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The Living age ... / Volume 20, Note on Digital Production 0020 000
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The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 242 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 626 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABR0102-0020 /moa/livn/livn0020/

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The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 242 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. January 6, 1849 0020 242
The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 242, miscellaneous front pages i-iv

LITTE LLS LIVING AGES CONDUCTED BY E. LITTELL. E PLURIBUS UNUM~ These publications of the day should from time to time be winnowed, the wheat carefully preserve& , end the chaff thrown away. VOL. XX. .TANUARY, FEBRUARY, MARCH, 1849. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY E. LITTELL & COMPANY. PhILADELPHIA, M. CANNING & Co., 272 Chesnut Street. NEW YORK, B~RFORD & Co., Astor House. STEREOTYPRD BY HOBART & ROBBINS. N /4? 4. 7 El 6 V INDEX TO VOL. XX. OF LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Allen, William 17 Hydrophobia 463 Americanisms, Dictionary of, 79 Hofer, Last Campaign and Abd-el-Kader and his Family, 228 Death of 612 Arctic Expeditions, . . . 289 undation of, . . . 27 Arbitration Movement, . 297,Indus, In Austrias Resurrection, 467~Itaiy and Germany, . 372, 553 Anti-Slave Trade Movements, 568 Indian (East) Glory and Em barrassment 564 Bedford Level, The Great, . 81 Ireland 571 Banvards Panorama, . . . 314 Indians 573 Butler Case, . . . 350, 414 Buller, Charles 352 James II., Manners of his Benedictines, French,. . ~ ~ 221 Benezet and French Neutrals, 465 Jane Eyre 497 Buena Vista Jews, East of London, . . 513 Bremers Novels 5291Jarnaica 566 Brea, Gen., Murder of, . . 567 Kirkaldy of Grange, . . . 354 Barber, Win. Henry, . . . 616 Correspondence, European, 39 Lamb, Chas., and his Friends, 49 Liberia 135 137, 187, 229, 423ILi~ht and Vegetation, . . 210 Cleanliness, Natural Law of, 130lLouis XIV. and Moliere, . 226 Charles II., Death of, . . 183 rama 8 _____- , Character, . . 313 Lyrical D Lamartine 466 California Fever in England, 371 Canada, Trade with, . . . 478 Cavaignac 556 Daubeny on Volcanoes, . . 97 Doing and Dreaming, . . 129 Dodo and Kindred, . . . 316 Day on Diseases of Advanced Life 367 DIsraeli 557 Entomology 1 Eastmans Poems, . . 143, 421 Esculent, A New, . . . 181 European Politics, . . . 279 Eighteen Hundred and Forty- eight 405 Emerson, Post, Tribune, . 479 Foster, John 21 Freaks upon Flowers, Fruits, and Trees 178 Fenelon among the Iroquois, 223 Forty Days in the Desert, . 254 February 1848 512 France 553, 570 Foreign Policy,....616 Greenwood Cemetery, . . 135 Germany 272, 553 Gold Region 305 , Apoplexy of, . . . 371 Hottentots and United Breth ren 38 Holmes, 0. W., Poems, 47, 516 Hugonots, History of, . . 145 Hashish, The 217 Hemans, Mrs. 241 Hook, Theod., Life and Re mains 310 Haunted Man 312 Halifax Hale, David How to get on 4221 Macquaire, Flood of, . . . 28 Mauritius, Science of, . . 77 Manual Dexterity in Manu factures 118 Michels Ruins of Many Lands 156 Macaulays England, . 298, 408 Margaret Smiths Journal, 315, 453 Melbourne, Lord 329 Montgomerys Christian Life, 413 Mulenberg, Gen. 418 Macgregors Commercial Sta tistics 454 Mechanical Invention, Prog ress of . . 481 Melungens, The, . . . 618 News of the Week, . . . 276 Nile, The White 337 Nineveh and its Remains, . 358 Orders, Holy, Indelibility of, 469 Old Ladys History, . . . 550 Psalmanazar, George, Palissy, Bernard, Progress, Human, Physical Geography,. Pope, The Partridges Poisoned, Polk, Presidents Message, Psalms set to Music, Platina POETRY Ambition, California, Dirt, Song of the, Dryburgh Abbey, Eagles Quill, Epitaph on 1848, Fairies Summer Evening Song 239 Gardiner, Mrs., Lines by,. 527 Home, What is, . . . 239 421 , I want to go, . . 515 Hoods 1hree Songs, . . 473 Light in the Window,. . 186 Lines by Theodore Hook, 190 Loves Treason, . . . 422 Lamartine 466 Moral Cosmetics, . 239 Moral of Life 304 Mementos 420 Mont Blanc Revisited, . 527 Napoleon Crossing Alps, 239 Narrow Way 376 Rhyme, Thoughts in, . 518 Slander 216 Serenade 420 Too Late 462 Victory 216 Wall Flowers 209 Railroad, Death, Compen sated 328 ______, London and North Western 577 Roland Cashel 415 Sigourneys, Mrs., Poems, 260 Socialism and Christmas, . 333 Socialist Women 349 Slavery, American, 369, 471, 570 Sea Serpent 385 Swifts Closing Years, . 557 Spar 606 Terrys Travels 357 TALES Bought Bridegroom, . . 84 Cousin Tom 265 Family, Story of a, 68, 377 Faults on Both Sides, . . 558 Lost Snuff-box 607 Monster Unveiled, . 127 Plain People 261 Quaker Love 23 66 School Boy Days, . . 121 134 Sigismund Fatello, . . 158 136 Song, Memoir of a, . . 397 193 Self-Seer, . . 455, 519 273 Waxen Head 119 286 331 United States, The . . . 617 369 Vanity Fair and Jane Eyre, 497 606 Walpoles Letters to the Countess of Ossory, . . 29 515 Whittiers Poems, . . 94, 527 572 Whipples Essays and Re views 95 191 Waylands Sermons, . . . 209 303 Women of the American Rev 4191 olution 212 5741 Wessenburghs Souvenirs, 551

The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 242 1-48

LITTELLS LIVING AGE.No. 242.6 JANUARY, 1849. From the Westminster Rcview. 1. A Familiar lntrodrtctio. to the History of In- sects hem o- a new and greatly improccd edition of the Grammar of Entomology. By ED- WARD ?NE~MAN, F. L. S., Z. S., & c. Lon- don John X an Voorst, Paternoster Row. ~. Popelm British Entomolo~ y; contai. ing afa- mmii o and lechnical description of the Insects nio~t common to the veirions bce/ties of the Brili e1m ISI(5 By MARIA B. CATLOW. London Reeve, Benham and Reeve, King X illiam St~nt, Strand. 1848. IT is a well established fact, that the attention of observant minds has ever been more or less at- tracted to the wonders of the insect world from a very remote period. We meet with numerous references to insects in the most ancient records which have been preserved to us; and in the old- est of these the industry and foresight of certain insects, and the ravages of others, are specially brought under our notice. Nor is it difficult to account for this. The splendid hoes of many in- sects, the remarkable forms of others, and the cu- rious habits of all, are well calculated to excite the admiration even of those who know nothing of them scientifically ; while the extensive injuries committed by associated bands of creatures, indi- vidually so insignificant, could scarcely fail to con- fer importance upon an enemy, against whose in- vasions the sufferers must have felt themselves to be altogether powerless. The scientific study of insects may be traced hack to a much earlier period on the continent than in our own country; but we very much doubt whether, even there, the same class of indi- viduals were ever so devoted to the pursuit as, to their honor, they have long been among ourselves. Crabbes friend, the weaver, was no imaginary personage ; nor is the poets description of his he- ros ardent pursuit of this untaxed and undis- puted game, by any means a mere creation of the fancy. The Spitalfields weavers and the Sheffield cutlers have long been noted for their enthusiasm in search of Bright troops of virgin moths and fresh-born hut- terflies. But their purpose in collecting these beautiful creatures, with a few honorable exceptions, seems to have been limited to the formation of pretty pictures by the arrangement of the gayly colored insects, according to the caprice or the taste of their captors. The publication of Kirby and Spences invalu- able Introduction to Entomology gave a new di- rcc!ion ~o ~he study of insects. and ta might their col- lectors that there was a far big hi er h)iitP~5C to be at taioed than the mere admiration of elegant forms and gay cmdu;s. It showed beyond dispute that the cx CCL ti LIVING AOR. VOL. xx. 1 ternal forms of these creatures are the least curious and least instructive sources of interest attaching to them; and the popular style of the work at once secured for it an elevated rank in scientific litera- ture, which, notwithstanding sundry unavoidable niinor errors of detail, it will ever retain. In con- sequence of the acknowledged merit of this work, we shall not hesitate to borrow from its valuable pages such illustrative passages as may tend to further the object we have in viewthe vindica- tion of the study of insects from the charne of be- ing either a frivolous or an unprofitable mode of ocetipyirig time. But although this admirable work did much to- wards diffusing a taste for the study of insect life, and consequently tended greatly to dispel much of the ignorance which had previously prevailed relative to numerous obscure points of insect econ- omy, yet even at the present day it is by no means unusual to meet with persons, tolerably well in- formed upon cuthuer points, who would see nothing suspicious in the famous Virgilian recipe for the production at will of a swarm of bees from the carcass of a purposely slaughtered ox, or in Kirchers directions for breeding serpents; who can believe, with Hamlet, that the sun breeds maggots in a dead dog ; that a horse-hair will turn to an eel; and that Aphides are the effect, and not the cause, of honey-dew. The size and price of Kirby and Spences vol- umes unfortunately placed them beyond the reach of general readers; they consequently remained sealed books to precisely that class who would the most gladly have availed themselves of the valua- ble information contained in them. No effort to remedy this, at least none that we are aware of, was made before the appearance of the three vol- umes on itisects in Charles Knights Library of Entertaining Knowledge, which were precisely the description of books to rivet the attention of the reader, and to lead him on to examimue for himself. In theze voltumes, the substance of Kir- by and Spences Introduction, and of other generally inaccessible works, in most cases given in the very words of the authorities, is combined with much original matter from the pen of Pro- fessor Rennie, tbe compiler of the work. The three volumes are, moreover, profusely illustrated with wood-cuts, and their low price places them within the reach of all; though not free from er- ror, they are admirably calculated to awaken and diffuse a taste for the observation of insects and their habits. The best popular 5nide to the scientific study of Entomology that we ace acquainted with, is Mr. Newnuans Familiar Intruuduction to the History of Jusects. Being himself practically well so- 2 ENTOMOLOGY. quainted with the subject, and knowing from experience precisely the sort of aid required by be- ginners, the author has made it his aim through- out the volume to give the best kind of infor- mation in the plainest language arid in ibis endeavor be has been eminently successful. The volume is divided into four books. The first of these The History of Insectscontains a se- ries of histories of some of the most remarkable species, copied for the most part from the works of original observers, the authority for each being scrupulously given. Having by this means ex- hibited the kind of material the young entomolo- gist has to work upon, the author, in the second book, proceeds to give lucid directions for the Collection and Preservation of Insects, with the mode of investigating them. In the third book he treats of tire Physiology or Anatomy of Insects ; and in the fourth, of their Classi- fication. The whole is illustrated by numerous beautiful wood-cuts, with two exceptions drawn upon the blocks by the author himself; and the character of the book is well expressed by the words of the preface, where it is spoken of as a simple introduction, a kind of reading-made-easy, to the youthful butterfly-hunter ; and this is pre- cisely the sort of work required by those interest- ing members of the community. But this excellent work is only introductory and consequently contains no specific descriptions or characters beyond those of the classes and orders; these could not have been added without defeating the authofs object., by increasing the hulk and enhancing the price of his book, with but little adeqrrate advantage to the purchaser. Other hooks are thus necessary to those whom Mr. Newman has assisted over the threshold of the science. The embarrassment consequent on th.e very abundance of the materials for study offered by this science, must obviously render the opportunity of consulting accurate figures of insects an advantage of primary importance to the youn~ entomologist. Unfortunately, however, the extent of the subject has precluded the possibility of giv- iu~ more than a selection of the most typical forms in any general work, even when confined to British insects; and the necessarily high price of standard illustrated books on entomology confines the pos- session of such publications to the wealthy. For example, even such admirable works as those of Stephens and Curtis, in which are given descrip- tiomns of all known British insects, although the illustrations are confined to a figure of one species in each genus, so extensive is the subject that they are both very voluminous and very expensive. $everal volumes of Jardine~s Naturalists Li- ~rary, published at a moderate price, are devoted to insects, and contain beautiful figures and good 4escriptions of a goodly nottiber of British insects, Bod consequently did mitch towards supplying the want ; anid Miss Camtiuws pretty little volume, just published by the Messrs. Reeve, will be firnurd art (~xcellemit niccmimpauri~tmenmt to Mi. Newinaur~ lmntruduction inn fact we kmmuw of rio mmuro acceptable present to the young student of ento niology than these two books. Miss Catlows Popular British Entomology contains an intro- ductory chapter or two upon classification ; these are followed by brief generic and specific descrip- tions in Eiu~hish of above two hundred of the commoner British species, together wiub accurate figures of about seventy of those described. TIme work is beatutifumlly prinuted, and the fignires for the most part nicely colored ; and will be qnmite a treasure to any one just commencing the study of a fascinating scieice. The publishers of Miss Catlows little book have in preparation a charming popular wiurk on entomology, to be called Episodes of Inisect Life. We have been favored with a sight of the proof sheets, and mnrst say that the book is admirably adapted to induce the reader to dip below the surface, and to tuake himself further acquainted with more of the sober realities of insect life, which, we can assure him, he will find fully as ituteresting as those sir temptingly shown up in these delightful episodes. Manny of the illustrations are exceedingly droll ; insects being made to figure in them in all sorts of funnmny char- acters, and tIme humor displayed in the descriptions is quite on a par with that of the illustrations, which we must not (umit to say are exqimisitely drawn on stone in tIre German style. But from this digressiomi on books we must return to insects. In their Introductory Letter, Kirby and Spence set fuirthi the claims nif their science to a comusideration equal, if not sumperiur, tu) those of the other branuches of Natural History. They shio~ the sources of pleasure opened to tIme emutomiuhnugist from the inexlnaustible natrure of time subject, the inifinite variety and beauty of inusects, their curious habits, the inmstrunnents of attack and defence with which they are provided for their own l)riutection, as well as those expressly interudeul fur tIme con- strumetion of habitations fuir their priugeny ; and, above all, the rehi~ioums irustrumetiont to hue drawn from an acquraintance with these wonuderful little creatures. From this letter we make an iuutere 1- ing extract, showing that in must of Imis huna ted inivenitiotus man has long been anticipated by th~ insect race. The lord of the creation plumes hiniself upon his powers of invention, anul is pround to enunuerate the various useful arts and machintes to which they have given birth, not aware that He who teach. s man knowledge has instruicted these despised insects to antmcmpate him in many of them. lire builders of Babel doubtless thought their imivenutmiun of turning earth into artificial stunnue a very happy discovery ; yet a little bee had practiscil linus rt, using indeed a different process, on a sniall scale, and the white ants on a large one, ever smnmne the world began. Man thinks that be stanids ummurivalled as an architect, and thna.t his buuildin~s are without a parallel among the works of hue iruferinur unrule of anuimals. lie womull be (if a different mu1ui uu immu iii hue attenid no the hmianu y of iuuseems lie nun Id f:uul hat ma ny of thorn hnunvo uteri unuluireuts truummi nun ~ uumunxrenmuurial ; that tir ~y hat e had ih~iu~ hmo~aes 9 ENTOMOLOGY. divided into various apartments, and containing and knives, and lancets, and scissors, and forceps, staircases, gigantic arches, domes, colonnades, anti with many other similar implements; several of the like; nay, that even tunnels are excavated hy which act in more than one capacity, and with a them so immense, compared with their own size, complex and alternate motion to which we have as to he twelve times higger tha.n that projected hy not yet attained in the use of our tools. Nor is the Mr. Dodd to he carried under the Thames at fact 50 extraordinary as it may seem at first, since Gravesend. The modern floe lady, who prides 1-Ic who is wise in heart amid wonderful in work- herself on the lustre amid beauty of the scarlet hang- ing, is the inventor and fabricator of the al)paratus ings which adorn the stately walls of her drawing- of insects; which may be considered as a set of room, or the carpets that cover its floor, fancying miniature patterns drawn for our use by a Divine that nothing so rich and splendid was ever seen hand.(Introd., i. 14.) hefore, and pitying her vulgar ancestors, who were doomed to unsightly whitewash and rushes, is There is no exaggeration in these statememmts. i~norai)t all the while, that before she or her ances- The little stone-muakimug imisect first alluded to is a tors were in existence, and even before the boasted Tyrian dye was discovered, a little insect had member of the fanmily of mason-bees, all of which known how to hang the ~valls of its cells with build their solid houmses of artificial stone, formed tapestry of a scarlet more brilliant than ammy her principally of graimms of sand selected with great rooms can exhibit, and that others daily weave care, one by one, amid formed into masses with silkto carpets, both in tissue and texture infinuitely their own viscid saliva. With these masses of superior to those she so much admires. No female saud transported s - ornament us more prized and costly than lace, the mnugly in her jaws to the site of invention and fabrication of which seems the exelo- her buildimi ~, the little architect constructs a ntim sive claim of the softer sex. But even here they her of cells, in each of which she deposits an egg, have been anticipated by these little industrious together with a supply of provisiomi to be ready creatures, who often defend their helpless chrysalis fur the young larva on its exclusion; the vacuities by a most singular covering, arid as beautiful as between the cells are filled tip with the same singular, of lace. Other arts have been equally material as the cells themselves are formed of, and forestalled by these creatures. What vast impor- time whole is fiially covered with a coatiuig of tance is attached to the invention of paper! For near six thousand years one of our commonest coarser graimus (if sand. The mass of cells thins insects has known how ~o make and apply it to its fimuished looks more like a splash (if mud casually purposes ; and even pasteboard, smuperior in sub- thruwn on the ~vall than amiytluuuig else, and is so stance and polish to any we can produce, is manu- hard as nut to be easily penetrated by a knife; factored by another. We imagine that nothing but hard as it is, certain parasitic insects contrive short of human intellect can be equual t(u the con to pierce the structure with their boring imustro struction of a diving-belh or an air-pumpyet a ment s, amid to depu sit their eggs in flue cells; time spider is in the daily habit of using the one and Ahat is more, one exactly similar in principle t~ larv~ proceeding from the eggs of these imutruiders ours, but more imugenioumsly contrived ; by means devomur thie provision stored up by thue mndustrmou~ of whiich she resides unwetted in the bosom of the cell-builders, whiose care for tim safety of their water, and procures the necessary supplies of air offspring is thus frustrated. by a much more simple process than our alternating Amuother family of bees includes the uphol- bucketsand the caterpillar of a little noth knows sterers, ~vhuich excavate burrows in the earthi for how to imitate the other, prod ricing a vacuum when necessary for its purposes, without any the reception of thueir eggs. Thiese burrows they piston an besides its own body. If we think with wonder of inc with elegant tapestry of leaves or flowers9 the populous cities which have employed the united cut from the living plants. One of these bees lahuirs of nian for many ages to bring them to their selects the brilliant scarlet petals of the poppy for full extent, what shall ~ve say to the white ants, the drapery of huer apartments. After huaving which require only a few months to build a metrop- excavated a buirrow abuint three inches in (lEipth~ ohs capable of containing an infiruitely greater num- and pohishied its sides, she flies to the poppies, her of inuhabitants than even imperial Ninevehi, Babylon, Rome or Pekin, in all their gluiry cuts oval pieces uuuit u)f their flowers, and returns rhat insects should thiuis hiave forestalled us in to her cell with these portions so emit out carried our inveniPuns, oughit to urge us to pay a closer between her legs. The petals of poppies, hefuire attention to them and their ways than ~ve have they are fully expanded, are much ~vrimikled ; the hitherto done, since it is not at all improbable thiat lice manages to smooth out thie ~vrinkles, arud thue result would be many useful hints for the otherwise fit the pieces to tim places they are to improvement of our arts and mamiufactures and perhaps for some beneficial discoveries. The occupy. Piecing thuree or fuuur coats at the ~ou-- painter might thus probably be furnuished with more tom, she overlays her walls wiuhi the brilliant brilhiamit pigments, the dyer with more delicate tapestry, proceeding from below upwards until thie tints, and thue artisan with a new and improved set ~vhuole is covererl. An egg is thuen deposited, -a of tnuols. In this last respect insects uleserve par- sumppl~ of fouud provided, and the upper hinurtiuuui of tiewlar notice. All their operations are performed the lining fold ul in so as to envelope time cemutente with admirable precision and dexterity; and though of the cell, the munumhi (if which is last of all chmuae~ they do not usually vary the muide, yet that mode with earth. The proceedings of the otluer uphuul. is always nbc best that can be conceived for autamui- mug the end in view. The instruimeuits alsum ~vinh storer bees are equmally curious ; ulmey nisumall~ ~vluieiu they arc provided are miu less wuuuudcrfd mud select the green leaves nif trees fur the hininutr of various i baum ibe operations ihuemselves. iuiey ttm ir liurruws, which are fill ii ith eeveral mliii have tlucir saws, arid files, and augurs, amid girn~ets, huh sb: pod cell. , piac d umue ff1 thu oilier, t 9 ENTOMOLOGY. rounded end of one fitting into the mouth of that threads, which are attached to the leaves and next below it. stems of water-plants; over this frame-work she The wonderful building operations of the white next spreads a transparent varnish, impervious to ants form the subject of a most interesting paper by Smeathman, quoted by Mr. Newman from the Philosophical Transactions. This chapter is too long for extract ; we must therefore beg to refer our readers to the work itself, with the assurance that the perusal will amply repay the trouble; but we may be allowed to quote a sum- mary account of the labors of these insects from Kirby and Spence. That such diminutive insects, (for they are scarcely a fourth of an inch in length,) however numerous, should, in the space of three or four years, be able to erect a building twelve feet high, and of a proportionate bulk, covered by a vast dome, adorned without by numerous pinnacles and turrets, and sheltering under its ample arch myriads of vaulted apartments of various dimensions, and con- structed of different materialsthat they should, moreover, excavate, in ditThrent directions and at different depths, innumerable subterranean roads or tunnels, some twelve or thirteen inches in diameter, or throw an arch of stone over other roads leading from the metropolis into the adjoining country to the distance of several hundred feetthat they should project and finish the (for them) vast interior stair- cases or bridges lately describedand, finally, that the millions necessary to execute such Herculean labors, perpetually passing to and fro, should never interrupt or interfere with each otheris a miracle of nature, or, rat her, the Author of nature, far ex- ceeding the most boasted works and structures of man ; for, did these creatures equal him in size, re- taining their usual instincts and activity, their build- ings would soar to the astonishing height of more than half a mile, and their tunnels would expand to a rnagniiicent cylinder of more than three hundred feet in diameter; before which the pyramids of Egypt and the aqueducts of Rome would lose all their celebrity, and dwindle into nothing.(introd., i. 512.) water; then, by ascending to the surface, she man- ages to carry down into the chamber thus formed a bubble of air, and fills the chamber by repeating her visits to the surface a sufficient number of times to effect its distension, each time carrying down a bubble of air. On the under side of the leaves of pear-trees may often be seen, in spring, a number of spine- like projections, about a quarter of an inch high, and not much thicker than a pin. These are the silken tents of a little caterpillar, which preys upon the parenchyma or pulp of the leaf. The tent is attached to the leaf by a number of silken threads; but should any extraordinary violence threaten to disturb the perpendicularity of the habitation, the tenant instantly creates a vacuum in the lower por- tion by ascending to the upper part; its body fills the upper portion, and thus leaves the lowermost free of air; the vacuum so caused serving to at- tacli the tent quite firmly to the leaf. One of the most curious things connected with insect economy is that succession of changes from the egg to the perfect state through which all in- sects pass. In reference to these changes, or metamorphoses, as they are called, which equal in wonder while they surpass in interest any of the transformations recorded in the pages of Ovid, Kirby, and Spence have some appropriate remarks which are by no means exaggerated. Were a naturalist to announce to the world the discovery of an animal, which, for the first five years of its life, existed in the form of a serpent ; which then, penetrating into the earth, and weaving a shroud of pure silk of the finest texture, contracted itself within this covering into a body without ex- ternal mouth or limbs, and resembling, niore than anything else, an Egyptian mummy; and which, lastly, after remaining in this state without food and without motion for three years longer, should, at the end of that period, burst its silken cerement, struggle through its earthly covering, and start into day a winged birdwhat think you would be the sensation excited by this strange piece of intelli- gence After the first doubts of its truth were dis- pelled, what asti)iiishmerit would succeed ! Amongst the learned, what surmises what investigations Aisiongst the vulgar, what eager curiosity and amazement! All would be interested in the history of such an unheard-of phenomenon ; even the inns torpid would flock to the sight of such a prodigy. (Introd., i. 58.) Examine the nest of the common wasp. This is generally formed in an underground cavity, usually in a bank; it is oval in shape, about sixteen or eighteen inches long, and twelve or thirteen broad. A well-peopled nest will contain at least 16,000 cells, similar in shape to those of the honey bee, and like them disposed in combs or layers; but, unlike those of the bee, the cells of the wasp do not contain honey, are not formed in double layers, and do not consist (if wax, but (if the same substaiice as the external envelope of the nest. What is this substance? No other than paper, of a grayish color, which the insect instinctively knew how to manufacture from the fibres of wood, And yet, without exciting much surprise, that detached by their jaws fronm posts, rails, or other is what is continually going on under our eyes places, long, long before the art of making paper with divers modifications (if minor import, it is the as we now see it was discovered by man; and the course through which have passed the countless pastebocrd nests of another ~vasp, a native of Cey- hosts of insects, many of which were formerly be- Ion, vie in whiteness, solidity, and polish with the hieved to be the result of spontaneous generation most superior article of that description ever fabri- an absurd idea, by no means exploded in our own cated by the most celebrated manufacturers. days. Harveys aphorismornne vivum ex ovo The spider alluded to as having forestalled the is no less true of the most minti4e insect than of divingbell, f;rms her curious habitation at tiiC hut the giosutic ostrich. Oii the score of variety the ton; f the water. She spins a number of Lose adv utage is indeed on tile side of the insect ; for 4 ENTOMOLOGY. 5 while the chick, when it hreaks the shell of its prison, is in all respects a bird, and as such fitted to inhabit the same element as its parent, the young insect frequently passes the preliminary stages of its existence in a medium which would be fatal to its perfect progenitor. The common gnat, for ex- ample, deposits its eggs in water, attaching them side by side, by means of its long hind legs, in such a way as to form a perfect life-boat, which no rough treatment can upset or sink it being doubtless essential for the welfare of the future progeny that the eggs should float on the surface of the ~vater, and not sink in it. The two next stages of the gnats existence are passed in the water. Every one is well acquainted with the little active wrig~ling creatures, with large heads, which durina the summer months abound in water, and especially rain-water, when freely ex- posed to the air. These are the larvw and pupar* of gnats. The larvn, as soon as they leave the floating egg, descend into the water, there to await the arrival of the period for assuming their winged aerial condition. But although they thus exist in a different element, yet the respiration of atmos- pheric air is absolutely necessary to their existence; and the means of obtaining it are accordingly pro- vided in the shape of a curious apparatus situated near the tail of the larva. The larva suspends it- self from the surface of the water by means of the extremity of this breathing tube, which is capable of being opened out into a stellate form, and it thus, while used as an organ of respiration, also acts as a buoy. When the little creature wishes to de- scend, it closes the hairs at the end of the tube; and on reiiscending they are again opened. After two or three moultings, the larva of the gnat becomes a pupa; in this state food seems to be no longer necessary, but fresh air is indispen- sable to its existence, though still living in the water. Unlike that of the larva, the respiratory apparatus of the pupa consists of two tubes placed behind the head, instead of being situated in the tail, which in the pupa is fin-shaped, and appears hy its motion to assist the animal in maintaining its position at the surface of the water. The next operationthat of assuming the per- fect stateis a most interesting one, which we have witnessed with admiration many times. It is well described in Ronnies Insect Transforma- tions ; and this account being very accurate, we give it entire. About eight or ten days after the larva of a gnat is transformed into a pupa, it prepares, generally towards noon, for emerging iuto the air, raising it- self up to the surface so as to elevate its shoulders just al)ove the level of the water. It has scarcely * We have four stages in the life of an insectfour states which it is necessary thoroughly to understand the egg, (ouun) which ~ motionless and apparently lifeless; the grub (/,rcci ) which is active, hut without svings, vora- cious and ~rows rapidly ; the chrysalis, (pupa,) which is quite motnonlt-s~ and does not occur in all insects; tie perlect insect (imago,) tvhich is active, has wings, does not row atid which, by laying e~gs, perpetuates its kind. ( i\ewman 2) got into this position for an instant, when, hy swell- ing the part of its body above water, the skin cracks between the two breathing tubes, and immediately the head of the gnat makes its appearance through the rent. The shoulders instantly follow, enlarging the breach so as to render she extrication of the b(tdy comparatively easy. The most important, and, indeed, indispensable, part of the mechanism, is the maintaining of its u~)right position, so as not to get xvetted, which would spoil its wings, and prevent it from flying. Its chief support is the run- gosity c)f the envelop which it is throwing off, and which now serves it as a life-boat, till it gets its win gs set at liberty, arid trimmed for flight. The body of the insect serves this little boat for a mast, which is raised in a manner similar to movable masts in lighters constructed for passing under a bridge, with this difference, that the gnat raises its body in an upright direction from the first. When the naturalist, says Rt~auimur, observes how deep the prow of the tiny boat dips into the water, he becomes anxious for the fate of the little mariner, particularly if a breeze ripples the surface, fur the least agitation of the air will waft it rapidly along, since its body performs the duty of a sail as well as of a mast; but as it bears a much greater propor- tion to the little bark than the largest sail does to a ship, it appears in great danger of being upset; and once laid on its side, all is over. I have sometimes seen the surface of the water covered with the bodies of gnats which had perished in this way; but for the most part all terminates favorably, arid tire dan- ger is instaittly over. When the gnat has extri- cated itself all but the tail, it first stretches out its two fore legs, and then the middle pair, bending them down to feel for the water, upon which it is able to walk as upon dry land, the only aquatic faculty which it retains after having winged its way above the element where it spent the first stages of its existence.