — Ye  view 
Death's  fatal  shaft  its  struggling  powers  subdue ; 
Where  Learning's  pupil  wins  the  appointed  prize. 
Touches  the  goal — but  for  the  conquest  dies  ! 
That  youthful  breast  devot»j  to  noblest  aim, 
Hath  felt  its  spirit  too  intensely  flame, 
Wasting  the  fragile  threads  of  sentient  clay, 
*Till  life  was  spent  and  being  breathed  away. 

In  vain  for  him  the  Wreath — though  won,  its  clasp 

Shall  bind  his  temples  with  an  iron  grasp, 

And  the  bright  leaves  of  Delphi's  plant  o'erpower 

The  high  expectance  of  that  envied  hour — 

Till  its  great  effort  weigh  the  occasion  down, 

And  the  sad  sequel  mock  th€f  late  renown. 

Think  ye,  what  days  of  studious  toil  were  passed, 
To  wear  that  garland,  sought  and  found  too  fast  I 
Think  ye  what  nights  the  zeal  of  Genius  gave, 
To  snatch  the  fame  that  consecrates  its  grave ! 
In  vain  allurement  flung  her  lilies  o'er 
The  path  of  bliss,  and  bade  him  toil  no  more; 
In  vain  with  every  joyous  passion  rife. 
Breathed  the  fresh  spring  of  yet  untasted  life; 
In  solitary  haunt  he  loved  alone 
To  make  the  knowledge  of  the  Dead  his  own, 
And  from  the  pages  of  the  past  to  glean 
Their  learning,  precepts, — all  that  they  had  been — 
Yet  thus  unmindful  of  each  lowlier  claim, 
Health,  pleasure,  life,  the  sacrifice  became. 
Pale  grew  his  cheek,  save  when  the  hectic  flush 
Tinged  its  worn  surface  with  a  treacherous  blush; 
And  o'er  that  brow  where  passion  seemed  to  slight 
Her  wonted  hues,  and  play  the  anchorite, 
Y'^e  might  in  each  convulsive  throb  discern 
The  rushing  soul  which  held  a  course  so  stern, 
And  stayed  not — though  life's  pulses  seemed  to  bear 
Its  madding  force  in  agonized  despair — 
Conscious  whereto  they  tended,  and  from  whence 
The  numbing  pause  of  each  o'er-laboured  sense, 


THE    MARTYR    STUDENT.  205 

Which  oft  subdued,  in  momentary  power, 

That  Martyr  Student  in  his  cloistral  bower : 

The  while  his  mid-night  lamp  witli  wasted  ray 

Burned  dim  beneath  the  morning's  earliest  gray, 

And  but  expired,  when  robed  in  power  and  light. 

The  great  Sun  scaled  his  heaven,  and  blessed  tlie  height. 

Thus  day  by  day  he  panted  for  the  prize, 

And  prodigal  of  youth-hood's  energies, 

E'en  as  his  frame  grew  weaker,  overbore 

The  potent  harm  that  crushed  his  hearths  deep  core ; 

Revelling  in  secret,  where  the  fountain  rill 

Of  the  warm  bosom  nursed  the  insidious  ill. 

And  as  its  current  journeyed,  only  fed 

That  hidden  grief,  and  more  its  influence  spread. 

Sad  were  the  task,  might  kindred  thought  explain, 
What  glorious  phantoms  fired  the  Student's  brain ; 
W^hat  radiant  scenes  his  starting  slumbers  knew, 
Revealed  in  vision  to  his  prophet  view  : — 
Young — yet  resolved  e'en  youth  itself  to  wreck 
For  that  impassioned  hope,  which  without  check 
Dauntless  he  so  pursued,  until  ye  there 
Witness  what  all  its  dreams  of  greatness  were ! 

Such  is  the  meed  !  Death's  rigid  finger  lay 

Twined  in  the  garland,  eager  for  his  prey,  * 

And  as  the  trial  of  intellect  drew  near 

Flushed  him  in  hope  or  palsied  o'er  with  fear : 

Now  quick  with  fever  boiled  the  bosom's  flood, 

Now  icy  doubt  repelled  the  lingering  blood ; 

Yet  hope  was  strongest,  and  for  that  essay 

Strung  every  fibre  of  the  obedient  clay, 

Ardent  the  wreath  of  conquering  mind  to  win, 

And  still  in  triumph,  all  its  fears  within ! 

Yes  !  Mind  was  greatest — and  that  mind  o'ercame 
Pain,  weakness,  doubt,  impatient  after  fame  ; 
Yet  then  too  mighty,  also  breathed  aside 
The  mastered  earth  to  which  it  half  was  tied ; — 
The  link  long  since  was  loosened,  and  that  hour 
Snapped  short  its  hold  with  a  resistless  power ; 
As  some  fair  bark  'mid  Ocean's  billowy  plain 
Hath  stemmed  the  violence  of  tlie  troubled  ^ain ; 


206  THE    MARTYR    STUDENT. 

Yet  in  an  hour  of  calm,  its  haven  won, 
Gone  down,  and  perished  in  the  noon-day  Sun. 
So  did  he  pass  away,  who  would  have  found 
Delight  in  praise  and  lived  in  honor's  sound ; 
Vain  praise  !  most  empty  homage  I  when  as  now, 
They  bind  the  night-shade  on  the  Martyr's  brow. 

Yet  still  that  fate  be  hallowed — still  revere 

His  tomb  sublime,  and  dew  it  with  a  tear ! 

For  not  by  thirst  of  gore  he  fell, — or  bled 

In  battle-field  with  the  promiscuous  dead — 

Not  for  the  sake  of  wealth  did  he  invite 

In  dangerous  climes,  Destruction's  fevered  blight. 

Or  to  uphold  the  worthless,  idly  spend 

His  soul's  best  powers,  and  court  an  earlier  end. 

But  that  the  stream  of  knowledge  might  diffuse 

To  thirsty  bosoms  its  celestial  dews ; 

That  Science,  glorious  Science,  should  display 

Her  eagle  wing,  and  bask  in  noon  of  day ; 

That  he,  her  chosen  son,  her  prophet  mind. 

Might  be  her  herald  unto  human  kind, 

And  if  the  crown  he  wore,  to  merit  due. 

By  equal  sacrifice  deserve  it  too. 

Peace  to  the  Martyr-Student !  Still,  though  sere, 
Those  leaves  shall  scutcheon  gloriously  his  bier, 
And  every  voice  that  breathes  his  name,  attest 
Sweet  sympathy  in  many  a  kindred  breast; 
Soothing  his  manes — if  perchance  there  last 
In  the  freed  mind  a  care  for  what  is  past. 
Or  that  the  exalted  spirit  e'er  may  find 
One  added  joy  from  things  it  left  behind. 


207 
VAN     DIEMAN'S     LAND. 

To  the  Editor  of  the  "  South  Devon  Monthly  Museum." 
Should  the  following  observations,  on  Van  Dieman's  Land,  suit 
the  pages  of  the  *^  Museum"  you  will  oblige  me  by  their  insertion . 
I  have  not  long  returned  from  this  Island;  where  I  resided 
many  months;  and,  during  the  time  I  was  there,  had  many 
opportunities  of  making  myself  well  acquainted  with  it. 

Many  and  various  are  the  stories  in  circulation  respecting  this 
Island,  some  extolling  it  as  an  "  El  Dorado,"  where  you  can 
pick  up  gold  in  the  streets ;  while  others  say  that  it  is  only  fit  for 
a  penal  settlement  for  those,  who,  by  reason  of  their  offences,  are 
obliged  to  leave  their  own  country,  "in  medio  tu  tutissimus 
ibis;"  and,  I  think,  by  following  the  middle  course,  between 
these  two  extremes,  I  shall  be  nearer  the  truth.  I  am  aware  that 
T  am  liable  to  bring  upon  myself  the  imputation  of  vanity  and 
presumption,  by  writing  on  a  subject  on  which  so  many  able  and 
interesting  works  have  been  published ;  but  I  contend  that,  from 
the  price  of  these  books,  there  is  a  bar  put  against  their  getting 
into  the  hands  of  those  who  most  require  them  to  assist  their 
judgment.  Therefore,  if  I  am  happy  enough  to  set  any  person 
right  in  any  particular,  respecting  the  propriety  of  emigration,  I 
shall  be  amply  repaid.  I  shall,  in  this  paper,  give  a  cursory 
description  of  the  Island;  its  principal  towns,  government, 
produce,  &c.;  -and,  in  the  next,  I  shall  treat  on  the  propriety  of 
emigrating  thither. 

Van  Dieman's  Land  was  first  discovered  by  Tasman,  a  Dutch 
circumnavigator,  who  gave  it  the  name  it  now  bears,  in  honor  of 
his  friend  the  then  Governor  of  Batavia:  it  was  subsequently 
visited  by  Captain  Cook,  and  many  other  navigators,  who  all 
declared  it  to  be  a  part  of  the  west  continent  of  New  Holland ; 
and  Captain  Cook  states  in  his  "  Voyages,"  that,  although  he  < 
sought  for  a  considerable  time,  he  could  find  no  straits;  and 
he  gives  it  as  his  opinion  that  none  such  could  exist.  What 
could  not  be  discovered  by  search  was  at  last  found  out  by 
accident;  Mr.  Bass  was  driven  off  from  the  coast  of  New  Hol- 
land, in  a  whale  boat,  and  was  drifted  through  these  straits,  to 
which  he  gave  his  name,  and  thus  established  beyond  all  doubt, 
that  this  was  an  Island.  It  extends  from  40  degrees,  30  minutes, 
South  Latitude,  to  43  degrees,  36  minutes.  South  Latitude ;  and 
from  144  degrees,  40  minutes,  East  Longitude,  to  148  degrees, 
East  Longitude.  -- 


208  VAN  dieman's  land. 

This  Island  is  upon  the  whole,  mountainous  and  thickly  wooded ; 
it  contains  a  great  many  rivers,  but  none  of  them  are  of  any  magni- 
tude excepting  the  Dorwent  and  the  Tamar.  On  the  former  Hobart 
Town  is  built,  and  on  the  latter  Launceston ;  both  these  rivers 
are  navigable  for  the  largest  vessels  for  many  miles.  The  climate 
is  mild,  being,  in  summer,  but  little  warmer  than  in  England ; 
whilst  the  winter  is  distinguished  by  the  quantity  of  rain  which 
falls,  rather  than  by  the  cold .  What  strikes  the  new  settler  with 
surprise  is  the  coldness  of  the  summer  nights;  for,  after  the  very 
warmest  days,  you  will  have  nights  succeed  them,  in  which  you 
will  be  glad  to  have  a  blanket  or  two  wrapped  round  you  when 
you  go  to  bed,  and  yet  I  have  slept  many  nights  in  the  bush, 
with  nothing  but  a  kangaroo  rug  round  me,  without  suffering  the 
least  inconvenience  from  it.  From  the  mildness  of  the  climate, 
it  is  well  calculated  for  the  breeding  of  sheep,  which  is  there 
carried  to  a  great  extent:  I  know  two  gentlemen  there,  who 
had  each  above  30,000  sheep ;  and,  considering  the  fineness  of 
the  wool,  and  the  prices  obtainable  for  it  in  England,  wool  is  a 
source  of  great  wealth  to  the  settlers.  The  grazing  of  cattle  is  also 
carried  to  a  great  extent ;  but  the  runs  (as  the  pastures  are  called) 
are  in  general  fi\r  in  the  interior.  The  cattle  are  attended  to  by 
stock  keepers,  who  live  in  huts  built  on  the  runs  ;  it  is  their  duty 
to  collect  them  occasionally,  and,  if  necessary,  to  take  them  to 
the  towns  for  sale.  In  consequence  of  the  want  of  barriers  to 
their  rambling,  the  cattle  of  one  herd  often  stray  into  another; 
but,  to  prevent  confusion,  every  proprietor  of  cattle  puts  his 
brand  upon  them,  and  it  is  felony  to  deface  that  brand  or  sub- 
stitute anotlier.  Most  of  the  men  who  look  af\er  the  cattle  are 
prisoners,  and  are  in  general  a  most  desperate  set  of  people;  for, 
being  quite  removed  from  the  surveillance  of  the  authorities,  they 
are  at  liberty  to  indulge  all  the  grossest  passions,  without  being 
detected  ;  and  it  is  by  the  means  of  these  people  that  the  convicts, 
who  run  away  and  become  bushrangers,  are  concealed  and  fed, 
while  tlicy  in  return  receive  and  dispose  of  their  ill  gotten  booty. 

The  government  of  \^an  Dieman's  Land,  is  vested  in  the 
hands  of  the  Lieutenant  CJovernor,  Colonel  Arthur,  who  has  the 
power  of  respiting  prisoners  from  death,  until  the  decision  of  the 
home  government  be  known.  There  is  also  a  colonial  legislature 
or  parliament ;  the  members  of  which  are  chosen  by  the  Gover- 
nor (subject  to  the  approval  of  the  King),  from  the  most  respect- 
able and  influential  of  the  settlers.  They  have  the  power  of 
passing  acts  for.the  regulation  of  the- colonies  ;  founded,  of  course, 


VAN  dieman's  land.  209 

on  the  principles  of  English  Law.  There  are  also,  connected 
with  the  administration  of  justice  in  the  Island,  a  Chief  and 
Puisne  Judge,  Solicitor,  and  Attorney  General,  &c.  they  have 
also  the  trial  by  jury,  but,  in  all  capital  cases,  the  juries  are 
wholly  composed  of  Naval  and  Military  officers. 

To  the  eternal  disgrace  of  the  Colonial  legislature,  they  have 
no  Bankrupt  Act ;  so  that  if  a  poor  debtor  get  incarcerated  for 
£5.  he  is  liable  to  remain  so  for  life.  While  I  was  in  the 
island,  in  consequence  of  the  petitions  of  some  of  the  debtors, 
a  temporary  act  was  passed  for  the  relief  of  those  then  confined  ; 
and  among  those  who  took  the  benefit  of  this  act,  was  one  poor 
man  who  had  been  in  goal  for  six  years,  for  the  paltry  sum  of  £4. 
The  Legislative  Council  sit  with  closed  doors,  notwithstanding 
the  able  and  spirited  address  of  Dr.  Ross,  the  intelligent  editor 
of  the  ^*  Hobart  Town  Courier,'^  who  was  allowed,  by  courtesy, 
to  speak  before  the  Council  on  the  propriety  of  admitting  the 
Editors  of  the  Newspapers,  so  that  they  might  report  the  debates : 
one  of  the  greatest  opposers  of  the  freedom  of  the  press  was  a 
**ci  devant"  shoe-maker,  named  Willis,  who  left  this  country 
about  fourteen  years  since,  a  poor  man,  and  by  good  fortune  has 
become  rich  enough  to  take  his  seat  as  a  M.L.C.,  in  which  ca- 
pacity he  signalizes  himself  by  the  assumption  of  aristocratic  airs, 
which  fit  him  as  a  regal  dress  does  a  strolling  player.  He,  a  short 
time  since,  endeavoured  to  pass  an  act  for  making  all  newspapers 
liable  to  postage,  which  would  at  once  put  a  stop  to  the  colonial 
press. 

W^ith  regard  to  the  produce  and  exports  of  the  island  :  the 
principal  is  wool,  to  the  cultivation  of  which ;  as  I  have  observed 
before,  great  attention  is  paid,  and  many  thousand  bales  are  an- 
nually exported  ;  the  prices  which  it  fetches  in  this  country  are 
from  1.9.  3d.  to  2.?.  9^.  Next  to  wool,  as  an  article  of  profit  to 
the  settlers,  is  the  whale  fishery,  which,  of  late  years  has  been 
a  very  profitable  speculation  to  those  engaged  in  it.  Sealing  also 
has  been  followed  up  with  a  great  deal  of  spirit  by  ^ome  of  the 
enterprizing  settlers  ;  and  every  year  several  thousand  skins, 
which  are  of  the  best  fur,  are  sent  home.  Corn  also  is  grown 
here,  and  sometimes  to  a  great  extent,  but  owing  to  the  dryness 
of  the  seasons  there  is  sometimes  a  scarcity,  so  that  the  price  of 
course  fluctuates,  varying  from  4s.  per  Winchester  bushel,  to 
14s,  ditto;  but  the  average  price  may  be  quoted  at  6s.  All  En- 
glish fruits  and  vegetables  thrive  here  ;  and  the  former  even  in 
greater  profusion  than  in  England;  but  none  of  tliem  possess 
VOL.  V. — 1835.  cc 


210  VAN  dieman's  land. 

that  rich  flavour  which  they  have  in  their  native  soil.  An  article 
which  has  of  late  years  been  exported  in  considerable  quantities, 
is  the  bark  of  a  species  of  mimosa,  called  the  wattle  ;  this  bark 
is  used  for  tanning  leather,  and  possesses  a  much  greater  quantity 
of  tannin  than  even  oak  bark,  but  whether  it  be  owing  to  the 
much  shorter  time  in  which  they  tan  leather  in  the  colony  I  am 
not  aware,  but  the  shoes  made  of  leather  tanned  with  this  barfc 
will  not  last  half  so  long  as  those  made  in  England.  I  am  in- 
clined to  think  that  were  a  proper  time  given  to  the  processes  of 
tanning,  the  leather  would  be  more  durable. 

Timljer  has,  at  different  times,  been  exported  to  England^ 
but  I  believe  that  it  has  seldom  given  anything  like  an  adequate 
profit  for  the  money  laid  out,  although  there  are  some  woods  in 
the  Island,  more  especially  the  Blackwood,  which  make  very 
handsome  articles  of  furniture;  but,  owing  to  the  price  of  labour 
m  the  colony,  there  has  been  but  little  used,  as  it  is  fourui 
cheaper  to  import  articles  of  furniture  from  England.  It  will  be 
necessary  for  the  settlers  to  devote  their  attention  to  the  discovery 
of  some  article  fit  for  export,  as  the  mimosa  bark  will  in  a  year 
or  two  cease  to  be  procurable  in  sufficient  quantities  to  send  home. 
To  be  sure  the  whale  fisheries  are  on  the  increase,  but  it  may 
happen  tliat  there  may  be  an  unsuccessful  season,  and  then  there 
will  be  a  want  of  dead  weight  for  vessels  taking  home  wool. 

Having  now  hastily  described  the  Island,  and  its  produce,  I 
shall  proceed  to  a  description  of  its  towns.  Hobart  Town,  the 
capital  of  the  Island,  contains  the  residence  of  the  Lieut.  Go- 
vernoi-;  and  is  in  Latitude  43  degrees,  South  ;  Longitude  147 
degrees,  20  minutes,  East.  It  is  situated  on  the  banks  of  the 
River  Derwent,  which  river  is  navigable  for  many  miles  above 
tins  town,  which  is  well  built  and  prettily  situated,  and  when 
first  seen  from  the  anchorage  presents  a  most  beautiful  appearance. 
Immediately  facing  you  on  the  summit  of  a  hill,  surrounded  by 
a  beautiful  shrubbery  of  native  and  exotic  plants  and  trees,  is 
Government  House,  where  resides  the  Governor.  The  house 
has  nothing  particularly  splendid  in  its  .appearance,  but  looks 
like  a  comfortable  gentleman's  house.  To  the  right  of  you  is 
seen  the  old  jetty ;  here  hitherto  all  the  cargoes  of  vessels  were 
discharged ;  but  this  is  now  deserted  for  the  new  wharf;  on  this 
jetty  are  situated  many  fine  merchants'  stores,  and  the  bonded 
warehouses.  Here  also  ply  the  watermen,  who  muster  in  con- 
siderable numbers;  and  who,  thanks  to  the  municipal  police,  can 
charge  but  a  certain  price  for  their  hire,  so  that  they  are  pre- 
vented from  imposing  on  any  one. 


VAN  dieman's  land.  21 1 

On  landing,  a  stranger  is  greatly  struck  with  the  bustle  which 
he  witnesses  :  the  crews  of  the  different  vessels  discharging  their 
cargpes,  the  warehousemen  stowing  them  away,  with  the  crowd 
of  watermen  around  him,  puts  him  in  mind  of  a  populous  sea 
port  in  England ;  on  the  old  jetty,  to  tempt  you  as  you  land,  is 
the  Commercial  Inn,  which  has  one  of  the  finest  coffee  rooms  I 
ever  saw.  Here  a  person  may  enjoy  all  the  products  of  its 
ctiisine  at  a  cheap  rate,  considering  the  disparity  of  prices  between 
Van  Dieman's  Land  and  England.  After  crossing  over  an  em- 
bankment, you  arrive  at  the  foot  of  Macquire  Street,  which  is  the 
aristocratic  street  of  the  town ;  in  it  are  situated  most  of  the 
public  buildings,  viz.  the  Government  house,  the  Treasury, 
Court  House,  Goal,  &c.,  &c.,  also  very  many  beautiful  houses, 
the  residences  of  the  civil  officers,  merchants,  &c.  This  street  is 
the  promenade  of  the  town,  and  a  person  who  goes  to  this  Island, 
thinking  to  find  it  a  wilderness,  will  be  astonished  at  the  gaiety 
of  the  scene ;  ladies  in  rich  dresses,  officers  of  the  army,  invalids 
from  the  East  Indies,  with  their  sable  attendants,  and  dashing  equi- 
pages: and  now  and  then  some  of  the  chiefs  from  New  Zealand, 
with  their  tattoed  faces,  give  an  air  of  gaiety  to  the  scene,  which 
could  scarcely  be  expected  at  such  a  distance  from  England.  In 
this  street  is  one  of  the  most  comfortable  inns  I  ever  saw,  and 
witlial  most  splendidly  fitted  up;  viz.  the  "Macquire  Hotel:" 
this  is  the  haunt  of  most  of  the  young  bloods  of  the  town,  who 
resort  thither  to  play  billiards,  whicli  practice  is  carried  to  a  great 
and  sometimes  ruinous  extent. 

The  public  buildings  are  scarcely  deserving  notice,  beyond  that 
they  are  all  erected  with  ei  view  to  the  combination  of  the  "  utile 
cum  dulce;"  with  one  vile  exception,  viz,  the  Goal.  A  prison 
should  not  be  a  place  of  splendour ;  but  this  is  a  disgrace  to  a 
civilized  country  :  the  poor  debtors,  who  may  remain  incarcerated 
for  life,  have  worse  accommodations  than  felons  in  England,  but 
there  is  a  project  for  building  a  new  one,  so  that  I  hope  this  will 
soon  cease  to  be  a  stigma  on  the  humanity  of  the  colonial  authori- 
ties. In  this  street  is  the  St.  David's  Chapel,  a  very  neat 
Gothic  building,  surrounded  by  a  shrubbery:  here  officiates  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Bedford,  the  colonial  chaplain,  who  has  been  many 
years  in  the  Island.  A  curious  story  is  told  of  this  gentleman, 
on  the  occasion  of  erecting  a  new  gallows,  some  years  since,  in 
consequence  of  the  old  one  not  being  sufficiently  large.  The 
Rev.  Gentleman  was  asked  to  view  one,  on  seeing  which  he 
rubbed  his  honcU,  and  with  the  greatest  naivete  said,  "  Ah,  bless 


212  VAN  dieman's  land. 

me,  this  is  something  like ;  nine  might  be  suspended  here  at  a 
push,  but  seven  could  be  hanged  comfortably  :"  thus  letting  the 
people  know  that  there  was  a  comfort  even  in  being  hanged 
properly. 

I  omitted  mentioning  in  its  proper  place  the  New  Wharf;  on 
this  are  in  building  many  splendid  stores,  for  merchants ;  all  are 
erected  after  plans  furnished  by  government ;  and  so  great  is  the 
demand  for  land  in  this  part,  that  one  allotment  sold  at  the 
rate  of  £2,360.  per  acre.  Ships  of  all  sizes  will  be  able  to 
lay  along  side  this  wharf  to  discharge  and  take  in  their  cargoes; 
water  is  brought  down  by  pipes  to  the  shipping  from  the  reservoir, 
which  is  at  a  little  distance ;  on  this  wharf  also  is  the  New 
Market,  which  was  opened  while  I  was  in  the  Island ;  this  is  well 
supplied  with  all  kinds  offish,  flesh,  vegetables,  &c. 

All  the  streets  in  Ilobart  Town,  and  in  fact,  in  all  the  town- 
ships in  the  Island,  are  laid  out  at  right  angles  to  each  other. 
They  are  very  wide,  some  of  them  handsome,  and  are  fast  "pro- 
gressing," as  our  friends  the  Yankees  say.  Many  of  the  shops 
are  very  handsome,  although  from  the  diversity  of  goods  sold  in 
them,  they  have  different  appearances  from  those  in  England. 
There  is  also  a  trifling  disparity  between  English  and  A'an  Die- 
man's  Land  shops,  viz.,  in  the  price  of  the  goods  sold  in  them. 

Nearly  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  but  in  a  retired  situation,  are 
the  prisoners'  barracks,  where  the  convicts  are  placed  when  they 
arrive  from  England,  prior  to  being  assigned.  Here  also  they 
are  punished,  when  for  any  offences  they  incur  the  punishment 
of  being  flogged  :  their  punishments  are  pretty  severe,  although 
well  merited. 

The  population  of  Ilobart  Town  is  about  14,000,  including 
the  military  and  prisoners,  but  every  week  brings  a  great  addition 
to  their  numbers  from  England  :  it  is  not  at  all  unusual  for  1,000 
people,  free  emigrants  and  prisoners ;  to  arrive  in  the  course  of  a 
month ;  so  that  a  new  census  ought  to  be  made  every  year. 

This  town  has  not  one  manufacture  of  any  consequence  ;  there 
are  a  tan-yard  or  two  with  some  breweries  (their  beer  by  the  bye 
is  wretched  stuff).  There  are  also  two  distilleries,  which  send 
out  what  is  called  colonial  whisky,  but  imlike  all  other  whisky 
which  I  have  ever  tasted,  except  in  colour :  its  sole  recommenda- 
tion is  its  great  strength,  which  is  a  quality  highly  prized  by  the 
convicts,  who,  men  and  women,  drink  quantities  of  spirits.  Talk 
of  gin  drinking  in  England!  it  cannot  in  any  way  compare  with 
Van  Dieman's  Land  in  that  respect,  consequently  public  houses 


VERSES.  213 

are  in  general  very  profitable  concerns  (as  a  Gentleman  who  is 
now  very  rich,  in  this  neighbourhood,  can  testify)  :  every  street 
has  five  or  six  public  houses  in  it.  Some  of  their  signs  are  very 
curious;  one  is  called  the  "  Labour  in  vain,"  there  is  a  picture 
over  the  door,  of  some  old  women  endeavouring  to  scrub  a  black 
man  white;  there  are  many  others  equally  expressive. 

About  a  mile  from  Hobart  Town  is  the  Government  Garden, 
which  with  the  domain  around  it,  are  well  worth  viewing ;  in  the 
garden  will  be  found  plants  and  flowers  from  all  countries.  There 
are  the  New  Zealand  flax,  the  Norfolk  Island  pine,  the  orange 
tree,  with  exotics  from  the  East  Indies,  and  most  of  the  South 
Sea  Islands.  The  intelligent  superintendent,  Mr.  Davidson, 
is  always  happy  to  show  any  strangers  the  garden  and  point  out 
to  them  what  is  worth  notice.  Here  are  also  several  specimens 
of  the  zoology  of  the  island,  black  swans,  (the  Rara  avis  in  terris) 
Devils,  Kangaroos  (the  animal  which,  as  Peter  Simple  says, 
brings  forth  four  young  ones  at  a  time  and  then  puts  them  into 
her  belly  till  they  arrive  at  the  years  of  discretion),  with  many 
other  native  animals,  birds,  &c.  &c.  are  collected  here. 

In  my  next  paper  I  shall  treat  on  the  subject  of  Emigration. 

Cosmopolite. 


VERSES. 


Sweet  is  the  shade  of  yonder  vale 

When  all  around  is  still, 
And  dewy  evening*s  light-winged  gale 

Floats  round  the  voiceless  hill. 
Solemn  the  echo  of  the  dell, 

Which  breaks  the  silent  gloom  ; 
W^hilst  mournfully  the  village  bell 

Peals  forth  its  sound  of  doom. 

The  sword  is  rusted  in  the  sheath. 

Rest !  Spirits  of  the  Brave ; 
W'ho  fought  our  battles  on  the  heath 

That,  now,  o'er-spreads  their  grave. 
The  torrents'  voice  all  time  expressed. 

The  night  winds'  fitful  roar. 
Can  never  break  their  tranquil  rest — 

Can  never  wake  them  more. 
Yealmpton.  ' 


214 

IIXTRACTS  FROM  THE  COUNTESS  OF  MORLEY'S 
"  D  A  C  R  E ." 

A  THOUSAND  opportunities  for  falling  in  love  are  afforded  to  young 
people  in  a  continental  tour,  which  are  denied  them  in  England. 
The  mountain  path  cannot  be  ascended  alone,  but  imperatively 
requires  the  supporting  arm  of  the  companion  :  without  his 
careful  assistance  the  mule  would  not  thread  its  dangerous  way, 
and  her  safety  requires  his  attendance  at  her  side.  The  distant 
expedition  brings  a  moonlight  return.  They  listen  to  the  mur- 
muring ripple  of  the  wave  as  it  gently  reaches  the  shore,  and  the 
joyous  sound  of  voices  softened  by  the  distance  breaks  upon  the 
ear.  They  gaze  on  the  tremulous  stream  of  silver  light  which 
dances  on  the  scarcely  ruffled  waters,  and  watch  with  wonder  and 
delight  the  red  bickering  flame  that  ever  and  anon  shoots  upwards 
from  the  summit  of  Vesuvius.  Their  feelings  are  brought  into 
unison  by  sympathy  in  the  contemplative  pleasures  which  such 
scenes  must  produce ;  and  the  gay  frivolity  of  the  ball  room  is 
exchanged  for  the  silent  enthusiasm  which  nature  awakes. 