(Lib. But. Knowl. Ins. Trans., p. 317.) The dragon-flies, or horse-stingers, as they are erroneously called by the country people, also deposit their eggs in the water, where they are hatched; and the young, like those of the gnat, pass the two first stages of their life in that element. The larva is furnished with a very curious respi- ratory apparatus, by which it is enabled to sustain an intermittent pumping tip and discharge of water, thus serving at the same time both as an organ of locomotion and of respiration. But this is not the only curious circumstance connected with this lar- va. The under lip of the mouth in the larva of most insects is very small ; but in that of the dragon-fly it is very large and of a most extraordi- nary structure, thus well described by Kirby and Spence It is by far the largest organ of the mouth, which, when closed, it entirely conceals, and it not only retains but actually seizes the animals prey, by means of a very singular pair of jaws with which it is furnished. Coiiceive your tinder lip (to have re- course, like R~aumur on another occasion, to such a comparison) to be horny instead of fleshy, and to be elongated perpendicularly downwards, so as to wrap over your chin, and to extend to its bottom that this elon~ation is there expanded into a trian- gular convex plate, attached to it by a joint, so as to bend upwards again and fold over the face as ENTOMOLOGY. high as the nose, concealing not only the chin and the first-mentioned elongation, but the mouth and part of the cheeks; conceive, moreover, that to the end of this last-mentioned plate are fixed two other convex ones, so hroad as to cover the whole nose and templesthat these can open at pleasure trans- versely, like a pair of jaws, so as to expose the nose and mouth, and that their inner edges where they meet are cut into numerous sharp teeth, or spines, or armed with one or more long sharp claws ;you will then have as accurate an idea as my powers of description can give of the strange conformation of the under lip in the larval of Libel- lulina, which conceals the mouth and face precisely a.~ I have supposed a similar construction of your lip would do yours. You will, probably, admit that your own visage would present an appearance not very engaging while concealed by such a mask; but it would strike still more awe into the specta- tors, were they to see you first open the two upper jaw-plates, which would project from each temple like the blinders of a horse; and next, having by means of the joint at the chin, let down the whole apparatus, and uncovered your face, employ them in seizing any food that presented itself, and con- veying it to your mouth. Yet this procedure is that adopted by the larva of the dragon-fly provided with this strange organ. While it is at rest, it ap- plies close to and covers the face. When the insects would make use of it., they unfold it like an arm, catch the prey at which they aim by means of the mandibuli-forro plates, arid then partly refold it so as to hold the prey to the mouth in a convenient position for the operation of the two pair of jaws with which they are provided. R6aumnur once found one of them thus holding and devouring a large tadpole; a sufficient proof that Swammerdam was greatly deceived in imagining earth to be the food of animals so tremendously armed and fitted for carnivorous purposes. In the larv~ of Libel- lula, Fabr., it is so exactly resembling a mask, that if entomologists ever xvent to masquerades, they could not more effectually relieve the insipidity of such amusements, and attract the attention of the deinoiselies, than by appearing at the supper table with a mask of this construction, and serving them- selves by its assistance.(Introd., iii. 126.) These voracious larv~ do not, however, trust solely to this curious apparatus when seeking for prey, for they stealthily close upon it as a cat will do upon a bird or upon a mouse, and then sm~ienly unmasking seize it by surprise ; insects, tadpoles, and even small fishes are titus captured. Like the pupa of the gnat, that of the dragon- fly is under the necessity of seeking the air in order to assume its perfect winged condition, but its avoidance of water is much more complete titan in the case of the gnat; for, miot content with merely ascending to the, surface, there to get rid of its now useless integument, the dragon-fly leaves the water entirely, generally by crawling up the stems of aquatic plants, upon which it fixes itself by means of its claws, and thus remains mo- tionless for a time, as if to gain strength for the coming struggle. After a while, the envelope may be seen to burst open between the shoulders; through the aperture protrudes the head of the perfect fly, and this is quickly followed by its legs, the cases of which remain attached as before to time plant. Another period of rest now intervenes, the head and upper portion of the body being bent imackwards, and gradually becoming dry amid firm. The fly then, firmly grasping the upper portion of its cast skin with its feet, gradually draws out the remainder of its body, and again rests immovably. During this state of inaction the wings expand, all the crumples, plaits, amid folds incidental to the confined space previously occupied gradually dis- appear, and the whole wing becomes a beautiful smooth gauzy membrane, traversed by nerves, and nearly the lengt.h of the body, which has at the same time been gradually enlarging and lemtgthen- ing, and the limbs acquiring their just size and proportions. Moreover, while the wings are thus drying and expanding, the insect is instinctively careful to prevent their coming in contact, while wet, with any part of the body, which would ren- der them unfit for use, by arching the latter in such a way that the convexity is downwards. The whole of this curious process we have watched with admiration ; and once had the pleasure of ex- plaining it to a little intelligent country boy, who happened to pass the piece of water where it was on, and pitt time question, What be them going ere things a-doinl In a former number of this Review we quoted from the Zoologist art exceedingly in- teresting account of the fiumal transformation of a small species of ephemera, or day-fly, illustrative of what Mr. Newman well calls the strange fact of an insects flying before it reaches the imago; that is, flying in its penultimate state. The eg,. s of these flies are laid in the water, like those of the dragon-flies, which belong to the same class (Neuroptera,) amid time gnats. The larv~ live in the water two arid even three years; when the imnago is about to cast off its pupa-skin, it leaves the water, arid proceeds in the manmier described in the quotation above referred to. The duration of the perfect insects life is at niost a few hours. The phrygamme~, or cadilis-flies, also deposit their eggs in the water. The larv~ construct for themselves little habitations of small shells, (which sometimes contaimi their living tenamits,) grains (if saud, sumall stones, bits of stick, amid other similar substances, made to adhere by the prototype of narine glue. These larv~ cannot swim, lint, be- imig furnished with six legs, they walk with facili- ty at the bottom of the water; amid being them- selves heavier than water, it is necessary that their habitations should have a specific gravity so nearly corresponding with that of water, that mite animals may move about without being floated to time sur- face on the one hand, or compelled to remain at the bottom on the other. Time larv~, therefore, evince their instinct-prompted knowledge of hydro- statics, by attaching to timeir cells a piece of straw, or some other light substance, if too heavy ; or if too light, a shell or piece of gravel. They never quit their habitaticmris tintil about to assumnie the per- fect form ; when about to become ~ the larva withdraw within their cases, after fixing them to some solid substance, and close each extreritity with ENTOMOLOGY. I t grating which readily permits the passage of so loosen the turf, that it will roll up as if cut water through the case, this being necessary for with a turfing spade. Records have from time respiration. The pupa makes its way out by to time appeared of the extensive ravages of these means of a pair of hooked jaws, and swims about grubs, which do not confine themselves to grass, until it leaves the water for the purpose of under- but also eat the roots of corn. The rooks are going its final ecdysis; some of them climb up their most determined enemies; for they not only aquatic plants, like the pup~e of dragon-flies; follow the plough for the purpose of devouring the others simply float up to the stirface, as the pintpa~ grubs of the cockchafer, which, among others, are of the gnats do. sometimes turned up in the furrows in great nom It is very difficult, without actually witnessing the successive stages of the lives of such insects, to realize the curious fact, that the little merry dancing gnats, whose aerial gambols all have ob- served ; and the quick-darting dragon-flies, with their iridescent glistening wings; and the gay ephemer~, whose a~rial life is to terminate in a few hours from the period of their assuming it were once the inhabitants of an element which would be fatal to them in their now perfect form. Yet are there many insects whose lives are passed under similarly opposite conditions ; and still more numerous are those whose progress from birth to maturity is characterized by changes of structure equally curious, which, however, are not so strik- ingly marked, in consequence of their occurring in situations and under circumstances less opposed than those we have been considering. Every resident in the country is well acquainted with the common cockchafer, or May-bug, but few, perhaps, are aware that the firm in which they are most familiar with itthat of a large beetleis the ultimate one of four several stages of insect life. Four years before the May-bug makes its presence unpleasantly known to us by dashing in our faces during our rural walks on the delicious evenings we sometimes have in May, it was carefully deposited in some field or meadow, in the form of an egg, mu company with perhaps hundr~ds of similar eggs, by a May-hug like itself. The parent, having performed this duty, would soon to exist; and towards autumn the ecos cease would give btrth to numerous minute whitish grubs. Between tlmis period of hatching and the third autumn, tIme grubs increase greatly in size, and cast their skins three or four times, each time burrowing deeper than their usual feedimig level, as they likewise do in winter, when they become torpid. In the third autumn after they are hatched the grubs prepare for assuming the pupa state, by burrowing to the depth uif ahout a yard ; attd in a little chamber at the bottom tif the burrows they remain imuctive until the following January or February, when the perfect beetles emerge from the last coveriiig they are to cast (1ff; bitt for ten or twelve days they reruiziti quite as soft as when in their first stage of existence, and d(i mit venture to quit their subterranean asylum until May, when they nay be seen crawlitig (lot of the ground in great numbers, and soon taking flight. In tlte perfect state these insects live upon the leaves of trees ; bitt the voracious grubs devomtr time roots iif grasses, sunmetimes destroying wltole acres of the finest pasture, and, as Kirby and Spenee well ob- serve, thmey undermine the richest umeadows, and hers, but they instinctively, as it were, pitch upon those meadows and porti(ins of meadows where the grubs are pttrsuing their subterranean work of de- strttction, rout tip the grasses with their strong beaks, and feast luxuriously upon the rich repast thus laid bare; as if to revenge themselves upon the cause of the charge undeservedly brought against them, of doing an injury to the farmer by uprooting his grass, when, in reality, they are conferring upon him one of the greatest benefits, by destroyitrg an insidioits enemy. The very extensive class Coleoptera, or the beetle tribe, to which the coekehafer belongs, fur- nishes marty other examples of insects exceeding- ly injurious to agriculture, both in the larva and perfect states. Such are the different kinds of weevil which attack grain, both while growing and when stored away in the granary; tlte hirnip- fly ; the wire-worm, which is tlte grub of one of the little slender beetles allied to the exotic fire- flies ; and many others, an attentive study of whose habits in their variotis stages would proba- bly suggest remedies for tlte injuries inflicted by them. On the other hand, the same class fo;- nishes examuples of insects conferring benefits upon man, either by preying upon other insects whose ravages itmterfere with his comforts or with the supplying of his necessities, or by removing de- caying substances witich would otherwise become (iflensive to the senses. Of the former descrip- tion are the larv~ of the lady-birds, which do g(i()d service by destroying the Aphides infesting the hop ; uif the latter, irm a small way, is the sexton, or huryimtg-beetle, which actually consigns to time bosom of mother earth the body of any small animal it may meet with ; not, however, with a view of conferring a benefit upon the lord of creation, but in order that its owit progeny may be provided with a fitting nidums, and that they umay finmd a sufficient store of provision on emerging from the egg. An exceedimigly pleasing description of the proceedimmgs of this beetle and his mate, from the pen of an observer who, we regret, now writes nmi more, appeared some years ago in the Entomological Maga- zine, with the signature of Rmmsticos, of Go- dalming, and is quoted by Mr. Newman in his Immtmoduction to the History of Insects, front which we here extract it. The sexton-beetle is about an inch in length ; it is of a black color, and so fretid, that the hamrds smell for hormrs after handlimmg it; and if it crawl ott woollen clothes which are not wasited, the smell continues fir several days. The sexton- beetle lays its eggs in the bodies of putrefying 8 ENTOMOLOGY. dead animals, which, when practicable, it buries in he the ground. In Russia, where the poor people are buried but a few inches below the surface of tbe ground, the sexton-beetles avail themselves of the bodies for this purpose, and the graves are pierced with their holes in every direction at evening, hundreds of these beetles may be seen in the church-yards, either buzzing over recent graves, or emerging from them. The sexton-beetle, in this country, seldom finds so convenient, a provision for him, and he is under the necessity of taking much more trouble; he sometimes avails himself of dead dogs and horses, but these are too great rarities to be his constant resort ; the usual objects of his search are dead mice, rats, birds, frogs, and moles; of these, a bird is most commonly obtained. In the neighborhood of towns, every kind of garbage that is thrown otit attracts these beetles as soon as it begins to smell ; and it is not unusual to see them settling in our streets, enticed by the grateful odor of such substances. The sexton-beetles hunt in couples, male and female; and where six or eight are found in a large animal, they are almost sure to be males and females in equal numbers; they hunt by scent only, the chase being mostly performed when no other sense would be very available, viz., in the night. When they have found a bird, great comfort is expressed by the male, who wheels round and round above it, like a vulture over the putrefying carcass of some giant of the forest. The female settles on it at once, without this testimonial of satisfaction. The male at last settles also, and a savory and ample meal is made before the great work is begun. After the beetles have appeased the calls of hunger, the bird is abandoned for a while ; they both leave it to ex- plore the earth in the neighborhood, and ascertain whether there is a place suitable for interment; if on a ploughed field there is no difficulty ; but if on grass, or among stones, much labor is required to draw it to a more suitable place. The operation of burying is performed almost entirely by the male beetle, the female mostly hiding herself in the body of the bird about to be buried, or sitting qutetly upon it, and allowing herself to be buried with it the male begins by digging a furrow all round the bird, at the distance of about half an inch, turnin~ the earth outside; his head is the only tool used in this operation ; it is held sloping outwards, and is exceedingly powerful. After the first furrow is completed another is made within it, and the earth is thrown into the first furrow; then a third furrow is made, and this is completely under the bird, so that the beetle, whilst working at it, is out of sight: now, the operation can only be traced by the heav- ing of the earth, which suon forms a little rampart round the bird; as the earth is moved from beneath, and the surrounding rampart increases in height, the bird sinks. After incessant labor for about three hours, the beetle emerges, crawls upon the bird, and takes a survey of his work. If the fe- dl h dtt f male is on the bird, she is driven away by the 1\{uch as we may epore te evasa ions o male, who does not choose to be intruded upon the tim her-boring insects, among which the beetle during the important business. The male beetle tribe figures most conspicuously, it must be re- then remains for about an hour perfectly still, and membered that in pursuing their destructive oper- does not stir hand nor foot; he then dismounts, ations they are but performing their share of the dives again into the grave, and pulls the bird down general economy of nature, which provides for the by the feathers for half an hour ; its own weight - removal appears to sink it but very little. At last, after of all organic substances, whether animal two or three hours more labor, the beetle comes or vegetable, as soon as the vital principle has up, again gets on the bird, and again takes a sur- ceased to actuate them. That all such substances vey, and then drops down as though dead, or fall shall return to the dust whence they sprang is a en suddenly fast asleep When sufficiently rested I decree from which there is no appeal; and the in- rouses himself, treads the bird firmly into its grave, pulls it by the feathers this way and that way, and having settled it to his mind, begins to shovel in the earth ; this is done in a very short time, by means of his broad head. He goes be- hind the rampart of earth, and pushes it into the grave with amazing strength and dexterity : the head being bent directly downwards at first, and then the nose elevated with a kind of jerk, which sends the earth forwards. After the grave is thus filled up, tlte earth is trodden in, and under~ oes another keen scrutiny all round, the bird being completely hidden ; the beetle then makes a hole in the still loose earth, and having buried the bird and his own bride, next buries himself. The female having laid her eggs in the carcass of the bird, in number proportioned to its size, and the pair having eaten as much of the savory viand as they please, they make their way out, and fly away. The eggs are hatched in two days, and prodtice fat scaly grubs, which run about with great activity ; these grubs grow excessively fast, and very 500fl consume all that their parents had left. As soon as they are full grown they cease eating, and burrowing further in the earth become pup~. rfhe length of time they remain in this state appears uncertain ; but when arrived at the perfect state, they make round holes in the ground, from which they come forth.(Newman, p. 53.) Of the unwearying indtistry shown by these beetles, some idea may be formed by the result of experiments conducted by M. Gleditsch, as quoted by Kirby and Spence, from an interesting article in the Acts of the Berlin Society for 1752. M. Gleditsch found that in fifty days four beetles had interred in the very small space of earth al- lotted to them, twelve carcasses; viz., four frogs, three small birds, two fishes, one mole, and two grasshoppers, besides the entrails of a fish, and two morsels of the lungs of an ox. In another experiment a single beetle buried a mole forty times its own hulk and weight in two days. To this account the authors add the following perti- nent remarks It is plain that all this labor is incurred for the sake of placing in security the future young of these industrious insects along with a necessary provision of food. One mole would have stifliced a long time for the repast of the beetles themselves, and they could have more conveniently fed upon it above ground than below. But if they had left thus exposed the carcass in which their eggs were deposited, both would have been exposed to the imminent risk of being destroyed at a mouthful by the first fox or kite that chanced to espy them.-. (Introd., i. 354.) ENTOMOLOGY. sect tribes do hut hasten its fulfilment, while en- gaged in destroying our books, our furniture, the wooden frame-work of our houses, or the lofty tenants of our forests. The ease with which wood, when much worm-eaten, is crumbled, even between the fingers, is well known but it may not be so generally understood that the worms which produce this effect upon articles of furniture formed of wood, are no other than the soft-bodied ~rubs of various coleopterous in- sects, which are thus carryiog out on a small scale the more extensive operations that quickly reduce to a similar condition the giants of tropical forests. Our domestic pests of this description are chiefly small beetles, which pass the early part of their lives in the wood, and by means of their powerful jaws mine throttgh it in all direc- tions, only emerging when they assume the per- fect state. One of these is the death-watch, which even yet is an object of superstitious dread to tite inhabitants of many an old house, of the wood-work of which it has taken possession. The ticking noise, so alarming to weak minds, and which is often considered an infallible presage of impending death to some member of the family, is merely the call-note of the perfect beetle of sev- eral species chiefly belonging to the gentis Anobi- um, and, as we have often observed, principally by the largest species, A. tesselatum. The man- ner of producing this noise, which greatly resem- bles the ticking of a watch, is thus very accurate- ly described by Kirby and Spence. Raising itself upon its hind legs, with the body somewhat inclined, it beats its head with great force and agility upon the plane of position ; and its strokes are so powerful, as to make a consider- able impression if they fall upon any substance softer than wood. The general otimber of distinct strokes in sttccession is from seven to nine or elev- en. They follow each other quickly, and are re- peated at tincertain intervals. In old houses, where these insects abound, they may be heard in warm weather ditring the day. The noise exactly resem- bles that produced by tapping moderately with the nail upon the table ; and when familiarized, the in- sects will answer very readily the tap of the nail. (Introd., ii. 383.) They also answer the ticking of a watch, if laid upon wood inhabited by them. By way of relieving this dry discussion, we may quote Dean Swifts description of the death-watch, with his infallible method of breaking the spell. He calls it A wood-worm, That lies in old wood like a hare in her form With teeth or with claws it will bite or will scratch, And chambermaids christen this worm a death- watch Because, like a watch, it always cries click ; Then woe be to those in. the house who are sick For, sure as a gun, they will give up the ghost, If the maggot cries click, when it scratches the post But a kettle of scalding hot water injected, Infallibly cures the timber affected; 9 The omen is brol~en, the danger is over, The maggot will die, and the sick will recover. After enumeratin,~ many important services ren- dered to man by insects in the removing of decay- ing organic matters, Kirby and Spence conclude their long list of insect injttries and benefits with the following paragraph Benefits eqtially great are rendered by the wood- destroying insects. We, indeed, in this country, who find use for ten times more timber than we pro-, duce, could dispense with their services; but to estimate them at their proper value, as affecting the great system of nature, we should transport our- selves to tropical climes, or to those under the tem- perate zones, where millions of acres are covered by one interminable forest. how is it that these un- trodden regions, where thousands of their giant in- habitants fall victims to the slow ravages of time, or the more sodden operations of lightning and hur- ricanes, should yet exhibit intone of those scenes of ruin and desolation that might have been expected, but are always found with the verdant characters of youth and beauty? It is to the insect world that this great charge of keeping the habitations of the Dryads in perpetual freshness has been committed. A century almost would elapse before the removal from the face of nattire of the mighty ruins of one of the hard-wooded tropical trees, by the mere in- fluence of the elements. But how speedy its de- composition, when their operations are assisted by insects As soon as a tree is fallen, one tribe attack its bark, which is often the most indestructi- ble part of it; and thousands of orifices into tho solid trunk are bored by others. The rain thus in- sinuates itself into every part, and the action of heat promotes the decomposition. Various fungi now take possession and assist in the process, which is followed up by the incessant attacks of other insects, that feed only upon wood in an incipient state of decay. And thus, in a few months, a mighty tnass, which seetned inferior in hardness only to iron, is mouldered into dust, and its place occupied by younger trees full of life and vigor. (Introd., i. 260.) That the office of clearing the grotmnd encumbered by the fallen monarchs of the forest is effectually aided by insects, is well attested by travellers in those regions where vegetation assumes its most luxuriant character; amid in this work the larvie of the beetle tribe do good service, in which they are assisted by those of insects belonging to the tribe next to be consitlered. The Lepidoptera, or the butterfly and moth tribe, offers, perhaps, some of the most attractive insects, whether to the scientific or the non-scientific ento- mologist. The butterfly, with its gorgeous hues, its devious flight, and the comparative obscurity of its previous life, has furnished to poets of all ages some of their most glowing similes, and to philoso- phers, from a very early date, a number of striking and beautiful analogies with the repose of the tomb arid the probability of a more glorious hereafter. These insects are also associated with the most agreeable images of the happiest period of our early days, when, like the youthftml Marcius, as portrayed by Shakspeare, we pinirstied the rain- bow l)utterflies, regardless of wet, dirt, and tinim- bles, and equally careless as to whether the objeet I0 ENTOMOLOGY. of our pursuit were cabbage, peacock, or tortoise-shell. Peter Pindars clever hot sar- castic description of the exploits of Sir Joseph Banks, in iris mad career after the Emperor of Morocco, is by fl(i means a very exaggerateri pic- ture of the doings of many an enthusiastic collec- tor, with a glittering prize in view; and xve ques- tion whether the coldest among them would hesitate to follow the example of the worthy knight, with a shadow of a chance of capturing the Purple Em- peror. Most persons, at some time or other, have kept silkworms, and are consequently pretty well ac- quainted with the changes they undergo in their progress from the egg to the perfect winged con- dition. To those who have not had this opportu- nity of practically gaining a knowledge of the economy of the butterfly tribe, the following pas- sages from Kirby and Spence will, in a great measure, supply the information. That butterfly which amuses you with its aerial excursions, one while extracting nectar from the tube of the honeysuckle, and then, the very image of fickleness, flying to a rose, as if to contrast the hue of its witigs with that of the flower on which it reposesdid not come into the world as you now behold it. At its first exclusion from the egg, and for some months of its existence afterwards, it was a worm-like caterpillar, crawling upon sixteen short legs, greedily devouring leaves with two jaws, and seeing by means of twelve eyes so minute as to be nearly imperceptible without the aid of a micro- scope. You now view it furnished with wings capable of rapid and extensive flights; of its six- teen feet ten have disappeared, and the remaining six are in most respects wholly unlike those to which they have succeeded; its jaws have van- ~shed, and are replaced by a curled-up proboscis, suited otily for sipping liquid sweets; the form of its head is entirely changed, two long horns project from its upper surface; and, instead of twelve in- visible eyes, you behold two, very large, and com- posed of at least 20,000 convex lenses, each sup- posed to be a distinct and effective eye. Were you to posh your examination further, and by dissection to compare the internal cotiformatton of the caterpillar with that of the butterfly, you would witness changes even more extraordinary. In the firmer you would find some thousatids (if muscles, which in the latter are replaced by others of a form and structure entirely different. Nearly the whole body of the caterpillar is occupied by a capaci~~us stomach. In the butterfly this has be- come converted into an almost imperceptible thread- like viscus; arid the abdomen is now filled by two large packets of eggs, or other organs not visible in the first state. in the former, two spirally convo- luted tubes were filled with a silky gum; in the latter, both tubes and silk have almost totally van- ished ; and changes equally great have taken l)lace in the ecooomy and structure of the nerves and other organs. What a surprising transformation Nor was this all. The change from one form to the other was not direct. An intermediate state not less singrilar intervened. After casting its skirt even to its very jaws several times, arid attaining its full growth, the caterpillar attaches itself to a leaf by a silken girth. Its body greatly contracted ; ins skin once more split asunder, and disclosed an oviform mass, with- out exterior motith, eyes, or limbs, and exhibiting ito other symptom of life than a slioht motion when touched. In this state of death-like stupor, and without tasting find, the insect existed f(ir several mrinths, until at length the tomb burst, and (lot of a case not inure titan an inch long, arid a quarter of an inch in diameter, proceeded the butterfly be- fore you, which covers a surface of nearly four incites square.(Itrtrod., L 60.) Witnessing, as they doubtless did, these ex~ traurdinary changes without being able to account for them physirilogicaily, it is quite possible, as Kirby has suggested, that some of the wonder- ful tales of the ancients were grafted (10 the changes which they observed to take l)lace in in- sects. The story of the piio~nix, fur example, in many of its particulars, closely resembles van- uris (Iccurrences in the metamurllitOses (if iirsects~ At first a worm, emerging from tile ashes rif its parents funeral pile, and eventually a glorious winged creature, providing in tire oreans of its own destruction the nidus of its future arid uninseen progeny ; the fabled phcenix might assmnrerhly have acquired its type friim tire actual butterfly, ~vith- (rut any great stretch of imagination. Then again tue doctrine rif metempsycii(isis, or transmigration of souls, w(luld, to tire nrinds of tire early observ- era, be shadowed forth in the apparent revivifica- tirlo of the seemingly dead chrysalis. But the doctrine of a future life, more glorious titan that rif trattsrrni~ration, also derived support arid coun- tenance from the sante renriarkable vicissitudes of trisect life. Inn tue words of Mr. Newman What can be more wonderful than the fact that an unsightly worni should pass thronigh a shrouded and death-like sleep, and should wake at last a gIn- nuns butterfly, to bask in sunsininre, float urn tue im palpabie atmosphere, and quaff the lusciumns nectar of beauteous flowers! Well might such a oniracle i)e made a poets tineme! Well might tirose phi- losophers, on whose mind there (ia~viied, albeit dinily, the great truth of an after lifewell might they imnajoc their toilsome existertce typified in the caterpillar, tiieir descent to tine quiet grave in tue tomb-like repose of the chrysalis. and time mere after they sighed for in tine spirit-like resurrection of the happy butterfly ; and seizing with avidity the idea, well might tiney designate nirese adrial creatures by the trame of souls ! (Newmnan, p. 73.) Observation and research have shown tine true nature of insect metamurpitosis; witich, although riti longer possessing a claim to tire supernatural, has by no means lost its legitimate cinaracter of the wonderful. Instead of tire crawling caterpil- lar being metamorphosed intii tire ciirysalis, mi the strict sense (if the term, or tite quiesceurt chrysalis into time active butterfly, it is now established beyond a doubt, that tire wings, legs, arid other parts ruf the butterfly preexist ut time cirrysahis, and event inn tue caterpillar ; these facts have heemn as certainued by immersing the cirrysalis arid caterpil- lar in ituit water, arid dissectinig tirerti winen a greater degree of solidity has thus been given to * rlfVX, siginifying both soul and butleifly. ENTOMOLOGY. the various parts. This is still more minutely explained by Kirby and Spence, in the fullowitto paragraphs A caterpillar is not, in fact, a simple, but a com- pound animal, containing within it the germ of the future butterfly, inclosed in what will be the case of the pupa, which is itself included in the three or more skins, one over the other, that will succes- sively cover the larva. As this increases in size, these parts expand, present themselves, and are in turn thrown off, until at length the perfect insect, which had be3n coucealed in this succession of mass, is displayed in its genuine firm. That this is the proper explanation of the phenomenon, has beemi satisfactorily proved by Swammerdam, Mal- pighi, and other anatomists. TIme first-mentioned illustrious naturalist discovered, by accurate dis- sectinns, not only the skins of the larva and of the pupa incased in each other, but within them the very butterfly itself, with its organs indeed in an almost fluid state, but still perfect in all its parts. Of this fact you may convince yourself without Swammerdams skill, by plunging into vinegar or spirits of wine a caterpillar ahour to assume the pupa state, and letting it remain there a few days, for the purpose uf giving consistency to its parts; or by boiling it in water for a few minutes. A very rough dissection will then enable you to de- tect the future butterfly ; and you will find that the Wings, rolled up in a sort of a cord are lodged be- tween the first and second segment of the caterpil- lar; that the antenn~ and trunk are coiled up in front of the head and that the legs, however dif- ferent their form, are actually sheathed in its legs. Malpighi discovered the eggs of the future moth iii the chrysalis of the silkworm only a few days old ; and Reaumur those of another moth (Hy- pogyrnna dispar) even in the caterpillar, and that seven or eight days before its change itito the pupa. A caterpillar, then, may be regarded as a locomo- tive egg having for its embryo the included butter- fly, which, after a certain period, assimilates to itself the animal substances by which it is sur- rounded ; has its organs gradually developed ; atid at length breaks though the shell which incloses it. This explanation strips the subject of everything miraculous, yet by no means reduces it to a simple or uninterestitig operation. Our reason is con- founded at the reflection that a larva, at first not thicker than a thread, includes its own triple, or sometinies octu pIe tegumertts; the case of a chrys- alis, atid a butterfly, all curiously folded into each other; with an apparatus of vessels for breathing and digesting, of nerves for sensation, and of mus- cles for moving ; and that these various forms of existence will undergo their successive evolutions by aid of a few leaves received into its stomach. Atid still less able are we to comprehend how this organ should at one time be capable of digestin~ leaves, at another only hottey ; how otie while a silky fluid should be secret~d, at another none; or how orgarts at one period essential to the existence of the ittsect, shoud at another be cast off, arid the whole system that supported them vanish.