It  is  at  moments  like  these,  when  the  petty  anxieties  of  life  are 
absorbed  in  the  sublimity  of  the  scene — when  the  thoughts  are 
-  not  selfishly  engaged  in  a  search  for  admiration — when  the  heart 
is  not  hardened  by  the  vain  ambition  of  conquest — that  we  are 
most  accessible  to  tenderness  and  attachment.  It  is  at  moments 
like  these  that — when  silence  is  at  length  broken — the  warm  in 
heart  and  the  pure  in  mind  dare  to  pour  forth  those  sentiments 
which  are  least  suited  to  the  gaiety  of  society,  and  least  under- 
stood by  the  cold  and  reckless. 


There  are  many  to  whom  the  name  of  a  ball  conveys  no  other 
idea  than  the  meeting  of  various  persons,  to  indulge  in  the  un- 
meaning practice  of  dancing:  there  are  others  who  look  upon  a 
ball  as  the  means  of  conquest  and  display.  By  some  it  is  re- 
garded as  the  business  of  life  ;  by  others  as  the  frivolous  recrea- 
tion of  unthinking  people.  By  the  wily  matron  it  is  viewed  as  a 
market;  by  the  presumptuous  heir  apparent  as  the  bazaar  from 
which  he  may  select  his  mate  at  pleasure;  and  there  are  those 
among  the  elders,  who,  regarding  it  as  the  innocent  outbreak  of 
joy  and  mirth  in  the  young,  benignantly  approve  of  such  a  safety- 
valve  to  the  exuberance  of  youthful  spirits.      But  with  far  other 


BACRE.  215 

feelings  is  such  a  scene  viewed  by  the  lover^  for  to  him  only  it 
becomes  the  theatre  of  romance,  and  the  dwelling-place  of  passion . 
There  have  been  some  who  think  that  love  is  a  native  of  the 
rocks;  but  its  birth-place  matters  little,  when  once  it  is  called 
into  being,  for  it  can  thrive  alike  wherever  it  is  transplanted.  It 
shrouds  itself  in  an  atmosphere  of  its  own  creation,  and  sees  the 
surrounding  objects  through  the  medium  of  its  own  fanciful  halo. 
The  existence  of  color  depends  not  more  on  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
than  depends  the  hue  which  is  lent  to  all  that  is  external,  upon 
the  internal  feelings  of  the  mind.  The  bustling  scenes  of  gaiety 
may  appear  ill  suited  to  the  indulgence  of  deep  feeling ;  yet  the 
mind  which  is  preoccupied  by  one  absorbing  thought,  has  not 
only  an  inward  attraction  that  bids  defiance  to  the  intrusions  of 
others,  but  has  even  the  power  of  converting  into  aliment  ail 
that  should  tend  to  destroy  its  force.  The  crowds  that  pass 
before  the  eyes  of  a  lover,  seem  but  as  a  procession  of  which  his 
mistress  is  the  queen.  If  he  talks  to  another,  it  is  to  listen  to 
the  welcome  theme  of  her  praise  from  the  voice  of  partial  friend- 
ship ;  and  if  the  actions  of  others  ever  attract  his  attention,  it  is 
to  observe,  with  the  jealous  watchfulness  of  a  lover,  the  manner 
and  reception  of  those  whom  he  regards  as  rivals. 


There  is  generally  some  difficulty  in  passing  the  first  evening 
of  a  country-house  visit;  and  it  is  upon  these  occasions  that  even 
the  semblance  of  something  to  do,  is  an  object  to  the  unoccupied 
guests.  Then  it  is  that  the  pages  of  splendid  Albums  filled  with 
nonsense  verses,  and  bad  drawings  on  richly  embossed  paper, 
are  eagerly  turned  over,  more  to  employ  the  fingers  than  to  please 
the  eye.  Then  does  the  click  of  the  billiard  ball  sound  sweet  as 
melody  to  the  ear ;  and  music  becomes  welcome,  not  for  its 
beauty,  but  its  noise. 


216 

ON     THE     LYDFORD     WATERFALL. 

It  is  a  shadowy  crevice  of  the  Wood, 

Wild,  though  not  stern,  and  lonesome,  but  not  rude ; 

So  green  and  fresh  with  mingling  boughs  around, 

And  waving  fret- work  o*er  the  untrodden  ground ; 

The  tall  dark  crag,  its  roughness  worn  away, 

Shines  with  the  dashing  Cataract's  frothy  spray ; 

Which  like  a  snow-white  pillar  seems  to  tower 

Far  in  the  deep  recesses  of  its  bower ; 

Its  hoary  head  among  the  verdure  hides. 

And  bathes  the  dripping  leaves  that  arch  its  sides. 

Green  oaks  and  hazels  over-hanging  all 

The  steepy  edges  of  the  Waterfall; 

'Till  far  above,  their  clustering  arms  between. 

Small  space  of  sky  in  narrow  glimpse  is  seen ; 

And  there  the  sun  at  blaze  of  Noon  ye  view. 

Piercing  with  arrowy  rays  the  foliage  through ; 

That  change  the  lucid  water's  scattered  face 

To  molten  crystal  in  that  secret  place ; 

While  from  its  broken  column,  sprinkling  dews 

Hang  in  the  air,  and  o'er  the  leaves  diffuse. 

In  glittering  wreathes  the  rapid  waves  alight, 

And  'mid  the  darkling  hollow  re-»:nite : 

Then  onward  tending  to  their  native  place. 

Roll  their  soothed  billows  into  Lyd's  embrace, 

As  thence  composed,  along  the  forest-lea 

He  journeys  gaily  downward  to  the  Sea; 

And  watery  Nymphs  around  his  footsteps  pay 

Their  foam-light  crowns,  and  sing  the  spousal  lay. 

Now  further  through  that  wild-wood  dell  advance. 
Where  jocund  Fairies  weave  their  moon-lit  dance; 
Or  'mid  a  thousand  flowers  their  revels  hold. 
And  elfin  banquet  pledge  in  solid  gold. 
Fit  scene,  meet  haunt,  around  ye  may  descry 
For  spirit-things — if  spirits  should  be  nigh  : — 
Cool  waves  the  sycamore  its  darksome  shades. 
And  silvery  aspens  bend  in  light  arcades ; 
The  clustered  oaks  a  greener  roof  extend, 
And  tlie  grey  ash  doth  with  the  beeches  blend. 


ON    THE    LYDFORD    WATERFALL.  217 

Beneath  fair  bloom  the  flowers  in  mingling  dyes, 

And  water  shrubs  along  the  margin  rise; 

So  thick  and  gay,  no  hand  of  man  had  care 

With  toil  or  studious  art  to  plant  them  there ; 

But  ever  springing  as  the  seasons  run, 

Spread  their  young  foreheads  to  the  nursing  Sun ; 

In  balmy  showers  their  growing  leaves  unclose. 

And  scent  each  breeze  that  o'er  the  forest  blows. 

Such  place  had  been  in  classic  days  of  eld 

By  pastoral  gods  with  sacred  joy  beheld ; 

Here  ancient  Pan  had  tuned  his  reed,  and  all 

The  mirthsome  Dryads  hailed  the  favorite  call ; 

With  bounding  Fauns  some  sportive  measure  wove 

By  Lyd's  gay  margin  and  romantic  grove, 

'Till  music's  echoes  bade  the  wild  rejoice, 

And  rugged  rocks  sighed  back  the  tuneful  voice. 

For  me,  my  sylvan  Harp,  unheedful  strung, 
On  the  witch-elm  beside  the  Cataract  hung ; 
Hath  felt  at  intervals  the  passing  breeze 
Swell  o'er  its  chords,  and  soften  by  degrees — 
Still  lingering, — as  in  timid  love  to  ask 
The  wonted  tribute  of  this  spell-born  task  ! 
Where  winds  and  waters  every  echo  fill 
With  noble  promptings  to  poetic  skill ; 
Such  as,  by  common  ear  unheard,  unknown, 
Inspire  and  charm  the  Poet's  heart  alone ; 
Whose  spirit  moulded  by  some  secret  power 
Yields  to  the  unseen  Genius  of  the  Bower ; — 
Yet  as  he  sings,  but  only  half  reveals 
The  winning  sense  his  eager  bosom  feels, 
In  wood  or  wild,  in  forest,  or  in  glen. 
Taught  by  the  secret  soul  that  warms  him  then. 

From  "  Castalian  Hours" 


VOL.  V. — 1835. 


218 
MASTER    AND     MAN. 

The  inevitable  delay,  however,  gave  him  time  to  arrange  his 
plans;  and  long  before  his  valet  and  prime-minister  was  up, 
and  down,  he  had  settled  the  programme  of  the  whole  perform- 
ance. 

This  valet  was  a  character — that  is  to  say,  if  having  no  char- 
acter except  that  which  he  brought  from  his  last  place,  justifies 
one  in  saying  so.  His  name  was  Twigg;  he  was  his  master's 
counsellor  and  adviser  upon  many  occasions;  and  it  was  to  his 
not  having  employed  him  in  the  Harley  Street  stratagem,  that 
Saville  attributed  its  lamentable  failure,  and  his  consequent 
disagreeable  exposure.  Saville  had  a  high  opinion  of  Twigg's 
judgment  upon  many  topics;  he  had  before  this,  discussed  the 
subject  of  the  elopement,  and  had  been  much  edified  by  his  man*s 
remarks  and  observations;  he  was  attached  to  him  for  his  fidelity 
and  prudence,  and  considered  him  "  quite  a  treasure  "  in  the  way 
of  guarding  him  against  imposition,  and  directing  him  to  bargains ; 
the  truth  being,  that  Twigg  had  not  three  ideas  in  the  world 
beyond  taking  the  best  possible  care  of  himself.  The  only  virtue 
he  possessed,  consisted  in  a  studious  accommodation  of  himself 
to  his  master's  will  and  opinion,  and  in  always  agreeing  with  him 
upon  every  point  under  discussion;  constantly  appearing  to 
originate  something,  which  his  master  pronounced  exceedingly 
wise  ^nd  clever,  but  which,  in  fact,  was  neither  more  nor  less, 
than  a  new  version  of  some  old  proposition  which  had  been  pre- 
viously made  by  Saville  himself. 

"  Twigg,"  said  Saville,  "  shut  the  door." — The  door  of  course 
was  shut. — "  I  am  resolved  to  put  my  scheme  in  practice  with 
regard  to  Miss  Franklin.  Have  you  got  the  paper  about  the  line 
of  posting  down  the  north-road,  which  you  had  from  Newman  ?" 

"  I  have,  Sir,"  said  Twigg. 

"  I  cannot  sit  down  quietly  and  give  her  up,"  said  Saville; — 
"  the  affair  is  perfectly  simple." 

"  Very,  Sir,'^  said  Twigg. 

•*  Of  course  every  man  knows  his  own  business  best" — said 
Saville,  "  but — I — upon  my  life — I  do  n't  know — I  think  it  is 
better  at  once  to  make  the  plunge;  and  I  question  whether  it  is 
not  wiser  to  be  rash  for  an  hour,  than  miserable  for  life." 

"  It  is  a  question.  Sir." 

"  Yet,  Twigg,  if  I  hesitate  the  opportunity  is  lost." 

"  So  it  is,  Sir." 


MASTER    AND    MAN.  219 

**She  cannot  fail  of  being  wretched  with  Smith." 

"  Impossible !  '*  said  Twigg. 

"  He  is  a  worthy  man,"  said  Saville,  muttering  to  himself. 

*'  Very,  Sir,"  said  Twigg. 

"  But  not  suited  to  herT 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Twigg. 

"  He  's  sixty-three  at  least." 

"  Yes,  Sir,  full  sixty-three,"  said  Twigg, 

"  That,  to  be  sure,  is  not  so  very  old." 

"  No,  Sir,"  said  Twigg,  "  not  so  very  old ." 

"  Too  old  for  a  girl  of  nineteen." 

"  Oh  !  much  too  old,  Sir,"  said  Twigg. 

"  I  believe  she  is  fond  of  wze,"  said  Saville — like  a  fool. 

"  Very,  Sir,"  said  Twigg — like  a  knave. 

"  Do  you  think  so  Twigg  ?  "  said  Saville. 

« I  do.  Sir,"  replied  Twigg. 

"  How  d'  ye  know  ?  '^ 

"Umph  !    I  do  n't  know,^-  said  Twigg;   "servants  talk,  Sir." 

"To  be  sure  they  do — very  proper  they  should." 

"  Very,  Sir." 

"Did  Miss  Franklin's  maid  ever  touch  upon  the  subject  with 
you?" 

"  Do  what.  Sir  ? "  said  Twigg. 

"  Speak  of  her  young  lady's  affection  for  me  ?  " 

"  In  course,  Sir,"  said  Twigg,  "  what  I  say  to  you  upon  that, 
won't  go  to  the  old  lady  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Well,"  said  Twigg,  "  we  have  argued  it  over  now  and  then ; 
and  one  night  as  we  were  sitting  in  the  servants'  hall — for  there 's 
no  second  table  at  Mrs.  Franklin's — Thomas  the  footman  comes 
to  the  door,  and  he  says,  says  he  to  me,  ^  Saville,  you  're  wanted.' '' 

"  Saville  ? "  said  Charles,  "  Twigg,  you  mean." 

"I  mean  Twigg,  Sir,"  replied  he;  "but  we  are  always  called 
after  our  master's  names — it  saves  trouble.  *  Saville,'  says  he 
*  you 're  wanted.'  *Ah,'  says  Miss  Johnstone,  Miss  Harriet's 
maid,  says  she,  ^  the  time  is  n't  far  distant,  I  think,  when  we  shall 
all  be  united  in  one  establishment.' " 

"That  looks  ominous,"  said  Saville. 

"Very,  Sir,"  answered  Twigg. 

"  And  with  that,  Sir,"  continued  Twigg,  "  we  began  talking  of 
one  foolish  thing  and  another,  and  at  last  we  talked  about  3/0M, 
and  I  thought— thinks  I — if  my  master  marries  Miss  Franklin — " 


220  SONNETS. 

"  Saville  the  second  might  marry  Miss  Johnstone,"  interrupted 
Charles. 

"  Exactly  so,  Sir,"  said  Twigg;  "it  's  the  way  they  does  it  in 
books,  and  plays,  and  novels,  and — " 

"  Perfectly  natural,"  said  Saville. 

"  Very,  Sir,"  said  Twigg. 

IIOOK. 


ON     BAIR     DOWN,    DARTMOOR. 

Thou  dell  of  vernal  freshness  and  delight ! 

Set  like  a  radiant  jewel  'mid  the  steeps; 
Sheltered  and  clasped  by  every  rugged  height 

That  o'er  each  nook  Titanic  vigil  keeps, — 

I  seek  thee,  and  I  love  thee, — even  when  creeps 
The  twilight  breeze  amid  thy  sprays  so  slight ; 

Or  through  thy  dark  pines  waving,  into  heaps 
Tosses  their  massy  bows  with  giant  might. 
And  unto  thee  I  come,  and  where  the  wave 

Of  waters,  turbulent  or  placid,  flows, 
I  wander  too,  and  watch  those  billows  lave 

Their  moss-grown  banks,  and  blossoms  of  repose: 
Bright  wave !  sweet  banks !  where  thy  young  Genius  gave 

His  own  pure  breath  to  every  bud  that  blows. 


MIDNIGHT. 

Thou  quiet  Midnight — starred  with  worlds  divine, 
My  hour  congenial!  when  all  human  stir 

Is  hushed  and  gone,— and  Nature  doth  prefer 
A  shadow  and  a  glory,  like  to  thine : 

When  this  great  Universe  becomes  a  shrine 
Of  majesty  and  power;  a  register 
And  chronicle,  whose  pages  cannot  err, 

Blazoned  in  gems  of  God's  eternal  mine. 

This  darkness  is  but  that  their  beam  may  pour 
Brighter  on  eyes  material ;  and  display 
In  the  full  glow  of  each  immortal  ray. 

Knowledge,  ekrth's  sullen  hearts  had  not  before; 

Winning,  while  ever  showing  more  and  more. 
The  eloquent  lesson,  none  can  teach  as  they. 

From  "  Castalian  Hours'^ 


221 

A    STAGE     COACH. 

To  those  who  are  regardless  of  dust,  rain,  and  heat, 
and  to  whom  broken  legs  and  arms  are  every  day  in- 
cidents, the  outside  of  a  coach  is,  no  doubt,  more 
agreeable  than  the  inside  ;  but  to  those  who  were 
born  when  the  insides  of  carriages  were  considered 
the  better  places,  and  in  which  a  man  is  secured 
against  the  sudden  and  frequent  changes  of  our  ex- 
traordinary climate,  the  right  hand  corner  facing  the 
horses  seems  to  be  no  uncomfortable  position. 
In  such  a  corner  was  Saville  deposited,  when 
the  Rocket  darted  forwards  on  the  high  road  to 
Portsmouth. 

And  what  road  is  fuller  of  interest  to  thousands  of 
our  fellow-subjects.  It  is  one  of  the  great  paths  of 
our  nation  which  leads  the  anxious  merchant  to  his 
foreign  store,  the  seaman  to  his  fearful  trade,  and 
on  which  the  devoted  lover  journies  from  his  anxious 
mistress,  and  the  faithful  husband  from  his  constant 
wife.  Along  that  road  has  many  a  noble  soldier 
travelled,  to  whom  there  has  been  no  return  ;  along 
that  road  the  British  sailor  has  often  sped  to  victory 
or  death.  It  does  not  strike  the  ordinary  run  of  ad  - 
mirers  of  well  appointed  public  carriages,  who  stand 
and  praise  the  neat  "  turn  out,"  and  the  "  well  bred 
cattle"  of  these  Portsmouth  coaches,  what  interest 
for  others  hangs  upon  their  wheels;  nor  as  they  roll 
along  the  level  ground,  does  the  casual  observer 
think  what  feelings,  what  hopes,  what  fears,  what 
doubts,  what  anticipations,  and  what  regrets  are 
pent  within  their  pannels. 

In  the  coach  with  Saville  were  three  other  pass- 
engers— the  full  allowance  :  two  were  friends  ;  the 
third,  like  Saville  himself,  was  an  independent,  iso- 
lated traveller.  What  he  was,  or  what  was  the 
object  of  his  journey,  of  course  remained  within  his 
own  bosom.  Of  the  other  two,  one  was  a  partner  in 
a  mercantile  house  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
where  he  never  had  been,  and   the   other,  one   who 


222  A    STAGE   COACH. 

had  recently  arrived  from  that  fine  colony,  and  had 
succeeded  in  persuading  his  companion  to  go  out,  as 
Southey  says  the  Devil  did,  when  he  visited  his 
"  snug  Httle  farm,  the  earth/'  in  order — 

" to  see  how  his  stock  went  on." 

The  experienced  voyager,  the  active  speculator, 
was  all  alive  and  in  excellent  spirits, — full  of  jest, 
and  glee,  and  gaiety  ;  to  him  the  trees  looked  green 
and  the  sun  shone  bright,  and  not  a  word  could  be 
spoken,  nor  an  incident  occur  that  he  did  not  turn  to 
jest  and  merriment.  Not  so  his  companion  :  he  was 
grave  and  pale,  and  July  as  it  was,  wore  tight  blue 
worsted  pantaloons  and  Hessian  boots.  He  spoke 
little,  but  sighed  much,  complained  of  the  heat  in 
murmured  accents,  and  for  want  of  other  conversation 
augured  rain  and  thunder ; — he  dozed  a  little,  and 
then  needlessly  apologised  to  his  companions  for 
what  he  thought  unseemly  conduct,  by  telHng  them 
that  he  had  been  married  eleven  years ;  that  he  had 
never  been  apart  from  his  wife  and  children  one 
whole  day  since  his  marriage*;  and  that  he  had,  at 
the  persuasion  of  his  excellent  friend,  resolved  to 
undertake  a  voyage  to  Africa,  upon  business,  although 
he  had  never  before  been  at  sea,  or  even  beheld  it, 
except  from  the  Steyne  at  Brighton,  or  the  Pier  at 
Margate.  "  I  slept  little  last  night,"  said  he,  "  I  am 
not  used  to  partings,  and  it  has  been  a  sad  morning 
for  mcy  gentlemen." 

The  appeal  was  uncalled  for;  but  having  been 
made,  it  was  received  by  the  stranger  travellers  with 
courtesy  and  sympathy  ;  it  was  met  with  a  horse 
laugh  by  his  friend,  who,  being  a  bachelor,  on  his 
return  to  what  he  had  established  as  his  home  in 
Cape  Town,  wondered  how  any  man  could  be  so 
silly  as  to  waste  a  thought  or  a  sigh  upon  an  affec- 
tionate spouse  and  seven  children,  and  a  country 
like  England,  when  he  was  travelling  at  the  rate  of 
ten  miles  an  hour  towards  Africa,  and  the  detection 
of  a  pilfering  partner. 


A    STAGE    COACH.  223 

Charles's  feelings  were  just  in  a  fit  state  to  sym- 
pathize with  this  "  parted  husband/'  but  even  his 
commiseration  seemed  light  by  comparison  with  that 
of  the  fourth  passenger,  whose  melancholy  appeared 
to  increase  with  the  distance  from  London.  To 
Saville,  the  general  disposition  to  silence  (with  the 
exception  of  the  Cape  Town  Winkle-keeper)  was 
particularly  agreeable ;  and  while  his  eyes  remained 
unconsciously  fixed  upon  the  houses  and  hedges 
that  seemed  to  dance  by  the  rapidly  moving  coach, 
his  thoughts  remained  fixed  upon  Harriet,  while 
amidst  the  measured  rumble  of  the  wheels,  he  fan- 
cied he  could  trace  the  melody  of  the  air  "  she  loved 
so  much  to  sing." 

After  a  transient  refreshment  the  party  seemed 
more  familiarized  to  each  other,  and  even  Saville 
himself  condescended  from  his  stilts  and  joined  in 
the  conversation ;  the  melancholy  man  in  the  left- 
hand  corner  unbent  his  brow,  and  added  his  mite  to 
the  verbal  contribution  of  his  companions,  till  at 
length  the  subject  of  lotteries  was  started  by  the 
Winkle-keeper,  who  declared  an  opinion  that  nobody 
ever  got  a  prize. 

This  statement  was  stoutly  contradicted  by  the 
melancholy  man,  who  seemed  io  derive  a  vast  rein- 
forcement of  animation  from  the  subject  :  he  enu- 
merated Dukes,  Members  of  Parliament,  Hampshire 
squires,  Bloomsbury  attornies,  and  Pall  Mall  pastry- 
cooks, who  had,  all  to  his  own  knowledge,  been 
splendidly  and  suddenly  enriched  by  the  acquisition 
of  large  sums.  "  Indeed,  Sir,"  added  he,  "  even  I 
myself  might  have  been  worth  thirty  thousand 
pounds  more  than  I  am  at  this  moment,  by  the  same 
means,  if  it  had  not  been  for  an  accidental  circum- 
stance over  which  I  had  no  controul." 

^^  What  might  that  have  been?  said  the  Winkle- 
man, — "  choosing  the  wrong  number,  perhaps  ?" 

^^  Not  so.  Sir,"  said  the  melancholy  gentleman, 
his  countenance  at  the  same  moment  assuming  an 
expression  rather  of  ^^  anger  than  of  sorrow," — ^^  I 


224  A    STAGE    COACH. 

did  choose  the  right  number — bought  it — brought  it 
home — and  had  it  in  my  Ubrary  table  drawer-^ 
but^'— 

"  It  was  stolen,  perhaps,  Sir?"  said  the  Winkle- 
man's  friend,  in  a  piteous  tone. 

'^  No,  Sir,  not  that.  I  had  it — it  was  mine — it 
was  in  the  days  when  lotteries  lasted  a  month,  and 
tickets  rose  in  value  as  they  continued  undrawn. 
I  went  into  the  city  on  business — a  friend,  who 
knew  of  my  ticket,  called  in  my  absence — offered 
my  wife  a  hundred  and  twenty  guineas  for  it ; — she 
knew  that  it  had  cost  me  but  five-and-twenty  ; — 
sold  it  him — all  for  my  good,  poor  soul — she's  in 
heaven  now.  Sir — it's  no  use  scolding  about  it — ^it 
won't  bring  it  back — and  the  very  same  afternoon — 
d — n  me — I  'm  sure  you'll  excuse  my  swearing  at 
the  recollection — it  came  up  a  thirty  thousand  pound 
prize !" 

A  general  exclamation  of  horror  followed  the 
announcement. 

"  And  now.  Sir,"  continued  the  gentleman,  "  as 
I  walk  along  the  streets  in  wet  weather,  because  I 
cannot  afford  a  hackney-coach,  my  friend  Dodman, 
the  lucky  purchaser,  dashes  by  in  his  carriage,  and 
splashes  me  with  mud.  He  lives  in  a  house  which 
I  had  all  my  life  an  anxiety  to  possess  ;  and  has  re- 
fused his  consent  to  his  son's  marrying  my  daughter, 
on  the  plea  of  her  poverty." 

It  was  evident  the  melancholy  gentleman  felt  the 
circumstances  keenly. 

"  Well,"  said  Saville,  "  I  don't  think  I  could  have 
survived  such  a  thing." 

"  Only  conceive.  Sir,"  said  the  gentleman,  seem- 
ing to  delight  in  aggravating  all  the  miseries  of  his 
loss, — '^  only  conceive  my  coming  home  out  of  the 
city — having  seen  my  number  placarded  at  Comhill 
as  the  prize — having  compared  it  with  the  memo- 
randum in  my  pocket-book — having  bought  a  neck- 
lace and  pair  of  earrings  for  my  wife  upon  the 
strength  of  it — and    finding,  upon  my  arrival,  that 


ON    TORQUAY    AND    ITS    ENVIRONS.  225 

she  had  sold  my  thirty  thousand  pounds,  which  I 
was  sure  was  in  my  pocket,  to  a  man  I  hated,  for 
one  hundred  and  twenty  guineas,  which  she  ex- 
ultingly  exhibited,  and  which,  with  thirty-five  more, 
went  to  pay  for  the  baubles  I  had  brought  her 
home." 

"  I  could  not  have  stood    that,*'  said   the   Win- 
kleman. 
,    ic  ]\j-^j.  j^»'  g^j^  ^Y\e  weeping  husband. 

'^  I,"  said  Saville,  "  should  have  cut  my  throat." 

"  So  I  did,  Sir  !"  said  the  melancholy  gentleman, 

"and  here  are  the  marks  where  it  was  sewn  up  V — 

exhibiting,  at  the  same  moment,  a  huge  scar  right 

across  the  windpipe. 

To  describe  the  sudden  coil-up  of  the  three  lis- 
teners, when  the  narrator  of  his  own  misfortunes 
made  this  disclosure,  would  be  impossible ; — in  a 
moment  they  unanimously  construed  all  his  previous 
observations  and  remarks  into  symptoms  of  his  yet 
latent  malady  ;  and  never  were  rightly  at  their  ease 
until  they  were  blessed  with  the  sight  of  his  back, 
as  he  descended  the  steps  of  the  coach  at  the  door 
of  the  Dolphin,  at  Petersfield. 


ON     TORQUAY    AND     ITS     ENVIRONS. 

Torquay  is  one  of  those  places  which  has  rapidly  grown  into 
notice  of  late  years,  although  it  was  formerly  little  more  than  a 
collection  of  fishermen's  huts,  scattered  at  irregular  distances,  and 
distinguished  only  for  a  plentiful  supply  of  fish.  It  was  at  some 
distant  period,  that  the  enlightened  schemes  of  Sir  Lawrence  Palk 
raised  Torquay  from  the  obscurity  in  which  it  had  so  long  slept, 
and  brought  those  unrivalled  beauties  of  scenery  which  it  possesses 
prominently  before  the  public  attention ;  and  it  is  to  the  inde- 
fatigable industry  and  unweared  efforts  of  this  liberal-minded 
baronet,  that  Torquay  owes  its  present  fashionable  celebrity  : 
and  although  those  bounties  which  have  been  lavished  by  nature 
so  freely,  are  such  as  could  not  escape  the  eye  of  the  man  of 
feeling,  or  poet,  yet  notwithstanding  these  of  themselves  would 

VOL.    V. — 1835.  EE 


226  ON    TORQUAY    AND    ITS    ENVIRONS. 

have  been  insufficient  to  have  elevated  her  to  the  present  point  in 
the  scale  of  rank,  but  for  the  diligence  of  the  individual  before 
alluded  to.  Nature  seems  to  have  formed  Torquay,  as  if  with 
an  intuitive  foresight  as  to  its  future  destination,  and  to  have 
erected  by  her  magjical  exertions,  a  world  of  wonder  in  miniature; 
and  as  if  in  a  freak  of  her  playful  fancies  she  had  deterniined  to 
try  her  skill  in  producing  most  happily  one  of  the  most  lovely 
little  coves,  and  luxuriant  gardens,  wliich  adorn  the  varied  and 
refreshing  landscapes  of  Devon.  Its  appearance  to  the  stranger 
on  his  first  entrance  is  of  the  most  delightful  kind  :  a  pretty  little 
basin  of  water,  round  it  quays,  handsome  shops  in  its  front, 
elegant  terraces  rising:  perspective  on  the  one  hand,  richly  fertile 
woods  on  the  other,  classical  villas  peeping  out  from  green  shrub- 
beries, and  before  you  an  expanse  of  ocean  almost  unbounded  in 
its  extent,  dashing  in  its  foam  upon  the  shores,  and  rolling  in 
with  that  peculiar  noise  which  is  indescribable  to  him,  who  has 
not  heard  it.  Now  this,  methinks,  is  a  very  bright  picture,  very 
dazzling,  highly  colored,  and  well  dipped  in  the  colors  of  the 
imagination ;  but  perhaps  rather  a  delusion  of  the  poetical  faculty, 
than  a  sober  description  of  the  truth.  Goethe  would  have  started 
into  poetry  had  he  once  viewed  Torquay, — you  cannot  help  it, 
you  are  overcome  by  the  picturesque, — and  you  cannot  clothe  ia 
words  the  unspeakable  feelings  of  your  heart.  But  there  is 
another  side  to  the  pancake.  Here  are  big  houses,  and  big  rents ; 
big  lodgings,  and  big  demands ;  big  inns,  and  big  expences ;  and 
very  very  big  shopkeepers,  almost  bursting  with  pride.  Now  I 
hereby  recommend  every  lady,  whether  married  or  maiden,  and 
every  gentleman,  whether  single  or  crossed  with  a  wife,  and  pro- 
vided he  or  she  has  plenty  of  money,  to  go  there  for  a  trip,  and 
to  be  extremely  careful  how  he  or  she  parts  with  it :  for  the 
waiters  are  as  civil  as  possible,  and  the  ladies'  maids  are  so  pretty, 
and  therefore  expect  something,  and  the  landladies  are  so  clean' 
and  so  anxious  about  the  state  of  your  health  and  pockets ;  and 
every  thing  is  so  very  handy,  that  you  ought  to  have  a  very  tight 
button  on  every  pocket. 

M.  A.  P. 


227 
ANSWERS    TO     QUERIES, 

INSERTED    AT    P^GE    176    IN    THE    LAST    NUMBER. 

"'^  II. — What  causes  the  change  of  colour  in  polished  steel,  while 
undergoing  the  process  of  tempering  ?  '' 

The  change  of  colour  produced  on  the  polished  surface  of 
steel  or  iron,  by  the  application  of  heat,  is  occasioned  by  a  par- 
tial oxidation  of  an  extremely  thin  film  of  the  metal,  in  conse- 
cjuence  of  its  combination  with  the  oxygen  of  the  atmosphere,  for 
which  it  has  a  great  affinity ;  which  is  moreover  increased  by  the 
application  of  heat.  The  first  change  observable  on  the  bright 
surface,  is  that  of  a  pale  straw-colour,  which  gradually  becomes 
darker,  with  a  shade  of  brown ;  this,  by  a  further  increase  of 
temperature,  becomes  gradually  darker,  until  it  assumes  the 
colour  of  a  deep  blue  or  purple.  If  the  heat  be  continued,  this 
blue  colour  loses  its  brilliancy,  and  at  length  gives  place  to  a  dull 
lead-colour ;  about  which  time  the  metal  begins  to  get  red  hot ; 
after  doing  which,  the  film  of  oxide  will,  on  its  becoming  cold, 
be  so  thick  as  to  scale  off. 

If  the  polished  metal  be  oiled,  previously  to  its  being  heated, 
no  change  in  its  colour  will  be  produced  ;  since  the  oil  defends 
it  from  the  action  of  the  atmosphere.  Analagous  changes  of 
colour  may  also  be  produced  on  the  bright  surface  of  copper,  by 
heat,  in  consequence  of  oxide  on  its  surface.  This  colour  instant- 
ly disappears,  and  the  surface  becomes  bright,  by  contact  of  resin 
or  grease  of  any  kind;  since  these  substances  re-convert  the 
oxide  into  metal. 

"  III. — What  law  of  mechanics  will  account  for  the  superior 
power  of  a  long  screw-driver,  though  the  handle  be  no  larger  than 
that  of  a  short  one  ? '' 

It  is  an  indisputable  fact  that  a  screw  can  be  driven  "  home  '* 
much  more  easily  and  forcibly  by  a  long  screw  driver  than  by  a 
short  one,  even  when  the  handles  of  both  are  similar.  Many 
have  supposed  that  this  arises  from  an  actual  increase  of  mechani- 
cal power,  which,  they  have  attempted  to  show,  results  from  the 
application  of  the  moving  power  at  a  greater  distance  from  the 
body  to  be  moved.  But  this  principle  of  mechanics  will  not  be 
found  at  all  applicable  to  a  case  of  this  kind,  as  will  be  presently 
shown ;  and  the  only  advantage  gained,  is  the  greater  facility  of 
applying  and  using  any  given  power.  In  order  to  set  this  matter 
in  the  fairest  point  of  view,  the  following  experiments  were  m«idc 


228  ANSWERS    TO    QUERIES. 

by  the  writer  some  time  since ;  firstly — a  piece  of  iron,  about 
three  inches  long,  and  a  quarter  of  an  inch  thick,  with  a  notched 
head  at  one  end,  like  a  three  inch  screw,  was  placed  horizontally 
in  a  hole,  in  which  it  could  be  made  to  turn  with  any  degree  of 
friction ;  a  nine  inch  screw-driver  was  then  placed,  with  the 
end  of  the  blade  in  the  notch  of  the  screw,  while  the  handle  was 
retained  in  the  line  of  direction  of  the  screw,  by  means  of  a  stee! 
point  acting  on  the  opposite,  and  through  an  upright  puppet  head  : 
a  lever  of  a  given  length  was  screwed  into  the  handle,  at  right 
angles  to  the  blade,  or  what  amounted  to  the  same  thing,  a  wheel 
of  a  given  diameter  was  fastened  upon  the  handle,  so  as  to  revolve 
with  the  screw-driver.  On  a  groove  in  the  circumference  of  the 
wheel  passed  a  cord,  having  a  hook  at  the  end,  by  attaching 
weights  to  which  the  power  neceasavy  to  cause  the  screw-driver 
and  screw  to  revolve  could  be  easily  estimated. 

Secondly — this  power  being  ascertained,  the  short  screw-driver 
was  removed,  and  a  screw-driver,  2  feet  4  inches  in  length,  mounted 
in  a  similar  manner,  "was  substituted,  and  the  weight  necessary 
to  turn  it  was  found  to  be  precisely  the  same. 

Thirdly — greater  friction  was  given  to  the  screw,  and  the 
former  experiments  were  repeated  with  the  same  result.  The  power 
required  to  turn  each  screw-driver  being  the  same. 

Fourthly — the  experiment  was  varied  by  substituting  for  the 
screw-drivers,  a  flat  blade  of  steel,  four  feet  long,  having  a  handle 
and  wheel  which  slid  upon  it  and  which  could  be  fixed  at  any 
distance  from  the  head  of  the  screw,  and  it  was  found,  that  the 
power  required  to  overcome  any  given  degree  of  friction  W3S  the 
same  at  all  distances;  hence  it  is  evident  that  no  absolute  me- 
chanical power  is  gained  by  a  long  screw-driver  over  a  short  one. 
The  advantage  is  simply  this,  with  a  short  screw-driver  the  bands 
of  the  operator  are  employed  almost  close  together;  consequently 
very  little  steadiness  can  be  ensured,  and  a  very  slight  deviation 
from  the  perpendicular  causes  one  comer  of  the  flat  end  of  the 
blade  to  lift  out  of  the  notch,  and  thereby  slip  and  mutilate  the 
screw  ;  whereas,  a  long  screvy-dviver  is  not  only  more  easily  kept 
in  its  position,  but  affords,  by  its  great  distance  from  the  work, 
more  room  and  consequently  greater  facility  for  the  application 
"of  muscular  exertion,  which  is  actually  the  only  advantage 
gained . 

«IV\ — Why  does  a  wedge  shaped  piece  of  timber  require 
less  force  to  draw  it  through  water,  with  the  butt  end  than  with 
the  sharp  end  foremost  ?  " 


FISHES.  229 

The  reason  why  a  wedge  shaped  piece  of  timber  requires  a 
greater  force  to  draw  it  through  the  water  sharp  end  foremost 
appears  to  be  this  : — the  wood  occupies  in  water  a  certain  space, 
by  changing  its  situation  a  vacancy  is  formed,  which  is  instantly 
filled  up  by  the  surrounding  water.  Since  the  water  itself  is 
inert,  it  is  evident  that  its  disposition  to  follow  the  wood,  and  fill 
up  the  vacancy  left  by  it,  can  be  only  produced  by  ,the  joint 
action  of  its  own  gravity  and  atmospheric  pressure ;  therefore,  the 
vfeiocity  with  which  it  can  follow  the  wood  will  always  be  less 
than  that  of  the  wood  itself,  and  this  disproportion  will  be  greater 
as  the  velocity  of  the  wood  increases;  consequently,  the  resistance 
offered  to  it  in  front  will  be  increased  by  the  partial  vacuity 
existing  behind  it  from  the  sluggishness  with  which  the  water 
follows  to  fill  it  up.  When  moving  butt  end  foremost  this  does 
not  take  place  ;  because  the  tapering  form  not  only  enables  it  to 
leave  the  surface  of  the  water,  with  which  it  was  in  contact  more 
gradually,  but,  by  allowing  it  to  act  laterally,  in  filling  up  the 
space  left  by  it,  no  after  current  is  produced. 

J.  N.  H. 


ON   THE  GEOGRAPHICAL   DISTRIBUTION,   HABI- 
TAT   AND     MIGRATIONS     OF     FISHES. 

In  the  general  view  of  the  nature  and  organization 
of  Fishes  which  has  lately  appeared  in  Mr.  Griffith's 
version  of  Baron  Cuvier's  "Animal  Kingdom,"  Lieut. 
Col.  Hamilton  Smith,  ahthor  of  this  part  of  the 
work,  has  introduced  his  observations  on  the  geo- 
graphical distribution,  habitat,  and  migrations  of 
fishes,  and  communicated  from  his  own  researches 
several  facts  which  bear  strongly  upon  the  conditions 
of  existence  which  Providence  appears  to  have  im- 
pressed upon  this  class  of  animals.  BeUeving  that 
there  is  much  of  curious  interest  in  the  inquiry ;  we 
deem  it  will  prove  acceptable  to  our  readers  to  have 
some  parts  of  his  corrected  and  revised  munuscript, 
on  this  subject,  laid  before  them  ;  we  shall  therefore 
merely  premise,  that  having  first  described,  mostly 
in  the  animated  language  of  the  baron,  the  general 


230  FISHES. 

view  of  the  nature  and  organization  of  fishes  he 
proceeds  as  follows. 

The  watery  element  where  fish  were  appointed  to 
reside,  not  being,  as  already  noticed,  liable,  like  the 
atmosphere,  to  great  and  rapid  alternations  of  heat 
and  cold  ;  and  the  blood  offish  remaining  in  a  tem- 
perature often  lower  than  the  surrounding  fluid,  none 
of  the  greater  divisions  of  this  class  of  animals  are 
so  strictly  confined  to  either  high  or  low  latitudes, 
as  those  of  others  breathing  the  air.  But  there  is  a 
circumstance  affecting  fish,  to  which,  in  their  turn, 
animals  with  lungs  are  strangers ;  namely,  the  dif- 
ference in  density  and  chemical  properties  between 
fresh  and  salt  water ;  the  species  belonging  to  each 
being  unable  to  exist  in  the  medium  proper  for  the 
other,  excepting  some  which  pass  with  impunity  from 
one  into  the  other  at  pleasure,  or  during  certain 
seasons.  In  other  respects  few  natural  families  are 
without  some  genus  or  species  to  represent  the  forms 
and  duties  of  its  congeners  in  every  sea.  It  is  true, 
that  we  are  not  acquainted  with  what  species,  or  in 
what  numbers,  the  great  depths  of  the  ocean  are 
more  particularly  inhabited  ;  but  as  we  may  infer,  by 
analogy,  from  the  conditions  of  existence  in  all  the 
vertebrated  animals ;  that  life  undei;  a  continually 
increasing  pressure,  in  proportion  to  the  depths  of 
the  superincumbent  column  of  water,  must,  at  a 
given  point  reach  the  limit,  where  eternal  darkness 
renders  the  organs  of  sight  unavailing,  and  conse- 
quently where  the  power  of  obtaining  or  avoiding 
prey  becomes  impossible ;  still  lower,  where  all  the 
action  of  animal  life  must  cease ;  where  the  gravity  of 
no  animal  matter  will  descend,  and,  finally  even 
where  metals  must  remain  suspended,  many  at- 
mospheres of  water  above  these,  we  may  therefore 
conclude  to  be  the  region  where  fish  in  a  natural 
state  can  reside,  comparatively,  in  short,  at  no  great 
depth,  and  possibly  not  far  below  one  hundred  fathoms 
we  must  look  for  the  lower  limit  of  their  active  ex- 
istence, for  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  already,  before 


FISHES.  231 

reaching  to  such  a  depth  and  lower  beneath  it,  no 
longer  offers,  or  at  least  scarcely  offers,  to  the  ob- 
server on  the  deep  sea  lead,  aught  except  broken 
shells,  teeth  of  fish,  sand,  and  rock.  No  nets  ex- 
ceeding half  that  depth  are  anywhere  in  use,  and 
the  fish  which  are  sometimes  caught  at  fifty  fathoms 
below  the  surface,  are  in  general  of  species  provided 
with  eyes  of  such  magnitude  as  to  indicate  the  proba- 
bility, that  their  enlarged  organs  of  vision  are  neces- 
sary in  a  medium  so  dense  and  remote  from  the 
light.  Besides  it  may  be  asked  for  what  purpose 
fishes  would  descend,  to  depths  where  the  action  of 
their  respiratory  organs  must  be  affected  by  the 
diminished  quantity  of  air,  if  it  were  not  to  feed 
upon  the  ultimate  beds  of  shell  fish,  which  also  could 
neither  exist  nor  multiply  if  they  were  below  the 
limits  of  light.  For  light,  the  manifestation  of  solar 
action,  is  necessary  in  a  greater  or  less  degree  ; 
diurnally  or  at  greater  intervals ;  to  the  whole  of 
organic  nature.^  The  species  therefore  which  peri- 
odically rise  from  the  deep,  and  after  a  space  return 


*  As  within  the  higher  strata  of  the  atmosphere  life  cannot  be 
sustained  for  any  prolonged  period,  so  below  the  surface  of 
the  sea,  at  a  depth  where  the  density  of  the  mass  exceeds  certain 
limits  it  is  equally  improbable  that  animated  beings  can  exist. 
Coral  animals  are  now  known  not  to  raise  their  stony  habitations 
from  the  vast  depths  once  assigned  to  them  ;  nor  do  we  know  of 
a  well  authenticated  fact,  establishing  the  existence  of  beds  of 
shell  fish  (mollusca)  so  low  down  as  one  hundred  and  fifty  fa- 
thoms of  water.  But  at  the  depths  where  these  lie  and  multiply, 
the  gregarious  species  of  fish  and  in  particular  the  gadoid  genera 
are  known  to  arrive  periodically  to  feed  upon  this  living  herb- 
age of  the  submarine  floor  for  a  given  season,  and  not  constantly, 
for  that  would  exhaust  the  supply  of  food  never  again  to  be 
restored.  Hither  the  shoals  which  come  to  feed  are  followed  by 
more  daring  and  more  powerful  enemies,  for  a  period  hanging 
on  their  flanks  or  mixed  with  the  migratory  tribes,  to  devour  them 
in  their  turn.  To  guide  the  larger  genera  it  appears  that  smaller 
species  of  the  same  family  precede  them,  who  are  in  their  turn 
preceded  by  cephalopodes  and  other  lower  animals,  each  attract- 
ing the  other  and  annualy  passing  over  the  same  geographical 
space  to  perform  the  duties  of  their  destiny.     On  the  Banks  of 


232  FISHES. 

again,  acquire  the  powers  of  alternating  their  sta- 
tions nearer  the  surface,  and  sinking  to  repose  at 
remoter  distances  from  the  operation  of  some  action 
not  unconnected  with  heat ;  and  therefore  their  retreats 
are  probably  not  far  beneath  the  known  superficial 
curfents  of  the  sea,  and  confined  to  the  recesses  of 
the  shelving  bases  of  continents,  islands,  and  sub- 
marine elevations  :  there  they  may  grovel  in  inaction, 
or  perhaps  hang  suspended  in  a  blind  and  toi-pid 
equilibrium,  till  a  solstitial  day,  increased  warmth 
on  either  hemisphere,  or  the  periodical  changes  of 
a  monsoon  stimulating  their  organs  into  new  excite^ 
ment,  recommences  the  period  of  activity.* 

The  business  of  gregarious  fishes,  such  as  ap- 
proach the  shores  periodically,  appears  to  be  con- 
Newfoundland,  the  whole  of  these  phenomena  may  be  distinctly 
observed  :  we  have  personally  traced  the  su<;cessive  arrivals  of 
small  Crustacea  in  the  shoal  waters  of  the  coast,  pursued  by 
squids  and  capelings ;  then  followed  by  hake  and  cod,  along 
with  which  holy-but  and  dog-fish  were  regularly  caught,  and 
between  the  depths  of  forty-five  and  sixty  fathoms,  the  former 
had  invariably  shell  fish  in  their  stomachs  while  the  latter  ex- 
hibited the  remains  of  gadi. 

*  A  fact  which  T  witnessed  in  1797,  about  the  latitude  of 
19.N.,  nearly  midway  between  Africa  and  America  seems  to 
countenance  this  periodical  blindness.  An  ill-contrived  experi- 
ment having  been  made  to  ascertain  the  temperature  of  the  seA 
at  a  great  depth,  with  a  deep  sea  lead,  and  300  fathoms  of  line 
fastened  to  a  bottle,  the  line  became  entangled  and  was  supposed 
to  have  floated,  for  on  hauling  up,  a  fish  of  the  scomber  family 
was  found  entangled  ^n  a  coil,  but  remarkable,  because  although 
it  was  sound  and  firm,  both  eyes  were  nearly  closed  from  the 
nose  backwards  by  a  white  film  or  nictating  menibrane,  and  the 
jaws  were  close' locked  so  as  to  open  with  difficulty.  The  mem- 
brane surrounding  the  eyes  is  common  to  nearly  all  the  gregarious 
and  migratory  species  and  particularly  conspicuousin  gadoid  fishes, 
which  have  it  often  much  dilated.  A  Malay  seaman  on  board  said 
it  was  not  an  uncommon  occurrence  in  the  East  India  seas  and  that 
it  indicated  the  torpid  period  of  the  species,  when  they  do  not  take 
bait  and  lurk  in  depths  beyond  soundings.  I  doubt  that  any 
species  of  fish  can  exist  in  a '  state  of  activity  without  t!ie  oc- 
casional aid  of  atmosplieric  air,,  the  account  of  soundings  below 
1,000  fathoms  may  be  doubted,  though  2,000  fathoms  of  line 
niiolit  be  out. 


FISHES.  233 

fined  to  spawning,  or  to  feeding  upon  some  particular 
bait   or   both;    among   these,  the  gadoid  (codfish) 
and  clupeoid  (herring)  famihes  advance  from  polar 
and  temperate  latitudes  towards  the  equatorial  seas, 
while  the  mugiloed  (mullets)  and  scomberoid  (mack- 
erels) take  a  contrary  direction,  from  the  warm  lati- 
tudes towards  temperate  seas.     But  all  the  fish  of 
passage,  though  some  feed  on  mollusca  at  greater 
depths  are  necessitated  to  deposit  their  spawn  from 
soundings  of  at  most  forty  fathoms  to  the  superfi- 
cial sands  and  rocks  within  the  tides.     Thus  far  we 
may  judge  the  sun's  rays  to  penetrate  with  effect, 
not  only   from  the   quickening  of  their   eggs,  but 
also  from  the  same  action  upon  those  of  all  the  other 
species  of  fish,  and  of  the  pullulations  of  the  subor- 
dinate classes  of  animated  beings,  excepting,  per- 
haps, the  zoophytes  of  some  tropical  regions,  which 
■  commence  their  calcareous  dwellings  under  a  verti- 
cal sun  at  greater  depths  and  those  pelagian  animals 
whose  spawn  floats  on  the  surface,*"  while  the  mi- 
gratory tribes  deposit  upon  the  zone  of  soundings 
just  mentioned  the  germs  of  their  own  future  brood, 
to  be  in  part  devoured  by  other  species,  they  find 
in  their  turn  the  ova  and  the  fry  of  those  species, 
and  also  the  already  -matured  new  generations  of 
the   subordinate  classes,   to   serve    for    their    own 
subsistance. 

Pelagian  fish,  though  many  species  are  gregari- 
ous, are  not  so  clearly  migratory  as  the  foregoing, 
they,  as  the  name  imports,  are  residents  in  the  high 
seas,  and  among  them  the  Scomberodi  family 
(mackerels),  and  particularly  the  genera  Istiophorus, 
(Indian  sword-fish),  Xiphias  (Atlantic  sword-fish), 

*  It  raay  be  necessary  to  qualify  this  observation  by  remarking 
that  in  warmer  seas,  and  particularly  in  tropical  waters,  some  of 
the  sedentary  species  may  spawn  several  fathoms  below  forty, 
perhaps  even  as  far  down  as  sixty  fathoms.  Yet  almost  all  the 
tropical  percoids  deposit  their  ova  about  the  coral  rocks,  much 
nearer  the  surface,  and  the  Spari,  Scari,  and  Labri  do  not  descend 
lower. 

VOL.    V. IBS").  iV 


234  FISHES. 

and  Pelamis,  (Bonito)  Temnodon,  and  Thynnus 
(Tunny)  certainly  frequent  the  superior  strata*  of 
the  waters,  and  the  two  last  mentioned,  with  their 
congeners,  have  partial  migrations  to  the  deep  sound- 
ings of  the  west  coast  of  Africa,  into  the  Mediter- 
ranean, the  China  and  Australian  Seas.  Similar 
kinds  of  travels  are  undertaken  by  some  of  the 
Exoceti,  (Flying  fish)  ;  but  Doradoes  or  CoryphaensB 
(Dolphin  of  Seamen)  the  greater  species  of  Squali, 
(Sharks)  and  Cephatopteri,  (Devil  rays)  come  in 
shore  from  accidental  causes  only,  or  in  pursuit  of 
the  migratory  armies.  There  is  however,  no  reason 
to  believe,  that  in  all  their  wanderings,  any  of  these 
species  are  ever  induced  to  descend  to  great  depths 
for  a  considerable  time  ;  but  finding  their  food  prin- 
cipally near  or  on  the  surface  of  the  sea,  they  con- 
stantly remain  about  it,  and  they  may  be  seen, 
occasionally  hunting  their  prey,  even  in  the  night. 
The  Naucrates  (Pilot  fish)  and  parasitical  Echeneis 
(Remora)  attend  the  greater  cartilaginous  genera, 
but  it  may  be  doubted  whether  other  acanthop- 
terygian  tribes,  besides  those  already  mentioned  are 
strictly  pelagian  and  venture  in  the  high  seas  many 
degrees  from  soundings.  There  are  it  is  true,  several 
Percoides,  (of  the  Perch  family)  such  as  Polyprion, 
(Rudder  fish)  and  other  genera  whose  species  are 
common  to  the  seas  of  both  hemispheres,  pass 
round  Africa  even  into  the  Red  Sea,  and  eastward 
perhaps  beyond  the  Coast  of  Ceylon ;  but  in  the 
latter  case  they  are  in  all  probabihty  coasters  along 
the  soundings  ;  and  in  the  former  they  make  their 
passage  across  the  Atlantic  by  attending  the  sea 
weed  and  some  pursue  their  course  by  following  ships. 

To  be  continued. 

*  With  the  exception  of  the  com mon  Mackerel,  I  have  found 
all  fish  possessed  of  brilliant  colors  and  particularly  red  tints,  to 
be  habitually  superficial,  though  very  often  they  reside  in  the 
offings,  where  there  is  deep  water.  The  seas  with  corals,  which 
reflect  the  sun  to  a  great  depth,  have  constantly  the  greatest  variety 
of  species  possessed  of  bright  and  prismatic  colors.  I  question 
whether  the  common  Mackerel  retains  the  iridescent  hues  after  his 
period  of  activity  and  when  he  is  in  the  repose  of  his  deep  sea  retreats. 


235 

PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

PROCEEDINGS     IN    THE    ATHEN^UM. 

February  26th. — Mr.  Swain's  Lecture  on  Poisons. 

The  lecturer  commenced  by  observing  that  there  existed  many 
peculiarities  about  the  constitution  of  poisonous  substances;  that 
many  differed  in  their  component  parts  from  nutritious  bodies, 
only  in  the  most  trifling  degree,  and  enumerated  several  substances 
in  illustration. 

He  stated  that  vegetables  often  produced  poisonous  secretions, 
whilst  themselves  were  salutary  articles  of  diet;  and  vice  versa. 
That  the  poison  of  the  rattle  snake  was  certain  death  if  inserted 
into  a  wound,  but  might  be  swallowed  with  impunity. 

The  lecturer,  having  dismissed  the  constitution  of  poisons, 
commented  on  their  operation.  He  said  that  we  were  unable  to 
say  in  what  lay  their  power  of  action  or  how  they  antagonized  the 
vital  principle.  He  briefly  described  the  intestinal  canal,  adverted 
to  its  large  nervous  supply,  and  stated  that  there  were  two  theories 
propounded  to  explain  the  destructive  impression  made  by  poisons 
on  the  human  body.  One  supposed  the  actual  entrance  of  the 
substance  into  the  veins,  and  its  actual  contact  with  the  brain. 
The  second  ascribed  the  operation  of  poisons  to  their  effect  upon 
the  sentient  extremities  of  the  nerves,  which  effect  was  conveyed 
along  the  nervous  trunks  to  the  centre  of  feeling. 

The  lecturer  believed  that  the  latter  was  the  correct  explanation, 
and  illustrated  it  by  diagrams  and  descriptions,  taken  from  the 
work  of  Messrs.  Morgan  and  Addison,  on  poisons.  Mr.  Swain 
next  proceeded  to  comment  on  the  criminal  administration  of 
poisons,  and  on  the  art  of  secret  poisoning,  which,  in  the  early 
times  of  science,  he  believed  might  have  been  carried  to  a  very 
great  extent.  He  however  disbelieved  entirely  the  assertion  that 
there  existed  poisons,  which  would  destroy  the  victim  at  any  given 
time  after  their  exhibition,  at  the  will  of  the  poisoner.  The 
lecturer  thought  that  secret  poisoning  must  be  gradual ;  and  that 
the  only  way  in  which  it  could  be  effected,  was  by  the  use  of 
repeated  small  doses  of  some  deleterious  substance. 

Mr.  Swain  adverted  to  the  Aqua  Toffana,  so  celebrated  in 
Italy  during  the  nineteenth  century,  and  thinks  that  arsenic  was 
the  principal  ingredient.  He  named  other  secret  poisoners,  and 
stated  that  there  existed  at  the  sacred  well  of  Temzem,  in  Mecca, 
a  salaried  poisoner,  who  destroyed  any  one  obnoxious  to  the 
sultan,  by  infusing  poison  in  the  water  of  that  sacred  spring. 

Mr.  Swain  next  commented  on  such  of  the  poisons  as  were  of 
general  interest,  from  their  being  resorted  to  as  instruments  of 
suicide  or  murder : — arsenic,  prussic  acid,  and  opium  were  the 
principal. 


236  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

Arsenic,  he  staled,  was  very  commonly  used  as  a  poison. 
Modern  chemistry  could  now  detect  the  presence  of  the  four 
hundredth  part  of  a  grain. 

He  remarked  that  prussic  acid  had  been  made  so  strong  as^'46 
kill  a  man  when  applied  to  the  skin  of  tlie  arm. 

Opium,  he  stated,  was  of  interest  not  only  as  a  poison,  but  also 
as  an  article  of  luxury;  and  stated  that  16,000  pounds  were 
annually  consumed  in  Great  Britain.  Its  effects  on  the  consti- 
tution, when  habitually  taken,  he  said  were  various,  but  that  in 
general  they  were  of  a  most  fatal  character;  and  in  illustration 
cited  that  singular  literary  production — *'  The  Confessions  of  an 
English  Opium  Eater:"  he  strongly  recommended  the  book  for 
perusal,  as  containing  many  singular  facts  relative  to  the  pernicious 
practice  of  opium  eating.  The  Opium  Eater  took  at  one  time 
the  enormous  quantity  of  320  grains  of  solid  opium  per  diem. 
Mr.  S.  said  it  was  consoling  to  find  that  such  a  habit,  contracte<l 
by  years  of  practice,  and  bound  on  its  victim  by  the  most 
powerful  links,  could  at  length  be  relinquished.  Mr.  Swain 
quoted  several  passages  from  the  book  in  illustration  of  its  style. 

Mr.  Swain  then  adverted  to  the  medicinal  exhibition  of  poisonous 
bodies.  He  stated  the  healing  virtues  of  many  of  the  most 
deadly  of  these  substances,  and  showed  that  we  derive  many 
blessings  from  their  proper  use. 

In  conclusion  he  remarked  that  poisons  are  to  be  regarded  in 
their  relation,  not  to  a  species  but  to  a  world,  and  mentioned  the 
fact,  that  many  substances  that  would  poison  man  are  wholesome 
food  to  other  creatures  of  the  animal  creation. 

In  the  course  of  the  lecture,  Mr.  S.  exhibited  the  stomach  pump, 
and  explained  its  application  by  a  diagram. 

Marcu  5th. — Mr.  W.  Wyatt's  Lecture  on  the   Teeth  of 
Animals. 

We  could  not  allempt  to  give  an  abstract  of  this  paper,  with  any 
hope  of  doing  so  effectively.  It  contained  such  a  mass  of  highly 
condensed  matter,  expressed  in  language  so  terse,  that  it  was 
itself  a  highly  finished  abstract.  The  following  extracts  cannot 
fail  to  gratify  the  reader. 