(Jn- trod., i. 70.) Bitt, beautiful as are the members of this tribe, and ititeresting as are their curitttts chattges, a vast amotint of the imtjuries caused by imisects to the agriculturist, the forester, the merchant, arid even to domestic economy, may fairly be laid to 11 their charge. It is no unusual circumstance for hedges and trees to be entirely stripped iif their foliage in spring and early sunimer, remaimiing as bare and leafless as in the depth tif wimiter. This mischief is chiefly caused by the caterpillars of several species of moths (ir butterflies, which occa- sionally make their appearance in astormishimig mum bers, amid devotir every green leaf that falls iii their way. Caterpillars of other species also greatly injure livimtg trees, by eating away tlte imiternal wot)d ; amid in this way they do as munch mischief as the grubs of wood-boring beetles l)reviomisly spoken of. In short, vegetable substances of all descriptions, livimig and dead, are liable to the at- tacks of iminumerable insect foes, which are by no nmeans confihmed to the members of the two classes here referred to, since almost every tribe fitrimishes its contingemit to the great army, whose depreda- tions are doubtless perrtiitted for certain wise pur- poses, not the least iniportant of which is the re- moval of decaying orgammic substamices. The care with which insects provide for the safety and well-being of their pruigemmy, whom the majority iif therni never see, fmmrmmishmes sortie uif the noist curious manifestations of instimict. Must in- sect paremits perish simon after they have deposited their eggs in suitable situations, with, iii some cases, a supply (if food to be ready fur the young tIme moment they emamerge from tIme egg. This is not, however, tIme case with all. A species of bug, inhabiting the birch tree, keeps near her e~gs, amid collects and takes as much care of the yoummg when hatched as a hen dries of her chick- ens. Ammother imisect, perfectly harmless tim mart persomially, thought tIme object of much umufounded dislike, does the same thimig; we allude tim the earwig whose proceedings detailed are thus by Mr. Newman The earvvig is one of our most common insects; it is well known to every omme. and is very generally an object of unconquerable dislike; thin forceps at its tail, and the threatening manner in which these are turned over its back, to pimichi anything of which it is afraid, render it peculiarly disgustimig. The fore wimigs of the ear~vig are square, short leathery pieces, which cover but a very sm~ II pi)r- tiomi of the body ; the insect is incapable umf fhlding them in any direction, or of usimig them aa organs of flight. The hind winds are quite differemit fiorn the fore wimigs; they are folded imito a very small compass, amid covered by the fnare wirings, excel)t a small pontioma which protrudes froni benicathi them arid, when examimied in this posimimmim, appear totally miseless as organs of flight. Wheim umiPilded, time hind wimigs are remarkably imeautiful; they are of amnphe size, perfectly transpareumm, displaying pris- matic colors whiemi motived iii mIme light ; amid are in- tersected by veins, which radiate from near the cemitre to tIme margin. The shape of these wings wheim fully opened, is nearly that of the human ear ; and from this circunistanice it seems hmighly prnmbable that thie original nanne of this insect wa~ ear-wing. Earwigs subsist principally on the leaves and flowers (if plammis. amid ott fruit ; amid they are en- tirely noctuaruial insects, retimimig by day irmto dark crevices amid corumera, whiere they are screemied from 12 ENTOMOLOGY. observation. The rapidity with which they devour the petals of a flower is remarkable; they clasp the edge of a petal in their fore legs, and then, stretching out their head as far as possible, bite out a mouthful, then another mouthful nearer, and so on till the head is brought to the fore legs. This mode of eating is exactly that which is practised by the caterpillars of butterflies and moths ; the part of a leaf or petal is eaten out in a semicircular form, and the head is thrust out to the extreme part after every series of mouthfuls. Pinks, car- nations, and dahlias very frequently lose all their beauty from the voracity of these insects. When the time of breeding has arrived, which is gener- ally in the autumn, the female retires for protec- tion to the cracks in the bark of old trees, or the interstices of weather boarding, or under heavy stones on the. ground here she commences laying her eggs. The eoos are usually from twenty to fifty in number; when the female has finished lay- ing them, she dues not forsake them, as is the habit of other insects, but sits on them, in the man- ner of a hen, until they are hatched. When the little ones leave the shell, they are in- stantly very perceptibly larger than the eggs which contained them. They precisely resemble the par- ent in structure and habit, except that they are without wings; they also differ in color, being per- fectly white. The care of the mother does not cease with the hatching of the cg s ; the young ones run after her wherever she moves, and she continues to sit on them and brood over them with the greatest affection for many days. If the young ones are disturbed or scattered, or if the parent is taken away from them, she will on the first oppor- tunity, collect them again, and brood over them as carefully as before, allowing them to push her about, and cautiously moving one foot after anoth- er, for fear of hurting them. How the young ones are fed until the mothers care has ceased, does not appear to have been ascertained ; for it is not until they are nearly half grown that they are seen feed- ing on vegetables with the rest.(Newman, p. 10.) We can vouch for the accuracy of the above description of the habits of the earwig, having more than once seen the female brooding over her young ones, and pretty little white things they are. We have never seen the common earwig on the wino but have frequently captured a smaller insect, belonging to a closely allied genus, when in the act of flying ; and it is probable that the earwig itself, from the ample size of its wings, is able to take extensive flights. Time beauty of the wings will well repay the observer for the little trouble required to unfold them. On the back of the insect, between the second and third pairs of legs, will be seen two little scale-like bodies, lying side by side; these are the fore wings, and if they are carefully lifted tip with a pin, the flying wings may he seen beneath them, curiously folded up into the smallest possible compass, and these, by the cautious use nf the pin, may be opened out to their full extent. The forceps at the end of the body are sai(l to he used by the earwig in dis- playing its wings preparatory to taking flight ; and this supposition is a very probable one. The prevalent idea, that the earwig is in the habit of entering peoples ears, and there doing all sorts of naughty tricks, is entirely without foundation. ~We believe that its injurious operations are con- fined to spoiling the florists choice flowers, and partaking of time gardener~s ripest fruits; and that they have not mended their manners iii this respect fur the last few hundred years, we may infer from a rather arousing passage in old Mouffets Thea- tre of Insects. The English women hate them [the earwigs] exceedingly, because of the flowers of clove-gilli- flower that they eat and spoil, and they set snares for them thus: they set in the most void places ox-hoofs, hogs-hoofs, or old cast things that are hollow, tiporm a staff fastened into the ground, and these are easily stuffed with straw; and when by night the savages creep into them to avoid the rain, or hide themselves in the morning, these old cast things, being she ok, forth a great multitude fall, and are killed by treading on them. The beautiful wings of the earwig lead us to make a few remarks upon insect wings in general. In nothincr is what Cicero calls the insatiable variety of nature more strikingly manifested than in those beautiful organs of locomotion ; and upon their variatioiis Limiima~ns founded his system of classification, which differs but slightly from that of Aristotle, the first systematist whose works have come down to our times; arid the Linunan dmjfferences are certainly no improvements upon a mode of classifying insects contrived above two thousand years ago. A perfect insect is furnished with four wings and six legs ; in what must be considered their normal or typical state, the four wings are all of equal size, and all equally capable of being used in flying ; these conditions are fulfilled in the typical class, Nenroptera, comprising, among others, the dragon-flies, white ants, Ephemern, and Phryganere before spoken of; the most beau- tiful members of this group being perhaps the lace-~vinged flies, one of which, the elegant Chrys- opa perla, has fotir very large greenish wings, perfectly transparent, and in texture resembling time finest lace; its body is long and slender, and covered with burnished armor, and its eyes large, prominent, and of a brilliant golden green color. The eggs of this, or a very closely allied species, are very curious objects, greatly resembling in appearance some of the delicate fungi. They are of an oval shape, and greenish white color, each being attached to the twig of lilac, or other tree upon which they are deposited, by means of a white stem, about an inch long. These stems or footstalks are formed by the parent attaching a drop of glutinous matter to the twig, and then drawing it onit to the full length of her own body, the egg being at the end of it. The larva, like that of time lady-birds, is a determined enemy to Aphides, and after havincr exhausted of their b juices the bodies of those Imests, it covers itself with the remains of their bodies. In the Lepidoptera, or the butterfly and moth tribe, we observe time first indications of a deviation from the normal equality of the two pairs of ENTOMOLOGY. 13 wings; the hind wings heing generally smaller than the fore wings, and of a different form, but all are used in flight. The difference in the size of the fore and hind wings of the Lepidoptera is more marked in the moths than in the butterflies. In the Hymenoptera, the difference in size of the two pairs of wings hecomes still more striking, the fore wings considerably exceeding the hind ones in development ; hut still here all are useful as organs of flight. This order comprises the various families of wasps, bees, ichneumons, ants, & c., but not the white ants, or Tcrmites, which are Neuropterous insects. But, it may be asked, how can ants, which have no wings, be classed with such insects as bees and wasps, in which those organs are present? The truth is, that the perfect ants, both male and female, are amply provided with wings, but these hear a small pro- portion to the whole number of inhabitants of the ant-hill, the majority of which are wingless wurkers, and are termed neuters, being most probably sterile females ; and, unlike the workers of the white-ant establishments, they have attained their ultimate state of development, whereas those of the white ants are in their larva or first active state. In the fc.ilowing extract from Mr. New- man, all the tenants of an establishment of yellow ants are exhibited in action, preparatory to t.he I founding of fresh colonies. In the autumn, we frequently observe one of these l~illocks closely covered with a living mass of winged ants, which continue to promenade, as it were, over its entire surface; they mount on every plant in the vicinity of their nest, and the I boreis (for now the entire population of the nest has turned out) accompany them as closely as possible, following them to the extreme tip of every hI de of grass, and when at length those possessed of wings spread them in preparation for flight, the laborers will often hold them hack, as if loath to trust them alone, or desirous of sharing the perils of their trackless course. If the temperature is unfavorable, either from cold or wet, at the period of the grand autumnal production of winged ants, they remain in the nest fur several days, until a favorable change in the weather takes place, when the laborers open all the avenues to the exterior and the winged multitude passes forth at the portals mole crickets; in the grasshoppers, locusts, and in glittering and iridescent panoply. When the cockroaches, they are as large as the fore wings, air is warm and still they rise in thousands, and I but still partly of the same leathery consistence, sailing, or rather floating, on the atmosphere, leave and of little use as or5ans of locomotion. lhrever the scene of their former existence. In the Cole o ptera, or beetle tribe, the fore Meriads of these flying ants, attracted by the brilliant surface of water illuminated hy an autumnal wings completely lose their power of assisting in sun, rush into the fatal current, and are seen no flight, as well as their membranaceous consistence, more; rnyriads are devoured by birds; and h)ut a being of a hard, crustaceous character, and having srnall proportion of the immense swarm which left for their only office that of protecting the mem- the nest escapes, and lives to found new colonies. branaceous hind wings when not in use, and (Newman, p. 48.) folded up beneath them. To this class belong the All the winged males quickly perish after May-bugs, the death-watch, and sexton beetle pairing, which takes place in the air. The first before mentioned; the Spanish fly, or blister- care of the female, on descending to the ground, beetle, the lady-bird, the glow-worm, and numbers is to select a fit spot for the formation of a nest ; of others, are also members of this class. In this being fixed upon, she divests herself of her I some of its orders the wings are only partially or wings, now not only useless, hut an incumobrance riot at all (leveloped ; and the g~mws Lamrvr~s, or this she does by twisting them about over i g I mer owworm, afi~rds an exa niple of tLe P:mnaie back, pulling them off with her ibet, or cutting being entirely without wings, w liii the mual~ them off with her mandibles. This being accom- plished she excavates her future dwelling-place, deposits her eggs, at tends upon the larv~ and pupre, and performs all the duties of a careful ant- mother, in which she is assisted by workers, if, as is sometimes the case, a few of them should meet with her; otherwise she is herself the sol- itary and unaided foundress of the new colony. Amazingly large swarms of ants are sometimes observed in autumn, and nattirally excite the won- der of all unacquainted with the habits of these insects; and even those to whom they are familiar cannot witness without admiration this among other palpable mammifestations of insect-prompted actions, tending to the perpetuation of species. In the Diptera, or tribe of two-winged flies, the hind wings attain their minimum of development, being reduced, in some orders, to mere little knobs, seated on a short pedicel, one under each perfect wing; and in others even these represen- tatives are so small as to be scarcely perceptible. No more fanmihiar examples of this class can be adduced than gnats, crane flies, and house flies; various species of the latter follow man, and dome ticate themselves with him wherever he goes; and many of them, in their larva state, am. of the greatest service in removing vegetable and animal impurities, which would otherwise accu- mulate, and become exceedingly offensive. In the Hemiptera the fore wings begin to yield in importance to the hinder ones, being of a leathery consistence imi their basal portions, with the apical part membranaceous; time hind wings are entirely membranous, arid are the chief org amis of flight. The pIant-bu~,s, to one genus of which order belongs that nocturnal pest, the bed-bug, though destitute of wings, is the typical order of this class, which is separated from the class Orthoptera by certain minute technical characters. 1mm the Orthoptera, the fore wings reach their maminir tim of development in the order of Forficu- lites, or earwigs, before mentioned; where they are reduced to little, square, leathery coverings to the hinder wings, which, in these, are alone used imi flying, s is also the case with the crickets and 14 appears under the form of a perfect winged beetle. The lunrinotis property of the female is allowed by all natriralists but even at the present day, though the fact has been again and again stated, some entomologists altogether deny the luminosity of the male; and even among those who are inclined to concede to him the possession of lamps, there are some who state that the lights are visible only while the male is at rest, and that they dis- appear when he is flying. We are able fully to confirm the testimony of those who state the male glow-worm t.o be luminous, and also to say with confidence that his light is displayed while on the wing ; having, on one occasion, had the pleasure of seeing them in great numbers enter an open windo~v, on a warm, moist, summer evening, and fly towards the candles. They alighted upon the table, on the hands, and on the dress of those near the table; the ligltt of each was perfectly appa- rent in the form of two or four sniall specks of light, placed towards the extremity of the abdo- men; arid when the winged rover darted off into the dark part of the room, the points of light were visible for a considerable distance as he receded from view. Tltere is one curious peculiarity belonging to the glow-worm which should be mentioned ; it is luminous in every stage of its existence ; egg, larva, and pttpa, all displaying the beatiriful ra- diarice, althiotigh not equally with the 1)erfect in- sect. This fact tends to cast a doubt upon the hypothesis which would limit the use of the light to the hiurpose of enabling the male to discover his partner in the dark. The extensive family of Aphides, or plant-lice, offer many peculiarities deserving notice. The various species are some of the greatest pests to which the gardener, the florist, arid the farmer are in this country exposed. The species, for the most part, infest each its particular plant ; for example, the Aphis of the hop (Aplris Humuli) is riot finoid upon the rose-tree ; nor that of the bean (A. Fab~) upon tIre 1101). These plant-lice often appear in immense numbers and overrun extensive districts in an incredibly short time. Like White of Selborne, marry a lover of flowers has frequently Irad to Vimerut the alurrost instanta- neous destruction of Iris honeysrickles, roses, and other favorite lilants ; which, one week the most sweet arid lively objects that the eye could behold, would beconre tire next, tire most loath- some, being enveloped in a viscotis substance, arid ho led with Aphides or smotiterflies ! The extraordinary rapidity with which these in- sects will sometimes overron a hop-garden, a rose- garrleri, a bearmfield, or ot irer collection of l)luInrts that may happen to suit tireir purposes, affrrds curosiderable corrotenatice to tIre poprilar belief that they are wafted throtrgh tIre air by a Irecirliar hraxe or blue moist, atterolatrt ttl)Ofl arr east wjnd and this is sr)rm1etirn~. 5 ~ trire, so f:mr mrs tIre mu mm neil rrriCr;rtiouus are cioucerrreul , lint. .ini fort ii nail fir lie er;euLur hivprlosis, mit rlr~t timire rif ti~ ycar tic tmircct n~iaiuief fcr tlru s ~a our hems ENTOMOLOGY. been done; the immense swarms of Aphidee sonietimes seen in autunin, havirrg completed their own share in the work- of destruction, have qtritted thre scene of their former devastatinurms, after de- positing tire eggs winch are to give birth to a fresh hirr)rrd in the folhtwing sprinrg, and most prob- ably quickly perish, though ttris is a part of their history trot yet satisfactorily ascertained. At all events, this seemmis to agree with facts winch have been well estah)hished by direct experiment, and with the testimony of authors ~vho have recnurded their observations upon the economy of these in- sects. It is to be regretted that White was not as well acqusitited with imusects as with 1)irds, or he would most likely have left us stime valuahule iniformuation upon the economy of these smother Vies. A passage in his Natural History uif Selborne, well describes the immense nunibers of A4uhides occasionally seen on time wing inn their aurtumnal simiftinig of quarters ; and tire date pretty nearly agrees within Professor Rermnies observation, that Ire had renuarked for several successive years thuat thre hop-flies disappear soon after nnidsummer, timorghi thre leaves huad been literally cnrvered withi them only a few days previously. White says At about three oclock in the afternoon of this ulay, [August 1st, 1785] whnieh was very lint, the people of thus village [Selbornme] were surprised by a swami of Apinirles, or sninother-flies, which fell imn these puirts. Those that were walking in the street at that juimmettire foumud themselves covered ~vith these insects. which settled also on the henlges mtnnd gardens, blackening all the vegetaldes where they ahighted. My antruals were discolored with them, and the stalks of a lied of unions were quite coated over or six days after. Thuese armies were then, rio douhut, in a state of migration, arid shrifting uhicir quaaters ; arid might have come, as far as we know, from thue great hmop plantations of Kent or Sussex, the winrd beimrg all that day in time easterly qumarter. They were observed at the sanre time in great cinnuds about Farmrhnam, and ahh along the lair. from- Faruhuam to Alwni.(Lctter 53, to Barring- torn.) Mr. Kirby also records the annoyance to winch Ire was suibjected later mr tue year hry corruinig in conntact witlr one of these nimigramnt arruries in tine Isle of Ely ; they flew into iris eyes, moutln, and ni(nstrils, and cuunrrpleteiy covered iris dress. Sim- ilar appearances have riot unrrfrequerrtly been ureri- tinimned mr tire newspapers. Like the winrged anirs befunre spoken of, it is these winuged Apinides winch are tIre founders of new coluirries, by depositing their eggs in place3 adahnted for tlneir reception ; burt uurlike tine ants, the parent Aplnides take nun further note of their eggs The wonder naturally excited by tire alnunost in- stanutmunneous appearance of large swarms uif Apirinies wrhl, inn great measrire, be dissipated, whreur it is rem rullecred ulint rlwy mire eninioweul with ann amazing feunnmmulit v. TIre rapidity of their prniductirnnr is inn deed enmnrrrmuummms ; mime gennerat hints rnniny descend four a siuugle A~hnis iii tIre c~urstm uif three tunomitlns ENTOMOLOGY. this has been proved by experimentand each generation has heen said to average one hundred individuals so that R~aumurs calculation, that a single fetnale may he the progenitor of 5,904,900,- 000 descendants during her own life, large as the aumher is, is I)rohal)ly within the mark. Profes- sor Rennie says that he has counted upwards of a thousand Aphides at a time upon a single hop- leaf; supposing, therefore, each of the thousand to he capable of producing the numher of descend- ants mentioned hy R~aumnur, we need not resort to the popular belief in the blight-producing prop- erty of the east wind to account for the rapid- ity with which a hop-garden is frequently overrun with a pest, against whose ravages no adequate protection has yet been discovered. Whatever degree of qualification we may feel inclined tt apply to the statements of the rate of increase of Aphides. it is undeniable that they do multiply with extreme rapidity, and their produc- ti()n is attended ~vith circumstances which have no exact parallel in the kingdom. Certain two-win2ed flies are viviparous; that is, instead of depositing eggs, according to the general law ohtainino among insects, their young ones are produced alive, in the form of larvu or pup~ ; hut whether eggs are deposited, or living young brought forth. neither mode of increase takes place until the parent flies have paired. Aphides, on the con- trary, at certain times of the year, are endowed with the remarkable faculty of producing living young without having previously paireml ; and this is not confined to the origina.l parent., hut is also ~hareA hy the descendants fur several generations. Bonnet, a French naturalist, took the precaution to isolite some of the firsthatched wingless females of the Aphis itihahiting the oak tree, as soon as they were excluded from the egg, and he found, that in the course of three months, nine genera- tions were successively l)rodnced in this way, al- though care was taken that no males should have access to the females. Towards autumn, however. the power of giving birth to a living progeny is lost, and eggs are deposited in the usual way, eSter pairing, no douht because they are better adapted to withstand the rigors of winter than living iudividuals would he ; and from these eggs the race is renewed in the fillowiug spring. An accurate observer hefimre quoted, who, unde~ the pseudonyme of Rus!icmrs,* used to publish some extremnely lively and pleasing descriptions of the every -(lay prm mecedimings of animals, in a letter en hlights, details the mode of production of Aphides in the following words I have taken a good deal of pains to find out the birth and parentage of true blights ; and for this purpose I have watched, day after day, the colonies of theuum in my own g rden, and single ones which I have kept in-doors, and under tumblers turned * ar~ hanor to learn that the deliabt!ul pap.r~ 0, ?~stura~ Ileenry by tt n4~cn~ tuive teen colleced, and are me hejeg ,ent~I ii a tuaimlso:ne n)iuv, (wtth hits Ir?. re) rr m1ne xe 1m~se Ycm k~uJiv ahiuwiel to upside down; the increase is prodigious; it beats everything of the kind that I have ever seen, heard, or read of. Insects in general come from an egg then turn to a caterpill r, which does nothing but eatthen to a chrysalis, which does nothing but sleepthen to a perfect beetle or fly, which does nothing but increase its kind. I3ut blights proceed altogether on another system ; the yourmg ones are horn exactly like the old ones, but less; they stick their beaks through the ritid, and begin drawing sap when only a day old, and go on quietly sucking away for days; and then, all at once, witbotit love. courtship, or matrimony, each individual begins bringing forth young ones. d continues to do so for months, at the rate of from a dozen to eighteen every day, and yet comutinues to increase in size all the while; there seem to he no unales, no drones all bring forth alike. Early in the year these blights are scattered along the stems, hut as soon as the little nines come to light, and commence sap- smmcking close to their mother, time spaces get filled up. and the old ones look like giants amommg the rest as here and there an ox in a flock of simeepwhen all time spare room is filled up, and the stalk com- pletely covered. The yomtng ones, on making their first appearance in the worlinl, seem rather posed as to ~vhat to be at, and stand quietly ott the backs of the others fimr an hour or so: then, as if having made mmp their nminds, they tiniddle upwards, walking on the hacks of the whole flock till they arrive at the upper end of the slmminot, and timeum settle them- selves qmuietly down, as close as possible to the outermoost (if tlmeir friends, and then commence sap.- sticking like the rest; the flock by this means ex- tenils in length every day, and at last the gro~ving shoot is (vertaken by their multitmide, amid coniplet~ ly covered to time very tip. Towards autumn, however, the blights umidergo a change in tlmeir na~- tmmre, tlmeir feet stick close to the rind, their skin opens alomig the back, and a wimiged blight comes omttthe summer gen eratioums being generally wing. less. These are male and female, and fly about and enjoy themselves: and, what seems scarcely credible, the winged females lay eggs and whilst this operation is goimig on, a solitary, wimmged blight may lie observed on time tinder side of time leaves, or omm time young shoots, p rticularly on tine hop, and differing from all its own progeny mu beimig winged and umearly black, whereas its progeny are green and withotut wings. These are mysteries which I leave you entomologists to explain. In May, a fly lays a lot of eggs; these eggs match and becoma blights: these bhights are viviparous, and that with- (lilt the usual mmninmi of the sexes, amid so are uheip children and grandchildrentue minumber of births depemdin smdely on the quantity and quality of timeir food; at last, as winter approaches, the whole generation, or series muf generations, assmn nines ~vini gs~ winich the parents dimi not p(issess, undergoes fine- quiently a cimange in color, amid imi tine spring, instead of beiing viviparous, lays eggs.(Letuers of Rusti cus, p. 07.) To the singular tribe of blights we are now treating on belomys tine imopflyaun insect., wimich, as Ruisticuns well says, has minnre rule over the pockets and tempers of m ukind, thant any other its ahuindance or scarcity being the almo t onl~ criterion of a scat-city mmr iliunidmunce iii mIme crops of lops. It is sc:urcelv umecessiry to lInde to he so culative operat iris xc b (Ii :: ris.~. ft en mba vt. icm. Rmnsticus cuintrasts One anuui.nnt of ety p-ic~ 5 16 ENTOMOLOGY. 1802, with that paid in 1825 and 1826. The for- mer year was favorable to the increase of the hop- fly, and the duty paid was 15,463 lOs. Sd. The fluctuations of the years 1825 and 1826 are SO Cu- rious, that we quote the passage In 1825, the duty commenced at 130,0001., but, owing to t.he excessive increase of the fly, had, in July, fallen to 16,0001. at the beginning of Sep- tember, it rose to 29,0001., but towards the end fell again to 22,0001. ; the amount paid was 24,3171. Os. lid. In the following year the summer was remarkably dry and hot; we could hardly sleep of nights with the sheets on; the thermometer for several nights continued above 70 degrees all the night through; the crop of hops was immense, scarcely a fly was to be found, and the betted duty, which begun in May, at 120,0001., rose to 265,0001.; the old duty actually paid was 269,3311. Os. 9d. the gross duty, 468,40 11. lOs. id., being the largest amount ever known. From this it will appear that, in duty alone, a little, insignificant-looking fly has control over 450,0001. annual income to the British treasury ; arid, supposing the hop-grounds of Eng- land capable of paying this duty annually, which they certainly are, it is very manifest, that in 1825, these creatures were the means of robbing the treasury of 426,0001. This seems a large sum, but it is not ons twentieth part of the sums gained and lost by dealers during the two years in ques- tion.(Letters, p. 75.) Rusticus, in the following passage, descrihes some of the curious effects of the attacks of b/i ghts, or Aphides, upon the plants infested by them. All blights infest the young and juicy shoots and leaves of plants, for the purpose of sap-sucking; and the plants honored by their operations forthwith play the most amusing and incredible vagaries; hearing blossoms instead of leaves, leaves instead of blossoms; twisting into corkscrews stems xvhich ought to be straight, and making straight as sticks those which, as the scarlet-runner and hop, ought to twiiie; sometimes, as in the peach, makin5 the leaves hump up in the middle, and causing the tree to look as though it had a famous crop of young fruit; making apple-trees bear blossoms on their roots, and causing roots to groW out of their young shoots and by tormenting orchards in this way, prevenm~ the fruit from ripening, arid making it woolly ti~teless, and without juice. It is amusing to see with what regularity the blights station them- selves on the young shoots of the guelder-rose, crox~dni~ so close torether that not a morsel of the rtnd is to hL e n, and not uiifreqnently forming a double tier or two thicknesses ; the poor sprig los- in~ its formal unbending, upright position, and writ hino itselt into strange coiitortions.(Letters, p 66 ) gled ; an hypothesis as tenahle as that of Pliny, who hesitated whether he should call honey-dew, the suhstance alluded to, the sweat of the heav- ens, the saliva of the stars, or the liquid produced by the purgation of the air. Trees and (tibet plants are sometimes greatly disfigured by the quantity of this sweet clammy substance, which not only gives them an unsightly appearance, but prevents the leaves from performing their propes functions. Much has been written upon honey- dew and its origin; some authors have described it as a peculiar haze or mist, loaded with a pois- onous miasm, by which the leaves are stimulated to the morbid secretion of a saccharine and viscid juice; others have ascribed it to electrical causes; and others, again, have believed it to be producei by the leaves of plants, in consequence of theit roots being attacked by insects. The truth is, however, that honey-dew is a peculiar syrupy fluid, secreted by Aphides, and expelled from their bodis through two short tubes placed on their bac~t. That this is its true origin has been well ascer- tamed. It never occurs on plants on which tie Aphides are not present at the same time, or whk~t have not been recently infested by them; it is I- ways deposited on the upper side of the leaf; aid the iiisects may be actually ob~e ved in the act cf expelling it from their tubes. On one occasion we saw this honey-dew falling in such quantities from a cherry-tree trained against a wall, and standin~ at the proper angle with regard to the sun, that a beautiful little Iris was formed in the shower, with all the proper colors, just as a simi lar bow may be produced at will by directiu~ a stream of water from a garden-engine against a wall, so as to form a fine spray, opposite the sun. Mr. Robert Patterson, in his delightful little book on The Natural History of the Iu~ects mentioned in Shakspeares Plays, relates a circuni-tance which fell under his own observation. He says On a fine day, in the month of September, 1829, when I was visiting the beautiful demesne of Lord Atinesley, at Castle.wellan, I noticed a holly-tree, on which a number of wasps were continually alight- ing, running rapidly over its leaves, and fin ritig from branch to branch. A utimber (if holly-trees were scattered over the Ia n ; but tint one exhibited the same exhilarating bustle. I sat down beside it, to eride~ vor to ascertain wit t peculiar attraction this tree possessed, and soon found that the wasps were tint its only visitors. A number of ants ere plod- ding quietly along its twigs and leaves, exhibiting, by their staid and regular deportment, a singular contrast to the rapid aund vacillating movemetuts of Independently of tbe direct injuries to plants the wasps. 1 now discovered that both ants and arisitig thd sap-socking of A phi- wasps were attracted by a substance which was from propensities plentifully sprinkled over all the leavesthe cele des, there is another effect produced by them, by brated honey-dew of this poets. This suhstauce is which all the old naturalists were exceedingly a secretion deposited by a small insect, which is puzzled. Even White could not account for the green upon the rose tr~e and black upoti the xvood- viscous substance which enveloped his honey- bine, and which entoniologists distinguish by the suckles, otherwise than by supposing that in hot generic name of Aphi~ 1 he liquid they deposit is weather the effluvia of flowers iii fields and mead- perfectly pure, and rivals either sugar or honey in its sweetness. TI ily such ht tilt xxnk ows and gardeiis a me tlrawit tip in ihic (lily liv ~ esoemnuss, whetiev t c ot L fonnil, hint they ~05 bisk eva~ oration, anid then in ihe tight fall dowin sesthue art of tasking the A phi los yield it by patting again with the dews, in which they arc entanptbem geunhy whIt ~hc~t antemtn~ , amid one particulat WILLIAM ALLEN. 