The  formation  of  the  teeth  takes  place  in  cavities  of  the  jaw 
bones  called  Alveoli,  or  sockets.  In  the  foetus,  and  sometimes 
even  as  late  as  at  the  time  of  birth,  there  is  instead  of  these  sockets 
^il  longitudinal  and  deep  groove  occupying  a  considerable  length 
of  the  jaw.  By  degrees  the  bone  forms  partitions  in  this  groove, 
until  at  last  the  sockets  are  all  distinct  cavities,  open  above,  and 
lined  by  a  continuation  of  the  periosteum  from  without.  The 
sockets  for  the  permanent  teeth  are  not  formed  until  a  later 
period.  Each  socket  contains  a  membranous  capsule  the  external 
surface  of  which  is  firm  and   vascular,  and  in  contact   with  the 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  237 

periosteum  of  the  socket,  but  not  united  to  it  as  some  writers 
have  asserted.  Internally  the  capsule  is  delicate,  transparent 
and  very  vascular,  and  encloses  a  gelatinous  pulp  on  which  the 
tooth  is  afterwards  formed.  The  internal  surface  of  the  capsule 
is  in  contact  with  all  the  upper  part  of  the  pulp,  and  also  of  the 
crown  of  the  tooth,  when  it  is  formed,  while  within  the  jaw,  so 
that  it  forms  an  inverse  figure  of  the  surface  of  the  tooth.  At 
their  base  the  capsule  and  pulp  are  united.  There  is  a  curious 
circumstance  connected  with  this  capsule,  which,  I  believe,  has 
^never  before  been  noticed.  It  is  that  at  the  first,  when  the  pulp 
is  at  its  base,  and  the  tooth  has  scarcely  begun  to  ascend,  the 
capsule  receives  its  supply  of  blood  from  its  connection  with  the 
gum,  and  is  consequently  most  vascular  in  that  direction;  but, 
in  proportion  as  the  tooth  advances  tow^ards  the  point  of  its  exit, 
the  vascularity  diminishes  in  its  upper  part,  and  it  begins  to  form 
a  new  connection  at  the  base  of  the  socket,  which  was  before  a 
solid  thin  plate  of  bone,  but  at  this  period  is  rendered  pervious 
to  blood-vessels  coming  from  the  maxillary  canal  beneath ;  thus 
the  tooth  is  always  best  supplied  in  that  part  which  requires  most 
blood  at  the  time.  Ossification  commences  at  the  summit  of  the 
pulp,  the  crown  of  the  tooth  being  formed  first ;  and  when  there 
,are  several  eminences  there  are  an  equal  number  of  points  at 
which  the  ossific  deposit  takes  place,  but  always  at  the  highest 
first*  It  proceeds  in  layers,  and  as  each  layer  is  more 
extended  than  the  preceding  one,  the  different  points  become,  by 
degrees,  united,  the  crown  is  formed,  the  osseous  laminse  descend 
towards  the  neck,  and  finally  the  root  is  hardened,  but  always 
remains  thinner  than  the  upper  portions  of  the  tooth.  In  man 
and  all  the  animals  having  simple  teeth,  the  root  begins  to  be 
ossified  only  at  the  moment  when  the  tooth  is  ready  to  issue  from 
its  socket,  which  it  may  be  said  to  do  from  the  greater  degree  of 
resistance  made  to  its  growth  by  the  lower  part  of  that  cavity, 
than  by  the  softer  parts  above.  But  in  the  animals  with  compound 
teeth  in  which  the  crown  becomes  worn  by  use,  the  root  is  not 
commenced  for  a  long  period  after  the  tooth  has  appeared  above 
the  gums,  nor  until  great  part  of  the  crown  has  been  ajready 
abraded.  Thus  these  animals  have  never  an  entire  tooth. 
Various  opinions  have  prevailed  with  regard  to  the  manner  in 
which  the  several  substances  of  the  tooth  are  deposited ;  and  there 
i^ppears  to  me  sufiicient  reason  for  thinking  it  a  much  more  simple 
process  than  it  has  hitherto  been  supposed. 

The  only  opinion  I  have  met  with,  on  this  subject,  which  seems 
accordant  with  truth,  is  that  of  Cuvier.  He  considers  that  the 
layers  of  ivory  are  the  result  of  transudation -rather  than  of 
ossification,  from  the  facts,  of  their  adhering  but  very  little  to 
the  pulp  underneath,  and  having  no  apparent  bood-vessels; 
that  the  enamel  is  deposited  by  the  internal  layer  of  the  capsule 
by  a  transudation  the  inverse  of  that  which  gives  origin  to  the 
ivory ;  and  that  when  the  tooth  requires  cement  the  same  internal 


238  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

layer  becomes  thick,  spongy,  opaque,  and  of  a  reddish  colour,  in 
order  to  supply  this  third  substance.  Thus,  all  the  different 
substances  of  the  tooth  are  the  products  of  one  and  the  same 
membrane ;  for  even  the  pulp  itself  is  no  more  than  a  secretion, 
so  to  call  it,  of  the  vessels  at  the  lower  part  of  the  capsule ;  and 
that  it  is  not  impossible  for  two  or  more  substances,  differing  in 
their  structure,  to  be  deposited  by  the  same  membrane  is  demon- 
strated by  an  instance  on  record  of  the  head  of  a  human  thigh 
bone  having  been  found,  with  a  portion  of  its  surface,  an  inch  and 
a  half  in  length  and  an  inch  in  breadth,  covered  with  highly 
polished  enamel,  somewhat  resembling  that  of  the  teeth,  More- 
over, tumours  have  been  found  in  the  frontal  sinuses  of  the  human 
head,  having  a  perfect  resemblance  to  ivory:  and  two  instances 
of  this  kind  have  been  met  with,  and  recorded  by  Sir  Everard 
Home. 

The  hare  and  the  rat  are  animals  belonging  to  the  same  order, 
Rodentio.  The  under  incisors  of  the  former  have  a  straight 
edge;  those  of  the  latter  a  curved  and  rather  more  pointed  one. 
Those  of  the  hare  are  adapted  for  cutting  the  tender  blades  of 
wheat  and  other  vegetables,  while  the  rat's  are  better  suited  to 
separate  into  fine  rtolecules  the  hard  substances  which  it  is  gene- 
rally destined  to  feed  upon.  The  common  bat  and  the  mole  are 
both  insectivorous;  and  have  canines  which  are  irregularly 
conical  and  very  large.  The  angular  surfaces  of  those  of  the  bat 
render  it  easy  for  them  to  penetrate  the  hard  wing  covers  of  the 
coleopterous  insects :  but  the  mole  has  need  of  a  different  form 
of  teeth  to  cut  or  tear  softer  and  more  flesh  like  substances.  Its 
under  jaw  is  consequently  provided  with  two  canines  which 
have  posteriorly  a  sharp  edge,  and  are  very  much  flattened  later- 
ally ;  so  that  a  transverse  section  of  one  of  those  teeth  would 
resemble  in  form  a  similar  section  of  a  razor.  By  means  of  these 
canines  the  mole  skins  the  common  earth  worm  in  an  exceedingly 
curious  manner,  by  first  slitting  the  skin  from  end  to  end,  and 
then  squeezing  out  the  contents  of  it.  The  horse  and  the  ox  are 
frequently  seen  grazing  together  in  the  same  pasture.  But  the 
former  animal  can  also  with  his  flat  gTinders  tritui-ate  hard  com, 
as  wheat,  barley  and  oats  ;  and  the  latter  is  almost  indispensable 
to  him,  in  a  domesticated  state,  at  least.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
irregular  surface  observable  in  the  molars  of  the  ox  renders  it 
difficult  for  him  to  feed  at  all  on  grain. 

All  the  substances  which,  in  any  degree,  supply  the  place  of 
teeth  are  nearly  allied  to  horn,  rn  their  structure.  They  appear 
in  common  with  that  substance,  to  resemble  a  mass  of  agglutinated 
hairs;  although  in  some  instances  their  texture  is  rather  lamin- 
ated than  fibrous.  Such  are  the  beaks  ofthe  whole  class  of  birds, 
and  of  the  chelonian  division  of  the  class  of  reptiles,  or  the 
tortoises. 

There  is  another  substance  of  a  similar  structure,  but  perfectly 
anomalous  in  form,  which  is  the  only  otmj  to  be  noticed  in  the  ^ 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  239 

class  Mammalia.  This  substance  is  found  in  the  mouths  of  the 
true  whales;  whence  it  has  been  most  improperly  called  whale- 
bone. It  consists  of  a  number  of  horny  laminae,  implanted  in 
the  palate,  and  descending  vertically  into  the  mouth.  The  supe- 
rior maxillary  and  palatal  bones  form,  on  their  lower  part,  two 
inclined  surfaces,  giving  to  the  palate  an  appearance  resembling 
the  roof  of  a  house  reversed.  These  surfaces  are  rather  con- 
cave, and  upon  them  are  placed  the  laminae  of  whalebone,  in 
parallel  lines,  and  their  direction  is  transverse  to  the  axis  of  the 
body.  They  sometimes  amount  to  eight  or  nine  hundred  on 
each  side  of  the  jaw,  and  some  of  them  in  the  Greenland  w^hales, 
are  more  than  ten  feet  in  length.  They  are  connected  to  the 
bones  by  the  intervention  of  a  white  ligamentous  substance, 
which  changes,  by  imperceptible  degrees,  into  true  whalebone. 
Each  lamina,  interiorly,  presents  a  bed  of  horny  fibres,  enclosed 
on  each  side  within  a  layer  of  whalebone,  which  is  thinner,  more 
firm,  and  less  apparently  fibrous  than  the  body  of  the  lamina. 
The  fibres  issue  from  between  these  layers,  and  form  a  fringe- 
work,  which  hangs  free  from  the  inferior  border  of  the  whalebone; 
so  that  this  fringe  garnishes  all  that  part  of  the  palate  above  the 
tongue.  The  fibres  are  not  equal  in  all  the  whale  species ;  the 
rorqual  having  them  larger  than  the  Greenland  whale,  which  has 
however  by  far  the  longest  laminae.  These  organs  do  not  allow 
whales  to  feed  on  such  large  animals  as  their  size  might  induce 
us  to  imagine.  They  live  on  fish,  but  principally  on  worms, 
mollusca,  and  zoophytes,  selecting,  it  is  said,  the  very  smallest, 
which  become  entangled  in  the  filaments  of  the  whalebone. 

March  12th. — Rev.  J.  Webb's  Lecture  on  Capital 
Punishments. 

In  the  commencement  of  the  lecture,  a  brief  survey  was« taken  of 
the  rise  and  progress  of  Capital  Punishments ;  nations  in  their 
earlier  stages  of  existence  were  stated  to  have  used  them  with 
frequency,  and  often  attended  with  circumstances  of  aggravated 
cruelty.  Their  abolition  at  Rome  by  the  Porcian  law,  and 
resumption  under  the  emperors,  was  then  adverted  to :  after  which 
the  lecturer  noticed  the  influence  which  the  formation,  and  the 
decay  of  feudal  institutions  throughout  the  kingdom  of  Europe, 
exercised  upon  their  penal  codes :  he  then  traced  their  history 
down  to  the  close  of  the  last  century,  at  which  time  he  stated 
**  that  there  were  in  each  of  the  penal  codes  of  England  and 
France  about  150  offences  punishable  with  death."  He  then 
proceeded  to  enquire  whether  the  right  to  inflict  the  punishment 
of  death  existed;  and  endeavoured  to  prove  that  it  did  not; — 
that  it  was  not  Jovnded  on  the  principal  of  abstract  moral  justice. 
The  lecturer  argued  that  it  was  impossible  for  man  in  his 
judicial  capacity  to  contemplate  offences  in  relation  to  it — but 
rather  that  he  should  "regard  them  as  crimes,  not  as   sins;   a$ 


240  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

acts  opposed  to  the  welfare  of  society,  and  not  as  directed  against 
the  laws  of  the  Almighty/' 

Nor  on  the  social  compact  into  which  men  enter,  or  are  supposed 
to  enter,  when  they  quit  their  state  of  native  independence  for  that 
of  society.  Although  the  lecturer  deemed  this  compact  as  little 
more  than  a  legal  fiction,  yet,  admitting  it,  he  contended  that  it 
afforded  no  basis  on  which  to  found  the  right  capitally  to  punish 
— that  we  could  not  reason  from  individual  relationship  to  those 
of  society;  that  it  by  no  means  followed,  if  it  were  the  duty  of  a 
man,  when  assailed,  to  preserve  his  own  life  by  the  sacrifice  of 
that  of  the  assailant,  that  society  possessed  the  right  to  put  the 
murderer  to  death,  since  such  preservation  would  not  thereby  be 
effected . 

Nor  on  the  ground  of  political  expediency. 

The  lecturer  here  enquired  whether  the  punishment  of  death 
did  afford  the  most  effectual  means  of  preventing  atrocious 
crimes: — whether  penal  codes,  whose  prominent  feature  should 
be  severity,  furnished  the  best  safeguard  to  life  and  property. 
He  maintained  they  did  not,  and  offered  several  reasons  to  prove 
the  correctness  of  the  position,  which  he  summed  up  in  the 
following  terms: — "We  here  venture  to  ask,  and  with  some 
degree  of  confidence,  are  penal  codes,  teeming  with  capital 
penalties,  the  remedy  of  crime?  To  us  they  seem  rather  to 
resemble  the  nostrum  of  the  empiric,  beneficial,  possibly,  in  a  few 
cases,  from  the  extreme  violence  of  its  operation ;  but,  from  that 
very  circumstance,  injurious  in  the  greater  number.  If  to 
confound  in  one  heterogeneous  mass  nearly  all  varieties  of  crime 
— if  to  create  great  uncertainty  relative  to  punishment — if  to 
stimulate  unnaturally  the  sympathies  of  the  virtuous,  and  raise 
the  indiscriminate  fury  of  the  ignorant  and  misguided — if  to 
destroy  the  living  epistles  of  testimony,  be  well  adapted  to  restrain 
the  commission  of  crime,  then  do  sanguinary  codes,  and  capital 
punishments,  admirably  answer  their  end,  for  these  are  the 
legitimate  results  of  their  infliction,  and  then  we  say,  let  the 
blessing  of  humanity  descend  on  Draco*s  head  ;  then  let  the  friends 
of  truth  and  social  order  hail  the  scafibid  as  the  school  of  virtue, 
and  the  halter  as  the  cordon  of  public  morals."  The  lecturer 
further  objected  against  the  punishment  of  death — that  where 
judicial  authorities  designed  it  as  the  severest  penalty,  it  was 
usually  tlien  least  Telt — that  just  in  proportion  to  the  degree  of 
virtue  a  criminal  retained,  would  the  weight  of  the  punishment 
be  felt — that  it  prevented  his  repentance — and  that  it  was  often, 
from  defects  in  circumstantial  evidence,  inflicted  on  guiltless 
victims. 

To  be  concluded  in  the  next. 


FRINTrD    BY    G.    P.    MEARDER,    ri.YMOUTU. 


THE     SOUTH     DEVON 

MONTHLY    MUSEUM. 

PLYMOUTH,    JUNE    Isr,    1835. 
No.  30.]  Price  Sixpence.  [Vol.  V. 

THE     NEW    BRIDGE    ACROSS    THE     PLYM. 

Our  engraving  this  month  is  an  elevation  of  the 
bridge  about  to  be  erected  across  the  Plym,  in  lieu 
of  the  former  bridge,  which  has  been  called  from  its 
birth  to  its  destruction  New  Bridge  ;  our  devil,  by- 
accident,  whipped  in  the  name  of  Long  Bridge,  at 
the  head  of  the  article  in  the  last  number,  though 
Long  Bridge,  as  we  then  shewed,  is  not  to  be  taken 
down  or  altered,  and  will  remain  the  same  as  it  has 
ever  been.  This  new  erection  is  the  design  of  Mr. 
James  Green,  of  Exeter,  Civil  Engineer,  and  Surveyor 
of  the  county  bridges  in  Devon.  Some  years  have 
been  occupied  in  controversy,  whether  a  new  erection 
was  required  at  all,  whether  a  mode  of  widening  the 
existing  bridge  might  not  be  adopted  at  less  expense  ; 
whether  the  new  erection  if  adopted  should  not  be 
of  iron,  so  as  to  admit  of  a  greater  degree  of  incli- 
nation to  the  southward  than  can  be  obtained  by  a 
stone  structure  ;  and  finally  whether  the  expense  of 
such  new  edifice  should  be  defrayed  by  the  county 
fund,  or  by  the  funds  of  the  turnpike.  The  econo- 
mical party  amongst  the  Devonshire  parliament  con- 
tending, that  a  bridge  which  had  answered  every 
purpose  for  the  Plymouthians,  during  a  long  war, 
in  which  more  communication  with  the  metropolis 
was  required  than  at  present,  ought  still  to  satisfy 
them,  or,  if  altered  at  all,  should  be  widened.  Or, 
if  our  population  would    have  a  new  bridge,  they 

VOL.    V. — 1835.  GG 


242        THE    NEW    BRIDGE    ACROSS    THE    PLYM. 

should  pay  for  it  themselves  ;  it  being,  as  the  econo- 
mists think,  more  to  please  the  fancy  for  novelty, 
than  from  any  necessity,  that  a  new  edifice  was  re- 
quired ;  happily  for  the  public  who  have  to  travel 
over  the  bridge,  which  may  be  now  called  the  Old 
Bridge,  the  civil  engineers,  (for  Mr.  James  Rendel 
was  also  consulted)  were  of  opinion  that  though  the 
old  bridge  would  stand  for  many  years  (with  the 
exception  of  the  parapet  walls)  if  the  foundation 
remained  untouched,  yet,  if,  by  widening,  the  facing- 
walls  of  the  bridge  were  disturbed,  which  must  have 
been  done  in  order  to  give  the  bridge  the  required 
inclination,  they  would  not  answer  for  its  stability, 
nor  would  they  recommend  it.  Thus  we  escaped  a 
patch-work  job,  which  after  a  few  years  would  have 
ended  in  its  being  taken  down  and  a  new  edifice 
erected.  The  proposition  for  an  iron  structure  was 
abandoned,  though  it  would  have  admitted  of  a 
more  convenient  diagonal  line  across  the  river  than 
a  stone  bridge  is  capable  of,  but  a  preference  was 
shewn  for  the  produce  of  our  own  county  granite 
and  limestone  :  and  as  to  the  expense  of  it,  a  com- 
promise was  effected,  the  county  paying  £700., 
towards  it,  and  the  remainder  being  paid  out  of  the 
Turnpike  funds,  which  the  Trustees  are  by  Parlia- 
ment authorized  to  do. 

This  edifice,  as  is  seen  in  the  engraving,  is  to  consist 
of  three  arches  only,  the  centre  arch  being  22ft.,  in 
span,  and  each  of  the  side  arches  20ft.  The  width 
of  road-way  over  the  bridge  is  to  be  24ft.,  clear  of 
the  parapets,  the  old  road-way  having  been  10ft. 
only,  and  to  expand  to  fifty  two  feet  road-way  at 
the  western  end,  giving  therefore  ample  space  for  one 
carriage  passing  another  at  whatever  speed  they  may 
be  traveUing.  Mr.  Green  has  entirely  succeeded 
therefore  in  procuring  for  the  public  a  safe  and  con- 
venient bridge,  instead  of  the  dangerous  one  which 
has  hitherto  existed  there,  adapted  perhaps  to  the 
exigencies  of  the  times  in  which  it  was  erected,  when 
such  a  vehicle  as  a  stage-coach  was  unknown  in  this 


THE    NEW    BRIDGE    ACROSS    THE    PLYM.        243 

part  of  the  kingdom,  and  when  carriages  and  carts 
of  every  description  were  very  few,  but  certainly 
totally  unfit  for  the  public  convenience  in  the  present 
day. 

Mr.  William  Dwelly,  of  Plymouth,  has  contracted 
to  build  this  bridge  for  the  sum  of  £1,050.,  it  is  to 
be  completed  about  Michaelmas  next,  and  is  to  be 
constructed  of  fine  and  close  grained  limestone.* 
Thus  a  great  public  accommodation  will  be  procured 
on  this  line  of  road,  and  will  terminate  the  labours 
of  the  Trustees  of  that  Turnpike,  as  far  as  regards 
bridges  ;  as  they  have,  without  the  assistance  of  the 
county,  widened  Plympton  St.  Mary  Bridge,  and 
built  new  bridges  at  Ivy  Bridge,  Bittaford,  and  Glaze, 
and  with  their  assistance  Lee-mill  and  now  this 
nameless  bridge  across  the  Plym.  When  this  work 
is  completed  and  paid  for,  if  other  improvements 
are  not  required,  the  tolls  must  be  applied  to  the 
liquidation  of  a  debt  of  no  very  large  amount,  after 
which  some  reduction  of  the  tolls  will  take  place,  to 
do  which  the  trustees  have  already  shewn  a  dis- 
position by  lowering  those  which  were  most  burthen- 
some. 

We  connot  conclude  without  repeating  a  wish  that 
this  bridge  may  not  be  left,  by  the  proper  authorities, 
without  a  name;  to  call  it  New  Bridge  is  like  calling 
a  man  John  Smith,  which  every  body  admits  is  no 
designation.  Names  of  course  should  be  distinctive 
and  at  once  convey  to  the  enquirer  some  definite 
thing,  and  all  other  names  which  would  have  been 
appropriate  seeming  to  be  pre-occupied,  and  there 
being  no  name  given  to  any  bridge  in  our  neighbour- 
hood, bearing  our  name,  we  ask  to  be  permitted  to 
become  its  nomenclators  in  this  instance,  and  to 
name  it  The  Plymouth  Bridge. 


*  The  old  bridge  is  now  almost  destroyed  ;  a  temporary  bridge 
of  wood  is  constructed  for  persons  and  vehicles  to  pass  over. 


244 

ZEPHYRUMQUE     VOCAT.— Virg. 

Thou  comest,  gentle  Zej^hyr,  with  thy  breatli 
Restorative  of  flow'r,  in  thy  hand 

Holding  the  primrose  pale — 

Thy  tresses  violet-bound ; 

While  tauntingly  the  drooping  first  then  shew'st 
To  ^olus,  who  speeds  him  in  the  train 

Of  equinoctial  blasts 

For  dark  Cimmerian  holds  : 

And  welcome  is  thy  visit — welcome  more 
If  with  the  cheerful  leaf  thou  gav'st  the  mind 

The  cheerfulness  to  hail 

Thee  guardian  of  her  spring. 

But  she  must  rise  and  droop ;  and  well  if  here 
Her  irksome  changes  closed — ah  I  rise  and  droop 

And  sensitively  share 

All  but  the  vernal  cheer ! 

With  thee  comes  Earth's  fair,  beautiful,  and  gay  ; 
With  thee  they  sport;  thou  look  est  thou  upon 

And  laughest;  and  they  laugh 

Reciprocating  joy  ! 

Not  so  the  mind,  aspirmg,  of  young  song : 
She  watches  thy  descent — marks  thy  attire 

Brilliant  of  Iris-hue, 

And  gay  attendants  round ; 

She  hears  thy  quick  approach,  once  musical. 
As  thro'  the  grove  and  field  each  slender  bough 

Summoned  the  trem'lous  leaves 

To  ring  enlivening  peals. 

But  now,  alas !  a  harsher  note  is  thine — 
Hoarse  campanology,  as  through  the  shrouds 

Of  steepled  bark  thou  climb'st 

To  fill  th'  impatient  sail. 

Yet,  even  here  the  child  of  song  would  joy, 
And_  heed  thy  grating  numbers,  if  to  part 

Were  but  to  part  and  meet, 

And  meet — to  part  no  more  ! 


HAIR,    FEATHERS,    AND    HORNS.  245 

For  friendship  then  were  union,  broken  once ; 
Again  united,  never  more  to  break ; 

Our  loved  were  home,  and  home 

Our  loved  for  aye  ! 

But  Fate,  who  governs  all  things,  thee  controuls ; 
Witii  thee  our  hopes ;  in  these  our  pleasures,  loves, 

Of  little  stay  or  long ; 

And  home,  which  centres  all. 

Yet  in  thy  flight,  or  o'er  th'  Atlantic  wave 
The  trackless  keel  bears  one  congenial  soul, 

Oh  !  sigh,  "  Forget  me  not," 

That  echo  may  respond — 

But  home  ne'er  mention  :  this  will  rise  as  thou 
Thy  vernal  visit  pay'st,  where  Arctic  hills 

Their  icy  heads  decline. 

Or  snowless  plains  invite  : 

For  there  at  ev'ning's  close  the  lowing  herds, 
The  bleating  flocks,  the  laden  humming  bee, 

And  rustling  leaf  will  sing 

In  thrilling  accents — Home  ! 

Sweet  solace  this,  and  sole,  to  severed  friend  ; 
Then,  gentle  Zephyr  sigh  "  Forget  me  not," 

Till  pure  affection's  spring 

Nor  fate  nor  sea  divides. 

J.  R.  B. 


ON     THE     FORMATION     OF     HAIR,     FEATHERS, 
AND     HORNS. 

FROM   A   LECTURE,   DELIVERED   IN   THE   ATHENAEUM    OF     THE     PLYMOUTH     IN- 
STITUTION,   BY   W.   WYATT,   ESQ. 

Every  one  is  familiarly  acquainted  with  the  gen- 
eral appearance  of  hair :  its  peculiar  structure  and 
mode  of  growth  have,  however,  seldom  received  the 
attention  they  deserve.  Hairs  differ  remarkably  not 
only  in  their  structure,  but  also  in  their  situation. 
Almost  all  Mammalia  possess  hairs  more  or  less 
numerous,  not  excepting  even  whales.  They  are 
found  also  on  different  parts  of  the  body  in  Birds, 


246  ON    THE    FORMATION    OF 

but  chiefly  about  the  head  and  neck.  They  are 
absent  from  Reptiles,  Fishes,  and  the  Molhisca  ;  but 
may  be  observed  on  many  Annulose  animals,  and 
even  Zoophytes,  in  which  they  are  subservient  to 
motion.  In  these  inferior  classes,  however,  they 
appear  to  be  merely  filamentous  prolongations  of 
the  cuticle,  and  subject  to  all  its  changes.  This  is 
certainly  the  case  with  the  hair  which  is  found  on 
many  caterpillars,  and  which  separates  with  the 
cuticle.  But  true  hair  is  of  a  more  complicated 
structure  ;  each  individual  hair  being  provided  with 
a  root  of  a  somewhat  bulbous  form,  which  is  said  to 
take  its  rise  in  the  cellular  web :  this,  however,  is 
doubtful.  Each  bulb  consists  of  a  vascular  and  tu- 
bular portion,  and  the  hair  of  an  external  horny 
covering  formed  of  numerous  lateral  filaments,  and 
an  internal  medulla,  or  vascular  pith.  The  fila- 
ments of  the  horny  covering  are  of  unequal  lengths, 
those  nearest  the  centre  being  the  longest,  so  that 
the  hair  assumes  the  figure  of  an  elongated  cone, 
with  its  base  seated  in  the  skin  ;  this  form  gives  to 
the  hair  that  peculiar  property,  on  which  depends 
the  operation  of  felting.  But  there  is  considerable 
variation  in  the  form  of  hairs,  in  some  animals. 
Thus  they  are  frequently  thickest  in  the  middle  ; 
sometimes  flat  or  two-edged,  as  on  the  toes  of  the 
ornithorhyncus  and  the  common  porcupine  ;  or  wa- 
ved on  the  margins  as  in  the  whiskers  of  seals. 
When  the  hairs  are  soft  and  curled  they  are  termed 
wool  ;  when  straight  and  stiff,  bristles  ;  and  when 
inflexible  spines  ;  and  on  the  porcupine,  quills. 
Their  texture  is,  moreover,  affected  by  climate  and 
mode  of  living.  Thus  in  the  hog  of  Siberia  and  the 
sheep  of  Iceland  they  are  long  and  stiff;  in  the  dog 
of  Malta,  and  the  cat,  rabbit,  and  goat  of  Angola, 
fine  and  silky  ;  and  thin  or  almost  wanting  in  the 
dog  of  Guinea,  and  sheep  of  Africa.  The  colour  of 
hair  exhibits  very  remarkable  differences,  and  na- 
turalists are  at  issue  as  to  whether  it  resides  in  the 
fluids  of  the  pith,  or  in  the  horny  covering.     It  is, 


HAIR,    FEATHERS,    AND    HORNS.  147 

however,  certain  that  the  quills  of  the  porcupine 
present  a  striated  appearance,  having  alternate  bands 
of  black  and  white,  while  their  pith  is  white ;  and 
the  spines  of  the  hedgehog  are  connected  to  the  skin, 
by  little  colourless  bulbs,  being  themselves  brown. 
On  the  other  hand,  we  must  remember  that  there  is 
an  intimate  connexion  between  the  colour  of  the  hair 
and  that  of  the  mucous  web,  as  is  observed  in  spot- 
ted animals.  But  it  is  perfectly  accordant  with  rea- 
son to  suppose  this  colour  a  secretion  of  the  vascular 
portion,  and  yet  capable  of  being  incorporated  with 
the  horny  covering.  In  most  animals  hair  is  renewed 
annually,  and  in  all  readily  reproduced.  It  resists 
putrefaction  longer  than  any  other  animal  matter. 

Feathers  are,  in  their  mode  of  growth,  situation, 
and  purpose,  nearly  related  to  hair  ;  they  are  peculiar 
to  birds,  and  may  be  said  to  consist  of  the  quill,  the 
shaft,  and  the  web.  The  quill  arises  like  hair, 
in  the  cellular  membrane,  and  perforates  the  other 
layers  by  a  tubular  opening  ;  it  is  at  first  membran- 
ous and  filled  wath  a  pulp  inclosed  in  cells,  which 
is  afterwards  absorbed.  At  the  point  of  union  with 
the  shaft  there  is  a  small  hole  in  the  middle  of  the 
under  side.  The  shaft  consists  of  a  cuticular  layer 
of  matter  similar  to  the  substance  of  the  quill ;  and 
a  central  portion,  of  a  white  colour,  and  in  texture 
resembling  cork  or  pith  ;  the  outer  side  is  slightly 
convex,  the  inner  nearly  flat,  with  a  groove  in  the 
middle,  and  tapering  to  a  point  at  the  further  extre- 
mity. There  is  usually  a  single  shaft  to  each  quill  ; 
but  sometimes  two,  as  in  the  southern  ostrich  ;  and 
in  a  young  ostrich  which  had  just  quitted  the  egg 
Blumenbach  found  as  many  as  twenty  proceeding 
from  a  single  barrel.  The  web  generally  occupies 
both  sides  of  the  shaft,  and  consists  of  the  barbs, 
which  lie  over  each  other  like  the  leaves  of  a  book  ; 
and  in  the  same  manner  are  the  sides  of  each  barb 
furnished  with  barbules.  Feathers  vary  exceedingly 
in  appearance,  being  in  particular  parts  hairy,  in 
others  downy.     The  feathers  of  nocturnal  birds  are 


148  HAIR,  FEATHERS,  HORNS. 

remarked  as  being  peculiarly  downy,  while  those  of 
other  birds  have  a  more  silky  appearance.  In  the 
penguin  the  wing  feathers  are  like  small  scales,  and 
in  the  cassowary  like  porcupines'  quills,  being  des- 
titute of  the  barbs.  In  this  remarkable  appendage 
of  the  skin  every  variety  of  colour  presents  itself; 
this  appears  for  the  most  part  to  be  permanent ;  but 
it  is  extraordinary  that  in  some  instances,  death, 
change  of  temperature,  or  even  change  of  food  is 
thought  to  produce  a  variation  of  colour.  It  is  a 
curious  physiological  fact  that,  in  many  birds,  in 
which  the  plumage  is  a  distinction  of  sex,  the  old 
female  is  frequently  known  to  assume  the  plumage 
peculiar  to  the  male.  Feathers,  like  hair,  are  re- 
newed periodically,  and  readily  reproduced  if  de- 
stroyed by  accident. 

Horns  have  the  same  origin  as  hairs  and  feathers, 
they  may,  in  fact,  be  considered  as  hairs  agglutinated 
and  forming  a  hollow  cone,  but  with  this  remarkable 
difference,  that  their  cavity  is  filled  with  a  bony 
process  of  the  skull.  The  fibrous  structure  of  horn 
may  be  perceived,  in  many  animals,  at  the  base, 
where  it  unites  with  the  skin  ;  at  this  part  it  receives 
the  additions  to  its  growth  ;  the  apex  of  the  cone 
advancing  as  the  increase  takes  place  at  the  root  and 
on  the  inner  surface.  The  transverse  ridges  fre- 
quently seen  on  horns  are  indications  of  the  different 
layers  of  growth,  and  they  sometimes  correspond  in 
number  with  the  years  of  life.  Horns  are  perma- 
nent in  their  nature,  and  when  destroyed  by  accident 
are  not  reproduced.  In  some  annuals,  as  the  ox, 
the  horns  are  round,  while  in  the  sheep,  they  are 
flat,  and  form  different  curvatures  according  to  the 
kind.  Those  of  the  antelopes  are  generally  very 
long  and  nearly  straight ;  those  of  the  ibex,  curved 
backwards.  In  fact,  they  are  found  under  the 
greatest  variety  of  shape  and  size.  The  horn  of  the 
rhinoceros  differs  from  those  of  all  other  animals,- 
in  being  situated  on  the  bones  of  the  nose,  and  in 
having  no  bony  support  within  it 


249 

EXTRACTS     FROM     A     LANDSMAN'S     LOG. 
I.     THE     MATE'S     GREGO. 

My  fellow  passenger  and  I  were  kept  on  deck  last 
night  by  a  story  the  mate  gave  us.  At  sun-set  there 
had  been  a  blaze  over  all  the  western  horizon,  that 
shone  under  its  pillar  of  smoky  clouds,  as  if  the 
Cyclops  were  at  work  there  on  the  Isle  of  Aves. 
The  night  though  close  was  gusty,  with  large  masses 
of  rack  flitting  across  the  weak  crescent  in  heaven, 
to  make  that  kind  of  darkness  Superstition  most 
delights  in.  The  adventure  of  the  Mate's  Grego — 
for  so  the  tale  he  delivered  to  us  may  be  called,  ran 
nearly  as  follows  ;  it  affords  a  ludicrous  instance  of 
the  old  proverb,  that  a  certain  great  personage  is 
never  more  busy  than  in  a  gale  of  wind. 

"  Several  years  ago,''  said  the  narrator,  "  I  was 
second  mate  in  an  Irish  vessel  bound  from  Monserrat 
to  Belfast.  It  was  during  the  American  war,  and 
we  were  going  north  about ;  for  though  our  crew  had 
not  minded  having  a  brush  with  one  of  their  private 
craft — we  being  a  letter  of  marque  carrying  twelve 
guns — the  owners,  you  know,  and  the  shippers  and 
underwriters  were  another  concern.  I  thought  it  as 
well  have  made  the  strait  run  as  beat  about  in  the 
bad  weather  we  did,  and  no  clear  sailing  either  :  only 
two  days  before  the  Norge,  seventy  four,  with  a 
donkey  frigate  in  company,  spoke  us,  in  search  of 
that  flying  fish.  Commodore  Rogers,  they  pressed 
three  of  our  best  hands.  However,  the  skipper 
avoided  St.  George's  Channel,  because  of  the  Yan- 
kees, and  by  the  token  one  of  their  sloops,  the  Argus, 
and  a  Baltimore  clipper,  that  had  the  heejs  of  the 
Cork  squadron,  and  played  Davy  Jones  himself  with 
our  trade,  were  taken  there  about  that  time.  Well 
it  was  a  sharp  evening  in  spring,  and  I  had  been  in 
the  foretop  during  the  second  day  watch,  looking  out 
for  the  land.  -  Some  heavy  rain  had  fallen,  and  the 
wet  sail  flapping  about  me,  for  we  were  nearly  before 
the  wind,  made  the  grego  I  had  on  wet  enough : 

VOL.    V. — 1835.  HH 


250        EXTRACTS    FROM    A    LANDSMAn's    LOG. 

SO  on  coming  down  I  told  one  of  the  boys  to  lash  it 
on  the  main  stay  just  abaft  the  windlass.  Having 
stood  by  while  the  youngster  was  doing  this,  I  went 
below  and  turned  into  my  berth  over  the  cable  tier ; 
not  being  required  on  deck  again,  unless  all  hands 
should  be  called,  until  four  in  the  morning. 

I  have  been  at  sea,  man  and  boy,  for  twenty 
years,  yet  never  saw  smarter  service  than  1  thought 
myself  in  that  night.  The  breeze  seemed  to  freshen 
and  we  sent  down  the  main-top-gallant  yard  and  then 
the  mast,  the  fore  one  had  been  on  the  booms  for  a 
fortnight.  Then  it  blew  a  whole  gale  of  wind  ;  the 
sails  one  after  another  were  taken  in,  until  we  brought 
her  too,  under  the  bare  try-sail,  and  in  sheeting  this 
home  I  thought  my  grego  got  adrift  and  went  over- 
board to  leeward.  When  the  middle  watch  was 
relieved,  there  had  only  been  a  squall  about  four 
bells,  but  the  grego  was  gone  sure  enough  ;  and  a 
strange  story  they  told  me  of  how  it  happened. 

The  watch,  except  the  man  at  the  helm  and  another 
looking  out  forw^ard,  went  aloft  in  the  squall  to  reef 
the  main  top  sail ;  but  before  they  left  the  deck  a 
rough  voice  called  down  for  them  to  get  another  pull 
at  the  reef  tackle,  swearing  as  how  the  starboard 
earring  was  not  up  by  a  fathom.  Getting  on  the 
yard,  they  found  a  swarthy  fellow  with  large  whiskers 
leaning  across  it  with  the  earring  in  his  hand,  swear- 
ing all  the  while  about  the  reef  tackle,  and  how  cold 
it  was  :  although  he  had  on  a  Flushing  trowsers  and 
jacket,  with  my  grego  over  all.  What  made  it 
stranger,  the  hand  next  him  on  the  yard  could  see, 
for  he  was  without  shoes,  that  his  left  foot  held  the 
man  rope  as  in  a  clenched  fist.     Our  people  tried  to 

get  into  conversation,  by  observing  how hard  it 

had  blown  lately  ;  but  he  only  swore  in  return  that 
the  earring  had  parted — and  slipped  away  just  as 
the  man  at  the  helm  saw  some  one  in  a  grego  sliding 
down  the  back-stay.  On  replacing  the  stranded 
rope,  they  discovered  who  had  been  there  ;  it  was 
burnt  half  through  in  the  marks  of  his  fingers.     This 


EXTRACTS    FROM    A    LANDSMAN's    LOG.        251 

account  the  watch  gave  me,  and  I  believed  it ;  until 
three  months  after,  I  was  in  the  same  vessel,  we  fell 
in  with  an  Irish  hooker,  and  one  of  her  people  with 
my  grego  on  :  they  all  declared  it  that  it  had  been 
given  them  by  the  crew  of  another  such  brig  as  our's, 
which  they  boarded  one  night,  in  exchange  for 
whiskey." 

II.— THE    DISTRESSED     SUBJECT. 

British  adventurers  beyond  seas,  on  stating  the 
necessities  of  their  case,  to  our  consul  in  any  foreign 
port,  may  procure  themselves  a  passage  in  the  first 
homeward  bound  vessel  as  distressed  subjects.  One 
of  these  unfortunates  who  had  been  received  on  board 
the  brig  at  her  last  port,  died  yesterday  evening. 
He  appeared  to  be  quite  a  youth,  and  in  the  last 
stage  of  decline,  but  having  exhibited  much  reserve 
on  the  subject  of  his  story,  we  only  knew  him  as  a 
Londoner,  who  had  served  in  the  Columbian  marine, 
where  he  confessed  his  having  been  harshly  treated, 
and  finally  turned  on  shore  at  Fredrickstadt  in  his 
present  condition.  The  poor  lad  expired  during  the 
first  watch,  and  just  before  midnight  the  Commander 
sent  to  intimate  a  wish  that  I  would  read  the  funeral 
service  over  him  ;  accordingly  I  came  on  deck,  and 
found  the  body  already  there,  sewed  up  in  a  ham- 
mock, as  usual,  with  shot  attached  to  the  feet  in 
order  to  sink  it.  The  brig  was  pitching  heavily, 
being  on  a  wind  with  three  reefs  in  the  top-sail,  and 
throwing  up  whole  sheets  of  foam  over  the  weather 
bow;  they  had  taken  the  main-sail  off  her,  but  she 
yet  heeled  so  much  that  every  passing  wave  gurgled 
in  under  the  corpse,  as  if  impatient  of  its  deposit. 
This  lay  on  a  grating  within  the  port  next  before  the 
larboard  gangway,  and  whence  its  usual  occupant, 
an  eighteen  pound  cannonade,  had  been  withdrawn 
for  the  occasion.  The  people  held  on,  some  by  the 
lashings  of  the  long  boat,  whence  two  or  three  sheep 
were  gazing  on  the  dumb  show  beneath  ;  some  along 


252         EXTRACTS    FROM    A    LANDSMAN's    LOG. 

the  main  tack  that  hung,  in  its  raised  state,  over 
their  heads  to  leeward.  A  seaman,  with  a  lantern, 
stood  above  the  group  of  officers  near  me,  on  a  gun 
under  the  main  rigging,  and  another  by  the  mast 
close  to  where  I  steadied  myself,  with  an  arm  round 
the  fall  of  the  lee-main-topsail-sheet.  The  crew 
were  silent  as  the  dead  man :  seamen  are  exemplary 
in  this  respect,  and  excepting  that  the  officer  of  the 
watch  crept  off  now  and  then  to  the  old  quartermaster 
at  the  wheel,  with  an  occasional  securing  of  our 
positions  as  the  ship  reeled  into  the  trough  of  the  sea, 
nothing  interrupted  the  wild  dirge  that  played  in 
.gusts  aloft.  When  I  reached  the  clause,  "  we  there- 
fore commit  his  body  to  the  deep,  to  be  turned  into 
corruption,"  the  grating  suddenly  disappeared,  and 
long  before  it  could  be  hauled  in  again,  the  distressed 
subject  had  gone  down  into  his  unfathomable  grave. 
To  avoid  detention  under  the  quarantine  laws,  the 
crew  were  employed  next  morning  in  fumigating  the 
lower-deck,  sprinkling  the  brig  with  vinegar,  and 
casting  over  what  little  apparel  the  deceased  had 
left.  Among  these  we  found  what  threw  an  interest, 
not  any  additional  light  over  the  poor  lad's  narrative  : 
it  was  a  girl's  portrait,  wrapp€d  in  the  fragments  of 
a  half  obliterated  letter,  the  words,  as  far  as  these 
might  be  decyphered,  tended  to  confirm  our  previ- 
ously conceived  ideas  of  him.  It  ran  in  wildly 
enthusiastic  terms,  fostering  a  hope  he  seemed  to 
entertain  of  acquiring  wealth  and  fortune  among  the 
patriots  of  South  America — they  had  brought  him  to 
what  we  had  seen.  But  the  picture  was  still  smiling 
as  before,  in  serene  unconsciousness  of  the  reverse, 
and  looking  every  thing  that  is  pure,  and  lovely,  and 
exalted,  and  hallowed,  and  calm. 


253 

PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 
PROCEEDINGS     IN    THE    ATHENE 

March  12th. — Rev.  J.  Webb's  Lecture  on  Capital 

Punishments. 

Concluded  from  page  240. 

The  lecturer  closed  by  adverting  to  those  methods  which,  in  his 
opinion,  were  best  calculated  to  restrain  the  commission  of  crime, 
and  which  were  not  found,  he  thought,  in  frequency  of  pardon — 
transportation — horrible  punishments,  such  as  torture,  the  brand, 
&c. ;  but  in  the  extension  of  the  principle  of  pecuniary  fines — 
in  the  introduction  of  a  superior  method  of  prison  discipline — 
in  affording  employment  to  all  classes — multiplying  the  social 
comforts  of  the  poor — raising  the  tone  of  national  morals — and  in 
a  system  of  national  education,  moral  and  religious  in  its  nature, 
and  founded  on  broad  and  liberal  principles.  To  these  means 
he  hoped  the  humane  and  the  benevolent  would  devote  their 
attention,  and  finished  his  paper  by  reminding  such,  that  by 
promoting  these  objects,  they  were,  in  effect,  revising  our  penal 
code,  and  abolishing  capital  punishments. 

March  19th. — Mr.  W.  S.  Harris'  Lecture  on  the  Laws  of 
Electrical  Attraction. 

The  principal  object  of  this  lecture  was  to  examine  whether  or  not 
the  law  of  electrical  attraction  was  an  elementary  law  of  nature. 

Before  proceeding  directly  to  the  investigation,  the  lecturer 
gave  a  definition  of  what  he  considered  an  elementary  law,  namely, 
that  it  was  that  in  which  cause  and  effect  increasing' or  decreasing 
were  always  commensurate  with  each  other;  and  he  stated  it  as 
his  conviction  that,  where  the  effect  increased  in  a  higher  ratio 
than  the  cause,  such  for  instance  as  in  the  proportion  of  the 
square,  the  law  may  be  generally  resolved  into  the  combined 
action  of  two  or  more  simpler  laws.  The  lecturer  then,  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  had  not  before  witnessed  them,  repeated  a 
few  experiments,  in  order  to  explain  the  manner  in  which  elec- 
trical attraction  operated,  and  then  went  on  to  explain  the  reason 
why  the  increase  of  electrical  attraction  is  as  the  square  of  the 
diminished  distance  at  which  it  operates. 

On  the  theory  which  supposes  electrical  effects  to  result  from 
the  power  exerted  by  the  electric  fluid  to  regain  its  original  state 
of  distribution  after  any  temporary  derangment  of  it,  all  those 


254  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

bodies  which  have  experienced  any  such  a  change  in  their  electrical 
states  exert  an  attractive  influence  upon  indifferent  matter  which 
is  found  to  increase  in  the  proportion  of  the  square  either  of  the 
increased  change,  or  of  the  diminished  distance  at  which  any 
determinate  change  operates;  to  account  for  this  apparently 
disproportionate  increase  of  effect,  the  lecturer  took  into  account 
the  effect  of  induction,  which  would  be  quite  sufficient  to  account 
for  it.  When  an  electrified  body  is  opposed  to  an  unelectrified 
body,  at  any  fixed  distance,  attraction  is  immediately  apparent; 
if  the  distance  be  diminished  one  half,  it  might  be  expected  that 
the  attractive  force  would  only  be  doubled ;  this  he  shewed  would 
be  pretty  nearly  the  case,  provided  the  attracted  body  were  of 
small  dimensions,  and  perfectly  insulated  ;  but  when  it  was  of 
any  considerable  size,  half  the  distance  produced  four  times  the 
effect,  one  third  the  distance  nine  times  the  effect,  &c.  It  is  a 
law  of  electricity  that  all  bodies,  whether  in  a  positive  or  negative 
state,  will  attract  bodies  of  an  opposite  state  with  more  power 
than  those  which  are  perfectly  neutral ;  and  when  an  electrified 
body  is  opposed  to  a  neutral  body  of  a  considerable  size,  its  first 
effect  is  to  induce  in  that  portion  nearest  to  itself  an  electricity 
opposite  to  that  with  which  it  is  itself  charged  :  for  example — if 
it  be  positive,  it  drives  the  natural  electricity  of  the  opposed 
conductor  into  its  extreme  end,  and  thereby  rendering  the  proxi- 
mate surface  negative,  prepares  for  itself  as  it  were  a  suitable 
reception.  The  two  bodies  then  attract  each  other  with  a  given 
force;  now  if  the  substance  between  these  be  diminished  one  half 
the  attraction  of  the  electrified  conductor  would  be  doubled,  if 
acting  on  perfectly  neutral  matter;  but  the  inductive  effect 
produced  by  this  approximation  would  be  doubled  on  the  unelec- 
trified conductor,  which  would  consequently  also  attract  with 
twice  the  force;  hence,  the  amount  of  the  attraction  between  the 
two  bodies  would  be  2,  multiplied  by  2,=4  ;  again,  if  the  distance 
be  diminished  to  one  third,  the  attractive  power  of  the  electrified 
conductor  would  be  increased  three  times ;  but  the  inductive 
effect  being  also  trebled,  the  opposed  conductor  would  also 
attract  with  three  times  the  force,  consequently  the  amount  of 
attraction  will  be  3  multiplied  by  3,=9,  the  square  of  the 
increased  elementary  power;  thus,  it  was  evident  that  this  phe- 
nomenon was  not  an  elementary  law,  but  resulted  merely  from 
an  increase  of  the  attractive  power  acting  on  neutral  matter, 
but  upon  a  superinduced  attractive  power  of  an  opposite  kind, 
and  equally  powerful. 


I 


PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION.  265 

March  26th. — Reports  on  Science. 

Circumstances  having  prevented  the  delivery  of  the  Scientific 
Reports,  at  the  commencement  of  the  Season,  they  w^ere  laid 
before  the  Society  this  evening.  Mr.  Harris  confined  his  report 
chiefly  to  Electro  Chemical  Science,  and  explained  some  of  the 
most  remarkable  additions  v^rhich  had  been  made  to  it  by  the  re-^ 
searches  of  Faraday  and  others :  after  explaining  some  of  the. 
elementary  principles  of  Electro  Magnetism,  he  traced  it  up  to 
its  present  state,  and  exhibited  to  the  Society  the  Apparatus  em- 
ployed for  the  production  of  the  electrical  spark  from  copper 
wires,  surrounding  a  mass  of  iron,  operated  upon  by  magnetic 
induction  alone ;  after  which — 

Mr.  Prideaux  commenced  by  stating  the  impossibility  of  com- 
pressing for  the  occasion,  any  thing  like  a  report  of  all  the  recent 
discoveries  in  a  science  so  multifarious  as  Chemistry,  it  would 
therefore  be  confined  to  such  of  them  as  were  of  some  general  in- 
terest; leaving  the  enquiry  into  any  of  the  more  confined  ones 
for  the  discussion.  The  reporter  then  read  a  list  of  them,.,  which 
we  cannot  pretend  to  repeat ;  and  can  only  observe  upon  it,  that 
the  technical  language  of  Chemistry  sounded  like  no  tongue  that 
ever  was  uttered  before,  and  strangely  illustrated  the  effect  of 
compounding  names  from  two  or  three  dead  languages  together. 

The  first  subject  reported  on  was,  a  mode  of  measuring  light, 
which  was  illustrated  by  reference  to  the  most  successful  methods 
previously  in  use.  These  were  Count  Rumford's,  by  the  com- 
parative intensity  of  shadows  ;  and  Sir  J.  Leslie's,  by  the  differ- 
ential thermometer.  The  difficulties  attending  the  first  of  these 
were  shewn  in  the  case  of  lights  differing  greatly  in  intensity, 
and  still  more  in  that  of  differently  coloured  lights.  Sir  J. 
Leslie's  instrument  was  stated  to  be  differently  affected  by  lights 
of  equal  intensity,  when  of  different  temperatures,  and  to  indi- 
cate no  light  at  all  from  the  moon. 

By  the  new  instrument,  the  invention  of  Mr.  Talbot,  M.P., 
some  of  these  difficulties  were  surmounted.  It  consists  of  two  discs 
of  card  or  any  other  thin  material,  divided  into  24  equal  parts, 
and  alternate  divisions  cut  out,  like  a  spoke  wheel;  these 
being  set  on  the  axle  of  a  multiplying  wheel,  and  fixed  together 
so  that  the  spokes  of  one  coincided  with  those  of  the  other :  on 
being  put  into  rapid  motion  intercepted,  of  course,  half  the  rays 
of  a  lamp  placed  behind.  When  the  spokes  of  one  were  placed 
against  the  intervals  of  the  other,  no  light  could   pass,  and   of 


256  PLYMOUTH    INSTITUTION. 

course,  by  opening  the  intervals  more  or  less,  any  required  pro- 
portion of  the  light  could  be  cut  off,  and  measured  by  compari- 
son with  a  given  standard :  this  would  apply  to  lights  of  any 
degree  of  intensity,  or  of  any  temperature,  but  still  seemed  sub- 
ject to  difficulty  in  case  of  lights  much  different  in  colour. 

Professor  Graham's  researches  on  the  diffusion  of  gases,  formed 
the  second  subject  of  the  report.  It  was  shewn,  that  a  tube 
about  a  foot  long,  the  upper  end  plugged  with  plaster  of  Paris, 
being  filled  with  hydrogen  gas,  the  gas  made  its  way  through  the 
plug,  so  that  the  water  rose  quickly  in  the  tube,  four  or  five  in- 
ches above  its  level  in  the  trough,  the  contrary  effect  resulted 
with  carbonic  acid,  but  the  tube  broke  before  it  was  shewn. 
The  principle  was  stated  to  apply  to  all  gases  ;  those  which  were 
lighter  than  air,  escaping  faster  than  the  atmospheric  air  took 
their  place,  and  the  water  consequently  rising  in  the  tube,  above 
the  level  in  the  trough :  those  which  were  heavier  than  air,  pass- 
ing off  slower  than  the  air  entered,  and  the  water  falling  lower  in 
the  tube  than  its  level  without,  and  the  rate  of  diffusion  proved 
to  be,  for  each  gas,  inversely  proportional  to  the  square  root  of 
its  density. 

Isomerism,  or  identity  in  composition  of  bodies  differing  in 
physical  and  chemical  properties,  was  the  next  subject. 

The  nature  of  definite  proportions  was  illustrated,  by  mix- 
ing a  solution  of  60  grains  of  potass,  with  a  solution  of  83 
grains  of  tartaric  acid ;  the  result  being  a  soluble  neutral^alt,  and 
the  liquor  remaining  clear.  Another  equal  portion  of  tartaric 
acid  being  then  added,  bitartrate  of  potass,  or  cream  of  tartar 
resulted;  which  being  much  less  soluble,  immediately  made  the 
liquid  dense  and  fell  in  a  copious  precipitate.  The  same  law 
was  shown  to  hold  good,  in  double  decomposition,  of  acetate  of 
lead  by  sulphate  of  copper :  and  from  these  and  other  illustrations, 
was  deduced  the  atomic  theory. 

It  was  then  shewn,  that  many  substances  of  considerably 
different  properties,  were  not  only  composed  of  the  same  ingre- 
dients ;  but  also  in  the  same  atomic  proportions  ;  thus  shewing 
that  remarkable  differences  may  be  produced  by  mere  difference 
of  arrangement  of  the  same  atoms  ;  and  it  is  yet  quite  uncertain 
to  what  extent  this  may  go. 

The  only  remaining  subject  of  the  report  was  isomorphism,  a 
sort  of  counterpart  of  the  last ;  for  as  that  related  to  substances 
differing  in  properties,  but  identical  in  composition,  so  this  be- 
longs to   bodies    identical   in  crystalline   form,  but  different  in 


AN    ADVENTURE    AT    SEA.  257 

composition.  Crystalline  cleavage  was  illustrated  by  carbonate 
of  lime,  which  divided  into  rhomboids,  and  this  division  might  be 
continued,  at  precisely  the  same  angles,  and  at  these  only,  down 
to  the  most  minute  particle,  and  this  was  shewn  to  be  an  universal 
property,  extending  through  the  whole  range  of  mineralogy  ;  and 
in  fact  through  crystallography  of  all  kinds ;  and  that  by  the 
angles  thus  developed,  substances  may,  with  certainty,  be  distin- 
guished one  from  another. 

But  it  appeared  that  carbonate  of  magnesia  gave  the  same 
angles  as  carbonate  of  lime ;  and  that  the  very  same  result  also 
from  the  cleavage  of  carbonate  of  iron,  and  of  carbonate  of  lead. 
Hence  that  these  substances  might  not  only  be  confounded  together 
judging  from  their  angles  of  cleavage;  but  that  they  do  actually 
crystallize  together  promiscuously  :  and  the  same  property  was 
shown  to  hold  in  a  great  number  of  other  instances. 

Some  experiments  made  by  Mr.  Hearder,  on  combustion  in 
vacuo,  previously  before  the  Society,  were  also  alluded  to,  to  shew, 
that  in  Chemistry,  as  well  as  in  other  branches  of  knowledge,  the 
Plymouth  Institution  was  endeavouring  to  contribute  its  mite, 
towards  the  general  advancement  of  Science :  and  the  reporter 
expressed  strong  hopes  that  the  coming  year  would  do  more  for 
its  reputation  than  any  preceding  one. 


AN     ADVENTURE     AT     SEA. 

The  mate  had  been  looking  out  with  a  spyglass,  and  observed  a 
sail  to  windward. 

"  Jump  aloft,  one  of  you  who  has  good  eyes,  and  tell  me  what 
you  make  out  of  that  craft  with  the  suspicious  rake  in  her  masts, 
on  our  weather  bow  !  *' 

"Ay,  ay,  sir!  '*  they  again  sung  out,  in  full  chorus;  and  away 
several  scampered  up  the  shrouds,  pell-mell.  Among  the  rest 
was  perceived  the  slight  figure  of  the  lad,  who  ascended  with 
remarkable  agility,  and  left  the  others  far  behind.  The  mate 
could  scarcely  credit  what  he  saw,  and  gazed  aloft  in  amazement. 

"  Maintopgallant,  there !  "  hailed  the  mate. 

"•  Ay,  ay,  sir!"  replied  Isaac,  in  as  gruff  a  voice  as  he  could 
muster  for  the  occasion. 

"  What  sort  of  craft  is  that  to  windward, — and  how  is  she 
standing  ? " 

VOL.  V. — 1835.  II 


258  AN    ADVENTURE    AT    SEA. 

"  It  is  a  small  black  schooner,  all  legs  and  arms,"  replied  Mr. 
Maintopgallant ;  "  and  she  is  bearing  down  for  us  under  a  press 
of  sail !  Now  she  runs  up  a  flag,  which  you  can  make  out  from 
tiie  deck  with  the  glass ;  and,  by  the  flash  and  the  smoke  she 
makes,  she  has  just  fired  a  gun  !  " 

Presently  a  dull,  heavy  report  came  booming  on  the  breeze,  and 
a  thundering  sound  echoed  against  the  side  of  the  ship.  The 
glass  was  bent  upon  the  approaching  schooner,  whose  hull  had 
not  yet  entirely  risen  out  of  the  water.  Her  flag  was  found  to 
be  French  ! 

"  Steward — call  the  captain !  *'  cried  tlie  mate,  in  alarm  : 
**  Forward,  there  ! — call  all  hands  on  deck — stand  by  to  put  the 
ship  about! " 

**  Ay,  ay,  sir  !  "  echoed  along  the  deck,  and  every  sailor  stood 
ready  at  his  post  for  prompt  action. 

Sethand  Jethro  now  appeared  on  deck,  wondering  not  a  little 
at  the  uncommon  stir  on  board,  and  surprised  to  find  every  man 
ready,  whenever  the  word  should  be  given,  to  put  the  ship  on  a 
new  direction. 

"What  does  all  this  mean,  mate?*'  demanded  the  captain; 
"  why  would'st  thou  change  the  course  of  the  ship?  '^ 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  do  so  without  your  concurrence,"  replied- 
the  mate;  "  but  I  thought  it  best  to  have  every  thing  ready  for 
prompt  manoeuvring.  VVe  have  a  suspicious-looking  sail  on  our 
weather-bow,  and  she  shows  French  colors.  By  the  rake  of  her 
masts,  I  should  not  be  surprised  to  find  her  a  clipper,  with  a 
long-tom  amidships;  for  she  has  given  us  a  gun  already." 

"  Rather  a  dangerous  neighbour  for  us,  surely,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, '*  especially  if  she  should  prove  one  of  those  piratical  rascals 
that  sometimes  cut  up  our  commerce.  Keep  her  away,  and  see 
if  she  follows  us,"  continued  he  lowering  the  point  of  his  glass. 

Away  went  the  Grampus  with  a  free  wind,  snorting,  as  it  were 
like  a  race-horse,  and  ploughing  handsomely  through  the  seas 
on  her  altered  way. 