17 ~pecies of ant is said to confine the Aphides in apart- ments constructed solely for that purpose, to suppiy them with food, to protect them from danger, and to take, in every respect, as much care of them as we should do of our much cattle.(p. 144.) Strange and almost incredihle as this proceed- ing on the part of the ants may appear, it has heen fully verified hy accurate ohservers. Oiie little extract from Rusticus may he quoted in reference to the connection of the ants and Aphides, as well as to show the kind of enemies the latter are ex- posed to. You will never find a plant of any kind infested with the Aphis, without also observing a numher of ants and lady-hirds among them, and also a queer- looking insect, like a fat lizard, which is, in fact, the caterpillar of the lady-bird. The connection of the ants and the Aphis is of the most peaceful kind that can he conceived their ohject is the honey- dew which the Aphis emits: and, far from hurting the animal which affords them this pleasant food, they show it the greatest possihie attention and kindnesslicking it all over with their little tongues, and fondling it, and patting it, and caressing it with their antenuN in the kindest, prettiest way imagina- ble ;not so the lady-bird, or its lizard-like cater- pillar; these feed on the blights most voraciously, a single grub clearing a leaf, on which were forty or more, in the course of a day. The perfect lady- bird is a decided enemy to them, but not so formi- dable a one as the grub. The eggs of the lady- bird may often be seen on the hop-leaf; they are yellow, and five or six in a cluster placed on their ends; these should on no account be destroyed, as is too often the case, but, on the contrary, every encouragement should be given to so decided a friend to the hop-grower. Besides the lady-bird and its grub, there are two other terrible enemies of the poor Aphis; one of these is a green, ungainly-looking grnb, without legs, which lies flat on the surface of the leaf, and stretches out its neck, just like a leech, till it touches one of them; directly he feels one he seizes it in his teeth, and holds it up, wriggling in the air, till he has sucked all the goodness out of it, and left a mere empty skin. This curious creature turns to a fly which has a body banded with differ- ent colors, and which in summer you may often ob- serve under trees pud about flowers, standing qnite still in the air as though asleep, yet, if you try to catch him, darting off like an arrow. The other has six legs, and very large, strong, curved jaws, and is a most ferocious looking fellow, strutting about with the skins of the bli~hts which he has killed on his back. This fierce fellow comes to a very beanifful fly, with four xviuhs, all divided into meshes, like a net, and two beautiful golden eyes. All these creatures, which thus live on the plant- lice, have a very strong and disagreeable smell in the perfect state.(Letters of Rusticus, p. 77.) We must borrow one quotation from the Epi- sodes, showing the equanimity with which the Aphides sustain the attacks of their insect foes. Let us conclude our Article on Aphides with a few distinguishing traits of their personal charac- ter and peculiar physiology. Character! (say you) what scope for the display of character in a little denizen whose world is comprised in a single leaf or flower-budwho is born but to eat and be CCXLII. LiVING AGE. VOL. xx. 2 eaten 1 Why, it is with reference to the lattex point, that very law of its existence which con- demns it to be eaten, that our little Aphis exhibits a notable pattern in the virtue of passive endurance and submission to the decrees of fate. Never did Turk bend his neck to the bow-string, or rush upon the scimetar with more perfect composure and non- clialance, than does our lamb of the leaf submit itself to the murderous jaws of its lion-like or wolf- like destroyers, seeming perfectly at ease, and enjoying life to the last bite or sup, while its merci- less slaughterers are heaping up carcasses around. One of their devourers, indeed, the grub or larva before mentioned of the lace-winged fly, seems to play the part of a wolf in sheeps clothing, dressing itself up in the skins of the slain; but as the com- posure of the Aphis flock appears equally undis- turbed where no such disguise is put on, it would be unfair to suppose they are deceived into philoso- phy. But perhaps, (say you,) they are not aware of the presence of their enemies. Possibly not; but yet they seem to have the same organs of per- ception as other victimized insects, which, under the same circumstances, generally testify alarm, and make vigorous efforts to escape. And here we must conclude our imperfect and superficial view of an inexhaustible subject. It was our intention to have brought upon the stage other performers, and to have exhibited them in other scenes equally wotiderful with those de- scribed; we had also prepared some elaborate re- marks upon classification and system, i[ttending that the scientific should have followed the popu- lar as a sort of make-weight; but alas The best laid schemes o mice an men Gang aft a-gley. We have already exceeded our limits, and must here finish our attempts to show that the meanest insect possesses claims to consideration which only require to he seen and understood to be universally acknowledged. From Chambers Journal. WILLIAM ALLEN. WILLIAM ALLEN, one of the most enlightened and untiring philanthropists of modern times, was the son of Job Allen, a silk manufacturer in Spital- fields, and in youth gave promis~ of that spirit of enterprise for which he was afterwards distin- guished. At the age of fourteen he constructed a telescope to assist himself in the study of astron- omy ; and, as he mentions, not being strotig in cash, he contrived to make the instrument of pasteboard and lenses, which cost him a shilling. Homely as was the device, he adjusted the glasses so skilfully, that, to his delight, he could discover the satellites of Jupiter. Chemistry was, however, his favorite pursuit; and even when a child, he made frequent experiments in that science. He possessed good natural abilities, but they were not much cultivated by edticatlon, for he was employed in his fathers business, to which be devoted him- self with diligence and attention until his twenty- second year. In 1792 he entered into partnership with Joseph 18 WILLIAM ALLEN. Gurney Bevan, in a chemical establishment in Lon- don, and now his pursuits were congenial to his tastes. Success attended his professional labors; but his diligence did not by any means prevent his attention to general science, nor obstruct the oper- ation of an earnest philanthropy. William Allen was a member of the Society of Friends, and that is almost saying that his views were practical, and directed to social improvement. Blessed with a kindly disposition and enlarged understanding, he seems from the beginning of his career to have in- vented and wrought out schemes of human ame- lioration. To do good, not merely to talk about it, was the leading feature of his energetic character. Shortly after beginning business, he, in connection with Astley Cooper, Dr. Bahington, Joseph Fox, and others, formed a philosophical society; and he talks in his diary of sitting up all night prepar- ing for lectures and making experiments. He was introduced in 1794 to Clarkson ; and the unity of feeling subsisting between them cemented a friend- I ship which lasted for half a century. Mr. Bevan retired from business three years subsequent to the period at which Mr. Allen entered the firm, and the young man then became leading partner. He married, and we now see him happy and pros- perous; his duties were his delight; and domestic love shed its hallowed influence on his path. Brief, however, was the duration of felicity; for, ten months after his marriage, death deprived him of his amiable partner, and left him with a motherless infant. This sad event for a time so completely unhinged him, that he was unable to continue his favorite pursuits. It did not, however, deaden his -sympathies, for in 1797, in conjunction with a Mr. William Phillips, he formed what was long known as The Spitalfields Soup Society, to which he gave up all his energies. In March, 1798, the name of William Allen appears also on a list of the committee of. The Society for Bettering the Condition of the Poor ; and these societies proved highly beneficial at a time when bread was seven- teenpence-halfpenny a loaf. But his benevolence was not confined to public charities, for he was daily seen entering the abodes of misery, and de- voting himself to other labors of love. It was, however, fur a time oniy that his ardor in the pur- suit of scientific investigation was checked; for, two years after, he resumed his labors in that branch of knowledge with renewed vigor. It is not generally desirable for a young man, ~vho is anxious to succeed in one particular department of science, to divide his attention among others; but we can scarcely quarrel wit.h WilliamAllen, though we find him one da~r with Astley Cooper and Dr. Bradley trying experiments in respiration ; another with Humphry Davy making discoveries in elec- tricity ; on a third, freezing quicksilver with muriate of lime, & c., with his friend Pepys; and, on the following, with Dr. Jenner and others making ob- servations on the cow-pox. Ahout this time, too, he entered rather deeply into the study nif botany, gained some knowledge of nlrawing, engaged a tutor to assist him in mathematics, improved him- self in French and German, and made further ob. servations in astronomy, besides aiding in the for- mation of geological and mineralogical societies, and becoming a member of the Board of Agricul- ture, where he gave frequent lectures. From this time his public engagements were so numerotis, that we can here ninly glance at them. We are astonished, as we proceed, to find that a compar- atively humble individual, in the course of a brief life, was enabled to accomplish such a vast amount of good as he effected. In 1801, Mr. Allen became a lecturer at the Askesian Society, (the name now given to the Philosophical Society before-mentioned.) The next year he joined the Linna~an Society, and lec- tured on chemistry at Guys hospital. Tine year following he was elected one of the presidents at Guys, and by the advice of friends, accepted an invitation from the Royal Institution, of which he was a member, to become one of their lecturers. In 1804 he gave (in the whole) as many as 108 lectures. He had now all but reached the pinnacle of fame, and wealth and honors lay temptingly be- fore hinn. It is obvious, however, that his object was not self-aggrandizement or ~vo~ldly applause, but that his motives were purely disinterested; for we find him devoting his property, talents, and health wholly to the benefit of his fellow-creatures. In 1805 he joined the committee formed by Clark- son, Wilberforce, and others, for the abolition of the slave trade. This iniquitous traffic had long drawn forth his warmest sympathies; and, x~heu quite young, he made a resolution never to use sugar (which was procured principally by the labor of negroes) unitil the freedom of the slaves was se- cured. This enthusiasm continued finr forty-three years. Nor was his heart less feelingly alive to the sufferings of his fello~v-countrymen. He re- cogmiized the claims of a man and a brother, however low he had stink in wretchedness amid vice, and bent his energies to the reformation of the criminal code, especially to the subject of punish- ment by death. For this object a party of seven gentlemen dined together at his hon e in Plough Court in July, 1808, and formed themselves intn) a society. The punishment of death ~vas at that. time inflicted for very slight offences. In 1813 we find him interesting himself for a young man who, being convicted of jtimping in at a window, and stealing certain articles of very little value, was condemned to death. The following is an extract from a lettet he wrote to Lord Sid mouth on the subject :~ Shall a personto whom, be it re- membered, society has failed in its dtity, by sufferimig him to grow up in ignorancefor the crime of stealing to the amount of a few shillings, and without any aggravating circumstances, suffer the very same punishment which you inflict upon him who has been guilty of the most barbarous murder, and, in short, enidure the grcatest pun ishment which one human being can inflict upon aniother? To reform the guilty, and to restore them as useful nuembers of the community, is a glorious triumph of hitimnanity, and marks a stats WILLIAM ALLEN. 19 rising in the scale of civilization; but to have no other resource than the punishment of death, re- minds me of the miserable subterfuge of a barbar- ous age, barren in expedients to save, strong only to destroy. It is gratifying to state that the ap- plication was successful. In the same year Mr. Allen became treasurer to the British and Foreign School Society ; and the affairs of Joseph Lancas- ter were now in such a state of embarrassment that a vigorous effort was necessary to prevent this excellent institution from falling to the ground, notwithstanding the indefatigable labors of its ~vor- thy founder. His heart was set on this new tin- dertaking, for in his diary he says: Of all the concerns that I have anything to do with, the Lan- casterian lie~ the most heavily on my mind. This school business brought him into frequent commu- nication with different members of the royal family, who had become its patrons. Among these was the Duke of Kent; and his royal highness con- ceived such a strong regard for him, that he ever treated him ~rs a confidential and attached friend. In 1813 we find our philanthropist forming fresh plans of benevolence in the erection of savings- banks. To a friend at Bristol he writes: Hast thou turned thy attention to the subject of a bank for the poor, in which their little savings of three- pence or sixpence a week might accumttlate for their benefit? I have consulted Morgan, the great calculator, and he is to sketch me a plan. These plans were carried into effect three years after. The same year, from a pure desire to im- prove the condition of the poor, he united with the schemes which Robert Owen was then carrying out at Lanark. He was urged to this step by the Solicitations of his friends; but it subsequently caused him touch distress of mind, owing to the very opposite views which he and Mr. Owen held on the subject of religion. In the February of 1814, Wilberforce interested Allen and Clarkson for the Lascars and Chinese; and with them sought and obtained permission to visit the barracks at Rateliff, where two hundred of those unhappy creatures were living in a most deplorable con- dition. The Lascars Society was in consequence formed for their relief. Mr. Allen also associated himself with the Peace Society; and when the al- lied sovereigns visited London, a deputation from the Society of Friends presented addresses to them. The address of the Emperor of Russia was sent to Count Lieven, and on the day follow- ing Mr. Allen waited on that nobleman, to make arrangements for its presentation. Greatly to his astonishment, instead of a ceremonious reception, the count was awaiting his arrival in his carriage. Having invited him to enter, he said that the em- peror had expressed a desire to attend a Friends meeting, and prtposed that they should therefore embrace the present opportunity. They accord- ingly drove off to Count Nesselrodes, where the emperor, the Grartd Duchess of Oldenburg, the Duke uif Oldenburg, and the Duke of WTurtemburg joinerl them, arid they rode together to the nearest meeting-house then open for dcvotiui. Tlte good people were no doubt surprised at this unexpected arrival ; but there was no commotion. The stran- gers took their seats along with the rest of the cotigregation; and, when the meeting broke up, expressed themselves pleased with their visit. The year 1815 is marked by fresh labors in the cause of benevolence. Allens ever-active mind now projected an institution for the reformation of juvenile criminals; and, in the ensuing year, in the midst of these numerous engagements, he brotight otit a jotirnal, entitled The Philanthro- pist, the object of which was to show that each itidividual may in sonie tneasure alleviate the suf- ferings of his fellow-creatures, and add to the amount of human happitiess. In 1816 he entered upon another new and important sphere of useful- ness, which was visits to the different European countries, for the purpose of ascertaining, from personal inquiry, the state of prison discipline, and examining ittto the subjects of national education, the condition of the poor, and liberty of conscience. After such investigations, he proceeded to the va- rious courts, and mtd~ known his observations, at the same time suggesting such improvements as were deetned necessary to tite case. He was in most instances well received, though he sometimes had to contend with strong opposition from those who thought knowledge too powerful an instrument to be placed in the hands of the mass. He brought forth arguments sho~ving the f~llacy of this idea, and proving that ignorance is an insurmountable barrier to the progress of morality and civilixation. lie also strongly maintained the rights of con- science, asserting that tlte business of civil gov- ernors is the protection of the people in their rights and privileges; but that they have nothing to do in matters of religion, provided that the good or- der of the commit nity is not disturbed. The first of these journeys was taken in company with sev- eral frietids. After crossing to Calais, they passed through Belgium and Holland into Germany and Switzerland. At Geneva Mr. Allen experienced a severe shock in the death of his second wife. He deeply felt her loss, and soon after returned to his native land. his second tour ~vas commenced in August, 1818. lie was then accompanied by Mr. Stephen Grellet. Their first mission was t~ Norway, and from thence they passed into Swe- dcii. At Stockholm they had a private interview with the king, to whom they had previously sent an address on the important subjects before-men- tioned. As their salutation on parting was rather uncommon, we will give the account from his diary. The king was most kind and cordial. While I was holding his hand to take leave, in the love which I felt for him, I expressed my desire that the Lord would bless and preserve him. It seemed to go to his heart, and he presented his cheek9 for me to kiss, first one, then the other. lie took the same leave of Stephen and En~ch, [friends who were with him,] and commended himself to our prayers. The party theut embarked for Finland, and journeyed on to St. Petersburg. The emperor was absent when they arriv~d . t the Russian cap- 20 WILLIAM ALLEN. ital; but they were kindly received by the royal a short cutnot a royal road, but a bog roadto family and their court. Alexander returned short- their own by-objects. Paddy would be most grate- ly after, and be showed that his professions of re- ful, most sincerely grateful to you, and would bless gard when in England were sincere, by receiving your honor, and your honors honor, with all his them without ceremony, and by treating them with heart ; but he would nevertheless not scruple, on the warmth and confidence of friendship. The every practicable occasion, tototo cheat, I will following spring they left St. Petersburg for Mos- not say, that is a coarse wordbut to circumvent cow, and after passing through Tartary and Greece, you. At every turn you would find Paddy trying returned home through Italy and France. to walk round you, begging your honors pardon A third journey, in 1822, was undertaken princi- hat off, bowing to the ground to youall the while pally from a desire to interest the Emperor Alex- laughing in your face, if you fuund him out; and ander in the abolition of slavery, and to plead the if he outwitted you, loving you all the better for cause of the poor Greeks. They had several in- being such an innocent. Seriously, there is no terviews at Vienna, and the emperor entered doubt that the Irish people would learn honesty, warmly into Allens benevolent projects. Alex- punctuality, order, and economy, with proper me- ander was himself going to Verona, and he urged tives, and proper training, in due time; but do not our philanthropist to visit that place. Here again leave time out of your account. Very sorry should they metmet for the last time on earth. Their I be, either in jest or earnest, to discourage any parting was touching, for difference of station and of that enthusiasm of benevolence which animates the formalities of a court were overlooked in the you in their favor ; but as Paddy himself would warm gushing feelings of affection. They con- say, Sure it is better to be disappointed in the tinned in conversation for some hours, being, to beginning than the end. Each failure in at- use his own words, both ltath to part. It was, tempts to do good in this country discourages the he goes on to say, between nine and ten oclock friends of humanity, and encourages the railers, when I rose. He (the emperor) embraced and scoffers, and croakers, and puts us back in hope kissed me three times, saying, Remember me to perhaps half a century. Therefore think before your family ; I should like to know them. Ah you begin, and begin upon a small scale, which when and where shall we meet again ! Mr. you may extend as you please afterwards. Canning had desired the British minister at Turin In 1826 Mr. Allen discontinued his lectures at to make inquiries into the real state of the Wal- Guys hospital, and his farewell address to the denses, who were suffering severe persecution. students was printed. It was so beautiful and Mr. Allen, who had proceeded thither on leaving appropriate, that it would be well if it had a Verona, agreed to accompany that gentleman into wider circulation. The following year he was the valleys, and in consequence of the report they married a third time to a widow lady belonging to gave, some important privileges were granted. the Society of Friends. His choice was again a In 1825 he established a School of Industry at happy one, and tended to gild his declining days. Lindfield near Brighton; and about the same time This lady died before him, eight years after their (in conjunction with the late John Smith, M. P.) union. He now spent a great part of his time at made trial of a plan he had long had in contem- a small house near Lindfield, in the midst of the plationa Cottage Society, now entitled The cottages for the poor he had been instrumental in Society for Improving the Condition of the Labor- erecting. It was his favorite retreat from the fa- iug Classes. He was desirous of introducing tigue and bustle of public life. He had not, how- this plan into Ireland, and we cannot forbear giv- ever, finished his career of usefulness. In 1832 ing the following amusing letter from Miss Edge- he took another journey, which embraced Holland, worth on the subject. After expressing her fears Hanover, Prussia, and Hungary ; and in 1833 he that the scheme would be found impracticable in crossed the Pyrenees, and visited Spain for the the present state of the Irish peasantry, she says: same objects as before. Your dairy plans, for instance, which have We cannot pass over a passage in his history succeeded so well in Switzerland, would not do in which, though trifling, shows his character as tru- this country, at least not without a centurys en- ly as his public acts of benevolence. When up- periments. Paddy would fall to disputing with wards of seventy, he was obliged, from weakness, the dairyman, would go to law with him for his to discontinue those labors which had so long been share of the common cows milk, or for her tres- his delight. To avoid the temptations to impa- passing, or he woold pledge his eighth or six- tience often felt after a life of activity, and also teenth part of her for his rent, or a bottle of with the idea of being useful, he endeavored to whiskey, and the cow would be pounded, and re- make acquaintance with all the young people in ple~dged, and re-pounded, and bailed, and canted, his neighborhood, and devoted much time to their and things impossible for you to foreseeperhaps instruction and amusement ; thus, like the setting impossible for your English imagination to con- sun, he shed light and beauty to the labt. His ceivewould happen to the cow and the dairy- health gradually declined, and his death, which man. In all your attempts to serve my poor dear was peaceful, took place on the 30th of Decem- countrymen, you would find that, whilst you were her, 1843. dcnwnslra/iug to them what would be their great- Few rise to the honors, and fewer still to th est advantage, they would be always making out usefulness, which William Allen attained. Tal JOHN FOSTER, THE ESSAYIST. 21 ent and fortuitous circumstances aided his pro- gress ; but the secret of his success was steadi- ness of purpose and unwearied industry. His la- hors were systematic, which prevented either loss of time or confusion ; and the strong sense of duty, which was the spring of all his actions, kept him from turning giddy with applause. His life teaches a useful lesson, and his example is nut the least henefit he has conferred on the world. He being dead yet speaketh. From Chambers Jotirnat. JOHN FOSTER, THE ESSAYIST. JOHN FOSTER, whose essays are justly ranked among the most original and valuable works of the day, was born in 1770, in the Vale of Tod- murden, whose serene beauties, and the quiet as- sociations of humble life, may be said to have moulded his retiring habits and vigorous cast of thought. Like Hall, Mr. Foster was pastor of a Baptist congregation; and after running his use- ful course, he died in 1843, at Stapleton, near Bristol, where he had resided for the last thirty years of his life. Further than these few particulars, it is unnec- essary to say anything biographically of Foster. The remarkable thing about him was his ardent and pure thinking. If ever there was a man who may be said, in the language of the old paradox, to have been never less alone than when alone, and never more occupied than when at leisure, that man was Johu Foster. The exercises of the Christian ministry, in which a considerable portion of his life was engaged, were conducted for the most part in a noiseless manner, and in the shadi- est nooks of the field of labor; so that when his no~v celebrated essays came forth to the public, they were to all but a few virtually anonymous publications. No one who has deeply acquainted himself with these admirable productions, will need to have repeated to him that profound labo- rious thought was the business of Fosters life; and the absence of this mental hahitude in others, especially in those who occupied the more con- spicuous positions in society, was often lamented by him with a bitterness which might almost have been mistaken for misanthropy. This habit of mind showed itself in a remarka- ble manner both in his ministerial exercises and in his ordinary conversation. The character of both were such, as to impress upon the hearer the notion that he was merely thinking aloud. There was no physical animation or gesture, none of that varied intonation which commonly gradu- ates the intensity of excitement. He threw out all the originality of his views, and the boundless variety of his illustrations, in a deep monotonous tone, which seemed the only natural vehicle for such weig sty, comprehensive conceptions. This was only varied by an earnest emphasis, so fre- quent in every sentence, as to show how many modifying expressions there were which it was necessary to keep in distinct view, in order fully to realize the idea of the speaker. It may be added here, th6ngh it would be impossible, in a brief sketch like the present, to touch upon such a subject otherwise than in passing, that the same peculiarity is obvious in all his published produc- tions. To a superficial reader their style might seem loaded and redundant, but on closer exami- nation, it will be found that this unusual copious- ness of modifying epithets and clauses arose from that fulness of thought, and consequent necessity for compression, which compelled him, if he must prescribe limits to his composition, to group in every sentence, and around every main idea, a multitude of attendant ones, which a snore diffuse writer would have expanded into paragraphs. Hence his writings are not really obscure, but only d~/ficult, demanding the same vigorous exertion of thought in the reader which is exercised in the writer. The observation, therefore, of the late Robert Hall, in his well-known review of Fosters Essays, appears to he more ingenious and beauti- ful than critically correct. The error, however, if it be such, might almost have been expected from so perfect a master of the euphonous style as Mr. Halla writer who, in time words of Dugald Stewart, combined all the literary excellencies of Burke, Addison, and Johnson. The author, says Mr. Hall, has paid too little attention to the construction of Isis sentences. They are for the most part too long, sometimes involved in per- plexity, and often loaded with redundancies. They have too much of the looseness of a haranguep and too little of the compact elegance of regular composition. An occasional obscurity pervades some parts of the work. The mind of the writer seems at times to struggle with conceptions too mighty for his grasp, and to present confused masses rather than distinct delineations of thought. This is, however, to be imputed to the originality, not the weakness, of his powers. The scale on which he thinks is so vast, and the excursions of his imagination are so extended, that they fre- quently carry him into the most unbeaten track, and among objects where a ray of light glances in an angle only, without diffusing itself over the whole. Reference has been made to the solitary habits of Mr. Fosters life. It must not be supposed, however, that he was, to use his own expression, the grim solitaire. He chose as the partner of his retirement a lady whose talents and force of character he ever held in high and deserved re- spect. It is generally believed that when Mr. Foster proposed to hser that union which subse- qisently took place, she declared that she would marry no one that had not distinguished himself in the literature of his day, and Fosters Essays in Letters to a Friend were the billets-dow,., of this extraordinary courtship. It is amusing to recollect that after the first evening which Foster spent in company with his future wife, he described her as a marble statue surrounded with iron palisades. Thse high walls with which his residence at Stapleton was surrounded, and which permitted JOHN FOSTER, THE ESSAYIST. not a glimpse of the house or garden, seemed to proclaim inaccessibility, and to say to the visitor, as plainly as walls can speak, No admittance. No sooner, however, were these difficulties sur- mounted by the good offices of an old servant, who seemed a sort of natural appendage to her master, than a charming contrast was felt between the prohibitory character of the residence and the impressive but delightful affability of the occupant. His only hobby was revealed by the first glance at his apartments. The choicest engravings met the eye in every direction, which, together with a profusion of costly illustrated works, showed that if our hermit had in other respects left the world behind him, he had made a most self-indulgent reservation of the arts. But the great curiosity of the house was a cer- tain mysterious apartment, which was not entered by any but the recluse himself perhaps once in twenty years; and if the recollection of the wri- ter serves him, the prohibition must have extended iii all its force to domestics of every class. This was the library. Many entreaties to be favored with the view of this seat of privacy had been si- lenced by allusions to the cave of Trophonius, and in one instance to Erebus itself, and by mock sol- emn remonstrances, founded on the danger of such enterprises to persons of weak nerves and fine sensibilities. At length Mr. Fosters consent was obtained, and he led the way to his previously on- invaded fastnessan event so unusual, as to have been mentioned in a letter which is published in the second volume of his Life and Correspond- ence. The floor was occupied by scattered gar- ments, rusty firearms, and a hillock of ashes from the grate which might well be supposed to have been the accumulation of a winter, while that which ought to have been the writing-desk of the tenant was furnished with the blackened remains of three dead pens and a dry inkstand by way of cenotaph. Around this grotesque miscellany was ranged one of the selectest private libraries in which it was ever the good luck of a bibliomaniac to revel. The choicest editions of the best works adorned the shelves, while stowed in large chests were a collection of valuable illustrated works in which the book-worm, without a metaphor, was busy in his researches. A present of Coleridges Friend from the book-shelves is retained by the writer as a trophy of this sacrilegious invasion. It will readily he supposed, from what has been said of the secluded habits of Mr. Foster, that the intercourse of friendship must have been greatly sustained by means of correspondence. From the frequency of personal and private references in letters, a large proportion of such compositions must in all cases be withheld from the public eye, from ordinary motives of delicacy. happily, how- ever, without any violation of this decorum, a large body of Mr. Fosters correspondence has been given to the world, the perusal of which by those who were not privileged with his friendship, must have mingled a more tender feeling with the admiration excited by his genius. The unje- pressed exudation of his nature in these composi- tions invests them with the same charm which has been noticed as attaching to his conversation, which we have designated as thinking aloud. His accessibility by the young was one of the most beautiful features in his character, and will remind those of Mr. Burke, who are acquainted with the more private habits of his life. The ex- quisite and redundant kindness of his letters to young friends is perfectly affecting, and shows how necessarily simplicity and condescension are the attributes of true intellectual and moral greatness. It would be next to impossible to convey to any one who was not acquainted with Mr. Foster a correct impression of his personal appearance. His dress was uncouth, and neglected to the last degree. A long gray coat, almost of the fashion of a dressing gown ; trousers which seemed to have been cherished relics of his boyhood, and to have quarrelled with a pair of gaiters, an inter- vening inch or two of stocking indicating the dis- puted territory ; shoes whose solidity occasionally elicited from the wearer a reference to the equip- ments of the ancient Israelites ; a colored silk handkerchief, loosely tied about his neck, and an antique waistcoat of most uncanonical huethese, with an indescribable hat, completed the philoso- phers costume. in his walks to and from the city of Bristol (the latter frequently by night) he availed himself at once of the support and protec- tion of a formidable club, which, owing to the diffi- culty with which a short dagger in the handle was released by a spring, he used jocosely to designate as a member of the Peace Society. So utterly careless was he of his appearance, that he was not unfrequently seen in Bristol during the hot weather walking with his coat and waistcoat over his arm. This eccentricity gave rise to some curious mis- takes. On one occasion, while carrying some