The  Frenchman  steered  for,  and  gained  gradually  and  steadily 
upon,  the  Grampus  ;  and  the  event  was  most  anxiously  looked 
for  by  all  on  board.  The  ship,  deeply  laden  as  she  was  with  oil, 
was  of  great  value,  and,  as  Seth  thought,  eminently  worth  pre- 
serving. But  the  Frenchmen  were  determined  she  sliould  change 
owners, — for  tliey  managed  their  little  craft  with  great  skill,  and 
altered  their  course  in  chase,  whenever  Macy  changed  his.  The 
breeze  was  brisk,  and  suited  the  schooner  to  a  crack ;   while  the 


AN    ADVENTURE    AT    SEA.  259 

laden  ship,  though  the  fleetest  of  her  class,  could  not  show  her 
heek  to  advantage,  witliout  a  stronger  wind.  Macy  tried  his 
vessel  upon  every  tack — but  escape  was  impossible — the  wedge- 
like schooner  gained  upon  him  at  every  turn. 

"Now  would  I  give  the  half  of  our  cargo,'*  said  Macy,  "for  a 
few  guns  to  speak  to  that  saucy  little  scamp  in  his  own  language ! '' 
And  then  turning  to  Jethro,  he  said,  rather  bitterly,  "  Dost  thou 
remember,  friend  Coffin,  what  I  told  thee  about  the  six-pounders, 
before  we  left  port?  I  fear  thou  wilt  pay  dearly  enough  for  not 
taking  my  advice.    There  comes  salute  number  two  ! '' 

A  gun  at  that  moment  was  fired  from  the  Frenchman,  across 
the  bow  of  the  Grampus ;  but  the  shot  weiit  wide,  and  "vyas  most 
probably  intended  merely  as  a  warning  to  heave  to.  Seth  paced 
the  deck  in  great  agony  of  spirit,  muttering,  as  he  went,  words 
that  sounded  very  much  like  '^  damnation^''  and  the  like.  The 
sound  may  have  been  equivocal  to  the  ear  of  Jethro,  for  he 
forebore  to  put  in  his  usual  caution  of  "  Swear  not  at  allf^^  as 
he  was  wont  to  do,  whenever  Captain  Seth  used  obnoxious 
words. 

The  Grampus  was  now  kept  off  two  or  three  points,  and  a 
foretopmast-studdingsail  was  about  being  set ;  but,  in  the  hurry 
of  the  moment,  by  some  mishap  the  tack  got  unrove.  A  couple 
of  hands  were  ordered  aloft  to  rig  in  the  boom,  and  reeve  the 
tack  anew.  In  an  instant  little  Isaac,  who  had  heard  the  order, 
put  the  end  of  the  rope  between  his  teeth,  ran  up  the  fore-shrouds, 
crept  out  on  the  top  of  the  fore-yard  like  a  monkey,  and  then  out 
upon  the  bare  boom.  But,  before  he  had  accomplished  his  task, 
the  Frenchmen  brought  their  long-torn,  charged  with  small  shot, 
to  bear  upon  the  yard,  and  let  drive  at  Isaac  ;  thinking,  probably 
that  his  labour  might  be  the  means  of  enabling  the  Grampus  to 
escape.  The  little  fellow  was  not  disconcerted  by  this  terrible 
salute,  although  the  balls  whistled  like  hail  around  him.  He 
fearlessly  and  deliberately  went  on  with  his  work. 

"They  are  again  charging  the  gun!''  shouted  English  Bill. 
"  Come  down,  my  boy ! — Creep  in  !  Creep  in  !  Seize  one  of  the 
halliards,  and  let  yourself  down  with  a  run  !  " 

"Ay,  ay,"  cried  Isaac,  as  he  finished  reeving  the  tack.  He 
then  quickly  gathered  a  few  fathoms  in  his  hand,  threw  the  coil 
down  upon  the  forecastle,  and  the  sail  was  immediately  hoisted. 
The  long-torn  was  again  elevated,  and  the  gunner  was  in  the  act 
of  applying  the  match  ;  but  Isaac  stopped  not  for  the  additional 
peppering ; 


260  AN    ADVENTURE    AT    SEA. 

"  The  cords  ran  swiftly  through  his  glowing  hands, 
And,  quick  as  lightning,  on  the  deck  he  stands  ! " 

"  Hah  ! — my  little  younker  ! — my  eyes,  but  your  a  brave  *un 
— You  '11  be  an  Admiral  yet — d*  ye  see !  "  exclaimed  English 
Bill,  as  he  joyfully  hugged  the  stripling  in  his  brawny  arms. 

The  prediction  of  BiH  rang  in  the  ears  of  Isaac  for  many  a 
year  afterwards.  It  was  like  the  prophetic  sound  of  the  bells  to 
the  hearing  of  Whittington  : — 

"  Turn  again,  Whittington — 
Lord  Mayor  of  great  London." 

^  The  hasty  strides  of  Seth  were  again  arrested  by  another  shot, 
which  passed  through  the  sail  over  his  head.  He  folded  his  arms 
— looked  up  at  the  rent  sail — and  drew  up  his  form,  as  if  some 
new  purpose  had  taken  possession  of  his  despairing  mind. 

"  By  heaven ! "  said  he,  "  I  will  not  part  with  so  fine  a  ship 
and  cargo,  without  a  deadly  struggle !  " 

"  Swear  not!  "  said  Jethro;  "  it  will  not  help  us  in  our  strait. 
We  may  better  yield  quietly  to  the  necessity.  Put  down  thy  helm 
Seth,  and  bring  the  ship  to." 

"  Yield  quietly  ! — didst  thou  say  ? — and  did  1  understand  thee 
aright,  when  thou  bid  me  to  bring  the  ship  to?"  The  eyes  of 
Seth  glared  wildly  upon  Jethro,  and  his  nostrils  distended  like 
those  of  an  infuriated  wild  bull  at  bay.  "  Put  down  the  helm, 
indeed  ! — Pray,  neighbour  Jethro,  who  is  the  commander  of  the 
Grampus — thou  or  I  ? ''  demanded  Seth,  in  high  dudgeon.  But 
he  evidently  availed  himself  of  the  first  pretext  to  let  off  his  anger, 
for  he  was  waxing  exceeding  wroth. 

Jethro  answered  calmly, — "  Thou,  surely,  art  her  captain — and 
I  yield  all  to  thy  discretion.  Save  the  ship,  if  thou  canst; — but 
thou  canst  not.  We  have  no  means  of  defence,  and,  if  we  had,  it 
would  not  be  justifiable  to  oppose  with  arms." 

"Jethro  !  My  resolution  is  taken  : — I  will  save  this  ship,  or 
sink  in  her.  What !  yield  to  that  little  gadfly — that  gallinipper 
— that  is  scarcely  larger  than  our  longboat !  " 

Another  shot,  better  directed  than  the  other,  splintered  a  piece 
from  the  mainmast,  and  wounded  one  of  the  crew. 

"  There,  Jethro !  there  are  some  of  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
French  pirate,  and  an  earnest  of  what  we  may  all  expect,  if 
taken  ! " 

*' Yield  thee,  Selh,  yield  thee!  The  longer  thou  dost  delay, 
so  much  the  more  hazard  to  tlie  lives  of  the  people." 


AN    ADVENTURE    AT    SEA.  261 

^*Thou  hadst  better  go  below,  Jethro — 1  must  command  here. 
Yield,  indeed  !  the  ship  sliall  sink  first ! ''  muttered  Seth,  as 
Jethro  began  to  descend. 

"  Stand  by  there,  men ! "  shouted  the  captain,  in  a  voice  that 
made  every  sailor  start.  It  was  evident  to  all  that  Seth  had  put 
off  the  Quaker,  and  that  prompt  obedience  was  necessary. 

"  Get  the  longboat  ready  to  be  launched  at  a  moment*s  warning 
— clear  away  the  quarter  boats — and  see  all  clear  to  lower  them 
in  an  instant.     Mate,  take  in  all  the  small  sails  quickly  !  " 

The  manner  of  Seth,  was  somewhat  wild,  but  resolute  and 
determined;  and  the  men  and  officers  having  done  his  behest, 
.stood  wondering  what  command  would  next  be  issued,  and 
whereunto  those  would  tend  that  had  already  been  executed. 
The  Frenchman  was  also  at  fault;  for,  mistaking  the  manoeuvring 
of  Seth  for  an  intention  to  give  up  his  ship,  the  schooner  was 
hove  to,  and  seemed  to  await  the  lowering  of  the  boat  from  the 
quarter  of  the  Grampus — even  as  the  conqueror  awaits  the 
approach  of  an  enemy  subdued,  who  comes  to  yield  up  his  sword. 
In  rounding  to,  the  schooner  had  given  the  advantage  of  the  wind 
to  the  ship ;  and  while  the  French  crew  stood  agape  at  the  man- 
agement of  the  larger  vessel,  which  they  already  looked  upon  as 
a  prize,  Seth  seized  upon  the  helm  with  his  brawny  hand.  The 
men,  scarcely  needing  the  cautioning  word,  anticipated  his 
intention  as  he  put  the  helm  hard  up,  and  gave  his  impressive 
shout  in  a  suppressed  and  peculiar  tone,  which  was  heard  dis- 
tinctly from  stem  to  stern  : — 

"  Let  go  all  the  braces  and  bowlines,  slack  off  sheets  and  tacks, 
and  square  the  yards  quickly  !  "  This  was  all  done  in  the  twink- 
ling of  an  eye,  and  Seth  shaped  his  course  as  though  he  would 
bring  his  ship  under  the  lee-quarter  of  the  privateer. 

After  making  this  demonstration,  which  was  intended  to 
deceive  the  enemy,  her  direction  was  suddenly  changed,  and  her 
head  was  brought  to  bear  directly  upon  the  hull  of  the  French- 
man !  The  crew  of  the  schooner  now  discovered,  but  too  late, 
the  design  of  the  Grampus;  and  confusion  and  dire  amazement 
agitated  the  people  upon  her  crowded  deck.  In  their  haste  to 
remedy  their  oversight,  the  Frenchmen  failed  altogether  to  avert 
the  threatened  disaster. 

"If  thou  dost  intend  to  rup  her  down,"  said  Jethro  to  Seth, 
hurriedly,  projecting  his  head  for  a  moment  from  the  cabin  gang- 
way, '' if— nay,  hear  me,  Seth,  for  tlie  sake  of  humanity — if  thou 


262  AN    ADVENTURE    AT    SEA. 

art  determined  to  run  her  down,  ease  thy  helm  a  little,  ^nd  give 
them  a  chance  for  their  lives. " 

"  Stand  by  to  lower  the  boats ; "  vociferated  Seth,  stamping 
furiously  upon  the  deck.  A  suppressed  groan  of  horror  escaped 
the  crew,  as  they  now  more  plainly  conceived  the  design  of  their 
captain. 

"  The  boldest  held  his  breath  for  a  time  !  " 

The  little  schooner  still  lay  to,  in  the  trough  of  a  deep  sea,  her 
people  running  backwards  and  forwards  in  frightened  confusion, 
while  the  huge  bulk  of  the  Grampus  mounted  the  last  high  wave 
that  separated  the  two  vessels. 

"  Miser icorde  !  "  exclaimed  a  hundred  voices. 

A  wild  scream  of  despair — heard  far  above  the  noise  of  the 
element,  and  the  dashing  of  the  ship — burst  from  the  poor  doomed 
Frenchmen. 

Down  came  the  Grampus,  thundering  upon  the  privateer,  and 
striking  her  with  her  plunging  bow  directly  amidships.  The 
frail  schooner  was  cut  directly  in  two  by  the  shock ;  and  her 
heavy  armament,  together  with  the  irresistible  force  of  the  severing 
blow,  bore  both  parts  of  her  hull,  with  all  her  ill-fated  crew  of  a 
hundred  souls,  beneath  the  wave. 

"  Down  with  the  boats  from  the  quarter — launch  the  longboat" — 
shouted  Seth.  But  the  command,  though  it  could  not  have  been 
uttered  nor  executed  sooner  with  safety,  came  too  late.  The  aim 
of  Seth  had  been  too  fatally  sure.  The  boats  reached  tlie  spot, 
and  narrowly  escaped  being  sucked  into  the  vortex  where  the 
schooner  had  gone  down.  The  French  crew  were  all  sent  to  their 
long  account ;  and  the  next  wave  left  not  a  trace  of  the  wreck, 
nor  a  solilary  human  being  to  be  saved  from  a  watery  death. 

Thy  ship  and  cargo  were  dearly  ransomed,  Jethro  Coffin  :  and, 
Seth,  thou  didst  sacrifice  a  hecatomb  of  human  beings  for  thy 
preservation. 


263 

MECHANICS'    INSTITUTES. 

The  formation  of  literary  and  scientific  societies  has.  long  been 
considered  one  of  the  surest  tests  of  the  growing  civilization  of 
an  empire,  and  the  only  standard  by  which  we  can  judge  of  the 
intellectual  enlightenment  and  purity  of  the  age;  for  when  once 
the  waters  of  knowledge  have  thoroughly  saturated  the  soils 
through  which  they  pass,  richness  and  fertility  spring  from  their 
washings,  and  boundless  is  the  harvest  of  mind  produced  by  their 
wholesome  and  refreshing  irrigations.  Upon  this  score,  England 
owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  the  names  of  Brougham,  and  Birk- 
beck,  which  she  never  can  repay,  a  debt,  which  ignorance  owes 
to  those  who  have  opened  *^  the  eyes  of  the  blind,"  and  dispelled 
the  mist  of  darkness  from  those  beings,  who  have  too  long  resem- 
bled boys  peeping  out  upon  the  light,  by  means  of  two  small 
orifices  perforated  through  a  shell,  and  fastened  by  a  string  around 
their  heads,  and  over  their  eyes :  but  the  bandage  and  the  shell 
have  been  removed,  and  happily  for  the  world,  and  ourselves, 
knowledge  plays  in  full  streams  of  light  upon  the  optic  nerves  of 
millions ;  and  the  names  of  their  benefactors  are,  we  believe,  en- 
graven on  their  hearts.  The  Plymouth  Mechanics'  Institute  has 
been  founded  for  some  years ;  but  the  members  of  that  Institute, 
with  a  want  of  foresight,  much  to  be  regretted,  incurred  a  debt  of 
£800.,  for  the  erection  of  their  building,  which  is  still  standing 
against  them.  This  was  a  defective  system  of  proceedure,  for 
these  reasons.  Firstly — it  displayed  a  singular  want  of  caution  : 
Secondly. — They  had  no  right  to  contract  a  debt,  which  they  had 
not  the  power  to  meet.  Thirdly — The  burden  of  this  amount, 
which  is  still  pressing  on  their  shoulders,  has  taken  from  them 
that  freedom  and  independence  of  spirit,  which  every  body  of 
men  (whether  civil  or  scientific)  ought  to  exercise.  Fourthly. — 
By  paying  a  small  annual  rental  for  the  use  of  rooms,  they  might 
have  avoided  their  present  distress,  besides  having  (like  the 
Devonport  Institute)  a  surplus  sum  of  money,  or  balance  in  hand 
to  have  answered  needful,  or  contingent  expenses.  Fifthly. — 
With  this  surplus  cash  they  might  have  purchased  scientific 
apparatus.  Disquisitions  on  mechanics,  &c.  These  precautions 
would  have  prevented  all  those  awkward  consequences,  the  force 
of  which  they  now  feel;  and  have  placed  their  Institute  on  a 
proud  and  flourishing  position.  We  have  discussed  these  finan- 
cial arrangements,  and  we  beg  to  review  cursorily  -the  internal 
policy  of  our  neighbouring  Institutions.     Now,  we  conceive,  that 


264  MECHANICS*    INSTITUTIONS. 

novels,  romances,  and  works  of  a  similar  class  and  character 
have  no  business  in  a  Mechanics*  Institute ;  that  they  w^eaken 
the  reasoning  powers,  and  inflame  the  imagination ;  that  the 
principles  developed  in  those  works  are  for  the  most  part  pesti- 
lential and  injurious  to  the  morals  of  Oie  young,  and  calculated 
to  dwarf  and  stunt  the  growth  of  a  vigorous  understanding : 
because,  after  the  tender  mind  has  once  become  well  impreg- 
nated with  such  absurdities,  it  is  but  rarely  that  it  can  be  led 
back  to  relish  more  manly  and  rational  pursuits ;  and  again,  the 
introduction  of  such  books  is  certainly  alien  to  the  ends  for'which 
such  Institutions  were  erected,  and  entirely  opposed  to  the 
creation  of  an  enlarged  and  philosophical  spirit  of  enquiry.  The 
rage  for  sentimental  trash  and  love-fictions  has  for  too  long  a  period 
reflected  discredit  on  the  Devonport  Institute ;  but  many  of  the 
junior  members,  having  become  aware  of  their  weakening  influence 
on  the  mind,  have  enlisted  themselves  into  a  chemical  class  for 
the  purpose  of  reading  their  own  original  essays,  and  then  can- 
vassing their  contents.  Still,  amidst  all  these  defects,  the  tide  of 
mental  improvement  is  rolling  on  with  astonishing  force,  and  a 
quotation  from  Laplace's  "Exposition  du  Systbme  du  Monde  " 
seems  to  me  admirably  adapted  to  the  times  in  which  we  live. — 
**  Car  r  empire  lent,  mais  irresistible  de  la  raison,  V  emporte,  k 
la  longue,  sur  les  jalousies  nationales  et  sur  les  obstacles  qui 
s'  opposent  an  bien  d'  une  utilite  generalement  sentie.*'  "  For 
the  empire  of  reason,  slow  but  irresistible,  prevails  at  last  over 
national  jealousies,  and  all  the  obstacles  which  are  opposed  to 
the  good  of  a  utility  generally  felt." 

The  results  of  knowledge,  however  slow,  are  always  certain; 
always  beneficial;  for  knowledge  possesses  within  itself,  like 
steam,  almost  unlimited  powers  of  expansion,  insinuating  itself  in- 
to every  pore  and  crevice  of  the  community,  diminshing  ignorance 
in  her  most  varied  and  brutal  forms,  humanizing  by  its  progress 
the  most  obstinate  prejudices,  softening  those  passions  of  our 
nature,  whose  rankness  if  not  stopped,  would  prove  horribly 
destructive,  and  elevating  the  moral  character  of  man,  to  a  nearer 
and  closer  resemblance  of  the  beautiful  image  of  his  Creator. 

M.  A.  P. 


265 

THE  GEOGRAPHICAL    DISTRIBUTION,   HABITAT, 
AND     MIGRATIONS     OF     FISHES. 

Continued  from  page  229. 

It  would  be  certainly  assuming  too  much,  to  assert 
that,  the  truly  pelagian  fish  excepted,  no  other  spe- 
cies cross  the  ocean  without  the  guidance  of  those 
aquatic  plants  known  by  the  vulgar  name  of  the  gulf 
weed  and  among  which  the  Fucus  natans,  L.  is 
probably  the  most  conspicuous  ;  but  certain  it  is  that 
numerous  gelatinous  animals,  small  mollusca,  scyllsea 
and  pelagic  crabs,  together  with  the  fry  of  different 
species  of  fish,  harbour  in  this  weed,  wherever  it  is 
taken  up  and  examined.  In  steering  towards  the 
Equator,  it  is  usually  first  observed  in  fields  and 
islands  on  the  surface  of  the  sea,  south  of  Madeira, 
and  if  we  take  this  place  for  a  point  of  departure,  the 
trade  winds  convey  it  along  with  the  current  towards 
the  north  point  of  South  America,  whence  a  part  is 
drawn  into  the  Canibean  Sea,  and  Gulf  of  Mexico  ; 
after  sweeping  round  the  shores,  it  escapes  again  by 
the  Straits  of  the  Gulf  of  Florida,  in  a  north-eastern 
direction  with  the  stream,  till  the  north-westerly 
winds  and  the  arctic  currents  conjointly  carry  the 
weed  eastward  towards  the  Azores,  from  whence, 
tropical  evaporation  draws  it  again  southward  to 
recommence  the  same  gyration."^  There  is  a  simi- 
larly revolving  current,  south  of  the  Equator,  bearing 
the  game  kinds  of  marine  vegetation  and  their  con-* 
comitant  inhabitants,  but  much  more  scattered,  and 

*Doctor  Leach,  in  M.S.S.,  enumerates  several  genera  of  Mala- 
costraca,  &c.,  which  Mr.  Cranch  took  from  these  plants.  Some 
of  them  are  now  published  in  the  Transactions  of  the  Plymouth 
Society.  I  have  myself  found  amon^  other  species  an  Albula 
(mullus)  Plumieriand  small  Serrani  off  Trinidad  entangled  in  this 
weed.  It  was  no  doubt  an  immense  field  of  fucus  natans  which 
impeded  tlie  progress  of  the  Carthaginians,  on  their  expedition  of 
discovery  along  the  West  coast  of  Africa;  and  the  same  plant 
also  caused  great  uneasiness  to  the  crews  of  Columbus's  ships, 
though  it  could  not  have  been  new  to  them  as  it  is  not  unfre- 
quently  cast  ashore  on  the  coast  of  Spain. 

VOL.    V. — 1835.  KK 


266  FISHES. 

reverting  only  in  part  towards  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,  while  the  rest  may  reach  entirely  across  the 
Indian  Ocean,  float  alternately  in  the  direction  of 
the  monsoons,  or,  passing  up  the  straits  of  the  great 
Islands  of  Southern  Asia,  ascend  northward  till  it 
congregates  in  the  Japan  Seas,  where  it  has  been 
observed  to  be  particularly  abundant.  The  Pacific 
Ocean  has,  besides,  a  great  variety  of  other  vege- 
table substances  floating  with  the  winds  and  cur- 
rents ;  and  beneath  the  equatorial  line,  in  the  region 
of  frequent  calms,  vast  streaks  of  peculiar  colors  often 
occupy  spaces  of  more  than  a  degree  in  longitude, 
indicating  the  surface  of  the  sea  to  be  covered  with 
fish  spawn  and  with  infinite  multitudes  of  medusae 
and  other  free  acalephae,  which  have  in  those  latitudes 
the  centre  of  their  existence.  It  may  perhaps  be 
worth  remarking,  that  a  chain  of  soundings  is  said 
to  exist  across  the  Atlantic,  from  continent  to  conti- 
nent, near  the  Equator ;  certain  it  is  that  the  Islands 
of  St.  Helena,  Ascension,  Martin  Vas,  and  Fernando 
de  Noronha  are  frequented  by  species  of  fish  known 
on  the  Coast  of  Africa  or  America  or  on  both. 

Although  the  number  of  species  of  fishes  clearly 
proved  to  visit  both  continents  be  not  considerable, 
and  fewer  reach  the  Indian  Ocean,  still  various  ser- 
rani,  species  of  Rypticus,  poly  prion,  trichiurus,belone, 
hemiramphus,  &c.,  are  common  to  the  soundings  of 
America  as  well  as  of  Africa  and  Europe ;  and  tribes 
of  caranx,  seriolus,  centronotus,  scomber  esox,  and 
sphyraena,  are  seen  not  alone  about  the  floating 
weed,  but  in  much  greater  number  in  the  track  of 
the  medusae,  where  they  as  well  as  troops  of  pelamis, 
thynnus  and  temnodon  are  accused  of  acquiring  the 
noxious  property  which  poisons  the  unwary  seamen, 
and  is  known  by  the  name  of  the  Ichthyc  venom. 

The  larger  and  more  voracious  species  of  shark 
are  known  to  wander  through  every  sea  between  the 
Arctic  and  Antarctic  circles,  seemingly  but  little 
affected  by  the  difference  of  temperature  of  the 
water ;  thus  Squalus  Cornubirus  first  observed  on  the 


FISHES.  267 

Coast  of  Cornwall  is  now  found  to  be  most  abundant 
in  the  seas  around  New  Holland.  Flying  fish 
(Exocoetus),  flying  gurnards  (Dactylopterus),  and 
flying  scorpions  or  fire  fish  (Pterois),  affect  tropical 
seas,  and  the  first  mentioned  alone  spreads  over  the 
warmer  temperate  regions,  though  there  are  known 
about  six  species  of  Exocoetus,  both  those  frequenting 
the  Mediterranean  are  also  seen  in  the  Pacific  and 
American  Seas ;  and  wherever  flying  fish  are  found, 
Coryphense  (the  dolphins  of  Seamen)  are  sure  to 
follow  them. 

Towards  the  polar  circles,  but  more  particularly 
in  the  temperate  latitudes  of  both  hemispheres,  there 
are  periodical  extensions  of  residence  among  the 
coasting  species,  regulated  by  the  course  of  the  sun 
towards  either  side  of  the  tropics.  It  is  particularly 
observable,  where  a  great  current  sets  from  a  warm 
towards  a  cold  latitude ;  as  in  the  gulf  stream  of 
'  Florida ;  where  the  tepid  waters  only  partially  de- 
positing their  alluvial  matter  on  the  Bahamas,  rush 
onward,  till  they  are  checked  by  the  counter  current 
of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  the  icy  influx  from  the  Pole, 
and  form,  with  the  deposits  of  all  the  eastern  rivers 
of  the  United  States,  the  sandy  precipitation  of  the 
banks  of  Newfoundland.  The  tropical  fishes  carried 
along  in  this  current,  without  sensible  diminution  of 
temperature,  divide  nevertheless  at  the  first  men- 
tioned deposit  (Bahamas),  where  the  coasting  species 
and  those  which  frequent  soundings  remain ;  while 
the  truely  pelagic  Thynnus,  Caranx,  Temnodon, 
the  Squali  and  even  Exocetus,  proceed  to  the  se- 
cond, where  they  are  met  by  the  polar  colonies  of 
Gadi  and  Clupese,  and  encounter  the  resident  Pleu- 
ronectes'^,  also  with  the  summer  season  the  species 

*  I  have  witnessed  the  taking  of  a  flying  fish  on  the  23d.  Sep- 
tember, 1816,  on  the  same  day  that  we  passed  two  icebergs, 
at  no  great  distance  from  the  island  of  Sable,  near  Halifax.  The 
summer  progress  of  the  tropical  fish,  by  this  current,  may  also 
induce  an  occasional  phaeton  to  pursue  them,  I  have  figured 
the  variety  of  P.  (I'Ahereus,  or  rather  a  new  species  in  Griffith's 
"Animal  Kingdom,"  from  one  sliot  off  New  York. 


268  FISHES. 

of  Mugil,  Thynnus,  and  Exocetus  pass  up  the 
Mediterranean  and  return  in  autumn.  With  the  sun 
to  the  Northward,  Percoid  and  Sparroid  fishes,  Ser- 
rani,  Lampris,  &c.,  aided  by  that  portion  of  the 
current  which  sets  in  upon  the  coast  of  Spain,  and 
thence  sweeps  round  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  they  ranoe 
along  the  soundings,  not  unfrequently  as  far  as  the 
islands  in  the  British  Channel.  Some  of  the  same 
species  are  found  during  the  opposite  season,  pene- 
trating south  to  beyond  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
where  they  are  turned  back  by  the  south-east  mon- 
soon and  the  receding  sun,  among  these  the  mullet 
tribes  frequenting  the  Mediterranean  are  remarkably 
conspicuous  on  the  south  coast  of  Africa. 

On  the  eastern  shores  of  America  similar  pheno- 
mena occur :  the  migratory  species  which  as  we  have 
seen  cross  the  Atlantic  in  the  track  of  the  gulf  weed, 
recross  it  atrain  by  following  the  same  guides  or  by 
being  carried  in  the  currents  already  noticed  :  those 
which  pass  to  the  northward,  occasionally  visiting 
the  coast  of  Cornwall ;  while  such  as  reach  the 
easternmost  point  of  South  America,  south  of  Trini- 
dad, gradually  pass  along  the  coast  to  the  south-west 
and  follow  the  current  which  here  passes  in  that  di- 
rection to  a  much  higher  latitude,  perhaps  beyond 
the  Falkland  Islands,  before  the  south-west  winds 
and  the  Austi-al  influx  of  frigid  waters  fully  operate 
upon  it,  hence  the  tropical  species  of  fish,  at  least 
during  the  antarctic  summer,  spread  further  south 
than  on  the  arctic  side  of  the  globe,  and  it  appears 
that  the  numerous  tribes  of  gadoid  fishes,  the  ge- 
nera of  Murlucius,  Blennius,  &c.,  of  the  Magellanic 
Straits  do  not  approach  so  near  the  warm  latitudes, 
by  several  degrees,  as  their  corresponding  species 
do  on  the  arctic  side,  which  come  down  to  the  De- 
laware in  America,  and  to  the  coast  of  Spain  in 
Europe.  It  may  also  be  inferred  from  the  absence 
of  the  gadoid  oenera  on  the  coasts  of  Van  Dieman's 
Land  and  New  Zealand,  that  the  antartic  Pole  has  no 
continent  nor  great  island  in  that  direction. 
To  be  concluded  in  our  next. 


269 

THE     SPECTATOR,     No.  7. 

STEAM    APPLIED    TO     DYEING. 

A  highly  ingenious  mode  of  applying  Steam  to  the 
purpose  of  Dyeing,  may  be  seen  at  the  establish- 
ment of  Mr.  Dawe,  Navy  Row,  Morice  Town,  and 
as  it  is  the  only  thing  of  the  kind  in  the  West  of 
England,  it  will  be  found  well  worthy  the  inspec- 
tion of  the  curious.  Mr.  Dawe,  the  proprietor  and 
inventor  of  the  apparatus,  is  always  willing  to  gratify 
any  visitor,  by  accompanying  him  through  the  dif- 
ferent apartments  of  his  dye-house. 