ar- ticles of dress, in the dusk of the evening, to the cottage of a poor man, he was accosted by a con- stable, who, from his appearance, suspected they were stolen, some depredations of the kind having been recently committed in the neighborhood. Mr. Foster conducted the man to the seat of an opu- lent gentleman, with whom lie was engaged to spend the evening ; and the confusion of the con- stable may be easily imagined when he was in- formed of the name of his prisoner, who dismissed him with hearty praise for his diligence and fi- delity. His was one of those countenances which it is impossible to forget, and yet of which no portrait very vividly reminds us. His forehead was a tri- umph to the phrenologist, and surrounded as it was by a most uncultivated wig, might suggest the idea of a perpendicular rock crowned with straggling verdure ; while his calm but luminous eye, deeply planted beneath his massive brow, might be compared to a lamp suspended in one of its caverns. In early life, his countenance, one would suppose, must have been strikingly beauti 22 QUAKER LOVE. ful; his features being both regolar and corn- ruanding, and his complexion retaining to the last that fine but treacherous hue which probably. indicated the malady that terminated his life. His natural tendency to solitary meditation never showed itself more strikingly than in his last hours. Aware of the near approach of death, he requested to be left entirely alone, and was found shortly after he had expired in a composed and contgm- plative attitude, as if he had thought his way to the mysteries of another world. QUAKER LOVE. BY LEITCH RITcHIE. MANY years ago I spent a day in the town of Elms Cross, and although no adventure befell me there to fix the place in my memory, I see it be- fore me at this moment as distinctly as that pic- ture on the wall. I had an irupressioti all that day, however erroneous, that it was Sunday. There was a Sunday silence in the streets, a Sun- day gravity in the passers-by, a Sunday order and cleanliness in their habiliments. The lines of houses were rattged with the most sober decorum, and the little lawns which many of them possessed were laid out with the square and compass. The trees were not beautiful, but neat, for nature was not indulged in any of her freaks at Elms Cross; and indeed it seemed to me that the very leaves had a peculiarly quiet green, and the flowers a reserved smell. The majority of the better class of the inhabitants of this town were Friends; and it appearedif my imagination did not run away with tuethat, through the influence of wealth and numbers, they had been able to impress the external characteristics of their society upon the whole place. But no; my imagination could not have run away with me; for the moment imagination enters Elms Cross, it is taken into custody as a vagrant, and kept in durance during its sojourn. There one loses the faculty of day-dreaming; and, al- though I was a young fellow at the time, half- crazy with sentiment and love of adventure, eveit the fair Quakers, some of whom were beautiful, in spite of their bonnets, had no more effect upon me than so many marble statues. But perhaps it will give a better idea of the spirit of the place, if I say that the only one of them on whom I be- stowed a second look had arrived at that time of life when the controversy begins as to whether a woman should be reckoned a young or an old maid. This middle-aged person (not to use the offen- sive expression offensively) was, like all Quakers when they are beautiful, beautiful to excess. Re- taining an exquisite complexion, even when her hair ~vas beginning to change, she seemed a per- sonification of the autumnal loveliness which makes one firget that of the spring and summer. Her voice, mellowed by time, was better calcu- lated to linger in the ear than the lighter tones of youth; and it harmonized well with her soft, dove- like eyes, That seemed to love whateer they looked upon. Yet there was no feeling in this love, such as we of the world demand in the love of her sex; the richness of her cheek was as cold as the bloom of a flower; and as, with noiseless step, and demure, nun-like air, she glided past, I felt as if I had seen a portrait walk out of its frame, a masterly imita- tion of woman, but only an imitation. This was why I turned round and looked at her again; and as I looked, a kind of pity rose in my inexperienced heart that one so fair should pass through life unstirred by its excitements, un- touched by its raptures, even untroubled with its sorrows. As the novelty wore off, I hated the cold formal air of everything around; the atmos- phere chilled me; the silence disturbed me; and the next morning I was glad to launch again upon the stormy world, and leave this lonely oasis to its enchanted repose. Some time after, when giving the history of this day to a friend, who proved to be personally acquainted with the place and people, he told rue that the lady on whom I had looked twice had been for many years not only the reigning beauty of Elms Cross, but the benevolent genius of ~he town and neighborhood; and he related a passage in her early life which made me qualify a little my opinion as to the passionless tranquillity of her feel- ings, and the uneventful blank of her history. Not that the thing can be called an adventure, that the incident has any intermixture of romancethat would be absurd. It passed over her heart like a summer cloud, which leaves the heavens as bright and serene as before ; but somehow or other it infused a suspicion in my mind, that how- ever staid the demeanor and decorous the conduct, human nature is everywhere alikethat the dif- ference is not in the feelings, but their control. Her father was one of the wealthiest inhabitants of the town, and Martha Hargrave was an only child, the expectant heiress of his fortune, and likewise possessed, in her own right, of 5000, safely invested. In such circumstances, it may be supposed that when she grew up from the child into the girl she attracted not a little the attention of blushing stripplings and speculative mammas. These were, with the exception of one family, of her own societyfor Mr. and Mrs. Hargrave were Quakers of the old school, and confined themselves almost exclusively within the circle of Friends. The exception was formed by a widow lady and her son ; the former an early intimate of Mrs. Hargrave, now living on a small annuity, from which, by means of close economy, she con- trived to save a little every year to pay for her boys outfit in the world. Richard Temple was well calculatcd to be the object of a mothers dot- ing affection ; he was a fine, spirited, generous, handsome lad, two or three years older than Mar- tha, of whom he was the playmate in the friend in youth, and something more after that. How it catue that a penitiless boy thought as he did of the Quaker heiress, may seem a mystery ; but it must be recollected that the con- 23 24 QUAKER LOVE. ventional distinctions of society make little impres- say that their intercourse had entirely changed its sion upon children brought up together upon terms character. Richard was not only interested, but of equality. Richard looked upon Martha as his likewise in some degree amused, by the trantmuta- sister, till he began to feel as a personal injury tion of the young girl into the demure and circum- the admiring looks that were thrown upon her spect Quaker. In essentials, however, she was from under the broad brims of the young Quakers; not altered, but improved and exalted and even and even when the fact at length forced itself her physical beauty acquired a new character of upon him that she was rich, and he poor, that she loveliness as the development of her moral feelings rolled in a carriage, and he walked on foot, that went on. But over all, there was what seemed her parents were among the first people in the place, to the young man, now that he was accustomed to and his only one a solitary and almost indigent the common world, an iciness of manner, which widow, the encouragement of his fond and unre- repelled his advances; and lie continj~ed to love fleeting mother, and of his own gallant heart, tri- on without daring to disclose the secret of his umphed over the misgivings of prudence ; and the bosom. What matter? It was no secret to her affection of the boy was suffered to ripen, un- whom it concerned; for friend Martha, with all checked, into the love of the young man, her demureness, had a womans heart and a wo- While this process was going on with Richard, mans eyes. At the end of the three years in Martha the wildness of childhood sobered grad- I have mentioned Mrs. Temple died, and Richard, ually down into the demure circumspection of the now alone in the world, and with tolerable pros- Quaker girl. Her step became less buoyant, her pects in business, began in due time to ask him- glance less free, her speech less frank, her air self, with a quaking heart and a flushing brow, more reserved ; and as time wore on, Richard oc- whether it were possible for him to obtain the casionally paused in the midst of one of his sallies, Quaker girl for his bride. After much cogitation and looked at her in surprise, in a kind of awe, as on this subject, and a thousand misgivings, his if he already felt a foreshadowing of the approach characteristic daring prevailed; and addressing to of majestic womanhood. But nevertheless, when Martha an eloquent history of his love, accompa- he came one day to bid her farewell before his nied by a frank statement of his affairs arid pros- cxodus into the world, her heart was too full of pects, and a solicitation for permission to woo her the memories of her childish years to remember its for his wife, he enclosed the letter, open, in a new conventionalism, and she stood before him briefer one to her father, and dispatched the fate- with her hands crossed upon her bosom, gazing in ful missive. his face with a look of girlish fondness, that was Tire reply came from Mr. Hargrave. It was made still softer by the tears that stood trembling cold, ~elm, decisive. He was obliged by the good in her beautiful eyes. He was to proceed to opinion entertained by his young friend of his London, to be completed in his initiation into mer- daughter, but Martha had altogether different eantile business, amid might be absent for years views. Setting aside the oppositeness of their perhaps foreverfor his mother was to acc6mpany circumstances and position in this world, which himn; and Martha felt the separation as her first would in itself be ami insurmountable objection, serious distress. Richard was old enough to be their religious views were not so much alike as aware of the nature of his own feelings; and per- was necessary in the case of two persons pressing haps if Martha had been in one of her grand mo- forward, side by side, to the world which is to merits, he might have dared to appeal to the grow- come. He hoped friend Richard would speedily ing woman in her heart. But she, appeared to forget what, to a ratiomial-ririnded person, ought to him on this occasion so young, so gentle, so deli- be hardly a disappointmnent, and, when his fortune eate, that he would have thought it a profanation permitted it, select from his own denomination a to talk to her of love. As the moment of parting wife of his own degree. This insolent letter, as arrived, he drew her towards him with both hands; t.he young man termed it, had no effect but that of his arms encircled her waist; andhow it hap- rousing the fierce and headlong energy of his na- pened I know not, for the thing was wholly out ture. He knew Martha too well to believe that of rulehis lips were pressed to hers. The next she had any share in such a production ; and he moment he started from his bewilderment; his wrote at once to Mr. Hargrave to say that his eyes dazzled; Martha had disappeared. He did damighter was now old enough to decide for her- not know, when in the morning the stage-coach self, and that he could not think of receiving at was, carrying him from Elms Cross, that a young second hand a reply involving the happiness or girl was sitting behind a blind in the highest misery of his whole life. On the following day room of that house watching the vehicle as it he would present himself at his house in Elms rolled away, till it was prematurely lost in her Cross, in the hope of hearing his fate from Mar- blinding tears. thas own lips, even if in the presence of her I ann umnable to trace the adventures of Richard father and mother. Temple in London ; but they appear to have been Wheni Richard Temple passed across the comparatively fortunate, since, at the end of only Dutch-like lawn of the honse, with its drilled three years, he wa~ a junior partner in a young shrubs and flowers describing mathematical figures but respectable firm. He had seen Miss Hargrave on its level green, and ascended the steps, as several times during the interval; but I need not white as driven snow, his hand trembled as he QUAEER LOVE. raised the knocker, and he felt his heart die with- in hint. The sound he made startled him by its incongrous want of measure, and he looked round timidly, as if he had committed an indecorum. When the respectable middle-aged servant mar- shalled him up stairs to the drawing-room, he fol- lowed the man with deference, as if he had some- thing to say in the decision. The room was empty, and he stood for some time alone, looking round upou the walls, the furniture, the books, the flowers, and reading in them all the ruin of his hopes. There was an unostentatious richness in that room, a method in its arrangement, a calm assumption of superiority, which made him quail. The answer he had come to demand was before him. It spoke to him even in the whispered ca- dence of the trees beyond the open window, and the unhurried entrance of the air into the apart- ment, loaded with faint sweets from the garden. The loneliness in which he stood seemed stran e to his excited imagination, and the silence op- pressed him; arid when at length the door slowly opened, unaccompanied by the sound of a footfall, he started in nervous tremor, as if he expected to behold the entrance of a spirit. Martha entered the room alone, and shutting the door, glided composedly up to Richard, and offered him her hand as usual. The clasp, though gentle, was palpable; and as he saw, in the first place, that site was paler than formerly, and, in thesecond, that a slight color rose into her face under his searching gaze, he was sufficiently reiissured to address her. Martha, he said, did my letter surprise you? Tell tne only that it was too abrupt that it startled and hurried you. Was it not so? Nay, Richard. Then you knew, even before I dared to speak, that I loved you with all the guilelessness of my infancy, all the fire of my youth, and all the deep, earnest, concentrated passion of my manhood. Do you know of the reply my letter received ? Yea, Richard. And you sanctioned it? In meaning, but here her voice slightly fal- tered ; if the words were unkind, be thou as- sured that they came neither from my pen nor my heart. Then I was deceived in supposingfor I did indulge the dreamthat my devotion had awak- ened an interest in your bosom? That interest belongs to another ! I never had a dearer friendship than thirme, said Martha; and raising her eyes to his, she added, after a pause, in the clear, distinct, silvery tone, which was the character of her voice, and never shall ! Yet you reject and spurn me! This is tor- ture! It cannot be that the difference in our worldly circumstances weighs with you ; I know you better, Martha. Neither can you suppose that ~n my part there is the slightest tinge of merce- nary feeling, for you know me better. Will you not give me at least hope? There are fortunes to I make in the world that would satisfy even your father; we are both young; and to win you, my precious love, I would grudge neither time, nor sxveat, nor blood Richard, said the Quaker girl, growing still more pale, no more of this, in mercy to thyself and me. Thou mayest agitate and unnerve, but never change my purpose. A/hat is your purpose ? To honor my father and my mother. That you may enjoy lon~ life in the land ! said Richard with a bitter smile. That I may honor through them my heaven- ly Father, who is above all. Fare~vell, roy early friend ; return into the world, where thou wilt forget Marth , arid may the All-wise direct thy course ! She extended her hand to hiro as she spoke, and he grasped it like a man in a dream. The reply he had demanded was distinct enough in her words, but a thousand times niore so in her look, manner, tone. He felt that expostulation was vain, and would be unmanly ; and as she walked away, with her noiseless and measured step, and her hands folded before her, he felt in- dignation struggling with admiring and despairing love. The figure paused for an instant at the door; but the next moment Martha disappeared without turning her head Richard never knew, neither can I tell, whether any one watched the stage-coach that day from the tipper window. Not even a prying servant could whisper anything of Martha, or guess at the nature of the interview that had taken place. She was pale, it is true, but so had she been for some time. Her health, it appeared, was not good; her appetite was gone ; her limbs feeble. But this would go off, for her manner was as usual. She was assiduous in the dischar1.e of her duties, kind to every one, loving and reverential to her par- ents. Still she was not well, and her father at length grew alarmed. They took her from water- ing-place to watering-place; they amused her with strange sights; they tried every day to give some new direction to her thoughts. Martha was grateful. She repaid their cares with smiles, talked to them cheerfully, and did all she could to seem arid to be happy. But still she was not well; and when many months had passed away, the now terrified parents, after trying everything that science and affection could suggest for the restoration of their only child, consulted once more. The nature of the step they ultimately ~eterrnined upon may be gathered from the fol- lowing communication received in reply to a letter from Mr. Hargrave RESPECTED FRIENDThe inquiry thou di- rectedst has been easy. I am connected in busi- ness with one (not (if our Society) to whom the young man is well known, and by whom he is much esteemed. Richaid Temple is wise beyond his years. He is of quiet arid retired habits in his private life, and is an energetic arid persevering roan of business, and will, I have no doubt, get on in the world. That this is the opinion of toy 25 QtTAKEIt LOVE. friend is clear, for I know that he would willingly give him his daughter to wife, who will bring her husband a good dowry, as well as a comely person. But Richard, when I saw him last, was not forward in the matter. His thoughts, even in the company of the maid, seemed pre- occupieddoubtless by husiness. Since writing these lines, I have been informed that he visits Elms Cross in a few days, to arrange some mat- ters connected with his late mothers affairs, the last remaining link of his connection with the placeI am, respected friend, & c., EZEKIEL BeowN. This letter determined Mr. Hargrave to recall his rejection of Richard Temple; and the effect of a conversation he had upon the subject with his daughter proved, to the unbounded joy of the par- ents, that as yet she had no organic disease. For some days Martha, though happy, was restless. it seemed as if joy had more effect than grief in unsettling the demure Quaker, for at the slightest sound from the lawn or the street the color motinted into her face. At length an ac- quaintance, when calling in the evening, informed her that she had just seen Richard. Thou rememberest Richard, Martha l Mar- tha nodded. I{e is grown so comely and so manly, thou wouldst hardly know him. He will call here, peradventure l said the mother. Nay. He has already taken his place in the ~oacll for to-morrow. Martha grew pale; and the mother hurried out of the room to seek her husband. That night Richard received a friendly note from Mr. Hargrave, begging him to call in the morning on business of importance. When Richard found himself once more in the silent drawing-room, his manner was very different from what it had been on the last occasion. He was now calm, but gloomy, and almost stern ; and he waited for the appearance of his inviter with neither hope nor fear, but with a haughty impa- tience. Instead of Mr. Hargrave, however, it was Martha who entered the room, and he started back at the unexpected apparition in surprise and agitation. The color that rose into her face, and made her more beautiful than ever, prevented him from seeing that she had been ill ; and when she held out her hand the slioht grasp he gave it was so momentary that he did not discover its attenua- tion. A painful embarrassment prevailed for some time, hardly interrtipted by common questions and monosyllabic replies; till at length Richard re- marked that, his place being taken, he could wait no longer, but should hope to be favored with Mr. Hargraves commands in writing. He was about to withdraw, with a ceremonious bow, when Martha stepped forward. Richard, said she, I have no fear that my early friend will think me immodest, and therefore I will speak without concealment. Tarry yet a while, for I have that to say which, peradventure, may make thee consider thy place in the coach a ligbt sacrifice. Howl Richard, she continued, thou didst once woo me for thy wife, and wert rejected by my fathers commands. Circumstances have brought about a change in his feelings. Must I speak itl and a slight smile, passing away in an in- stant, illumined the bright flush that rose into her face. Wert thou to ask again, dear friend, the answer might be different ! St) long a silence ensued after this speech, that Martha at length raised her eyes suddenly, and fixed them in alarm upon Richards face. In that face there was no joy, no thankfulness, no love tiothing but a blank and ghastly stare. He was as white as a corpse, and large beads of sweat stood upon his brow. Man what meaneth this 1 cried Martha, rushing towards him ; but he threw out his hands to prevent her approach, while the answer came hoarse and broken from his haggard up. Ruinmiseryhorror! But not for you, added Richard, cold and beautiful statue! Not for you, beneath whose lovely bosom there beats not a womans heart! Pass on your way, calm, stately and alone ; softened by no grief, touched hy n~ love, and leave me to my despair. Martha, I am married ! And so saying, he rushed out of the room. Mrs. Hargrave had just entered it utmobserved, and now stood beside her daughter. Martha remained in the same attitude, leaning for- ward, gazing intently at tile door, till the noise of the street door shutting smote upon her ear and her heart, and before her tnother could interpose, she fell senseless on her face. It is said, and said truly, that men recover more speedily than women from love disappoint- ments. The reason is, not that they feel them less deeply, for the converse is the casethe strength of the male character running through all its emotionsbut that the cares and struggles of life, and even the ordinary contact with society into which they are forced, serve gradually to de- tach their thoughts from the sorrow over ~vhich they would otherwise continue to brood. Women, at least in the class affected most by such disap- pointments, have more leisure than men. The world has fewer demands upon them ; and they can only exhibit their mental power and loftiness of resolve by rncking wholesome occupation for their fevered minds. Of these women was Mar- tha Hargrave. Alth9ugh stunned at first by the blow, its very suddenness and severity compelled her to reflect upon her position, and summon up her energies. She did not permit her symupatbies to lie buried in one absorbing subject, but east them abroad upon the face of society ; and wher- ever, within the reach (If her influence, there was ignorance to be instructed, vice reclaimed, or mis~ ery relieved, there was Martha ready, a minister- ing angel at the moment of need. Under this moral discipline she recovered her bodily health. 26 INUNDATION OF THE INDiIIS. The fresh roses of youth continued to bloom in her lovely cheeks long after her hair had begun t.o change its hue; and so the gentle Quaker commenced her descentgradually, gracefully, glidingly, but still demurelyinto the vale of years. The process was different with Richard Temple; but still of a kindred character. To say that he did not repent his marriage would be untrue ; hut still he had honor and integrity enough to cherish the wife he had married in return for her love. He devoted himself to business, and to his rapidly- increasing family; prospered in both; and in due time arrived at the enjoyment of at least ordinary happiness. But at length a period of commercial calamity came, and Richard suffered with th~ rest. His fixed capital was still moderately good ; but he was embarrassed, almost ruined, for want of money. One day during this crisis he was in his private-room in the counting-house, brooding over his difficulties, and in the least promising mood that could be imatdned for sentimental recollec- tions, when a letter was placed before him, the first two lines of which informed him, in a brief, business-like manner, that Martha ~vas dead. The paper dropped upon the floor ; and covering his face with his hands, he abandoned himself for a long time to the deep and painful memories of his early years. On emerging from this parenthesis in the com- moner cares of life, he took up the letter to place it on the table; when, on glancing over its remain- ing contents, he found that poor Martha had be- queathed to him her watch, and the whole of her original fortune of 5000. This completely un- manned the man of business; and throwing him- self back in his chair, he sobbed like a child. Although the money was of infinite importance to him, at the time, freeing him from his present em- barrassments, and paving the way for the splendid fortune he afterwards acquired, he attached a far higher value to the personal keepsake. When he had become quite an old man, it was observed that, as often as he opened the drawer in which the relic was kept, he remained plunged in a deep reverie, while gazing long and earnestly upon his first lastonly token of Quaker Love. INUNDATION OF THE INDUS. TAKEN FROM THE LIPS OF AN EYE-WITNESS, IN A. D. 1842. Communicated 6y. captain J. Abbott. USITRUFF KIIAN, Zemindar of Torbaila, states: In the month of Poos, (December,) the Indus was very low. In Maag and Phagoon, (January and February.) it was so low as to be fordable, (an unprecedented phenomenon.) In Chayt, it continued very low, but not fordable. In Bysakh (April) t.he same. About the middle of Jayt, (May,) the atmosphere was one day observed to be very thick, the air still. At about 2 t~. M., a tnurmIirin~ sound was heard from the northeast~, amongst the mountains, which increased until it attracted universal attention, and we began to cx- claim. What is this murmur? Is it the sound of cannon in the distance? Is Gundgmtrh bellowing? Is it thunder? Suddenly some cried omit, The rivers come ! and I looked and perceived that all the dry channels were already filled, and that the river was racing down furiously in an absolute wall of mud, for it had not at all the color or appearance of water. They who saw it in time easily escaped. They who did not were inevitably lost. It was a horrible mess of fiul watercarcasses of soldiers, peasants, war-steeds, camels, prostitutes, tents, mules, asses, trees, and household-furniturein short, every item of existence jumbled together in one flood of ruin ; for Raja Goolab Singhs army was encamped in the bed of the Indus at Koolaye, three koss above Torbaila, in check of Poynda Khan. Part of the force was at that moment in hot pursuit, or the ruin would have been wider. The rest ran, some to large trees, which were all 5000 uprooted and borne away; others to rocks, which were speedily buried beneath the waters. Only they escaped who took at once to the moun- tain side. About 500 of these troops were at once swept. to destruction. The mischief was immense. Hundreds of acres of arable land were licked up and carried away by the waters. The whole of the Seesoo trees which adorned the river~s banks the famous Burgutt-tree of many stemstime out of mind time chosen bivouac of travellerswere all lost in an instant. The men in the trees, the horses and mules tethered to the stems, all sunk alike into the gulf, and disappeared forever. As k woman with a wet towW sweeps away a legion of, ants, so the river blotted otit the army of the Raja: There were two villages upon an island opposite Ghazi. One of the inhabitants was returning from Srikote and descending the mountain; when he caine with- in sight of the spot where he had left all he held dear, he naturally looked with affection toward his home. Nothing was visible but a wide-rushing sea of mud. His house, his friends, his household, his village, the very island itself, had disappeared. He rubhed his eyes in mortal terror, distrusting his sight, hoping it was a dream. But it was a too horrible reality. He alone, of all that busy hive of moving, struggling, hoping, fearing beings, wa~ left upon the earth. So far the Zemindar ; and to this eloquent de- scription of an eye-witness, I need only add, that it will take hundreds, if not thousands, of years to enable time to repair with its healing hand the mischief of that terrible hour. The revenue of Torbaila has, in consequence, dwindled from 20,000 to 5000 rupees. Chuch has been sown with barren sand. The timber, fir which the In- dos had been celebrated from the days of Alexan- der until this disaster, is now so utterly gone, that I vainly strove throughout Huzara to pr~icure a Seesoo-tree for the repair of the field artillery car- riages. To make some poor amends, the rivet sprinkled gold-dust over tIme barren soil, so that the washings for several successive years were farmed at four times their ordinary rent. it is generally believed that the accumulation of the waters of the md us was occasioned by a landslip which blocked up the valley ; but this and other interesting questions we must leave fmmr solution to Mr. Vans Agnew, whose late mission to Gilget promises so much to the lovers of science.(Jour.. nal of the Asiatic Society of Bengal.) 27 FLOOD IN THE MACQUARIE, IN ATJSTRALIA.GERMAN MARRIAGES. FLOOD IN THE MACQUARIE, IN AUSTRALIA. through the deepest parts of the dark, dry, and shady bed, of what thus again became a flowing Tue talented and energetic Sir Thomas Mitch- river. By my party, situated as we were at that eli, Surveyor-General of New South Wales, in time, heating about the country, and impeded in his lately-published Travels in Tropical Australia, our journey, solely by the almost total absence of gives the following graphic account 9f a flood in water, suffering excessively from thirst and extreme the Macquarie heat, I am convinced the scene never can be for ot ten. Here came at once abundance, the product of storms in the far-off mountains that overlooked our homes. My first impulse was to have wel- comed this flood on our knees, for the scene was sublime in itself while the subjectan abundance of water sent to us in the desertgreatly height- ened the effect to our eyes. Sumce it to say, I had witnessed nothing of such interest in all my Australian travels. Even the heavens presented something new, at least uncommon, and therefore in h~irmony wit.h t.his scene ; the variable star 7) Argus had increased to the first magnitude, just above the beautiful constellation of the southern cross, which slightly inclined over the river, in the only portion of sky seen through the trees. That very red star, thus rapidly increasing in magnitude, might, as characteristic of her rivers, be recognized as the star of Australia, when Europeans cross the line. The river gradually filled up the channel nearly bank high, while the living cataract travelled onward, much slower than I had expected to see it; so slowly, indeed, that more than an hour after its first arrival the sweet music of the head of the flood was distinctly audible from my tent, as the murmur of waters and the diapason crash of logs travelled slowly through the tortuous windings of the river-bed. I was finally lulled to sleep by that melody of living waters, so grateful to my ear, and evidently so unwonted in the dry bed of the thirsty Macquarie. Thermometer at sunrise, 470; at noon, 790; at 4 p an., 880; at 9, 630with wet bulb, 570 .(Lieutenant- Colonel Sir T. L. Mite/tell, Kt., on Tropical Australia, p. 56.) 13th FebruaryI was again laid up with the melee/ic du payssore eyes. Mr. Stephenson took a ride for me to the summit of Mount Foster, and to various cattle-stations about its base, with some questions, to which I required answers, about the river and stations on it lower down. But no one could tell what the western side of the marshes was like, as no person had passed that way ; the country being more open on the eastern side, where only the stations were situated; Mr. Kiughornes, at Gr~iway, about five miles from our camp, being the lowest down on the west bank. Mr. Stephen- son returned early, having met two of the mounted police. To my most important questionWhat water was to be found lower down in the river I the reply was very satisfactory, namely, Plenty, and a flood coining down from the Turiin moun- tains. The two policemen said they had travelled twenty miles with it on the day previous, and that it would still take some time to arrive near our camp. About noon the drays arrived in Rood or- der, having been encamped where there was no water, about six miles short of our camp; the whole distance travelled, from Cannonb~ to the Macquarie, having been about nineteen miles. In the afternoon two of the men, taking a walk up the river, reported, on their return, that the flood poured in upon them, when in the river-bed, so suddenly, that they narrowly escaped it. Still the bed of the Macquarie before our camp continued so dry and silent, that I could scarcely believe the flood coming to be real, and so near to us, who had been put to so many shifts for want of water. Towards evening, I stationed a man with a gun a little way up the river, with orders to fire on the floods appearance, that I might have time to run to the part of the channel nearest to our camp, and witness what I had so much wished to see, as well from curiosity as urgent need. The shades of evening came, however, but no flood ; and the man on the look-out returned to the camp. Some hours later, and after the moon had risen, a mur- murng sound like that of a distant waterfall, min- gled with occasional cracks as of breaking timber, drew our attention, and I hastened to the river- bank. By very slow degrees the sound grew loud- er, and at length so audible, as to draw various persons besides from the camp to the river-side. Still no flood appeared, although its approach was indicated by the occasional rending of trees with a loud noise. Such a phenomenon, in a most serene moonlight night, was quite new to us all. At length, the rushing sound of waters and loud crackincr of timber, announced that the flood was in the next bend. It rushed into our sight, glitter- ing in the moonbeams, a moving cataract, tossing before it ancient trees, and snapping them against its banks. It was preceded by a point of meander- ing water, picking its way, hke a thing of life, GERMAN MARRIACESThe Edinburgh Review says: That nothing short of actual violence should enable a wife or a husband to escape from a domes- tic tyrant, a domestic enemy, or a domestic dis- grace, seems revolting. And yet if we go further, it is not easy to stop short of divorce pour incompat- ihilit6; arid certainly the domestic state of those parts of Germany in which such a ground of divorce is sanctioned, is not attractive. Marriage there takes neither the man nor the woman out of the matrimonial market. Every household is in dan- ger of being broken up, by the intrigues of some man who wishes to appropriate the wife, or of some woman who thinks that she should like to marry the husband. This, indeed, may be inferred from their novels, the best indications of the social state of modern nations; and it gives to their writ- ers a great advantage. Our novels have only one termination; and though the path may wind, the reader sees it always before him. A German novel, in short, now begins where an English one ends. The plot is not how the marriage is to be effected, but how it is to be got rid of; and this may be ac- complished in so many hundred ways that the. most fertile writer need not repeat himself, nor can the most experienced reader see his way 28 29 WALPOLE S LETTERS TO TIlE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. From the Edinbur~h Review, fled by factitions habits, and so imbued with per.. Letters addressed to the Countess of Ossory,from verted egotism, that it cannot be termed natu- the Year 1769 to 1797. By HORACE WALPOLE, ral in the fair and popular acceptation of the Lord Orford. Now first printed from original term. For example MSS. Edited, with Notes, by the Right Hon. H. VERNON SMITH, M. P. In two Volumes. London: 1848. IT would be no easy matter to say anything that has not been said already, and said well, of Horace Walpole and his works. The charm and value of his writings, indeed, were never denied by any one capable of appreciating them; he is confessedly the most attractive of anecdote-mon- gers in print, and the traits of men and mariners embalmed by him possess a lasting interest for the moralist and the historian. Some difference of opinion as to his temper and disposition has naturally, almost necessarily, arisen between those who enjoyed the advantage of his personal ac- quaintance, and those who, like ourselves, founded our judgment almost exclusively on the recorded thoughts, feelings and habits of the man. Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, in one of the most thought- ful essays he ever wrote, enumerates many obvi- ous causes for the discrepancy so constantly ob- served between authors and their works ; and we are quite ready to believe that one or more of these causes would account for the different view taken by Walpoles accomplished friend, Miss Berry, of a few points of his character, which were reluctantly and (we may be allowed to add) not inconsiderately censured in this Review. Nor, let it be remembered, did we ever contend that he was a bad-hearted man, or incapable of kindly, amiable, and generous actions or sentiments. But he wanted grasp, comprehensiveness, elevation, and nobility of feeling or of thought Not his the wealth to some large natures lent, Divinely lavish, even where misspent, That liberal sunshine of exuberant soul, Thought, sense, affection, warming up the whole. After making every allowance, we come back to the conclusion that his mind bore a strong anal- ogy to his house at Strawberry Hill. It was a quaint, curious, rich and rare repository; valuable objects of vertu, and exquisite specimens of carv- ing, gilding, chiselling, and polishing, might be found in it. But the rooms were deficient in size, proportion, and light; the furniture was more or- namental than useful ; and the master kept you in a constant fidget by talking of his wretched at- tempt at a castle, his very humble pretensions as a man of taste, and the poor entertainment he had to offeralthough it was clear, all the time, that if you had unconsciously manifested the slightest agreement with him in any of these particulars, he would have passed a sleepless night, and hated you for the rest of his life. Affectation was so much the essence of his character, that it had grown into a second nature with him. When a man has arrived at this state, he is natural in one sense; he expresses the actual fancy or feeling of the moment; but this fancy or feeling is so modi As I wish to be allowed to see your ladyship and Lord Ossory as much as I may without being troublesome, let it be, madam, without the author- ship coming in question. I hold that character as cheap as I do almost everything else; and, having no respect for authors, am not weak enough to have any for myself on that account. (Vol. i., p. 8.) One word more, on our old quarrel, and I have done. Such letters as mine! I will tell you a fact, madam, in answer to that phrase. On Mr. Chutes death, his executor sent me a bundle of letters he had kept of mine, for above thirty years. I took the trouble to read them over, and I bless my stars they were as silly, insipid things, as ever I dont desire to see again. I thought when I was young and had great spirits, that I bad some parts too, but now I have seen it under my own hand that I had not, I will never believe it under anybodys hand else; arid so I bid you good night. (Vol ., p. 224.) I am sorry, too, on many accounts, that this idle list has been printedbut I have several reasons for lamenting daily that I ever was either author or editor. Your ladyship has often suspected me to continue being the former, against which I have solemnly protested, nor except the little dab on Christina of Pisa (on which I shall tell you one of my regrets) I have not written six pages on any one subject for some years. No, madam, I have lived to attain a little more sense; and were I to recommence my life, and thought as I do now, I do not believe that any consideration could induce me to be an author. I wish to be forgotten; and though that will be my lot, it will not be so, as soon as I wish. In short, (and it is pride, not hu- mility, that is the source of my present sentiments,) I have great contempt for middling writers. We have not only betrayed want of genius, but want of judgment; how can one of my grovelling class open a page of a standard author, and not blush at his own stuff? I took up The First Part of Hen- ry IV. t other day, and was ready to set fire to my own printing-house : Unimitable, unirnitated Falstaff! cried Johnson, in a fit of just enthusi- asm; and yet, amongst all his repentauces, I do not find that Johnson repented of having written his own Irene. (Vol. ii., p. 311.) Did Walpole really repent of having written the smallest of his works, even the Jittle dab on Christina of Pisa ?and how would he have looked, had he taken up a critical notice giving him the comfortable (though ill-founded) assur- ance, that his wish to be forgotten would be, in due time, accorded by posterity? Much, we fancy, as Pope looked, when he was found read- ing a pasquinade against himself, and said, These things are my amusement ; or as Sir Fretful Plagiary looks, exclaiming, Very ph~asant! now another person would be vexed at this. The lady in Crelebs is the genuine repre- sentative of these ingenious self-flatterers or self- tormentors, who accuse themselves by turns of the five cardinal virtues and the seven capital sins; in order to indulge their morbid appetite for ego- WALPOLE S LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. tistical discussion or display : We are all poor weak creatures, and I know very well I have my faults like other people. Well, my dear, (submissively replied the husband~) I should not have said anything about it, if you had not been so candid; but I must say you have a few faults. Faults, sir !and pray, what faults have I ? but you are always finding fault and the lady burst into tears at his cruelty. We are curiously and wonderfully made, particularly about the re- gion of the heart; and when the outward coating of egotism or vanity is stripped off, we find an in- ner one of envy or jealousy. A man may depre- ciate his own pursuits, in order to gain a right to depreciate the similar pursuits of others ; and when Walpole expresses great contempt for mid- dling authors, it may be that he was quietly in- dulging his spite at the whole of his cotempora- ries; not one of whom he would have admitted to be more than middling at the best. The want of individual aim in the remark does not rebut the presumption of its ill-nature. When B~swell re- peated to Johnson Let blameless Bethell, if he will, excel Ten metropolitans in preaching well, and knowledge which used to find vent and ex- pression in hooks had been gradually diverted into reviews and newspapers. Mazarin declared that he did not care who had the making of a nations laws, so long as he had the writing of their songs. Had he lived in our time, he would have substituted, so long as he had the writing of their leading articles ; and most assuredly no English statesman, who had thoroughly at heart the real improvement of the public mind, (on which all other improvement de- pends now-a-days,) would deny the paramount importance of elevating and sustaining the tone of that class of composition which forms the entire mental aliment of much the larger part of the community. Fortunately for the country, for- tunately for mankind, it has already attained a high degree of excellence; and is rapidly clearing itself from the dirt, the rubbish, and the dross :but no thanks, for this, to prime ministers, no thanks to cabinets, no thanks to the aristocracy; for every step of its progress has been retarded by dis- couragement, or acknowledged with a sneer. Ev- ery other kind of intellectual distinction has been eagerly sought out and rewarded of late years; but where (with two or three exceptions) is the newspaper editor or writer, who might not adopt the very words of the lexicographer in his famous letter to Lord Chesterfield: I have been pushing on my task through difficulties of which it is use- less to complain, without one act of assistance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of favor. Why is Mr. Searjeant Talfourd, speaking of the late Mr. Barnes with reference to his editorship of the Times, obliged to lament that the influ- ences for good vhich he shed largely on all the departments of busy life, should have necessarily left behind them such slender memorials of one of the kindest, the wisest, and the best of men who have ever enjoyed signal opportuffities of moulding public opinion, and who have turned them to the noblest and the purest uses The truth is, it requires a rare degree of moral courage to depart from the ordinary practice or confront the stereotyped prejudice; and it will be long, very long, we fear, before the juster notions of the French on this subject become prevalent among us; before, for example, our rising states- men will rely on their literary as openly as on their parliamentary services, and feel as proud of an opportune article in a newspaper as of a suc- cessful speech in parliament. It is well known that almost every man who has attained to power in France since 1830, has been more or less avow- edly connected with newspapers; nor at the pres- ent time is it possible for a party to maintain its ground in France without its daily organ, con- ducted by men of known talent; who (even when and asked him to whom the writer alluded in the second line, Johnson replied, I dont know, sir; but he thought it would vex somebody. Vi7e say frankly, however, that Walpoles con- stant negation and depreciation of authorship con- stitute his great offence in our eyes. It was a most mischievotts littleness in a man of his rank to fister the vulgar prejudices of his order in this partibular ; and it is still, in our opinion, an infal- lible symptom of a narrow mind, or an imperfect education, to talk slightingly of the position of a man of letters, or repudiate, as lowering, a con- nection with any respectable branch of literature. Give me a place to stand on, said Archimedes, and I will move the world. The modern Ar- chimedes who should be content to use a moral lever, would take his stand upon the press. And what portion of the press? Not, as we for- merly intimated, on the ponderous folio, or the bulky quarto, or the respectable octavo, but on the review, the magazine, and above all the news- paper. Let any one calmly reflect upon the enor- mous power, for good or evil, exercised by clever writers who are daily read by thousands. It is a well-known fact, which any leading bookseller will verify with a sigh, that, whenever public events of importance occur, or great changes are under discussion, it is useless to publish books. During the reform bill, the Catholic emancipation, and the corn law agitation, regular literature of every kind was a drug; and ever since the com- mencement of the great continental cotinvulsion in February last, it has been excluded from much of its fair and legitimate domain by journalism. It is more to the purpose to set about neutralizing any evil effects that may be apprehended from a cban~e than to rail at it; and this ebange would * Final Minorials of Charles Lamba book full of hardly be so marked and durable unless the talent flue thuunht and generous feeling. they do not sign their articles) are commonly more eager to parade their happiest exploits in this line than to veil or throw a shade over them. In al- lusion to M. Thiers, M. Jules Janin says : The 30 WALPOLE S LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS O~ OSSORY. day when that man named himself 1)residellt of the council, the French press gained its battle of Austerlitz. When will the English press gain its Waterloo By which we mean, of course, when will the vocation be duly honored 1when will the press be placed in such a position as to attract recruits of promise from all classes 1 when, in short, will our newspapers be placed on the same footing as oitr reviews? We have won our battle~but we had a hard fight for it ; and it was principally owing to the defection or faint-heartedness of its natural allies, like Walpole or Byron, that, till recently, litera- ture was hardly recognized as, to all intents and purposes, the profession of a gentlemanas fully, for instance, as the church, the army and navy, or the bar. Nothing, in England, is deemed aristo- cratical, but what is habitually done by the aris- tocracy. The essential character of the thing is not the point. Education may be as good at the London University and Kings College as at Trinity or Christchurch, but it is not aristocratical education and literature may have exhibited equal refinement before it became the fashion for fine ladies and gentlemen to enter the lists as com- petitors for its honors. But the chances were against it so long as it was deemed derogatory to write; for exertion is paralyzed by want of full sympathy, and a vocation is invariably lowered by disrespect. When the French grand seigneur, meettug the author of a grammar at the academy, said haughtily; .Je suis ici pour mon 0randpere, the grammarian retorted, Et moijie suis ici pour ma nratnmcire, (grandm~re,) ~vhich was clearly the better title of the two. But when Voltaire called on Congreve professedly as a man of let- ters, Congreve told him he wished to be visited as a gentleman ; whereupon Voltaire rejoined, that, if he had only heard of him as a gentleman, he should never have called on him at all. We have here the two principles in marked contrast; and it is mortifying to think that no Englishman of rank has yet had the manliness to throw himself gallantly on the good sense and rood feeling of his countrymen, as a professional man of letters, or gentleman of the pressthat Gibbon should have struck no responsive chord, when he cx- It seems to me, with a spirit worthy of a younger claimed, The nobility of the Spencers has been and a freer age, you have reserved to the author and the man of letters a reward, of a simple and illustrated and enriched by the glories of Marlbo- less sordid character than the mere hire of his tough; but I exhort them to consider the Fairy newspaper, and the pay of that review can afThrd Queen as the most precious jewel of their coro- or, with intentions yet more foresiahted and pro- net. Our immortal Fieldittg was of the younger found, you may have resolved to correct some of branch of the Earls of Denbigh, who draw their these, the anomalies of a country which is gor- origin from the Counts of Hapsburg. The succes- erned by its journals, but where the names of i;s sors of Charles the Fifth~ may disdain their breth - journ~ists are never mentionedof a country Tom Jones, where, by the most unhappy of inversions, it is the ren of England ; but the romance of invmtion which makes the fortune, an(l the invent- that exquisite picture of human manners, will out- ors who starveof a country vhere. if the men of live the palace of the Escurial, and the imperial science aspire to the highest. honor which you have eaRle of the House of Austria. to bestowthe suifrages of their fellow-citizens Byron had noble opportunities ; but he was those men of science will poll by nuts .~here the prouder of Brummells acquaintance than Scotts mere politicians will poll by hundlLds And it seems to he preferred Shelley, because he was a man of that you,me e~pecially meet, and ri~ht nud ftto r~ the men of Manchester, muM e ~s family ; he loved rather to discredit the calling these evils ; because there is an eL, ii than to elevate it; and, in fact, made common and a natural alliance between literae~e ~d curb cause with Walpole in his littleness. The critics, he used to say, ran down Walpole because he was a gentleman, and himself because he was a lord. This was a strange mistake; their social and heredi- tary rank ensured both the most favorable recep- tion ; and would have proved an unmixed advan- tage, if they had not shown an undue conscious- ness of it. It has been asserted that the dread Walpole is supposed to have felt, lest he should lose caste as a gentleman, by ranking as a wit and an author, he was mttch too fine a gentleman to have believed in the possibility of feeling. Our very complaint is, that he was not sufficiently high-bred for this ; and the consequence was, that persons of his class continued half a century longer to be ashamed of adopting the most effective method of influencing their coterrlporaries, and showing themselves possessed of knowledge, obser- vation, and capacity. The increase of readers, which made the public the only patron worth considering, together with other circu tustances, gradually emancipated general literature from th~ lowering influence of the prejudice; the establish- ment of this jourital at once emancipated reviews; but the work of emancipation will be incomplete so long as any respectable portion of the press re- mains under the pretence or semblance of a ban. Our honored and lamented friend, Sydney Smith, declared that he had no hope of effecting a re- quired improvement in the management of the Great Western Railway carriages till a bishop was burnt in them. Were he now living, he would probably tell us that there is little or no hope of effecting the required improvement in public opirt- ion as to the press, until a peer should become openly and avowedly the editor of a newspaper. Not, certainly, that the duties would be better performed on that account, but because an inju- rious prejudice, which it may take many years to reason down, might thus be demolished at a blow. It is only fair to say that these views were warmly and eloquently advocated by one young man of rank, five years ago. At a meeting rif the Manchester Athen~urn (Oct. 1843,) Mr. Smythe, the member for Canterbury, spoke thus 31 WALTOLE S LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. merce; and it is in virtue of this affiance (which has been alluded to in the speeches of several gen- tlemen who have preceded me this evening) that you know of what is passing amongst foreigners; that you cannot but regard with sympathy the honors which abroad are paid to literature. Why, the very ambassadors now sent to us from foreign courts are so many reproaches on our neglect of let- ters. Who is the ambassador from Russia ~A man who has risen by his pen. Who is the ambas- sador from Sweden ?An author and an historian; the historian of British India. Who is the ambas- sador from Prussia ?An author and a professor. Who is the ambassador from Belgium?Again, a man who has risen by literature. Who is the am- bassador from France ?An author and historian. Who is the ambassador from, I had almost said, our fellow-countrymen in America~Again, an author and a professor. Since this was spoken, Mr. Everett has been succeeded by Mr. Bancroft, the distinguished author of The History of the United States ; and M. de St. Aulaires place is now filled by M. de Beaumont, the author of a work on Ireland, which is highly esteemed in France, whatever we may think of the views of Irish affairs taken by him. The natural consequence of Walpoles peculiar mode of looking, or pretending to look, at author- ship, was that he was a bitter bad critic. The author with him must wear the stamp of fashion to ensure a favorable reception for the book Let but a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens and the sense refines. He must be a member of parliament, a member of Brookes, or a lounger at Whites Chocolate House at the least. Such poor devil authors as Goldsmith, Smollett, Richardson, or Johnson, are ignored or slighted ; Gray is flung off as a pedant ; and even Fielding, with the blood of the Hapsburg in his veins, and though Droll nature stamped each lucky hit With unimaginable wit, is voted low. We will not quarrel with the high praise of Lord Carlisles tragedy, (vol. ii., p. 163,) which was also praised by Dr. Johnson ; but here is an exemplary specimen of dilettante criticism Mr. Jepbsons tragedy, which I concluded would not answer all that I had heard of it, exceeded my expectations infinitely. The language is noble, the poetry, similes, and metaphors, enchanting. The harmony, the modulation of the lines, shows he has the best ear in the world. I remember nothing at all equal to it appearing in my time, though I am Methusalem in my memory of the stage. I dont know whether it will have all the effect there it de- serves, as the story is so well known, and the hap- py event of it known too, which prevents atten- drissement. Besides, the subject in reality demands but two acts, for the conspiracy and the revolution; but one can never be tired of the poetry that pro- tracts it. Would you believe I am to appear on the theatre along with it ?my Irish friends, the Biughams, have overpersuaded me to write an epi- logue, which was wanting. They gave me the subject, which I have executed miserably; but at least I 4o not make the new Queen of Portugal lay aside her majesty, and sell double entendres like Lady Bridget Tollemache. (Vol. i., p. 177.) The amateur performance, the select company, and the overpersuading to write the epilogue, prove that Mr. Jephsnn had his great and little entrees to the set ; and this accounts for the ex- travagant commendation lavished on his long-for.~ gotten play. This is not the only instance in which Walpole has the misfortune to differ from posterity What play makes you laugh very much, and yet is a very wretched comedy l Dr. Goldsmiths She Stoops to Conquer. Stoops, indeed so she does, that is, the muse; she is draggled up to the knees, and has trudged, I believe, from South- wark fair. The whole view of the piece is low humor, and no humor is in it. All the merit is in the situations, which are comic ; the heroine has no more modesty than Lady Bridget, and the au- thors wit is as much manqu~ as the ladys ; but some of the characters are well acted, and Wood- ward speaks a poor prologue, written by Garrick, admirably. (Vol. i., p. 58.) He could hardly be expected to appreciate Beaumarchais masterpiece, or see what it por- tended, or translate the writing on the wall ; but it is surprising he could find nothing in it but a farce No, I am not at all struck with the letter of Beaumarchais, except with its insolence. Such a reproof might become Cato the Censor, in defence of such a tragedy as Addisons, on his descendant; but for such a vaurien as Beaumarchais, and for such a contemptible farce as Figaro, it was para- mount impertinence towards the duke, and gross ill-breeding towards the ladies. Besides, I abhor vanity in authors; it would offend in Milton or Montesquieu; in a Jack-pudding it is intolerable. I knuw no trait of arrogance recorded of Molibre and to talk of the Marriage of Figaro as in- structive! Punch might as well pretend to be moralizing when he sells a bargain. In general, the modern Gens de Lettres in France, as they call themselves, are complete puppies. (Vol. ii., p. 276.) We must do him the justice to say he showed no greater predilection for the encyclopa~dist school, and was fully alive to the national vanity of the French My French dinner xvent off tolerably well, ex- cept that five or six of the invited disappointed me, and the table was not full. The Abbd Raynal not only looked at nothing himself, but kept talking to the ambassador the whole time, and would not let him see anything neither. There never was such an impertinent and tiresome old gossip. He said to one of the Frenchmen, We ought to come abroad, to make us love our own country. This was before Mr. Churchill, who replied very prop- erly, Yes, we had some Esquimaux here lately, and they liked nothingbecause they could get no train-oil br breaklhst. (Vol. i., p. 272.) lIe speaks thus of Montaigne 32 WALPOLE S LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 33 I have scarce been in town since I s-w you, have scarce seen anybody here, and dont remember a tittle but havinr scolded my gardener twice, which, indeed, would be as important an article as any in Montaignes travels, which I have been reading, and if I was tired of his essays, what most one be of these! What signifies what a man thought, who never thought of anything but himself I and what signifies what a man did, who never did any- thing I (Vol i., p. 135.) We have not the remotest doubt that Walpole would have been found in the foremost ranks of Drydens depreciators, when Elkanab Settle was set up against him by the court. He does actu- ally prefer Mason to Pope Did your lord bring you the Heroic Epistle to Sir XV. Chambers I am going mad about it, though there is here and there a line I hate. I laughed till I cried, and the oftener I read it the better I like it. It has as much poetry as the Dun- ciad, and more wit and greater facility. It will be admitted that the concludin~ sentence of the following paragraph is nut a lucky hit I made no com~ ientary on General Oglethorpes death, madam, because his very lone life was the great curiosity, and the moment he is dead the rar- ity is over; and, as he was btit ninety-seven, he will not be a prodigy compared with those who reached to a century and a half. He is like many who make a noise in their own time from some singularity, which is forgotten, when it comes to be registered with others of the same genus, but more extraordinary in their kind. How little will Dr. Johnson be remembered, when confounded with the mass of authors of his own calibre ! (Vol. ii., p. 227.) Again, alluding to Garrick What stuff was his Jubilee Ode, and how paltry his Prologues and Epilogues ! I have always thought that he was just the counterpart of Shak- speare; this, the first of writers, and an indifferent actor; that, the first of actors, and a woful author. Posterity would believe me, who will see only his writings; and who will see those of another mod- ern idol, far less deservedly enshrined, Dr. Johnson. (Vol. i., p. 333.) These bursts of petulance, for they c-n hardly be called judgments, are the more provoking, be- cause no one can see clearer, within a certain range, than Horace Walpole, when he lays aside his London-smoke spectacles. His remarks on Gibbon are sound and discrimimiting ; but Gibbon had been a lord of the treasury. He defends B u rk& s famous allusion to Marie Antoinette when condemned by the town ; but Burke was a parliamentary leader, and Marie Antoinette was a ~cen. Perhaps the boldest opinion he ever haz- arded is this (vol. ii., p. 226) For Chatterton, he was a gigantic genius, and might have soared I know not whither. In the poems, avowed for his, is a line, that neither Row- 1ev nor all the monks in Christendom could or would have written, and which would startle them all fbr CCXLII. LIVING AGE. VOL. XX. 3 its depth of thought and comprehensive expression, from a lad of eighteen Reason a thorn in Revelations side! His criticisms on plays and players are colored by the same prejudices. It was the remark of John Philip Kemble, that he never knew an ama- teur actor or actress who was worth above thir- teen and sixpence a week on the regular boards and that there was not a provincial company of any note throughout the empire, who would not act either comedy, tragedy, or farce, better than the best amateur company that could be collected in May Fair. The difference was probably still more marked when the stage was in its zenith yet Walpole, who bad lived through its brightest period, awards the palm to the amateurs; and can account for an adverse criticism on a set of them only on the supposition that one of the regulars had indited it I am very far from tired, madam, of encomiums on the performance at Richmond House; but I, by no means, a~,ree with the criticism on it that you quote, and which, I conclude, was written by some player, from envy. VVho should act genteel comedy perfectly, but people of fashion that have sense? Actors and actresses can only guess at the tone of high life, and cannot be inspired with it. Why are there so few genteel coniedies, but because most comedies are written by men not of that sphere ? Etheridge, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Cibber, wrote genteel comedy, because they lived in the best company; and Mrs. Oldfield played it so well, because she not only followed, but often set, the fashion. Gencral Bur oyne has written the best modern comedy,for the same reason; and Miss Farren is as excellent as Mrs. Oldfield, be- cause she has lived with the best style of men in England ; whereas 1\Irs. Abingdomi can never go beyond Lady Teazle, which is a second-rate char- acter; and that rank of women are always aping women of fashion, without arriving at the style. Farqubars plays talk the language of a marching reoiment in country quarters; Wycherley, Dryden, Mrs. Centlivre, & e., wrote as if they had only lived in the Rose Tavern ; but then the court lived in Drury Lane, too ; and Lady Dorchester and Nel Gwyn were equally good company. The Richmond theatre, I imagine, will take root. (Vdl. mm., p. 302.) With The School for Scandal fresh in his memory, he says that General Burgoyne had writ- ten the best modern comedy ! Who should act genteel comedy perfectly, but people of fashion that have sensel This reminds us of Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat. It is worse; it is arguing in a circle, arid demand- ing an impossibility. People of fashion who have sense, will not take to acting as a profession if they do, they soon cease to be people of fashion; if they do not, they make nothing of it. Perfect acting is as much an abstraction as a perfect cir- cle, upon such principles. He is far from consis- tent on the subject of Garriek, but line speaks pret- ty plaimily in some places for example WALPOLE S LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF OSSORT. I should shock Garricks devotees if I uttered all my opinion I xviii trust your ladyship with itit is, that Le Texier is twenty times the genius. What comparison between the powers that do the fullest justice to a single part, and those that instantaneotis- ly can fill a whole piece, and transform themselves with equal perfection into men and women, and pass from laughter to tears, and make you shed the lat- ter at both ?(Vol. i., p. 332.) If this he true criticism, the late Charles Mat- thews was the first actor that ever lived, and Levassor is superior to Bouff& He proceeds Qarrick, when be made one latigh, was not al- ways judicious, though excellent. What idea did his Sir John Brute give of a Surly husband His Bayes was no less entertaining; but it was a Gar- ret-teer-bard. Old Cibber preserved the solemn coxcomb; and was the caricature of a great pt)et, as the part was designed to be. Half I have said I know is heresy, hut fashion had gone to excess, though very rarely with 50 much reason. Applause had turned his head, and yet he was never content even with that prodigality. His jealousy and envy were unbounded; he hated Mrs. Clive, till she quitted the stage; and then cried her tip f~) the skies, to depress Mrs. Abingdon. He dd not love Mrs. Pritchard, atid with more reason, for ther& Was more Spirit and originality in her Bea- trice than there was in his Benedick.( Vol. i., p. 332.) Johnsons fln~ allusion to Garricks death was never thought exaggerated. I am disappointed ~by bat stroke of death which has eclipsed the gay- ety of nations, and impoverished the public stock ~of harmless pleasure. Nor could any satirist of those days have levelled against Isis noble friends and admirers the bitter taunt flung by Mr. Moore at Sheridan~s how proud they can flock to the funeral array Of one whom they shunned in his sickness and sorrow, how bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day, Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-mor- row. But Walpole has found out a method of depre- ciating both the shrine and the worshipper Yes, madam, I do think the pomp of Garricks funeral perfectly ridiculous. It is confotinding the immense space between pleasing talents and national services. What distitictions remain for a patriot hero, when the most solemn have been showered on a player lbut when a great empire is on its decline, otie symptom is, there being more eager- ness on trifles than on essential objects. Shakspeare, who wrote when Burleigh counselled and Nottinr- ham fought, was not rewarded and honored like Garrick, who only acted, when, indeed, I do not know who has counselled and who has fotinght. I do not at all mean to detract from Garricks merit, who was a real g nius in his way, and who, I be- lieve, was never equalled, in both tragedy and com- edy. Still, I canmiot think that acting, however perfectly, what others have written, is one of the most astonishing talents ; yet I xviii own, as fairly, that Mrs. Porter and MadlIe. Dumestiil have struck itic so much, as even to reverence them. Garrick never alThctcd me quite so much as those two ac tresses, and some few others in particular parts, as Quin, in Falstaff; King, in Lord Ogleby; Mrs. Pritchard, in Maria in the Nonjuror; Mrs. Clive, in Mrs. Cadwallader; and Mrs. Abingdon., in Lady Teazle. They all seemed the very persons; I sup- pose that iii Garrick I thought I saxv inure (if his art; yet his Lear, Richard, Hoispur, (which the town had not taste enough to like,) Kitely, and Ranger, were as capital and perfect as actioui could be. In declamation I confess lie never charmed rue, nor could he be a gentleman; his Lord Towoley and Lord Hasting were mean ; but there, too, the parts are indifferent, and do not call for a masters exertitei.(Vol. i., p. 332.) An anecdote of Mrs. Siddons confirms, if it. required confirming, the statement concerning Gar- ricks morbid j alousy Mrs. Siddons continues (1782) to be the mode, and to be modest and sensible. She declines great dinmiers, and says her business and the cares of her family take up her whole time. When Lord Carl- isle carried her the tribute-money from Brookes, he said she xvas not rnani~r~e enough. I suppose she was grateful, said my niece, Lady Maria. Mrs. Siddons was desired to play Medna and Lady Macbeth. No, she replied ; shin did not look on them as female characters. She was questioned about her transactions with Garrick ; she said, ho did nothing but put her out; that he told her she moved her right hand when it should have been h .r left.. In short, said she, I found I must not shade the tip of his nose.