In  the  lowest  story  of  the  dye-house,  a  steam 
generating  boiler  has  been  fitted  up  :  from  the  up- 
per part  of  this  boiler  arises,  in  a  vertical  direction, 
an  iron  main  pipe  ;  with  this  is  connected  another 
pipe,  nearly  as  large  in  bore  as  the  former,  which 
passes  in  a  horizontal  direction  along  two  sides  of 
the  apartment.  From  the  last  mentioned  pipe,  se- 
veral smaller  ones  descend  into  copper  baths,  con- 
taining various  dyes,  each  of  these  smaller  pipes  is 
provided  with  a  stop  cock,  by  means  of  which  a 
current  of  steam,  greater  or  less,  may  be  always 
passed  through  any  of  the  baths  of  dye,  or  through 
the  whole  of  them  at  the  same  moment,  by  which 
means  they  may  be  heated  to  any  degree  of  tem- 
perature, up  to  the  point  of  ebullition.  Thus  the 
absolute  contact  of  fire  with  the  dyeing  coppers  is 
dispensed  with,  and  consequently  the  wear  and  tear 
of  these  is  ultimately  much  diminished. 

The  boiler  is  provided  with  two  safety  valves,  one 
of  which  is  attached  to  a  pipe  passing  to  the  outside 
of  the  building :  when  the  steam  has  been  generated 
in  such  quantity  as  to  exert  a  given  pressure  within 
the  boiler,  it  escapes  by  the  latter  valve. 

A  cistern,  which  is  in  an  apartment  above  the 
boiler,  supplies  the  latter  with  water  when  necessary. 
By  means  of  a  simple  though  ingenious  piece  of  ma- 
chinery, the  boiler  can,  without  any  attendance, 
communicate  its  wants  to  the  cistern,  and  they  are 
immediately  supplied.     The  establishment  has  an 


270  OPINIONS    ON    THE    POETS 

abundant  supply  of  the  town  water  and  also  an  ex- 
cellent well  below  the  dye-house,  and,  by  means  of  a 
powerful  forcing-pump,  this  water  can  be  conveyed 
to  any  part  of  the  premises. 

In  the  finishing  rooms,  no  charcoal  fires  are  re- 
quired ;  the  frames  on  which  the  silk  or  other  mate- 
rial is  extended,  can  be  placed  over  two  metal 
cylinders,  which  run  parallel  to  each  other :  these 
cylinders  can  be  heated  to  any  required  degree,  and 
the  heat  can  be  kept  equable  throughout,  for  any 
period  of  time,  by  allowing  a  current  of  steam  to 
pass  through  them.  By  this  arrangement,  no  ac- 
cident from  an  unequal  heat,  or  one  too  intense,  can 
possibly  happen  to  the  most  delicate  fabric. 

All  the  arrangements  throughout  the  remaining 
parts  of  the  establishment  are  systematic  and 
excellent. 


OPINIONS  ON  THE  POETS  TWENTY  YEARS  AGO. 

FROM    A    LONDON   JOURNAL. 

I  AM  one  of  those  unfortunate  youths  to  whom  the  Muse  has 
glanced  a  sparkling  of  her  light, — one  of  those  who  pant  for  dis- 
tinction, but  have  not  within  them  that  immortal  power  which 
alone  can  command  it.  There  are  many, — some,  sir,  may  be 
known  to  you,  who  feel  keenly  and  earnestly  the  eloquence  of 
heart  and  mind  in  others,  but  who  cannot,  from  some  inability  or 
unobtrusiveness,  clearly  express  their  own  tJioughts  and  feelings : 
whose  lives  are  but  long  and  silent  dreams  of  romantic  pleasure 
and  poetic  wonderment ; — who  almost  adore  the  matchless  fancies 
of  genuine  bards,  and  love  them  as  interpreters  and  guardians  of 
those  visionary  delights  which  are  tlie  perpetual  inmates  of  their 
bosoms.  I  know  not  whether  I  make  myself  clear  to  you ; — if  I 
do  not,  you  will  see  that  my  confusion  arises  rather  from  a  de- 
fective power  than  a  defective  will.  I  love  the  Poets:  I  live  in 
the  light  of  their  fancies.  It  is  my  best  delight  to  wander  forth 
on  summer  evenings,  when  the  air  is  fresh  and  clear, — and  the 
leaves  of  the  trees  are  making  music  with  it, — and  the  birds  are 
busy]  with  their  wings, — fluttering  themselves  to  rest, — and  a 
brook  is  murmuring  along  almost  inaudibly,  and  the  sun  is  going 


TWENTY    YEARS    AGO.  271 

quietly  down : — it  is  at  this  time  delicious  to  muse  over  the  works 
of  our  best  bards.  Some  time  last  year,  I  had  roamed  in  an  evening 
like  to  one  of  those  I  have  spoken  of;  and,  after  dwelling  on  the 
fairy  beauties  of  Spenser,  and  from  thence  passing  to  the  poets  of 
my  own  time,  and  comparing  the  latter  with  some  that  had 
gone  before,  I  cast  myself  on  a  romantic  bank  by  a  brook  side. 
The  silence  around  me,  save  the  home  returning  bee  with  its 
"  drowsy  hum,"  and  the  moaning  sound  of  distant  cattle,  and  the 
low,  sullen  gurgling  of  waters — lulled  me  into  sleep.  The  light 
of  my  thoughts  gilded  my  dream ; — my  vision  was  a  proof  of 
mental  existence  when  the  bodily  sense  had  passed  away.  I  have 
a  great  desire  to  attempt  giving  publicity  to  my  dream,  but  I 
have  before  told  you  how  limited  are  my  powers  of  expression ; — 
so  I  must  rely  upon  your  goodness,  in  receiving  the  crude  des- 
cription, or  not. 

Methought — (this,  I  believe,  is  the  established  language  of 
dreams) — methought  I  was  walking  idly  along  a  romantic  vale, 
which  was  surrounded  with  majestic  and  rugged  mountains;  a 
small  stream  struggled  through  it,  and  its  waves  seemed  the 
brightest  crystal  I  had  ever  witnessed.  I  sat  me  down  on  its 
margin,  which  was  rocky  and  beautiful  (so  far  my  vision  was 
copied  directly  from  life).  As  I  mused,  a  female  figure  rose  like 
a  silvery  mist  from  the  waters,  and  advanced,  with  a  countenance 
full  of  light,  and  a  form  of  living  air :  her  garments  floated  round 
her  like  waves,  and  her  hair  basked  on  her  shoulders — 

**  Like  sunny  beams  on  alabaster  rocks." 

There  was  a  touch  of  immortality  in  her  eyes, — and,  indeed,  her 
visage  altogether  was  animated  with  a  more  than  earthly  glory* 
She  approached  me  with  smiles,  and  told  me  she  was  the  guardian 
of  the  stream  that  flowed  near,  and  that  the  stream  itself  was  the 
true  Castalla?i,  which  so  many  ^'rave  of,  though  they  know  it 
not.'"  I  turned  with  fresh  delight  to  gaze  on  the  water;  its  music 
sounded  heavenly  to  me,  I  fancied  that  there  was  a  pleasant  dac- 
tylic  motion  in  its  waves.  The  spirit  said,  that  from  the  love  I 
bore  to  her  favorite,  Spenser,  she  would  permit  me  to  see  (myself 
unseen)  the  annual  procession  of  living  bards  to  fetch  water  from 
the  stream  on  that  day : — I  looked  her  my  thanks  as  well  as  I 
was  able ;  it  was  out  of  my  power  to  express  them  ;  so  you  see 
my  old  complaint  did  not  forsake  me  even  on  the  brink  of  immor- 
tality. She  likewise  informed  me,  that  it  was  customary  for  each 
Poet,  as  he  received  his  pprtion,  to  say  in  what  manner  he 
intended  to  use  it.     The  voice  of  the  Spirit  was  such  as  fancy 


272  OPINIONS    ON    THE    POETS 

has  heard  in  some  wild  and  lovely  spot  among  the  hills  or 
lakes  of  this  world  at  twilight  time  :  I  felt  my  soul  full  of  music 
while  listening  to  it,  and  held  my  breath  in  very  excess  of  delight. 
Suddenly  I  heard  the  sound  of  approaching  feet,  and  a  confused 
mingling  of  voices ;  the  Spirit  touched  me  into  invisibility,  and 
then  softly  faded  into  sunny  air  herself. 

In  a  little  time  I  saw  a  motley  crowd  advancing  confusedly  to 
the  stream :  I  soon  perceived  that  they  were  each  provided  with 
vessels  to  bear  away  some  portion  of  the  immortal  waters.  They 
all  paused  at  a  little  distance  from  the  spot  on  which  I  was 
reclining;  and  then  each  walked  singly  and  slowly  from  the 
throng  and  dipped  his  vessel  in  the  blue  wild  wave  of  Castaly. 
As  well  as  I  can  recollect,  I  will  endeavour  to  describe  the 
manner  and  words  of  the  most  interesting  of  our  living  poets  on 
this  most  interesting  occasion.  The  air  about  the  spot  seemed 
brighter  with  their  presence,  and  the  waves  danced  along  with  a 
livelier  delight :  Pegasus  might  be  seen  coursing  the  winds  in 
wild  rapture  on  one  of  the  neighbouring  mountains,  and  sounds 
of  glad  and  viewless  wings  were  heard  at  intervals  in  the  air,  as 
if  "  troops  of  spirits  were  revelling  over  head  and  rejoicing  at  the 
scene." 

And  first,  methought,  a  lonely  and  melancholy  figure  slowly 
moved  forth  and  silently  filled  a  Grecian  urn : — I  knew  by  the 
look  of  nobility,  and  the  hurried  and  turbulent  plunge  with  which 
the  vessel  was  dashed  into  the  stream,  that  the  owner  was  Lord 
jByron.  He  shed  some  tears  while  gazing  on  the  water,  and  ■ 
they  seemed  to  make  it  purer  and  fairer :  he  declared  that  he 
would  keep  the  urn  by  him,  untouched  "for  some  years;"  but 
he  had  scarcely  spoken,  ere  he  had  sprinkled  forth  some  careless 
drops  on  the  earth.     lie  suddenly  retreated. 

There  then  advanced  a  polite  personage  very  oddly  clad;  he 
had  a  breast  plate  on,  and  over  that  a  scotch  plaid — and,  strange 
to  say,  with  these,  silk  stockings  and  dress  shoes;  this  gentleman 
brought  an  old  helmet  for  his  vessel ; — I  guessed  him  to  be 
Walter  Scott.  His  helmet  did  not  hold  enough  for  a  very 
deep  draught,  but  the  water  it  contained  took  a  pleasant  sparkle 
from  the  warlike  metal  which  shone  through  its  shallowness.  He 
said  he  had  disposed  of  his  portion  on  advantageous  terras. 

Next  came  Thomas  Moore.  You  might  have  known  him 
by  the  wild  lustre  of  his  eye,  and  the  fine  freedom  of  his  air  ;  he 
gaily  dipped  a  goblet  in  the  tide,  and  vowed,  in  his  high  spirited 
manner,  that  he  would  turn  his  share  to  nectar :  he  departed  with 


TWENTY    YEARS    AGO.  273 

smiles.     I  heard  the  wings  play  pleasantly   in  the  air  while   he 
was  bending  over  the  stream. 

I  now  perceived  a  person  advance  whom  I  knew  to  be  Southey. 
His  brow  was  bound  by  a  wreath  of  faded  laurel,  which  had 
every  mark  of  town  growth.  He  appeared  quite  bewildered,  and 
scarcely  could  remember  his  way  to  the  inspiring  stream.  His 
voice  was  chaunting  the  praises  of  kings  and  courts  as  he  advanced, 
but  he  dropt  some  little  poems  behind  him,  as  he  passed  me, 
which  were  very  opposite  in  tone  to  what  he  himself  uttered. 
He  was  compelled  to  stoop  before  he  could  reach  the  water,  and 
the  gold  vessel,  which  he  used,  procured  but  little  at  last.  He 
declared  that  his  intention  was  to  make  sack  of  what  he  obtained. 
On  retiring,  he  mounted  a  cream-colored  horse,  which  was  in 
waiting,  and  set  off  in  uneven  paces  for  St.  James'. 

Then  appeared  Rogers  with  a  glass  in  his  hand,  which, 
from  the  cypher  engraved  thereon,  had  evidently  once  belonged 
to  Oliver  Goldsmith.  He  caught  but  a  few  drops,  and  these  he 
meant  to  make  the  most  of,  by  mingling  them  with  common 
water. 

Crabbe,  with  a  firm  step  and  a  steady  countenance,  walked 
sedately  to  the  stream,  and  plunged  a  wooden  bowl  into  it : — he 
observed  that  he  should  make  strong  ale  for  the  country  people, 
of  all  that  he  took  away ; — and  that,  after  the  first  brewing,  h6 
should  charitably  allow  Mr.  Fitzgerald  to  make  small  beer  for 
his  own  use. 

In  a  pensive  attitude,  Montgomery  sauntered  to  the  water's 
brink; — he  there  mused  awhile, — uttered  a  few  somethings  of  half 
poetry  and  half  prayer, — dipped  a  little  mug  of  Sheflfield  ware  in 
the  wave,  and  retired  in  tears. 

With  a  wild  yet  nervous  step  Campbell  came  from  the 
throng; — light  visions  started  up  in  the  fair  distances  as  he 
moved,  and  the  figure  of  Hope  could  be  faintly  discerned  amidst 
them, — she  smiled  on  him  as  he  advanced.  He  dipped  his  bowl 
in  tlie  stream  with  a  fine  bold  air,  and  expressed  his  intention  of 
analysing  part  of  the  water  which  he  procured. 

Next  came  Hunt  with  a  rich  and  fanciful  goblet  in  his  hand 
finely  enamelled  with  Italian  landscapes ;  he  held  the  cup  to  his 
breast  as  he  approached,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  frank  delight. 
After  catching  a  wave,  in  which  a  sun-beam  seemed  freshly  melted, 
he  intimated  that  he  should  water  hearts'-ease  and  many  favorite 
flowers  with  it.  The  sky  appeared  of  a  deep  blue  as  he  was 
retiring. 

VOL.   v. — 1835.  LL 


274  OPINIONS    ON    THE    POETS 

Lord  Strangford  would  now  have  advanced  but  the  voice 
of  the  spirit  forbade  him, — as  he  did  not  come  for  the  water  on  his 
own  account. 

Coleridge,  Lamb,  and  Lloyd  walked  forth  arm-in-arm, 
and  moved  gently  to  tlie  stream : — they  conversed,  as  they  passed, 
on  the  beauties  of  the  country,  on  its  peaceful  associations,  and 
on  the  purity  of  domestic  affections.  Their  conversation  then 
turned  to  poetry, — and  from  the  simplicity  of  the  remarks  of 
Lloyd  and  Lamb,  I  found  that  their  very  hearts  were  wedded  to 
innocence  and  peace  ;  Coleridge  talked  in  a  higher  strain,  but  he 
at  last  confused  himself  with  the  abstruseness  of  his  own  obser- 
vations :  he  hinted  at  a  metaphysical  Poem  he  was  about  to 
write  in  100  books,  Lamb  remarked  to  him  that  he  should  prefer 
one  of  his  affectionate  and  feeling  sonnets  to  all  liis  wanderings 
of  mind .  Each  of  these  Poets  held  in  his  hand  a  simple  porrenger 
— declaring,  that  it  brought  the  finest  recollections  of  frugal  fare 
and  country  quiet:  Lamb  and  Lloyd  dipped  in  a  bright  but 
rather  shallow  part  of  the  stream, — Coleridge  went  to  the  depths 
where  he  might  have  caught  the  purest  water,  had  he  not  unfor- 
tunately clouded  it  with  the  sand  which  he  himself  disturbed  at 
bottom.  Lamb  and  Lloyd  stated  that  they  should  take  their 
j)orrengers  home  and  share  their  contents  with  the  amiable  and 
simple  hearts  dwelling  there;  Coleridge  was  not  positive  as  to' 
the  use  to  which  he  should  apply  his  portion  of  the  stream,  till 
he  had  ascertained  what  were  the  physical  reasons  for  the  sand's 
propensity  to  mount  and  curl  itself  in  water :  he  thought,  how- 
ever, of  clubbing  it  witli  the  portions  of  his  companions  and 
making  a  lake  of  the  whole.  These  three  Poets  left  the  stream 
in  the  same  manner  they  approached  it. 

Last  came  a  calm  and  majestic  figure  moving  serenely  towards 
the  stream :  the  Celandines  and  small  flowers  sprang  up  to  catch 
the  pressure  of  his  feet,  the  sun-light  fell  with  a  finer  glow  around, 
spirits  rustled  most  mirthfully  and  musically  in  the  air,  and  a 
wing  every  now  and  then  twinkled  into  sight,  (like  the  autumn 
leaf  that  trembles  and  flashes  up  to  the  sun)  and  its  feathers  of 
wavy  gold  were  almost  too  sparkling  to  be  looked  upon;  the 
waters  of  Castaly  ran  brighter  as  he  approached,  and  seemed  to 
play  and  dimple  with  pleasure  at  his  presence.  It  was  Words- 
worth !  In  his  hand  he  held  a  vase  of  pure  chrystal,  and,  when 
he  had  reached  the  brink  of  the  stream,  the  wave  proudly  swelled 
itself  into  his  cup  :  at  this  moment  the  sunny  air  above  his  brow, 
became  embodied,  and  tlie  glowing  and  lightsome  Spirit  shone 


TWENTY    YEARS    AGO.  275 

into  being,  and  dropt  a  garland  on  his  forehead;  sounds  etherial 
swelled,  and  trembled,  and  revelled  in  the  air,  and  forms  of  light 
played  in  and  out  of  sight,  and  all  around  seemed  like  a  living 
world  of  breathing  poetry.  Wordsworth  bent  with  reverence  over 
the  vase  and  declared  that  the  waters  he  had  obtained  should  be  the 
refreshment  of  his  soul ;  he  then  raised  his  countenance,  which  had 
become  illumined  from  the  wave  over  which  he  had  bowed,  and 
retired  with  a  calm  dignity. 

The  sounds  of  stirring  wings  now  ceased,  the  air  became  less 
bright,  and  the  flowers  died  away  upon  the  banks.  No  other 
Poet  remained  to  obtain  water  from  the  Castalian  stream,  but  still 
it  sparkled  and  played  along,  with  a  soul-like  and  melodious  souncl- 
On  a  sudden  I  heard  a  confusion  of  tongues  behind  me;  on 
turning  round,  I  found  that  it  arose  from  a  mistaken  set  of  gentle- 
men who  were  chattering  and  bustling  and  dipping  at  a  little 
brook,  which  they  deemed  was  the  true  Castalian ;  their  splashing 
and  vociferation,  and  bustle,  can  only  be  imagined  by  those  who 
have  seen  a  flock  of  geese  wash  themselves  in  a  pond  with  gabbling 
importance.  There  was  Spencer,  with  a  goblet,  lent  to  him  by 
a  lady  of  quality,  and  Halley  simpering,  and  bowing,  and 
reaching  with  a  tea-cup  at  the  water,  and  Wilson  with  a  child's 
pap-spoon,  an1?l  Bowles  laboriously  engaged  in  filling  fourteen 
nut-shells,  and  Lewis  slowly  and  mysteriously  plunging  an  old 
skull  into  the  brook  :  while  poor  Cottle  fumed  and  angered,  but 
scarcely  reached  the  stream  at  last.  There  were  no  encouraging 
signs  in  the  elements,  no  delightful  sounds  of  attendant  spirits, 
— no  springing  up  of  flowers  to  cheer  these  worthies  in  their  pur- 
suits : — they  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  with  their  own  greatness, 
and  were  flattered  into  industry  by  their  ovvn  vanity  and  loudness. 
After  some  time,  the  perpetual  activity  of  tongues  fatigued  my 
ear,  and  I  turned  myself  from  the  noisy  crowd,  towards  the  si- 
lent Heavens  : — There,  to  my  astonished  and  delighted  eyes, 
appeared  Siiakspeare,  surrounded  with  excessive  light,  with 
Spenser  on  one  hand,  and  Milton  on  the  other, — and  with  the 
best  of  our  early  Bards  thronging  about  him.  One  glance  of  his 
eye  scared  the  silly  multitude  from  the  brook; — then,  amidst 
unearthly  music,  he  calmly  ascended,  and  was  lost  in  the  splen- 
dours of  the  sky. — At  this  moment  I  awoke.  The  evening  was 
getting  chili  around  me ; — the  breeze  was  coldly  whispering 
through,  the  foilage,  and  the  deer  were  couching  to  rest  on  the 
spangled  grass.  I  arose, — and  musing  on  the  wonders  of  my 
dream, — slowly  bent  my  way  homewards. 


276 

NOSMET     IPSI  — ENJOYING     A     BREEZE. 

"What  a  delightful  prospect/'  said  I  to  ray  friend, 
having  reached,  by  a  narrow  and  steep  path,  Staddon 
Height.  "  How  grand  and  beautifully  picturesque 
the  natural  scenery — how  stupendous  the  artificial 
dispositions  from  the  combined  labour  of  tiny  man  !  " 
for  on  our  left  front  lay  the  Breakwater,  as  a  line 
.upon  the  liquid  sheet,  and  below,  huge  ships,  which 
appeared  as  dots  thereon,  with,  at  a  short  distance, 
an  inward-bound  steamer,  running  like  a  thing  of  life 
upon  the  surface. 

"  Nature  and  Art,''  said  my  friend,  "  appear  for 
once  competitors,  and  were  I  called  upon  as  umpire, 
I  should  almost  decide  for  the  latter.'' 

"And  why,"  I  rejoined,  "when  we  behold 
Nature  so  gay  and  gallant  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  why,"  said  my  friend,  "  for  in  giving 
my  voice  against  Nature — with  whom,  who  or  what 
can  cope  ? — I  give  it  against  my  philosophy  :  and 
yet,"  continued  he,  "  I  am,  on  the  present  occasion, 
disposed  to  be  more  obstinately  positive  than  becom- 
ingly philosophic,  when  I  see  passing,  and  before 
me,  such  surprising  effects  of  human  ingenuity. 
These  are,  to  me  at  least,  novely'  he  continued,  "  the 
cause  perhaps  of  my  decision — my  inclination  from 
truth ;  and  here  be  pleased  to  accept  novelty  as  my 
*  because,'  With  the  grandeur  of  Nature's  local 
doings  years  have  made  me  familiar  ;  but  the  works 
of  Art,  as  now  before  me,  are  new — thence,  more 
eno'agingly  attractive — thence  my  preference !  So 
tolerate  my  obstinate  conclusion  ;  and  fancy,  by  the 
same  rule,  that,  at  times,  an  automaton  butterfly  will 
be  more  an  object  of  our  delight  and  wonder  than 
the  inimitably  exquisite  natures  papilio.'' 

"There  is  before  us,"  said  I,  "  ample  food  for  the 
mind  also." 

"Ample  indeed,"  replied  my  friend,  "deliciously 
inviting.  If  in  his  route  Xenophon  had  viewed  the 
Breakwater,  he  might  have  called  his  ten  thousand, 


NOSMET    IPSI — ENJOYING    A    BREEZE.         277 

and  exclaimed  : — ^  Behold  the  extended  line  before 
you.  See  the  surprising  effects  of  order  and  union. 
This  mighty  work  is  composed  of  rude  and  single 
stones,  which  being  dropped  to  the  direction  of  the 
skilful  designer ;  are  certain  of  securing  their  firm 
and  permanent  level.  Each  stone,  of  itself,  though 
massive,  is  but  as  a  pebble,  and  would  be  subject  to 
the  continual  controul  of  the  embodied  billow  ;  but, 
in  union,  the  billow  approaches — it  retires — broken 
— vanquished.  As  such,  fellow  soldiers,  let  us  con- 
sider ourselves !  separated  from  our  companions  in 
arms,  we  are  as  the  pebbles  beneath  us,  scattered 
and  broken  by  the  fury  of  the  tempest : — but  united  ! 
the  defiance  of  our  proud -created  foes — the  barrier 
wall  and  citadel  of  ourselves  and  of  our  country ! ' 
Ah  !  "  continued  my  friend,  '^  Plato  himself  might 
have  selected  this  spot  for  docttine,  though  he  re- 
jected the  mountain's  brow,  when  recommended  by 
his  physicians,  for  health  and  longevity.  We  will 
therefore  suppose  him,  after  having  ascended  the 
steep,  like  ourselves,  occupying  our  position,  and 
thus  addressing  his  scholars  : — ^  I  have  selected  and 
trodden  this  tedious  course  for  the  purpose  of  im- 
pressing on  your  minds  the  necessity  of  mental 
exertion  to  him  who  is  desirous  of  enjoying  mental 
delight.  We  might  have  continued  in  the  valley,  but 
by  such  continuance  we  must  have  lost  the  beautiful 
and  almost  boundless  view  before  us.  See  you  that 
extended  sea-wall,  the  performance  of  skilful  and 
continued  labour.  Behold  you  the  surge,  lifting  its 
infuriated  head,  in  seeming  derision  of  the  check 
before  it.  Even  as  this  wall,  am  I,  your  monitor. 
The  troubled  waters  outside  are  as  the  roughness  of 
natural  manners — the  tranquil  waters  inside  as  the 
serenity  of  the  cultivated  mind.  Both  are  portions 
of  one  and  the  same  element—but  how  seemingly 
different,  in  character.  The  one  side  exhibiting  the 
rashness  of  ignorance ;  the  other  the  placidity  of 
instruction.  There  only  great  power  can  secure  to 
itself  even   physical  existence. — Here  the  smallest 


278         NOSMET    IPSI — ENJOYING    A    BREEZE. 

creature  of  the  sea  has  safety  and  pleasure.  Tolerate, 
then,  the  check  which  wisdom  prescribes,  foras- 
much as  you  are  certain  her  reward  will  follow  ;  and 
draw  your  lessons  from  whatever  opens,  whether  it 
be  from  the  book  of  Nature  or  of  Art :  for  he  that 
is  wisely  copious  in  his  draught  will  have  this  advan- 
tage— he  can  boast  the  most  extensive  hbrary.  He 
will  have  this  earher  pleasure,  the  certainty  of  knowing 
that  his  course  is  the  course  dictated  by  Wisdom 
and  illumined  by  Virtue — and  the  sure  road  to  true 
honour  and  unfading  happiness.'  Thus  might  reason 
Plato,''  said  my  cheerful  friend — with  much  em- 
phasis on  the  auxiliary  verb — "  or  rather,"  continued 
he,  "  thus  do  I  momlize  !  " 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  ^^  Plato  thou  reasonest  well,'' 
In  such  manner  passed  on  ourselves  and  our  agreeable 
time,  with  frequent  homeward  stoppings — sometimes 
suddenly  to  let  a  beetle  pass — for  the  path  would 
not  admit  two  a-breast ;  and  so  much  were  "  we 
ourselves'*  amused  with  our  philosophy,  that  the 
Batten  received^  our  steps  almost  before  we  were 
fully  conscious.  To  render  the  now  short  course  a 
little  shorter  by  preserving  unbroken  the  chain  of 
pleasure,  I  iiiniinated  for  thought — and  it  sti-uck  me, 
if  my  friend's  admonition  had  been  spoken  by  Plato, 
what  term  the  sage  would  have  applied  for  Break- 
water,    I  embodied  this  thought  in  a  question. 

"  The  word  was  not  used  by  me,"  said  my  friend, 
"  I  used  the  term  sea-ioall ;  but  it  is  for  you  to  say, 
which  is  the  more  Attic — more  classical:  although, 
had  I  used  Breakwater — Greek  copiousness  and  com- 
pounds might  have  ably  borne  out  the  '  broad-should- 
ered Athenian.'  "^ 

"  Likely  enough,"  said  I,  "and  had  he  taken  for 
the  subject  of  one  of  his  early  poems  an  object  which 
now  meets  my  view,  and  the  onli/  one  remaining  of 
several  which  gave  presageful  interest  to  the  old 

*  "His  original  name  was  J m/or/f.v,  and  he  received  that  of 
Plato  from  the  broadness  of  his  shoulders." 


THE    CURSE   OF    KISHOGUE.  279 

folks  of  Plymouth,  how,  think  you,  Plato  would 
have  rendered  it  Greece  V^ 

"  Flato  reasoned  welly  ^  said  my  cheerful  friend. 
"  He  was  classical  you  will  admit,  and  must  have 
winged  classically.  The  performances  which  neither 
drew  the  attention  nor  gained  the  approbation  of  his 
maturity,  he  destroyed.  Thus  perished  his  early 
writings  for  such  as  the  world  and  himself  might 
approve :  but,"  continued  he,  '^  what  is  the  object  to 
which  you  allude  ?  " 

"  The  Lambhay  bell-post,"  said  I — "  or  by  meto- 
nomy — the  Lambhay  Bell." 

Here  my  friend  laughed  and  I  laughed — we  both 
laughed — ^fbr  our  play  was  a  mental  play^ — a  sort  of 
bo-peep  skipping  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous 
— but  neither  was  disposed  to  have  a  war  of  words, 
nor  seem,  to  the  other's  disadvantage,  hyper-criti- 
cal ;  for  smoke  and  sound  had  rivetted  us  to  more 
engaging,  though  not  more  gratifying  recollections ; 
while  home  and  household — love  and  labour — arose 
as  necessary  substitutes  for  the  mind's  reveries  on 
our  Athos — Staddon's  steepy  Heights. 

J.  R.  B. 


THE    CURSE    OF     KISHOGUE. 