( Vol. ii., p. 131.) The cotemporary impression regarding Mrs. Siddons must be an object of interest, even when recorded by one whom we cannot rank among the most candid of observers Mr. Craufurd, too, asked me if I did not think her the best actress I ever saw? I said, By n means; we old folks were apt to be prejudiced in favor of our first impressions. She is a gmmod figure; handsonie emtomigh~, though neither nose nor chin according to thin Greek standard, beyond whi b both advance a good deal. Her hair is either red, or she has no objection to its l)eing thought so, had used red powder. 11cr voice is clear and good; but I thought she did not vary its modulations enough, nior ever apprimach enough to the farnilia but ibis may come when niore habimuated to tb awe of the audience of the capital. Her action is proper, but with little variety; when without mo- tion, her arms are not genteel. Thus you see, mad- am, all my objections are very trifling; but what I really wanted, and did nuit find,was (iriginality, which announces genius, and without both which I am never intrinsically pleased. All Mrs. Siddomus did, good sense or gou)d instruction might give. I dare t(m say, that were I one-and-twenty, I should have thonight her marvellous; but, alas! I remember Mrs. Porter and the Dummesniland remember every accent of the former in the very same part. Yet this is not entirely prejudice; dont I equally rec(illect the whole progress of Lord Chatham and Charles Toxvnshend, amid does it binder my think- ing Mr. Fox a prodigy ?Pray do not ~cxid him this paragraph too.( Vol. i., p. 115.) The date is 1782rather late in the day to begin thinking Mr. Fox a prodigy. But the last sentence was evidently meant to be read, as C ~ar~a the See- 34 WALPOLE S LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 35 ond and his courtiers read the seventh commandment with the omission of the not. The reflections on the breaking out of the French revolution, are well worth attention. The letter of September 26, 1789, for example, is almost lit- erally applicable to the existing state of France at this moment. Many of the other letters, also, are curious, as illustrations of laws, manners, and soci- ety in both countries. The frequency of robberies will sound very startling to all whose personal rec- ollections do not extend to periods much anterior to the new policeabout as new to the rising genera- tion as the New River or the New Forest The Hertfords, Lady iloldernesse, and Lady Mary Coke did dine here on Thursday, but were armed as if going to Gibraltar; and Lady Cecilia Johnstone would not venture even from Petersham for in the town of Richmond they rob even before duskto such perfection are all the arts brought! W Ito would have thought that the war with Amer- ica would make it impossible to stir from one vil- lage to another~ yet so it literally is. The colonies took off all our commodities dowii to highwaymen. Now being forced to mew and then turn them out like pheasants, the roads are stocked with them, and they are so tame that they even come into houses. (X~ol ii., p. 107.) Walpole and Lady Browne are stopped on their way to drink tea with a neighbor by a highway- man He said, Your purses and watches! I replied, I have no watch. Then your purse ! I gave it to him; it had nine guineas. It was so dark that I could not see his hand, but felt him take it. lie then asked for Lady Brownes purse, and sai(l, Dont be frightened; I will not hurt you. I said, No, you wont frighten the lady ? He replied, No, I give you my word I will do you no hurt. Lady Browne gave him her purse, and was going to add her watch, but he said, I am much obliged to you; I wish you good night! pulled off his hat and rode a~vay. Well, said I, Lady Browne, you will not be afraid of bein~ robbed another time, for you see there is nothin~ in it. Oh! but I am, said she, and now I am in terrors lest he should return, for I have given him a purse with only bad money, that I carry on purpose.( Vol. ii., p. 55.) After describing some private theatricals at Ham Common, he says There was a great deal of good company collected from the environs and even from London, but so armed with blunderbusses, that when the servants were drawn up after the play, you would have thought it had been a midnight review of conspira- tors on a heath. When Mr. Craufurd, described as having ~lways presence of mind enough to be curious, was robbed, the wits reported him as saying to the highwayman, You must have taken other pocket-books; could not you let me have one instead of mineP The impression left by Lord lierveys Memoirs as to the selfish habits and arbitrary modes of think- ing of royal personages, before the progress of man- ners refined and softened them, is confirmed by Walpole in many passages. The following is an extract from a letter dated Calais, 1773. I must acquaint you with a piece of insolence done to the Duke and Duchess of Cumberland. Their royal highnesses, upon their arrival here on Saturday se~ennight, went to the play, as likewise on Sunday. On Monday morning two of the play- ers waited on their royal highnesses to thank them fur the honor that had been done them, and to re- ceive the gratification usual upon such occasions. The duke gave them three guineas for the two rep- resentations, which was st far from satisfvin~ these gentry, that, by way of impertinence, they sent their candle-snuffer, a dirty fellow, to present a hotiquet to the ducitess, who was rewarded for his impudence with a volley of coups de baton. This chastisement did not intimidate the actors, who sent one of their troop after the duke to St. Omer. with a letter, to know if it was really true his royal highness gave but three guineas; for that they, the players, suspected their companions had pocketed the best part of what was given. What answer the duke gave I know not, but the man who went with the letter has been put in prison, and the whole troop has been ordered to leave the town. Voil4 qui est bien tragique pour les com6diens! This affair is as much talked on at Calais as if it was an affair )fstate.(Vol. i., p. 89.) The story of the Duchess of Bolton proposing to start for China as a place of safety, when the end of the world was positively fixed for the next year, by some Moore or Murphy of the day; the stories of the famous beauty, Lady Coventry, and the op. position encountered by Lord Macclesfield when Ite attempted to reform the calendar, materially dintin- ish our astonishment at any amount of ignorance in any class, towards the middle of the last centtlry. or we might suspect Walpole of inventing the dia- logue which comes next I cannot~say there will be quite so much wit in the anecdote I am going to tell you next. Lady Greenwich, tother day, in a conversation with Lady Tweeddahe, named the Saxons (the Lord knows how that happened.) The Saxons, my dear ! cried the marchtioness, who were they ? Lord, madam, did your ladyship never read the history of England ? No, my dear! Pray who wrote it? Dont it put you in mind of the Mattoe and the Allogabroges in Grammont Voici, a second dialogue of the same dame with the Duchess of Argyll, who went to her to hire a house the marchioness has here on Twickenham Com- mon, for her brother, General Gunning: Marchioness. But will he pay for it? Duchess. Madam, my brother can afford to pay for it; and if he cannot, I can. Marchioness. Oh! I am glad I shall have toy money. Well, my dear, but am I to wish you joy on Lady Augustas marriaget Duchess. No great joy, madam; there was no great occasion for Lady Augusta Campbell to be married. Marchioness.~Lord, my dear, I wonder to hear you say so, who have been married twice. (Vol. ii., p. 340.) A curious adventure, in which Charles Fox is traditionally reported to have been engaged, is recorded with particulars I know nothing of the following legend but from that old maid, Common Fame, wito outhies the newspapers. You have read in Fieldings Chron WALPOLE S LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF OSSOIIY. ide the tale of the Hon. Mrs. Grieve; but could you have believed that Charles Fox could have been in the list of her dupes? Well, he was. She promised him a Miss Phipps, a West Indian fortune of 150,0001. Sometimes she was not landedsometimes had the small-pox. In the mean time Miss Phipps did not like a black man. Celadon must powder his eyebrows. He did, and cleaned himself. A thousand Jews thought he was gone to Kingsgate to settle the payment of his debts. Oh no! he was to meet Celia at Margate. To confirm the truth, the Hon. Mrs. Grieve ad- vanced part of the fortune; some authors say an hundred and sixty, others three hundred pounds. But how was this to answer to the matron? Why, by Mr. Foxs chariot being seen at her door. Her other dupes could not doubt of her noblesse or interest, when the hopes of Britain frequented her house. In short Mrs. Grieves parts are in uni- versal admiration, whatever Charles are.(Vol. i., p. 107.) Sir Walter Scott mcntions the story in his Diary of May 9th, 1828; and there is an obvious allusion to it in The Cozeners, by Foote. The uncertainty still resting on the death of the great Lord Clive, currently reported to have committed suicide, gives value to a cotemporary account from high authority: Lord H. has just been here, and told me the manner of Lord Clives death. Whatever had happened, it had flung him into convulsions, to which he was very subject. Dr. Fothergill gave him, as he had done on like occasions, a dose of laudanum; but the pain in his bowels was so vio- lent that he asked for a second dose. Dr. Fother- gill said if he took another he would be dead in an hour. The moment Fothergill was gone he sxval- lowed another, for another it seems stood by him, and he is dead.( Vol. i., p. 155.) In an articJe on George Selwyn, on the publi- cation of his correspondence, we quoted box mots of his sufficient to set up half a dozen wits; but he was inexhaustible, and a fresh stock is now brought to light Apropos of bon-mots, has our lord told you that George Selwyn calls Mr. Fox and Mr. Pitt the idle and the industrious apprentices? If he has not, I am sure you will thank me, madam.( Vol. ii., p. 146.) Hogarths print was then familiar to every one and the joke was as generally understood and appreciated as that of the late Mr. R. Smith (father of the editor of the Letters) when he declared Mr. Home and Mr. Vansittart (Lord Bexley) to be the living personifications of Penny wise and pound foolish. The best of the other bon mots will not occup~~ much space You ask about Mr. Selwyn; have you heard his incomparable reply to Lord George Gordon, who asked him if he would choose him again for Lug- gershall; he replied, His constituents would not. Oh yes, if you would recommend me, they would choose me if I came from the coast of Africa. That is according to what part of the coast you came from; they would certainly, if you came from the Guinea coast. Now, madam, is not this true inspiration as well as true wit? Had one asked him in which of the four quarters of the world Guinea is situated, could lie have told ? (Vol. i., p. 427.) He came to me yesterday morning from Lady Townsend, who, terrified by the fires of the pre- ceding night, talked the language of the court, instead of opposition. He said she put him in mind of removed tradesmen,. who hung out a board with burnt out from over the way.(Vol. i., p. 439.) Everybody is full of Mr. Burkes yesterdays speech, which I only meotion as parent of a mol of George Selwyn. Lord George Gordon, single, divided the house, and Selwyn set him down after- wards at Whites, ~vhere he said, I have brought the whole opposition in my coach; and I hope one coach will always hold them, if they mean to take away the Board of Works, (of which he was paymafter.)( Vol. i., p. 408.) George Selwyn is, I think, the only person remaining who can strike wit out of the present politics. On hearing Calcraft wanted to be Earl of Ormond, he said, it would be very proper, as no doubt there had been many Butlers in his fain- ily.( Vol. i., p. 4.) Every reader who enjoys humor will allow the following to be a capital story, with a result sin- gularly illustrative of manners To divert the theme; how do you like, madam, the following story? A you~g Madame de Choi- seul is inloved with by Monsieur de Coigny and Prince Joseph of Monaco. She longed for a parrot that should be a miracle of eloquence. Every other shop in Paris sells mackaws, parrots, cock- atoos, & c. No wonder one at least of the riva soon found a Mr. Pitt; and the bird was immedi- ately declared the nymphs first minister; hut as she had two passions as w 11 as two lovers, she was also enamored of General Jacko at Astleys. The unsuccessful candidate offered Astley ingots for his monkey ; but Astley demanding a terre for life, the paladin was forced to desist; but fortu- nately heard of another miracle of parts of the Mo- nomotapan race, who was not in so exalted a sphere of life, being only a marmiton in a kitchen, where he had learnt to pluck fowls with inimitable dex- terity. This dear animal was not invaluable ; was bought, and presented to Madame de Choiseul, who immediately made him the Secretaire de ses Coin- mandemens. Her caresses were distributed equally to the animals, and her thanks to the donors. The first time she went out the two former were locked up in her bed chamber; how the two latter were disposed of, history is silent. Ab! I dread to tell the sequel. When the lady returned, and flew to her chamber, Jacko the second received her with all the einpresseinent possible; but where was Poll. Found at last under the bed, shivering and cower- ing, and without a feather, as stark as any Christian. Polls presenter concluded that his rival had given the monkey with that very view; challenged him, they fought, and both were wounded; and an heroic adventure it was.( Vol. ii., p. 258.) There is certainly nothing new under the sun in the way of story. Who could or would have thought that the well-known adventure of Lord Eldon and the turbot had been anticipated ? Another on our list of burials is a Sir Patrick Hamilton. His history is curious. He has an 36 WALPOLES LETTERS TO THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. estate of 18001. a year in Ireland, but has lodged at Twickenham fur three or four years, watching impatiently an ancient uncle who has some money. The old gentleman, formerly a captain in the Scotch Greys, is now eighty-eight; hut as beauti- ful and sleek as Melchisedec when he ~vas not above two hundred; and he walks four or five miles a day, and looks as if he would outlive his late heir for a quarter of a century more. Sir Patrick was knighted when mayor of Duhlin. His lady is still more parsimonious. In his mayorality he could not persuade her to huy a new gown. The pride of the Hamiltons surmounted the penury of the highlands. He bought a silk that cost five- and-fifty shillings a yard, hut told his wife it cost but forty. In the evening she displayed it to some of her female acquaintance. Forty shillings a yard! Lord, madam, said one of them, I would give five-and-forty myself. Would you, madam lyou shall have it at that price. Judge how Sir Patrick was transported when he returned at night, and she bragged of the good bargain she had made (Vol. i., p. 451.) One of the common charges against Walpole is founded on his ungrateful harshness and coldness to Madame do Deffand, who entertained and uni- formly professed a warm and perfectly unselfish regard for him. His advocates excuse him on the plea of that dread of ridicule which is admitted to have firmed a principal feature in his character. He was afraid of being laughed at for a liaison with an old blind woman.~ But this is far from being a satisfactory apology; and.from what we remember of his occasional style of reciproca- tion, Madame du Deffand might have exclaimed, in the spirit of the song Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love, But why did you kick me down stairsl And, after all, is there any description of weak- ness or moral cowardice more censurable, than that which induces a man to shrink from the avowal of well-founded affection and esteem, or leads him to disavow the feelings which do honor to the heart, from fear of incurring the ridicule of the fops and fribbles of society, or from a wish to stand well with them It is our firm conviction that more than half the scandal we hear circulated in society is attributable to vanity. It is the gratification of telling a good story, not the wish to inflict injury, that incites. The race between Mrs. Candor, Mrs. Crabtree, and Sir Benjamin Backbite, was not who should destroy Lady Teaxles character, but who should spread the first account of the alleged dud through the town. But if the amiability of these worthy people became the stibject of discussion, we fear this analysis if motive would not go far towards establishing the goodness of their hearts. The alleged excuse, however, was certainly the true one; for there are many passages in these letters which prove incontestably how cordially Walpole really returned Madame du Deffands affection, and how deeply he mourned her loss. It was repaired, however, and more than repaired, by the friendship he formed, in 1788, with the ladies who exercised so wholesome and benign an influ- ence over the closing years of his life; and whose names are now so honorably and indissolubly associated with his own. He thus describes the commencement of the acquaintance If I have picked up no recent anecdotes on our common, I have made a much more, to me, pre- cious acquaintance. It is the acquaintance of two young ladies of the name of Berry, whom I first saw last winter, and who accidentally took a house here, with their father, for this season. * * * They are exceedingly sensible, entirely natural and unaffected, frank, and, being qualified to talk on any subject, nothing is so easy and agreeable as their conversationnor more apposite than their answers and observations. The eldest, I discovered by chance, understands Latin and is a perfect Frenchwoman in her language. The younger draws charmingly, and has copied admirably Lady Dis gipsies, which I lent, thouch for the first time of her attempting colors. They are of pleas- ing figures; Mary, the eldest, sweet, with fine dark eyes, that are very lively when she speaks, with a symmetry of face that is the more interest- ing from being pale; Agnes, the younger, has an agree able, sensible countenance, hardly to be called handsome, but almost. She is less animated than Mary, but seems out of deference to her sister to speak seldomer; for they doat on each ot.her, and Mary is always praising her sisters talents. I must even tell you they dress within the bounds of fashion, though fashionably; but without the ex- crescences and balconies with which modern boy- dens overwhelm and barricade their persons. In short, good sense, information, simplicity arid ease, characterixe the Berrys; and this is not particular- ly mine, who am apt to be prejudiced, but the uni- versal voice of all who know them.(Vol. ii., p. 348.) The date of this letter is October 11, 1788. The charm did not fade with time. In May, 1792, he writes I am indeed much obliged for the transcript of the letter on my wives. Miss Agnes has a finesse in her eyes and countenance that does not propose itself to you, but is very engaging on obser- vation, and has often made herself preferred to her sister, who has the most exactly fine features, and only wants color to make her face as perfect as her graceful person; indeed, neither has good health, nor the air of it. Miss Marys eyes are grave, but. she is not so herself; and, having much more ap- plication than her sister, she converses readily, and with great intelligence, on all subjects. Agnes is more reserved, but her compact sense very striking, and always to the purpose. In short, they are ex- traordinary beings; and I am proud of my partiality for them, and since the ridicule can only fall on me, and not on them, I care not a straw for its being said that I am in love with one of thempeople shall choose which it is as much with both as either, arid I am infinitely too old to regard the quen dit on.( Vol. ii., p. 471.) These are natural, earnest, unaffected tributes; and we can well understand that, to persons so gifted and so predisposed to enjoy his conversa- tion, there must have been a very great charm in constant and cordial intimacy with such a man. 3?, 38 POPULAR ERRORHOTTENTOTS AND UNITED BRETHREN. We cannot help wishing that Mr. Vernon Smith markable that, while the main body suffered greatly. had devoted a little more time and attention to the this little camp almost entirely escaped, though self-imposed duty of editor. He has given his the men breathed the same air, the contagious readers credit for an extent of minute knowledge part excepted, ate of the same victuals, and drank of the same water. This immunity continued for six which not one in twenty can fairly be expected to weeks, until the army removed fiom Hanan, when possess; and he has fallen into two or three un- these companies joined the rest, and encamping in accountable mistakes. But he has performed his the line, were at last infected, but suffered little, part quietly and unobtrusively, and the notes added as the flux was then so much on the decline. from the MS. journal of Lord Ossory are valuable, Fruit, potatoes, and green vegetables are essential though few. For example parts of the food of man ; and it is only when taken to excess, that, like other articles of diet, they dis- The following is Lord Ossorys own opinion of order the stomach. the social talents of some of the best talkers of his day : Horace Walpole was an agreeable, lively HOTTENTOTS AND UNITED BRETHRENThe man, very affected, always aiming at wit, ~n which Edinburgh Review, in an article on Ethnology, or he fell very shortof his old friend George Selwyn, the Sci who possessed it in the most genuine but indescrib- ence of Races, says able degree. Hares conversation abounded with One writer has given, as the summing up of his wit, and perhaps of a more lively kind; so did observations, that the Hottentots seem born with Burke~s though with much alloy of bad taste; but, a natural antipathy to all customs, and to every re- upon the whole, roy brother the general was the ligion but their own. But it is a memorable fact, most agreeable man in society of any of them. that when the attempt was perseveringly made and (May, 1816.MSS. Ed.) rightly directed, the Hottentot nation lent a more The late Lady Hollanda great authority in willing ear than any other uncivilized race had done, such matterswas also of this opinion ; when the to the preaching of Christianity; and no people has same question was raised in her presence, she de- been more strikingly and speedily improved by its termined it in favor of General Fitzpatrick, as receptionnot only in moral character and conduct, having been the most agreeable person she had but also in outward condition and prosperity. Gladly ever known. would we follow Dr. Prichard throtigh the inter- esting account which he has given of the lahors of POPULAR ERROR RESPECTING EATING FRLtT. the United Brethren, and of their settlements at In the last quarterly return on the state of public Guadenthal and other spots on which they have health, some notice is taken of the common notion been located. We are sure that no unprejudiced that dysentery, and other diseases of the sort, are person can peruse them without coming to the occasioned at this season by eating fruit. That it conclusion, that, in aptitude for the reception of re- is an error, is established by the fatality of these lP~ious impressions, they are far superior to the diseases to infants at the breast, to the aged, to persons in prison and public institutions, who pro- yoting heathens of our own land, who, when first cure ito fruit, and by niany such facts as the follow- induced to attend a ragged school, are recorded to mufF, reported about the middle of the last century have mingled Jim Crow with the strains of ado- by Sir John Pringle, in his classical account (if the ration in which they were invited to join; and who diseases of the campaign in Germany Nearly did their best, by grimaces and gestures, to distract half the men were ill or had recovered from dysen- the attention of those who were fixing their thoughts tery a few weeks after the battle of Dettiu~en, on the solemmi offering of prayer. With the follow- which was fought on the 27th of June, 1743. The dysemitery, the constant and fatal epidemic of camps, tug extract we must conclude our notice of this part began sooner this season tItan it did in any succeed of the s object in g campaign. [Now, as the usual time of its Perhaps nothing in this account is more remark- appearance is not before tIme latter end of the sum- able than the fact that so strong a sensation was moer or the beginning of autumn, the cause has been produced among the whole Hottentot nation, and unjustly imputed to eating fruit in excess. But even among the neighboring tribes of different peo- the circumstances here contradict that opinion; ple, by the inih)rOved and happy condition of the for this sickiiess began and raged before arty fruit Christian ilottentots, as to excite a desire for simi- was in season except strawberries, (which from lar advanta~es. Whole families of Hottentots. and their high price the men never tasted,) and ended even of Bushmen, set out for the borders of Kafir- about the time the grapes were ripe; which, grow- land, and even performed journeys of many weeks, ing in open vineyards, ~vere freely eaten by every- in order to settle at Gniadenthal. It is a singular body. To this add the following incident Three fact in the history of these barbarous races of men, companies of Howards reuinnent, which had not that the savage Bushmen, of their own accord, joined us, marched with The kings baggage, from solicited from thie colonial government., wheit nego- Ostend to Hanan, where, arriving a rdght or two tiations were opened with them with the view of before the battle, and having orders to stop, they putting an end to a long and bloody contest, that encamped for the first time at a small distance from teachers might be sent amomi~ them, smuchi as those the ground that ~vas afterwards occupied by the who had dwelt antong the tame Hotteuitots at Gima- army. These men had never been exposed to rain demithial. History, says the historian of the or lain ~vet; by this separation from tIme line they mission, probably furnishes few hlarallel examples were also removed from the contagion of the privies of a savage people, in treaty with a Christian and having pitchied close upon thie river, they had power, making it one of the conditions (if peace, the benefit of a constant stream of fresh air. By that missionaries should be sent to instruct them in means of such favorable circumstances, it was re-j Christiautity.(Natural History of Man, p. 524.) CORRESPONDENCE. 39 COR~ESPONPENCE. Paris, November 22d, 1848. FRANCE undergoes now the throes and spasms of the canvass for the office of president of the republic. It is difficult to 5UPl)O5~ that the in- creasing rancor and violence of the parties will not beget a sanguinary struggle. The London editors have taken sides as if the affair belonged to them, like a competition for the representation of York- shire. You will have remarked that the Times favors Cavaiguac, while the Morning Chronicle in- veiohs against him in the bitterest spirit and terms. La Presse translates, of course, the diatribes of the Chronicle, which are as urgent as they are imper- tinent and licentious. The interference of the London press in French concerns is of old date, and has worked incalculable mischief on this side of the channel. Its partisan and reckless spirit has been carried often to a degree which might be termed diabolical. Lord Brougharn mentions, in his late publication, that Louis Philippe imputed to it many of the difficulties and much of the fatal end of his government. In thus aggravating French disorders, the British interlopers prepare dangers fur their own country. The Standard be- gins a long malignant article as follows : We take very little interest in the affairs (if France. Every day, however, there is a copious effusion of gall. Why all the cynical and elaborate irony of the Times, touching the promulgation of the French c\onstitution I have witnessed in Paris a gre at number of public ceremonials; the one in question struck me as the best conceived and ar- ranged, and the most solemn and impressive. With weather so excessively inclement, the dis- play of a hundred thousand troops, chiefly national guards, early in the morning, perfectly equipped; the vast concourse of citizens, before noon, on the Place de la Concorde, and the tnarked universal interest of both toultitudes in the occasion, were really wonderful ; the whole scene was noble and beautiful, not forgetting the procession of seven or eight hundred of the clergy, which was honored with proper feeling and manifestation. The guards and the line defiled for three hours before General Cavaignac and the Assembly. If there was but little enthusiasm of the lungs, the driving sleet and cutting north-easter account for that circumstance; we could observe no indication of ill-humor or indifference. The constitution was placed under the auspices of religion, represented by its reeular ministers, acting their part with pious and patriotic earnestness ; the uncertainty of its fate occupied the thoughts and affected the spirits of the reflecting spectators not a single indecorum or incongruity happened. The second celebration took place on Sunday last. It was equally free from disorder. The weather proved excellent. The four monster con- certs for the people, gratis, had monster audiences; by six oclock in the evening, hundreds of thou- sands of merry folks were repairing to the f?hamps Elyse~s, for the illumination and fire-works. The concourse of all classes and ages, and of both sexes, ~vas immense. We did not find the pyro- technics equal to the semi-annual exhibition under the monarchy ; but the illumination from th& Place de la Concorde to the Triumphal Arch could not be exceeded in brilliancy, taste, and picturesque ensemlile. About half past eleven, two eminent French savants came to my apartloent from the Hotel-de-Ville, where they. were guests at the banquet of three hundred covers, given by the prefect of the department oI~ the Seine. They related that the feast was tuagnificent; tIme mem- bers of the executive branchthe presidents of the differents committees of the Assemblythe bishops and their vicarsand twenty invited work- men of the corporationsalong with a number of the elect of the colleges and learned societies formed an imposing convocation, who demeaned themselves as became the laudable purpose of the authorities. Some of the disaffected journals are angry with the reptiblican prefect for having used china be- longing to the national manufactory at Sevres, so precious that Louis Philippe and his two predeces- sors never ventured to have it brought to their tables. A few of the public edifices were illu- minated ; no private dwellings; the dome of the Hotel-de-Ville radiated gloriotisly for a couple of hours; what caused the extinction of the lamps so soon, we could not tell. A critic says In the last week of February and the first fortnight of March, the gamins and blackguards, as they pa- raded the streets at nights, had but to raise the cry of lamps! and we all quickly lighted our win- dows; the police should have hired boys to break a few dark windows, here and there ; a general blaze of the streets would have ensued ; the next days Moniteur could have commenmorated the spontaneous enthusiasm of the inhabitants. The military posts Were doubled, and all the barracks supplied with a fresh stock (If ammunition ; the Gloria in ercelcis resounded in the principal churches; all the theatres were open at night with- out charge; to enter, however, it was necessary to obtain tickets from a mnayor~s office ; these were sold at very low prices, at the doors, by tIme poorer applicants fortunate enough to share in the distri- bution. The visitors whomo I nientioned above had been annoyed by the hissing and hooting of the mob about the Hotel-de-Ville at each arrival for the banquet. A quarter of an hour ago, in passing the Place Vendome, (4 past 2 oclock,) I got into the midst of a throng (If some thousands awaiting be- fore the Hotel du RAin, the egress of Louis Na.. poleon in his modest and low carriage. His coachman did not pass through without great diffi- culty and delay; well-dressed women almost clung to the wheels and harness ; well-dressed men threw up their hats and shouted Vive Napoleon! Vice iEmpereur! This is a foretaste of what will be furnished over the capital, the day after his election, in case he should succeed. The representatives will shake in their shoes. CORRESPONDENCE. A few days ago, a part of my family were at the church of Saint Roch, when their attention was engaged hy a quite dramatic incident, remind- ing them of the opening of the Muette de Portici. Near the altar, a priest had hegun to join a hap- py couple, attended by a fine company of both sexes ; a young and handsome woman forced her way through the group, reached the bridegroom, and put forward a child she hrou,,ht in her arias, saying, Sir, xviii you dare to deny your daugh- ter before the sacred altar, as you have basely done before the mother, elsewhere. The priest and attendants looked aghast; the man protested that he knew neither woman nor child ; she was car- ried off immediately by the police-officers, and the ceremony concluded. According to the newspa- pers, she has adduced a promise of marriage and a correspondence sufficient to warrant the affiliation. Public curiosity has a new aliment in the female banquets, political and social. Enclosed is an ac- count of one of thema fair specimen. Their motto is from the writings of a socialist oracle. The social individual means man and woman.