You  see  there  was  wanst  a  mighty  dacent  boy,  called  Kishogue 
^ — and  not  a  complater  chap  was  in  the  siven  parishes  nor  himself 
— and  for  drinkin'  or  coortin'  (and  by  the  same  token  he  was  a 
darlint  among  the  girls,  he  was  so  bowld),  or  cudgellin',  or  runnin,' 
or  wrastlin'  or  the  like  o'  that,  none  could  come  near  him;  and 
at  patthern,  or  fair,  or  the  dance,  or  the  wake,  Kishogue  was  the 
flower  of  the  flock.  Well,  to  be  sure,  the  gentlemen  iv  the 
counthry  did  not  belove  him  so  well  as  his  own  sort — that  is  the 
eldherly  gintlemen,  for  as  to  the  young  'squires,  by  gor  they 
loved  him  like  one  of  themselves,  and  bether  almost,  for  they 
knew  well  that  Kishogue  was  the  boy  to  put  them  up  to  all  sorts 
and  sizes  of  divelment  and  divarshin,  and  that  was  all  they 
wanted —but  the  owld,  studdy  (steady)  gintlemen— the  respon- 


280  THE    CURSE    OF    KISHOGUE. 

sible  people  like,  did  n't  give  into  his  ways  ai  all — and  in  throth, 
they  used  to  be  thinkin'  that  if  Kishogue  was  out  of  the  counthry, 
body  and  bones,  that  the  counthry  would  not  be  the  worse  iv  it, 
in  the  laste,  and  that  the  deer,  and  the  hares,  and  the  pattheridges 
would  n't  be  scarcer  in  the  laste,  and  that  the  throut  and  the 
salmon  would  lade  an  aisier  life  — but  they  could  get  no  howlt 
of  him  good  or  bad,  for  he  was  as  cute  as  a  fox,  and  there  was  no 
sitch  thing  as  getting  him  at  an  amplush,  at  all,  for  he  was  like 
a  weasel,  almost — asleep  wid  his  eyes  open.  Well ;  that 's  the 
way  it  was  for  many  a  long  day,  and  Kishogue  was  as  happy 
as  the  day  was  long,  antil,  as  bad  luck  id  have  it,  he  made  a 
mistake  one  night,  as  the  story  goes,  and  by  dad  how  he  could 
make  the  same  mistake  was  never  cleared  up  yet,  barin'  that  the 
night  was  dark,  or  that  Kishogue  had  a  dhrop  o'  dhrink  in  ;  but 
the  mistake  was  made,  and  this  was  the  mistake,  you  see— that 
he  consaived  he  seen  his  own  mare  threspassin*  an  the  man's 
field,  by  the  road  side,  and  so,  with  that,  he  ootched  the  mare — 
that  is,  the  mare  to  all  appearance,  but  it  was  not  his  own  mare, 
but  the  'squire's  horse,  which  he  tuck  for  his  own  mare, — all  in 
a  mistake,  and  he  thought  that  she  had  sth rayed  away,  and  not 
liken'  to  see  his  baste  trespassin'  an  another  man's  field,  what 
does  he  do,  but  he  dhrives  home  the  horse  in  a  mistake,  you  see, 
and  how  he  could  do  the  like  is  hard  to  say,  except'n  that  the 
niglit  was  dark,  as  I  said  before,  or  that  he  had  a  dhrop  too 
mucli  in ;  but,  howsomever,  the  mistake  was  made,  and  a  sore 
mistake  it  was  for  poor  Kishogue,  for  he  never  persaived  it  at  all, 
antil  three  days  afther,  when  the  polisman  kern  to  him  and  towld 
him  he  should  go  along  with  him.  "  For  what?"  says  Kishogue. 
"  Oh,  you  're  mighty  innocent,"  says  the  polisman.  "Thrue  for 
you,  sir,"  says  Kishogue,  as  quite  (quiet)  as  a  child.  **  And 
where  are  you  goin'  to  take  me,  may  I  make  bowld  to  ax,  sir  ?'' 
says  he.  "  To  jail,"  says  the  Peeler.  **  For  what?"  says  Kis- 
hogue. "  For  staalin'  the  'squire's  horse,"  says  the  Peeler. 
**  It's  the  first  I  heered  of  it,"  says  Kishogue.  "Throth,  then, 
't  wont  be  the  last  you  '11  hear  of  it,"  says  the  other.  Why,  tare, 
an  ouns,  sure  it's  no  housebreakin'  for  a  man  to  dhrive  home  his 
own  mare,"  says  Kishogue.  "No,"  says  the  Peeler;  "but  it 
is  burglaarious  to  sarcumvint  another  man's  horse,"  says  he. 
"  But  supposin'  't  was  a  mistake."  says  Kishogue.  "  By  gor  it 
'11  be  the  dear  mistake  to  you  !"  says  the  polisman.  "That's  a 
poor  case,"  says  Kishogue.  But  there  was  no  use  in  talk  in' — 
he  might  as  well  have  been  whistlin' jigs  to  a  milestone  as   sthri- 


THE    CURSE    OF    KISHOGUE.  281 

vin'  to  invaigle  the  polisman,  and  the  ind  of  it  was,  that  he  was 
obleeged  to  march  off  to  jail,  and  there  he  lay  in  lavendher,  like 
Paddy  Ward's  pig,  until  the  'sizes  kem  an,  and  Kishogue,  you 
see,  bein'  of  a  high  sperrit,  did  not  like  the  iday  at  all  of  beiu' 
undher  a  compliment  to  the  king  for  his  lodgin*.     Besides,  to  a 
chap  like  him,  that  was  used  all  his  life  to  goin'  round  the  world 
for  sport,  the  thoughts  o'  confinement  was  altogether  contagious, 
though  indeed  his  friends  endayvoured  for  to  make  it  as  agreeable 
as  they  could  to  him,  for  he  was  mightily  beloved  in  the  coun- 
thry,  and  they  were  goin'  to  see  him  mornin,  upon,  and  night — 
throth,  they  led  the  turnkey  a  busy  life,  lettin'  them  in  and  out, 
for  they  wor  comin'  and  goin'  evermore,  like  Mulligan's  blanket. 
Well,  at  last  the  'sizes  kem  an,  and  down  kem  the  sheriffs,  and 
the  judge,  and  the  jury,  and  the  witnesses,  all  book-sworn  to  tell 
nothin'  but  the  born  thruth  :    and  with  that,  Kishogue  was  the 
first  that  was  put  on  his  thrial,  for  not  knowin'  the  differ  betune 
his  own  mare  and  another  man's  horse,  for  they  wished  to  give 
an  example  to  the  counthry,  and  he  was  bid  to  howld  up  his 
hand  at  the  bar  (and  a  fine  big  fist  he  had  of  his  own,  by  the  same 
token),  and  up  he  held  it — no  ways.danted,  at  all,  but  as  bowld 
as  a  ram.      Well,  then,  a  chap  in  a  black  coat,  and  frizzled  wig 
and  spectacles  gets  up,  and  he  reads  and  reads,  that  you  'd 
think  he  'd  never  have  done  readin' ;    and  it  was  all  about  Kis- 
hogue— as  we  heerd  afther — but  could  not  make  out  at  the  time 
— and  no  wondher :  and  in  throth,  Kishogue  never  done  the  half 
of  what  the  dirty  little  ottomy  was  readin'  about  him — barrin'  he 
•  knew  lies  iv  him;  and  Kishogue  himself,  poor  fellow,   got  frek- 
ened  at  last,  when  he  heerd  him  goin'  an  at  that  rate  about  him, 
but  afther  a  bit  he  tuk  heart  and  said  : — "  By  this  and   by  that, 
I  never  done  the  half  o' that  any  how!"     "  Silence  in  the  coort ! ! !'' 
says  the  crier — puttin'  him  down  that  a-way.      Oh  there  's  no 
justice  for  a  poor  boy  at  all !      ''  Oh  murther,"  says   Kishogue, 
"  is  a  man's  life  to  be  swore  away  afther  this  manner,  and  must  n't 
spake  a  word  ?  "      "  Howl  your  tongue  !  "    say   my  lord  judge. 
And  so  afther  some  more  jabberin'  and  gibberish,  the  little  man 
in  the  spectacles  threw  down  the  paper  and  asked  Kishogue  if  he 
was  guilty  or  not  guilty.      "  I   never  'done  it  my  lord,"  says 
Kishogue.      "Answer  as  you  are  bid,  sir,"  says  the  spectacle 
man/.     "  I  'm  innocent,  my  lord  ! "  says  Kishogue.     '*  Bad  cess 
to  you,  can't  you  say  what  you  're  bid,"  says  ray  lord  the  judge; 
'*  Guilty  or  not  guilty  ?"    "  Not  guilty,"  says  Kishogue.     "  I  do  n't 
believe  you,"  says  the  judge.     "  Small  blame  to  you  ;"  says  Kis- 
VOL.  v.— 1835.     ,  MM 


282  THE    CURSE    OF    KISHOGUE. 

hogue;  "you  're  ped  for  hangin'  people,  and  you  must  do  some- 
thing for  your  wages."  "You  've  too  much  prate,  sir,"  says  my 
lord.  "  Faix  then,  I  'm  thinkin*  its  yourself  and  your  friend  the 
hangman  will  cure  me  o'  that  very  soon,"  says  Kishogue.  And 
thrue  for  him,  faith,  he  was  n't  far  out  in  sayin'  that  same,  for 
they  murthered  him  intirely.  They  brought  a  terrible  sight  of 
witnesses  agin  him,  that  swore  away  his  life  an  the  cross-exam- 
ination ;  and  indeed,  sure  enough,  it  was  the  Grossest  exam'ination 
altogether  I  ever  seen.  Oh,  they  wor  the  bowld  witnesses  that 
would  sware  a  hole  in  an  iron  pot  any  day  in  the  year.  Not  but 
that  Kishogue's  friends  done  their  duty  by  him.  Oh,  the  stud  to 
him  like  men,  and  swore  a  power  for  him,  and  sthrove  to  make 
out  a  lullaby  for  him ;  maynin*  by  that  same,  that  he  was  asleep 
in  another  place  at  the  time;  but  it  would  n't  do,  they  could  not 
make  it  plazin'  to  the  judge  and  the  jury,  and  ray  poor  Kishogue 
was  condimned  for  to  die;  and  the  judge  put  an  his  black  cap, 
and  indeed  it  is  not  becomin',  and  discoorsed  the  hoight  of  fine 
language,  and  gev  Kishogue  a  power  o*  good  advice,  that  it  was 
a  mortyal  pity  Kishogue  did  n't  get  sooner ;  and  the  last  words 
the  judge  said  was,  "The  Lord  have  marcy  an  your  sowl ! " 
"  Thank  'ee,  my  lord,"  said  Kishogue;  "  though  indeed  it  is  few 
has  luck  or  grace  afther  your  prayers."  And  sure  enough,  faith ; 
for  the  next  Sathurday  Kishogue  was  ordhered  out  to  be  hanged, 
and  the  sthreets  through  which  he  was  to  pass  was  mighty  throng ; 
for  in  them  days,  you  see,  the  people  used  to  be  hanged  outside 
o*  the  town,  not  all  as  one  as  now  when  we  're  hanged  genteely 
out  o*  the  front  o'  the  jail :  but  ih  them  days  they  did  not  attind 
to  the  comforts  o*  the  people  at  all,  but  put  them  into  a  cart,  all 
as  one  a  conthairy  pig  goin*  to  market,  and  stravaiged  them 
through  the  town  to  the  gallows,  that  was  full  half  a  mile  beyant 
j^ .  *  *  *  *  |3ut^  tQ  ijg  sure,  when  they  kem  to  the  comer  of  the 
crass  streets,  where  the  VViddy  Houlaghan*s  public-house  was 
then,  afore  them  dirty  swaddlers  knocked  it  down  and  built  a 
meetin'-house  there — bad  cess  to  them  !  sure  they  're  spylin* 
divarshin  wherever  they  go, — when  they  kem  there,  as  I  was 
tellin'  you,  the  purcesshin  was  always  stopped,  %nd  they  had  a 
fiddler  and  mulled  wine  for  the  divarshin  of  the  pres'ner,  for  to 
raise  his  heart  for  what  he  was  to  go  through  ;  for,  by  all  accounts 
it  is  not  plazin'  to  be  goin'  to  be  hanged,  supposin'  you  die  in  a 
good  cause  itself,  as  my  uncle  Jim  towld  me  when  he  suffer'd  for 
killen'  the  ganger.  Well,  you  see,  they  always  stopped  ten  min- 
utes at  the  public-house,  not  to  hurry  a  man   with   liis  dhrink, 


THE    CURSE    OF    KISHOGUE.  283 

and,  besides,  to  give  the  pres'ner  an  opportunity  for  sayin'  an 
odd  word  or  so  to  a  friend  in  the  crowd,  to  say  nothin'  of  its 
behr  mighty  improvin^  to  the  throng,  to  see  the  man  lookin' 
pale  at  the  thoughts  of  death,  and  may  be  an  idification  and 
a-  warnin'  to  thim  that  was  inclined  to  sthray.  But,  however, 
it  happened,  and  the  like  never  happened  afore  nor  since  ; 
but  as  bad  luck  would  have  it,  that  day,  the  devil  a  fiddler 
was  ther  whin  Kishogue  dhruv  up  in  the  cart,  no  ways  dan- 
ted  at  all ;  but  the  minit  the  cart  stopped  rowlin*  he  called  out 
as  stout  as  a  ram,  *'  Sind  me  out  Tim  Riley  here," — Tim  Riley 
was  the  fiddler's  name, — "  sind  me  out  Tim  Riley  here,"  says 
he,  "  that  he  may  rise  my  heart  wid  the  Rakes  o*  Mallow ;"  for 
he  was  a  Mallow  man,  by  all  accounts,  and  mighty  proud  of  his 
town.  Well,  av  coorse  the  tune  was  not  to  be  had,  bekase  Tim 
Riley  was  not  there,  but  was  lyin'  dhrunk  in  a  ditch  at  the  same 
time  coming  home  from  confissin,  and  when  poor  Kishogue 
heerd  that  he  could  not  have  his  favorite  tune,  it  wint  to  his  heart 
to  that  degree,  that  he  'd  hear  of  no  comfort  in  life,  and  he  bid 
them  dhrive  him  an,  and  put  him  out  o*  pain  at  wanst.  "  Oh, 
take  the  dhrink,  any  how,  aroon,"  says  the  Widdy  Houlaghan, 
who  was  mighty  tinder-hearted,  and  always  attinded  the  man 
that  was  goin'  to  be  hanged  with  the  dhrink  herself,  if  he  was 
ever  so  grate  a  stranger ;  but  if  he  was  a  frind  of  her  own,  she  'd 
go  every  fut  to  the  gallows  wid  him,  and  see  him  suffer.  Oh, 
she  was  a  darlint!  Well, — "take  the  dhrink  Kishogue,  my 
jewel,"  says  she,  handin'  him  up  a  brave  big  mug  o'  mulled 
wine,  fit  for  a  lord, — but  he  wouldn't  touch  it; — "Take  it  out  of 
my  sight,'^  says  he,  "  for  my  heart  is  low  bekase  Tim  Riley  de- 
saived  me,  when  I  expected  to  die  game,  like  one  of  o'  the 
Rakes  o'  Mallow!  Take  it  out  o'  my  sight!"  says  he,  puttin' 
it  away  wid  his  hand,  and  sure  'twas  the  first  time  Kishogue  was 
ever  known  to  refuse  the  dhrop  o'  dhrink,  and  many  remarked 
that  it  was  the  change  before  death  was  comin'  over  him.  Well, 
away  they  rowled  to  the  gallows,  where  there  was  no  delay  in  life 
for  the  pris'nerr,  and  the  sheriff  asked  him  if  he  had  any  thing  to 
say  to  him  before  he  suffered;  but  Kishogue  hadn't  a  word  to 
throw  to  a  dog,  and  av  coorse  he  said  nothin'  to  the  sheriff,  and 
wouldn  't  say  a  word  that  might  be  improvin',  even  to  the  crowd, 
by  way  of  idification  ;  and  indeed  a  sore  disappointment  it  was 
to  the  throng,  for  they  thought  he  would  make  an  illigant  dyin 
speech  ;  and  the  prenthers  there,  and  the  ballad-singers,  all 
ready  to  tqi<e  it  down  complate,  and  thought  it  was  a  dirty  turn 


284  THE    CURSE    OF    KISHOGUE. 

of  Kishogue  to  chate  them  out  o*  their  honest  penny,  like ;  but 
they  owed  him  no  spite  for  all  that,  for  they  considhered  his  heart 
was  low  on  account  of  the  disappointment ;  and  he  was  lookin' 
mighty  pale  while  they  they  wor  makin'  matthers  tidy  for  hin>; 
and,  indeed,  the  last  words  he  said  himself  was,  "  Put  me  out 
o*  pain  at  wanst,  for  my  heart  is  low  bekase  Tim  Riley  desaived 
me,  when  I  thought  he  would  rise  it,  that  I  might  die  like  a  rale 
Rake  o'  Mallow !"  And  so,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  my 
jew'l,  they  done  the  business  for  him  :  it  was  soon  over  wid  him, 
it  was  just  one  step  wid  hin'i,  aff  o'  the  ladder  into  glory  ;  and 
to  do  him  justice,  though  he  was  lookin'  pale,  he  died  bowld, 
and  put  his  best  leg  foremost.  Well,  what  would  you  think, 
but  just  as  all  was  over  wid  him,  there  was  a  shout  outside  o* 
the  crowd,  and  a  shilloo  that  you  'd  think,  would  split  the  sky, 
and  what  should  we  see  gallopin'  up  to  the  gallows,  but  a  man 
covered  with  dust  an  a  white  horse,  to  all  appearance,  but  it 
was  n't  a  white  horse  but  a  black  horse  only  white  wid  the  foam. 
He  was  dhruv  to  that  degree,  and  the  man  hadn't  a  breath  to 
dhraw,  and  couldn't  spake,  but  dhrew  a  ])iece  o'  paper  out  of 
the  breast  of  his  coat,  and  handed  it  up  to  the  sheriff;  and 
myjew'l,  the  sheriff  grewn  as  white  as  the  paper  itself,  when 
he  clapt  his  eyes  an  it;  and  says  he,  "Cut  him  down — cut  him 
down  this  minute!"  says  he;  and  the  dhragoons  made  a  slash 
at  the  messenger,  but  he  ducked  his  head  and  sarcumvinted  them. 
And  then  the  sheriff  shouted  out,  "  Stop,  you  villians,  and  bad 
luck  to  yiz,  you  murtherin' vagabonds,'*  says  he  to  the  ^ojers; 
"is  it  going  to  murther  the  man  you  wor? — It  is  n't  him  at  all 
I  mane,  but  the  man  that  's  hangin'.  Cut  him  down,"  says  he: 
and  tliey  cut  him  down  ;  but  it  was  no  use.  It  was  all  over  wid 
poor  Kishogue ;  for  he  was  as  dead  as  small  beer,  and  as  stiff  as 
a  crutch.  "  Oii,  tare  an  ouns!"  says  the  sheriff,  tarin'  the  hair 
aff  his  head  at  the  same  time,  with  the  fair  rage.  "  Is  n't  it  a 
poor  case  that  he  's  dead,  and  here  is  a  reprieve  that  is  come  for 
him?  but,  bad  cess  to  him,"  says  he,  "it's  his  own  fault,  he 
would  n't  take  it  aisy."  "  Oh,  millia  murther,  millia  murther!  *' 
cried  out  the  Widdy  Houlaghan,  in  the  crowd.  "  Oh,  Kishogue, 
my  darlint,  why  did  you  refuse  my  mulled  wine?  Oh,  if  you 
had  stopped  wid  me  to  take  your  dhrop  o'  dhrink,  you  M  be 
alive  and  meriy  now  !  "  So  that  is  the  maynin'  of  the  Curse  o' 
Kishogue;  for,  you  see,  Kishogue  was  hanged  for  lavin'  his 
liquor  behind  him.        ' 


285 

MRS.    HEMANS. 

The  writings  of  Mrs.  Hemans  have  been  so  justly 
estimated,  that  any  praise  of  ours  can  be  Httle  more 
than  an  echo  of  the  pubUc  voice.  Her  poetry,  so 
full  of  deep  sentiment,  so  pure,  and  elevating,  calls 
up  images  and  emotions,  like  those  v^ith  which  we 
view  the  briUiancy  of  the  evening  star  in  the  stillness 
of  a  summer  night.  It  alhes  itself  to  every  thing 
belonging  to  the  better  part  of  our  nature.  Her 
poems,  indeed,  are  of  unequal  merit.  In  some  of 
them,  as  the  Voice  of  Spring,  and  the  Revellers,  the 
conception  is  so  imaginative,  and  there  is  such  free- 
^  dom  of  execution,  that  they  approach  nearer  than 
almost  any  other  poetry,  to  giving  in  words  the  very 
forms  of  thought  and  imagination.  The  imperfection 
of  language,  the  embarrassments  of  versification,  all 
that  is  material  and  mechanical  disappears  ;  and  the 
vision  floats  before  us  "an  aery  stream."  There  is  a 
correspondence  of  all  the  parts,  contributing  to  a 
common  effect ;  the  flow  and  expression  of  the  lan- 
guage is  in  accordance  with  the  thought  and  senti- 
ment ;  and  the  right  tone  of  feeling,  true  to  nature 
and  virtue,  is  heard  throughout,  without  failure  or 
exaggeration.  With  this  unbroken  unity  of  charac- 
ter, her  finer  poems  "  discourse  most  eloquent  music." 
The  charm  is  found  equally  in  others,  very  different 
from  the  two  just  mentioned.  It  appears,  for 
instance,  in  the  verses  on  a  dead  infant,  suggested 
by  one  of  Chantrey's  statues,  beginning,  "Thou 
sleepest ;  but  when  wilt  thou  wake,  fair  child  ?  " 
The  marble  of  Chantrey  can  hardly  have  more  of 
calm,  monumental,  melancholy  beauty  than  these 
lines.  It  appears  again  in  the  dreamy  and  shadowy 
flow  of  images  through  her  Elysium,  over  which  is 
diffused  so  much  truth  and  tenderness  of  feeling ; 
in  the  rapid  and  strong  conception,  and  lofty  senti- 
ment of  her  Pilgrim  Fathers ;  in  the  solemn  and 
gloomy  grandeur  of  her  Treasures  of  the  Deep ;  in 
her  magnificent  reply  to  the  question,  Where  slumber 


286  MRS.    HEMANS. 

England's  dead  ;  and  in  the  agony  and  triumph  of 
moral  energy  in  her  Gertrude.  The  subject  of  these 
last  verses  might  have  seemed  too  horrible  for  poe- 
try ;  but  with  the  commanding  power  of  true  genius, 
and  the  strong  sympathy  of  high  feeling,  she  has 
brought  to  view  all  its  moral  sublimity  ;  throwing  a 
pall  over  what  is  hideous  in  physical  suffering.  But 
besides  the  poems  entitled  to  be  placed  in  the  same 
class  with  those  which  have  been  named,  there  are 
others  written  with  far  less  display  of  genius,  but 
pleasing,  correct,  in  good  taste,  elegant,  or  animated. 
These  would  have  entitled  their  author  to  a  distin- 
guished rank  among  poets.  Those  of  a  higher  order, 
and  there  are  many  such,  are  permanent  accessions 
to  the  literature  of  the  world.  They  have  increased 
the  means  of  human  refinement  and  virtue. 

The  works  of  Mrs.  Hemans  are  eminently  distin- 
guished, by  moral  beauty,  and  the  noble  expression 
of  high  sentiments.  Images  of  what  is  lovely, 
affecting,  and  glorious  in  human  character  are  re- 
flected from  her  mind  as  from  an  unsullied  mirror. 
Of  this  her  last  volume  affords  some  of  the  most 
striking  examples.  It  is  the  praise  of  this  lady,  that 
her  literary  course  was  one  of  continual  improvement. 
With  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  her  tragedies,  she 
has,  heretofore,  given  to  the  world  no  long  poem  of 
equal  power  with  her  Forest  Sanctuary,  from  which 
the  following  are  extracts : — 

The  voices  of  my  home, — I  hear  thera  still, 
They  have  been  with  me  through  the  dreamy  night — 
The  blessed  household  voices,  wont  to  fill 
My  heart's  clear  depths  with  unalloy'd  delight; 
I  hear  them  still,  unchanged : — though  some  from  earth 
Are  music  parted,  and  the  tones  of  mirth — 
Wild,  silvery  tones,  that  rang  through  days  more  bright. 
Have  died  in  others, — yet  to  me  they  come, 
Singing  of  boyhood  back — the  voices  of  my  home. 

They  call  me  through  this  hush  of  woods,  reposing 
In  the  grey  stillness  of  the  summer  morn. 
They  wander  by  when  heavy  flowers  are  closing. 
And  thoughts  grow  deep,  and  winds  and  stars  are  born  ; 


MRS.    HEMANS.  287 

Ev'n  as  a  fount's  remember'd  gushings  burst 
On  the  parch'd  traveller  in  his  hour  of  thirst. 
E'en  thus  they  haunt  me  with  sweet  sounds,  till  worn 
By  quenchless  longings,  to  my  soul  I  say, 
O  !  for  the  dove's  svyift  wings,  that  I  might  flee  away, 
And  find  mine  ark,  yet  whither?  I  must  bear 
A  yearning  heart  within  me  to  the  grave. 
*        *        *         *        *        *         *        * 

And  she  to  die,  she  loved  the  laughing  earth 
With  such  deep  joy  in  its  fresh  leaves  and  flowers. 
— Was  not  her  smile  even  as  the  sudden  birth 
Of  a  young  rainbow,  colouring  vernal  showers  ? 
Yes,  but  to  meet  her  fawn-like  step,  to  hear 
The  gushes  of  wild  song,  so  silvery  clear, 
Which,  oft  unconsciously,  in  happier  hours 
Flow'd  from  her  lips,  was  to  forget  the  sway 
Of  Time  and  Death  below;  blight,  shadow,  dull  decay. 

Could  this  change  be  ?  the  hour,  the  scene,  where  last 
I  saw  that  form,  came  floating  o'er  my  mind : 
— A  golden  vintage-eve  ;  the  heats  were  pass'd, 
And,  in  the  freshness  of  the  fanning  wind, 
Her  father  sat,  where  gleamed  the  first  faint  star 
Through  the  lime  boughs;  and,  with  her  light  guitar, 
She,  on  the  greensward  at  his  feet  reclined. 
In  his  calm  face  laughed  up;  some  shepherd -lay 
Singing,  as  childhood  sings  on  the  lone  hills  at  play. 

THE    REVELLERS. 

Ring,  joyous  chords  !  yet  again,  again  ! 

A  swifter  still,  and  a  wilder  strain  ! 

They  are  here ! — the  fair  face,  and  the  careless  heart, 

And  stars  shall  wane  ere  the  mirthful  part. 

— But  I  met  a  dimly  mournful  glance, 

In  a  sudden  turn  of  the  flying  dance ; 

I  heard  the  tone  of  a  heavy  sigh. 

In  a  pause  of  the  thrilling  melody ; 

And  it  is  not  well,  that  Woe  should  breathe 

Oh  the  bright  spring-flowers  of  the  festal  wreath ; 

— Ye  that  to  Thought  and  Grief  belong. 

Leave,  leave  the  Hall  of  Song ! 
Ring,  joyous  chords ! — but  who  art  thou, 
With  the  shadowy  locks  o'er  thy  pale  young  brow. 
And  the  world  of  dreaming  gloom  that  lies 
In  the  misty  depths  of  thy  soft  dark  eyes  ? 
— Thou  hast  loved,  fair  girl,  thou  hast  loved  too  well ! 
Thou  art  mourning  now  o'er  a  broken  spell, 
Thou  hast  poured  thy  heart's  rich  treasures  forth. 
And  art  unrepaid  for  their  priceless  worth ! 


288  MRS.    HEMANS. 

— Mourn  on  ! — yet  come  thou  not  here  the  while ; 
It  is  but  a  pain  to  see  thee  smile! 
— There  is  not  a  tone  in  our  songs  for  thee, 
Home  with  thy  sorrows  flee  ! 

I^J"o>  joyous  chords ! — yet  again,  again ! 
— But  what  dost  thou  with  the  revel's  train  ? 
A  silvery  voice  through  the  soft  air  floats, 
But  thou  hast  no  part  in  the  gladdening  notes ; 
There  are  bright  young  faces  that  pass  thee  by, 
But  they  fix  no  glance  of  thy  wandering  eye ! 
Away !  there  's  a  void  in  thy  yearning  breast, 
Thou  weary  man  !  wilt  thou  here  find  rest? 
Away  !  for  thy  thoughts  from  the  scene  have  fled, 
And  the  love  of  thy  spirit  is  with  the  dead  ! 
lliou  art  but  more  lone  midst  the  sounds  of  mirth  ! — 
Back  to  thy  silent  hearth  ! 

Ring,  joyous  chords! — yet  again,  again, 
A  swifter  still,  and  a  wilder  strain ; 
— But  thov,  though  a  reckless  mien  be  thine, 
And  thy  lip  be  crown*d  with  the  foaming  wine, 
By  the  fitful  bursts  of  thy  laughter  loud, 
By  thine  eye's  quick  flash  through  its  troubled  cloud, 
I  know  thee, — it  is  but  the  wakeful  fear 
Of  a  haunted  bosom,  that  brings  thee  here; 
I  know  thee, — thou  fearest  the  lonely  Night, 
With  her  piercing  stars,  and  her  deep  wind's  might; 
There  's  a  tone  in  her  voice  which  thou  fain  would'st  shun, 
For  it  asks  what  the  secret  soul  hath  done; 
And  thou, — there  's  a  dark  weight  on  thine — away  ! 
Back  to  tliy  home,  and  pray  ! 

Ring,  joyous  chords  ! — yet  again,  again, 
A  swifter  still,  and  a  wilder  strain ; 
And  bring  new  wreaths.     We  will  banish  all. 
Save  the  free  in  heart,  from  our  festive  hall. 
On  through  the  maze  of  the  fleet  dance,  on  : 
— But  where  are  the  young  and  the  lovely  i — gone  ! 
Where  are  the  brows  with  the  fresh  rose  crown'd  ? 
And  the  floating  forms  with  the  bright  zone  bound  ? 
And  the  waving  locks,  and  the  flying  feet, 
Tliat  still  should  be  where  the  mirthful  meet  ? 
— They  are  gone — they  are  fled — they  are  parted  all ; 
Aliis  !  the  forsaken  hall. 


CONCLUSION    OF    VOLUME    THE    FIFTH. 
)  X\ .  USVVWKAV  


PRINTED    BY   G.    P.    HEARUEU,    PLYMOUTH. 


'U