~~ Proudhon informs us that soon all the socialist ban- quets xviii be composed of the txvo sexes. Some sublime metaphysician, like Leroux, is chosen to preside along with the ladies of his school, whose writings or speeches have earned them distinction. Passa0es from Condorcet, Godwin & Co. are first recited ; then come the toasts, enforced by ha- rangues, of the utmost boldness and latitude of doc- trine. Four hundred ladies (dames) of the dif- ferent classes of society figured at the banquet of the 19th inst. ; one of them expatiated on the ex- tent and causes of prostitution. Jt appears that female democratic clubs and banquets are common iii Germany. Severe strictures are passed on them in some of our journals. The Union says What, women also! women at table and toast- ing, like drunkards, all kinds of emancipation Sorely that cannot be possible; that passes the bounds of the burlesque, and yet nothing, however, is more true. The matrons of socialism, the blue- stockings of the Montague, the free-thinkers of demagogical tendencies, determined on having, in their turn, their meeting, and whilst the men were drinking at the Chateau Rouge, the women drew out the corks freely enough at the Barri~re do Maine. Progress or decadency are your effects! The softer portion of the human race dishonoring their crown for a bottle of 12 sous wine! the feeble and timid being, the angel of love given by God to roan as an iiitermediate step between earth and himself, (upping its white wings in a cup of Argen- tenil or Surennes! And that is called progress! No, say rather that it iscalled emancipation in the worst sense of the word. Are we not far enough now from those patriarchal days when our wives, mothers, and sisters, were simple or ridiculous enough to live at home like good housewives, when it might be said of them, as of the women of Rome, she remained at home and spun! Our modern revolutions have changed all that! Oar domestic hearths have lost in part their guardian angels, but we possess ou the other hand the social- ~st matron. Complaint is preferred that the police prevent the hawking of journals after eleven at night. There is, however, an evident relaxation of vi~ilance or rigor in regard to placards, caricatures, loose sheets, clubs, and banquets. This may be electioneering policy for the moment. Louis Bonaparte is chiefly assailed in the caricatures. The workmen and minor artists of the capital are intoxicated by the flattery of the demagogues. They are tan - ht that they have been chosen to regenerate, enlighten, and rule the world, and they have come to this belief. Lamennuis has just explained to them, in an address, how they form a part of the Godhead. Le C/taut des Travail/curs, akin to the fa tous English & on~, of the S~pirit, closes their banquets, and infuriates themo for both internal and external war. it is sold, at a cent, at every corner. Nothing can surpass the activity and sagacity of the socialists and anarchists, generally, in prOs- elytizing, combining, training, journalizing, and spreading committees and missionaries throughout the country. They have obstreperous echoes in every provincial town of any importance. At the same tinie, thou bit their doctrines and promises rapidly increase their forces, they are but a very small minority in relation to the whole population of France. Fortunately, the enormities in theory and deed, and in the characters of the agents of the revolution, from 1790 to 1796, have left a profound impression on the French mind ; what the present mountain glorifies and recommends to imitation is generally execrated ; but the inordinacies and re-. suits of the imperial era, though remembered and acknowledged, do not excite the same or any re- pugnance either with the masses or the majority of the best educated and circumstanced orders. The martial exploits and glory, the pomp and power of the despotism, and the comparative domestic quiet and security, accord with the national tem- perament and habits; there is less chance, there- fore, for revived Jacohinism, however audacious, adroit, and indefatigable, than for Napoleonism, supposed to be its antidote. If it should prevail in Paris, it will be soon crushed by the weight of the provinces. Meanwhile, the ravages of social- ism, in the understanding arid souls of the oper- atives and the proh~taires, of every description, in the cities, are truly fearful. A private letter of Berryer, the celebrated legitimist orator and states- man, has just been divulged, of which I shall pro- ceed to quote some paragraphs, as from a high authority and patriotism. As to M. Louis Bonaparte, his future conduct, the system he xviii pursue, the character and ten- dencies of the men he will call around him, if he become president, all is involved in obscurity. All is vague and confused, in the medley of popular opinion, which appears to assure the success of this candidate. It is the illusion of memory it is not the expression of hope. But is it possible for us to adopt, tinder this form, and this iadividoality, the protest (such as this adoption really is) against our present rulers, by the ininmense majority of the French nation I have not thought so. I have assembled a great number of my political friends. Agreeing with the majority among them, I have 40 CORRESPONDENCE. 41 expressed the opinion that it was necessary to indi- cate to honest men, to the friends of order, the pro- lectors of France, whatever party they might have formerly espoused, a candidate who was neither M. Cavaiguac with his exclusive republicanism, nor M. l3onaparte with his otter want of capacity and our ignorance rif his meaning and designs. My soul is sorrowful even unto death. There is no doubt that if T3onaparte be elected the repub- licans of the eve, as they style themselves, will lint yield the around or the sceptre t(i him, but will re- sist him hy~every means in their power. ii Cavaig- nac should carry the day, the priiscriptive iileas of the men to ~vliom he is attached, arid who rule him, will still domineer aiid lower over the coo utry. The vauquished Napoleonists will raise tumults aud tem- pests by the blasts iif the popular favor for them, repeiled by the influence of our present govern- ment. How is it possible to he otherwisa than profound- ly afihicted, when we behold this great country, France, where the immense majority are animated with the same th~iughts, the same wishes, arid the same need, yet remain mute and impotent, allowing hefself to be kept down by a minority notori(lusly inefficient f(ir the restoration of order or of the na- tional prosperity and confidence l A serious schism exists between the strict socialists, and the party of the .lllouatain, rather from jealousy of domination than any difference in revolutionary tenets and ultimate purposes. Proud- hon wages ruthless war, in his paper, on the moun- tain, as constituted in the Assembly. Raspail is the presidential candidate of socialism, Ledro-Rol- ho of the other fierce faction. The most furious anarchists are with Proudhon, who, a member of the Assembly, visits the prisoners at Vincennes, and concerts with them th~ management of their political interests. How the government tolerate such a conspiracy against itself and all legal order, is inconceivable. Both factions, however, discern the necessity of compromise and league for their common ends, and the chiefs of the mountain, in particular, devise daily expedients, and seem dis- posed to the largest amount of concession. In the evening of the 21st, about four thousand persons are supposed to have attended in the vast hall of the Montesquien club, in order to debate the com- parative merits of Raspail and Rollin. A wotkman railed at Ledro as an ambitious traitor and mortal enemy of the socialists ; his invectives begot utter confusion and universal uproar, which lasted some tweuity minutes. One of his friends, a represen- tative friimn the mountain, at length made himself heard he cited a speech (If Ledru, of 1841, where- in the oppressed and suffering pe(iple were likened to Christ persecuted and immolated on the cross; finally, he exclaimed, 0 people, if Louis Bona- parte be elected no power will remain but your sinews to rescue us from monarchy. Frantic ap- plause ratified this appeal. Ledro-Rolhin seemed, by the cries, to be reinstated in favor. Another orator, more influential, assailed the man of the Mountain anew ; lie exalted Raspail as having passed half his life in conspiracies arid prisons, arid ended thins Ledro-Rolhin flinched in March, when with a hundred thousand workmen ready to second him, he could have prostrated the provisional gov- ernment ; we must go ahead, we must realize, not the periods of the Girondins arid the Dantons alone, but of the sublime epoch (If Robespierre. The club rallied to Raspail ; at nine oclock the police squadrons were obliged to disperse the to- mutiltuous mob out of doors; the shopkeepers shut up in a trice. Paris, 23d November, tS48. OUR destiny is alarm and peril of constant re- currence. It seems to be a fatality with tIre present executive branch to create as much agi- tation arid danger as possible. Tumult and ani- mi)sities in the Assembly are the worst events for the public peace arid trust. All tire disaffected and headlong classes, and the plotting cabals, patent and secret, are inspired with fresh emotion arid hope; the moderate arid loyal majority expe- rience additional discouragement and panic. Gen- eral Cavaignacs restless and athletic foe, Girar- din, the editor of La Presse, digested from the three quartos of the report on the causes and circumstances of tIre insurrection of June last, a formal impeachment of the conduct of the general, as minister of war, on that occasion ; the minister was accused of allowing the insurrection to aug- ment and fortify itself, unmolested, for eleven or twelve hours, and that in order to overthrow the executive commission, and render necessary his own elevation to a dictatorship. The impeach- ment rested rruainly on extracts skilfully adjusted from the official test.imony of four or five memnibers of the commission ; it was first inserted in La Presse, and then showered, in a separate speech, on every one (If the departments, as well as in every quarter of the capital. Charges of the kind aborinded soon after tile emission of the volumes; but the general kept a disdainful silence; the com- petition for the presidentship did not press his sides ; the resentments of the executive commis- sion lurked. As soon as Napoleon loomed, four of the gentlemen betrayed opposition to Cavaignac in various modes. His frienidd then c(inceived it fully time for him to demand or provoke an inves- tigation of the whole case, in the house; the activity of his enemies, the personal consideration of the amembers of the comrruission, and the nature of the imputations, left him no alternative. The conduct of all parties must be fairly and amply examined, ascertained, and judged, they being c(infronted on the highest and most imposing theatre. Accordingly, on the 21st inst., (Tuesday,) the general, under visible excitement, pronounced this speech Citizen representatives, there is no one amongst you that is ignorant that the colleague to whom you have delegated the executive government has been the object of numerorus attacks and reiterated calumnies. So long as those attacks were nuade rinder names which do not belong to this Assembly, I considered it my duty to remain silent arid indif- ferent. If I thuorught proper, for the sake of a personal feeling, to repulse these calumnies, I should have deferred it to another period, when I 42 CORTtESPONDFA CE. 8hoold not have stood in the position in which you have thought fit to place me. (Hear, hear, on some of the benches.) But within the last few days the names of some of our colleagues have been mixed up with these attacks, and have given support to the accusations; I have waited some days that they might have time to contradict hem. Their silence, however, compels me to broach the question. I beg the Assembly to fix for Thursday next the interpellations which I shall have to address to these colleagues; and I beg those to whom I allude, and who have been called on by name, to reply to me. I shall demand of MM. Garuier-Pag~s, iDuclere, Pagnerre, and Bartheleniy Saint-Hilaire, who have been pointed out, and there may be still others, whether, either in private Conversations, or by communications, they have authorized those attacks in their name? If there should be a denial on their part, no discussion will take lilace between them and myself. Neverthe- less, even although they should not have been guilty of what I say, I confess I shall be eager (avide) for the discussion. If I have been silent for the last five months, I beg the Assembly to be convinced that I have only refrained from speaking, and that in opposition to the advice of nry personal and political friends, out of respect for it. The four representatives named rose to complain of the libels which they had undergone, arid to signify their eagerness to satisfy tire challenge of the president of the council, for mutual arid com- plete explanations. It had become inevitable that the truth, the whole truth, should be solemnly disclosed. It was objected, that neither Marie, the minister of justice, nor M. de Lamartine, avlro were members of the cuermissiort, could be present on Thursday, as they were absent from Paris. Ledru-Rollir, glad to fan the flame, arid himself a party to the trial, insisted on having those gen- tlemen. Monday was at first proposed in lieu of this day: Cavaignac and his ministers, declared that they would vote against all postponement. The hotise fixed on Sattirday, the day after to- morrow. The strongest agitation on the floor and in tIre galleries, accompanied and fidlowed this episode. Until after Saturday, no real business can be ear- niestly transacted. Lamartine is summoned fr(im his electioneering campaign, by telegraph : a migh- ty arid desperate strife between the three caridi- datesthe General, the Poet, and Ledru-Rollin, no~v tIre idol of the mountain. The abettiirs of Napoleon hope to profit by the whole elucidation or cnimination and recrimination. The Na/mad of this morning (tIre organ (if the Cavaigriac p~~ ty) observes, that the general meant, itt apostro- phiziog tIre comniission, merely, Yuitir testimtrorly has been cited againsr me ; let nis inquire what it really is ; we do riot accuse each other; we shall explain sinuply, for the sake of both sides; and in order to baffle the comumon enemy and the foes of the republic Owing to this affair, the pub- lic funds declined yesterday. Must of the Paris prints of this d y contain articles on the s~eamerirttelligence of tire alninost certain election of General Taylor.: satisfaction is professed, though not in terms so joyous as we find in the London journals of the day before yes- rerday. This London jo bila tiont is noticed Iry the French editors, arid variously iriterl)reteil. You. will be struck with this paliruode (if the Times General Taylors military reputation it is riot our business to exalt. Tire Mexican war was no corn cern of niuurs, bitt it was impossible riot to admire the daring, the hardihood, ari(l the skill of an invasion, condicted into tire heart nuf a distant country, under a troh)icah climate, with an arutiy of volunteers, aid carried to the metropolis and last citadel (if the empire. Bitt General Taylor hiss better qualifica- tiruns for government than these. Ilis speeches, his letters, and his whole conduct show him to be a gentleman, a man of temper, of conciliatory habits, arid good sense. TIre hnnmanity, (if ~ hich he has given many proofs in his military career, has been equally conspicuotis, though doubtless equally tried, in the field of pnrlitical warfare. The mild tone of the gencral~s addresses shows that he can spare his fellow-citizens as well as his foes, and respect feelings as well as life and property. During the Mexican war, the Times spared neither the invashun nor the nian. The National dwells, to-day, on the bellicose import of tIre candidateshrip of Lotus Napulenun, and the alarm raised abroad on that account. Tho death of Il3rahim Podia (Mehernet Ahi, if alive, being entirely superannuated) must resuscitate ama Egyptian qniestion, ronumeritous enough, between France and Great Britain, with the Sublime Pnurte and Russia as parties deeply concerned. Our radical organs predict a horrible conflict in Ger- roan ysnrre to involve Francebesides desperate hunustilities in Italy. TIre atrocious murder of Rossi, the popes chief rnuinuister, and unequalled auxiliary, canniout fail tur aggravate tire tendencies to riot at Rome. This victim to revolutiurnuary fanaticism enjoyed, from tIre superiority of his books and lectures, the highest reputation as a political economist; lie was greatly valured in the ex-French ciramnuber of peers, of wIth-h he was a moist useful member: Louis Pirihippe statiouned him at Rome, as ambassador ; on tire revolution of February, he resigned, arid engaged in the service of his niwn country, Italy, with principles of mod- erate liberalism, abundant admirrist rarive knrowl edge, and perfect address as a diploniatist and cabinet luminary. A personal acquaintance con- firmed the impressions xvhuich I received from his writings and speeches. According to the reports fmnrrn the interior of France, the soleoun proclamation of the new coo- stit union huad a frigid recelitioni in most of the provinces. Cries of Vice Ncpolcon drowned tire few courresponideot to the oceasioun. Itt many liS rts, whueri the peasantry first heard of Iris candidate- ship, they ejaculated, We knew that the em peruur was not dead. Tire circulars of tire arch bishoups and bishops touching tire constitritioni and the approaching election, indicate, generally, a preference fur Cavaignac, thounugh twor prelates and several curates in tIne Namiurnal Assernuhly have irufiurmed the puiblic, in the nuewspapers, that citi- zen Bisirop Fayet, whose address I menutionned last C0RRESP0NDENCE~ week, was not authorized to assert their concur- rence in his adhesion. The Moniteur of this morning, announces, officially, that the croSs of the Legion of Honor has been bestowed on the Archbishop of Paris, and several others of the higher clergy. Two bloodless duels, of conse- quence as to the personages, were fought yester- day in the Bois dcs Boulogne. See the enclosed paragraphs. To judge from the face of Good- chaux, the ex-minister of finance, who met a famous general mif divisions, an old and zealous monarchisthe is a good, jolly fellow, a valiant trencher-man, who could have borne neither inch- nation nor malice to the field of honor. The Journal des D~bats of this day, treats, copi- ously, of the Prussian question. It opines that both the assembly and the king are in the wrong, and that the quarrel must be settled by the Frank- fort Assembly, which represents social order and public peace in Germany. The Prussian Moniteur of the 20th inst. ably defends the king and ministry. Their strong measures are said to have been occasioned by certain information of an in- tended proclamation, on the 14th inst., of the re- public, by the democratic clubs and a majority of the assembly. We cannot satisfactorily collect from the endless stories from Germany, whether the majority of the nations, Austrian and Prussian, are in favor of the monarchs or the assemblies. Kings and people punish each other for their several excesses. The moderate liberal party are far the most numerous in the councils of the Ilelvetic Uuion. A letter from St. Petersburg, of the 7th, says The emperor has just ordered that sixty thou- sand acres of land, situated in the provinces of Ekatherinoslaw and the Tauride, shall be distributed gratuitously to the Jews, whom the government has compelled to leave the western frontiers of European Russia. Paris, 30th Nov., tS4S. You were informed, in my last epistle, that Saturday last was fixed for the investication which General Cavaignac claimed, of his conduct as min- ister of war during the insurrection of the month of June. Fear was widely entertained (if serious disorders both within and without the Assembly. The military precautions nearly equalled those of any day before that epoch admission to the gal- leries was never more eagerly sought. Two of my acquaintances infi)rm me that, of one, ninety francs ~vere asked for a ticket, and a hundred and twenty of the other, near the gates of the palace of the Assembly. Parties of the sover- eign people roused the porters at midnight, on Friday, demanding instant access to the upper gallery it required the appearance of a strong military guard to defeat their importunity. You ~vill find, in a paper which I send you, an English versiona mere abstractof the itupor- tant, the memorable debate. Much curious his- torical information is to be collected from it; and every reader must share, though with such imper feet materialin the admiration of the Assembly for Cavaignacs intellectual powers, then first ade- quately exhibited in the tribune. His enemies of the anarchical press admit that he proved himself an orator-tactician of the highest order. He had often spoken well, bitt briefly; and somnetimes in an awkward and unsatisfactory way. On this oc- casion, lie pursued his defence for three hours perfectly self-possessed ; with the most lucid or- der and cogent dialectics, and, now and then, the happiest irony. Three distinguished representa- tives inflexibly opposed to his election as presi- dent, who happened to be in my parlor the even- ing after, acknowledged to me that, with respect to mental faculties, he grew many cubits in their estimation, by his wonderful achievement in the tribune. He delighted the majority, not merely by acquitting himself far better than they could hope, but by breaking utterly with the party of the mountain, and with their chief, Ledru-Rollin, in particular. The Assembly gave him a com- plete triumph by renewing the declaration in their decree of the 28th Junethat he had deserved well of his country. The Archbishop of Paris occupied, dintring the whole sitting of eleven hours, a seat in the box of the president of the Assem- bly. This whole matter is well-treated by the London Times. Both the galleries and the house were sadly disappointed in not hearing speeches from Lamartine arid Arago, members of the ex- ecutive commission whom Cavaignac ~vas accused of having betrayed, in order to supplaiit them at once. Their silence is ascribed to their reluctance to abet any hostilities on a man whose good faith they could not dispute, and whose good repute arid good will they know to be necessary to the republic. Every one is a~vare that a very large portion of the votes which will be given to his ri- val, Louis Napoleon, are founded on the idea of the overthrow of all republicanism. The canvass for the four or five candidates is prosecuted with incredible exertion, intrigue and animosity. It is impossible to predict as yet, with certainty, whether Napoleon or Cavaignac will succeed with the nation ; if the election devolve on the Assembly, the general will have a majority already assured. Each has published an exposi- lion of his principles and purposes ; clear and comprehensive, and adapted to satisfy the votaries of social order, and stable, free government. Their programmes are enclosed. If we escape a san- guinary convulsion (the sequel expected on all hands) we shall be more or less content with ei- ther chief, or with any system other than that of the socialists and the red republic. I atn recording personal anecdotes, and collect- ing authentic materials, for a chapter on this on- exanipled struggle fir votes. You shall have it by the middle of January. A digest of the de- bates of the Assembly on the bridget is also my design. T hey abound with curious facts, doc- trines and episodes. The sum asked for the war-departmentfour hundred and thirty-two muillions of francswas 43 CORRESPONDENCE. voted on Tuesday, in 4he space of an hour, and with little heedthe presidential question absorb- ing all concern. The minister detailed a plan amountio~ to an entire revolution in the constitu- tion of the army, and by which a hundred and forty or fifty millions may be annually saved. The chairman of the committee on finance declared that. the inevitable alternative for the country was a considerable reduction of the army or fiscal ruin M. Fould, a representative of high authority on the subject, would not affirm that the condition of the finances was desperate, but he was convinced of the indispensableness of the most rigid curtail- ment and economy. No existing tax, not even the salt, can be foregone. The executive pro- claims that it is resolved to maintain the strictest neutrality with reference to Spanish politics and contests. The French cruisers on the coast of Africa are not to be less than fifteen. They have experienced a dreadful mortality. The new fed- eral government of Switzerland is. happily and fully organized. Marshal B ugeaudNapoleon Bertrand, (son of the defunct geiseral,) and Mar- shal Neys eldest sonall Bunapartistsare elected to the National Assembly. The tribunals in Paris, that act as grand jurics, have decided that there is no sufficient ground for bringing the ministers of Louis Philippe to trial. They may return from their voluntary batiishment. The pres- ent heads of the department are ~o busy that they cannot hold their soir6cs this week. It is averred and believed that if the red republic should master this capital, the national guards of the provinces and a part of the army will unite, under the coni- mand of Bugeaud, to deal with Paris as Vienna and Berlin have been disciplined. On the af- fairs of France, Germany and Naples the London Times deserves to be consulted, preferably to any other journal xvhatever. The Chronicle libels Ca- vaimac. A late number of the Moniteur Universel contains a very good biographical sketch, by Receili~-Perise, of the famous Dr. Quesnay, almost the founder of political economy in Francea skilful surgeon and a trusted physician. According to the biographer, (himself of the faculty,) we owe the Gregorian Calendar to a Doctor Libo, an inhabitant of Rome, who was alike eminent in medicine and the mathe- matics. We are struck with the merits of the discourse of the Mayor of Boston, with an honored name, at the noble celebration of the introduction of pure water into that city. The four millions of dollars were indeed rightly applied. How different this celebration, and thi& expenditure, from the pom- pous military festivals which we witness in the French capital! We are gratified also with the sensible and well-worded address of Mr. Donelson, the American Envoy at Frankfurt, to the Grand Vicar of the Germanic Empire. The Moniteur Universel, of the 21st inst., is enriched with Pro- fessor FranlCs Notice of the Life and Political and Social System of the Abb~ Mably. The able pro- fessor proves that the system is but the social- ism or communism of the present day; his strict- ures are equally just and valuable. I have shown to him the remarkable letter of John Adams to Mably, of which the French version is placed at the end of the first volume of the Defence of the Constitutions of Government of the United States of America against the attack of Turgota work to be still esteemed as a master-piece of historical and political erudition and orthodox tenet and rea- soning. On his arrival in Paris, in 1782, Mr. Adams was informed that the abb~ meant to write on the American Revolution, and asked of him facts and memorials. His letter was a compliance with this request. He, however, had no faith in the abbds competency; he observes, in the preface, We ought to be obliged to any gentleman in Eu- rope who will favor us with his thoughts; but in general, the theory of government is as well un- derstood in America as in Europe; and by great numbers of individuals, in everything relating to a free constitution, infinitely better comprehended than by the Abb6 de Mably or M. Turgot, learned and tngentous as they were. I quote these sen- tences because they might be applied, with twofold justness, to the present period ; it is my belief that not one of the men who took part in the formation or discussion of the French scheme, just promul- gated, succeeded in the endeavor, which most of them made, to comprehend thoroughly our national and federal system. Not one speech, sufficiently comprehensive, lucid, philosophical and practical, was delivered on their own work. Neither as a framer nor expounder, is any member of the Assem- bly to be compared with either of the writers of the Federalist. In The Almenach de la Rdpub- lique Fran~eise, just issued, there is an article of M. de Tocqueville, entitled, All Honest Labor is Honorable. He remarks, In the United States opinion is not against, but in favor of, the dignity of labor. There, a rich man feels constrained by public opinion to devote his leisure to some indus- trial or commercial business, or some public duties. He would expect to fall into disrepute if lie passed his life only in living. It is in order to escape this obligation to work, that so many rich Amer- icans come to Europe ; here, they find fragments of aristocratic society, among whom it is yet credit-. able to do nothing or have nothing to do. I trust that M. de Tocqueville is right as to what passes in the United States; but I am sure that he does injustice to the majority of the rich Americans who visit Europe. Their object, in general, is liberal travel; the gratification of liberal tastes ; the im- provement of their children ; health, curiosity, or the enjoyment of the diversified luxury of the great capitals of this quarter of the world. Opinion can- not be so proscriptive on your side of the Atlantic. Most of the rich travellers, moreover, have worked abundantly at home, in acquiring their wealth. The transactions of the Academy of Sciences, on the 20th inst., have not special interest or im- portance. Mercurys transit across the suns disc was the subject of several reports. Details were furnished from the Paris Observatory. The ob 44 CORRESPONDENCE. 45 server at Dax announced that he saw, during the transit, particular spots moving over the suns disc, quite differently from the usual movement of the solar spots of which astronomers have studied the course. It is supposed that fal~e appearances may have been occasioned by an imperfect instrument. At the previous sitting of the Academy, Doreau de la Malle read a paper of observations on the hours of waking and singing of eight species of day-light birds, in May and June, 1846. For time thirty years past, in spring and summer, this savant has regularly gone to bed at seven oclock, P. M., and risen at midnight he kept his study windows open, over his garden; the birds became familiar ~vith their friend, and built their nests about the windows, within his inspection. In June, the tom- tit and the black-bird began to sing at half-past two oclockan hour and a half earlier than their cus- tom the philosopher found that their young were just hatched, and that the motive of this change was to have more and better time to procure food for their young, by the moonlight ; they alighted at once on the sward and walks, and ea~erly picked up the iosects they could distinguish. Th~ quails did the sanie. The Abb~ Rendo has submitted a new memoir on the adoption of a first meridian for all the inhabitants of the globe. The Academy of Moral and Political Sciences have appointed their perpetual secretary, Mignet, to deliver the eulogy of Rossi, the murdered minis- ter, who was a member of the academy. So able a writer as the historian of the French Revolution cannot fail to render the fate of his eminent col- league a powerful text against the savage anarchy which becomes, in Europe, the distinguishing feature of this era. Bixio, an Italian by birth, who belonged to extreme carboncrism, and having been naturalized as a Frenchman, was elected to the National Assembly as a zealous republican of the eve, interrogated the executive, on the 28th inst., concerning the recent occurrences in Italy. He said It is, I conceive, impossible to deny that a spirit of anarchy has seized on the middle districts of Italy, whilst the north is under the domination of Austria. A faction which appears to consider excesses alone as the end of its policya dema- gogic faction, in fact, (murmurs on the left,) has brought about this state of things. Whole cities have fated a base assassinationRome has just been the theatre of disastrous disorders. The popedom has been insulted and trampled under foot by those very persons to whom it was an anchor of safety. This act is of a nature not only to throw that city into a lamentable state of disturbance, hut to offend the religious belief of a great part of Eu- rope, and by possibility to lead to a rupture of the general peace. No one doubtsalthough the contrary is conjec- tured in some letters from Romethat the assas- sination of Rossi was premeditated. The Arch- bishop of Paris has issued a very emphatic circular, denouncing the outrages on the pope, and the dangers to tht church and to civilization, lie instructs the curates to put up prayers for Pius- pro sumrno pontifice. In the Assembly, the moun- tam was obstreperously wroth at the blame cast by Bixio on the revolutionary excesses at Rome. These have excited a strong sensation in the mod- erate political circles. The executive took imme- diate advantage of the circumstances and the feel- ing, with a view, as the opposition journals assert, to win more of the Catholic olergy, and the pious of their flocks, for Cavaignacs candidateship. On the 28th, he ~poke as follows: We have to thank the Assembly for the forbear- ance which it has manifested towards us with re- spect to our intervention in the affairs of Lombardy. I have to state that the negotiations are going on that as soon as it was possible, after the outbreak at Vienna, to apply to a regular government, we insisted on the necessity of a prompt solution being given to the Italian question. This representation has been attended to, and I hope soon to be able to state that some determination has been en ~e to on the subject.(Hear, hear.) As to the question of Rome, it was only the day before yesterday (Sunday) that an official despatch informed us of what had taken place there, and on the same day we sent orders to Marseilles and Toulon to have 3,500 men embarked on board steamers lying there, for the purpose of proceeding, without delay, to Civita Vecchia.(Hear, hear.) In addition, M. do Corcelles has been sent to Rome as envoy ex- traurdinary. We did not wait, in order to do this, to take the orders of the Assembly on the qoestion. In the first place, the case appeared of exceeding urgency, and next we believed that we were aetin~ altogether in unison with the wishes of the Assem- bly.(Hear, hear.) We reserved to ourselves merely to come here afterwards and state what we had done, feeling convinced that we should obtain your approbation. A large majority warmly applauded hi~ ideas and measures. M. do Corcelles is an ox-deputy of the left, and a near connection of the Lafayette family, who all adhere to the general. He has a sound judgment and s ~und sentiments. The Tele- graph bore this phrase Christian France will not abandon the head of the church. Cavaignac submitted interesting despatches from the Duke dHarcourt, the French ambassador at Rome, who writes The unfortunate pope is gentleness itself; he had a hundred Swiss only as a parade- 0uard for his palac~. Musketry was discharged into the windows and cannon planted t the doors. The secretary of the pontiff, killed by a musket ball, was one of the most learned and pious men of the ago. Napoleon observed, that his harsh measures with the pope cost him more than the loss of ten battles would have done; the revolution- ary zealots at Rome will have reason, probably, to say even more. Our anarchical organs extol the conduct of the Roman mob; reprobate and deride the intervention of their government, and predict the total destruction of the Roman theocracy. La IMprdllique, of which from 40 to 50,000 copies are printed daily, holds this language: We have no longer need of Moses, Christ or Mahomet; revelations are no~v made through the people. Oreb and Sinai are at Paris and Rome ; there th~ NEW BOORS AND REPRINTS. true sovereigns pronounce and execute their de- crees. The old republican sentiment, revived at Rome, has inflicted condign sentence on the Vati- can. Let there be the closest sympathy and league between the democracies of the two capi- tals, & c. Our atmosphere is quite vernal; the garden of the Tuileres as green as in May. 30th November~ There are several more articles in the journals of this day on the contest for the presidency of the republic, hut only one that appears to us of suffi- cient interest for extract. It is from the Di~hats. The arguments are reasonable, and the tone of the article is calm and tranquillizing. Whatever may be the result of the contest, says the D6bats, the preponderance of the moderate party has become evident. This is shown by the ground taken by the two leading condidates in their claims to sup- port. We think we may add to what the Di~bats says on this subject, another consideration of a na- ture to tranquillize the public mind. Both candi- dates have been assailed from the same source, and both are pledged alike to the cause of order. The declaration of M. Louis Napoleon Bonaparte on this point is clear and explicit, and that of General Cavaignac is equally unequivocal. One has said that if the election go against him, he will bow respectfully to the decision of the majority, and give his cordial support to another, in carrying out the principles which they have both proclaimed. Gen- eral Cavaignac has said that if he should not be elected, he will not be the less zealous in the dc- fence of those principles, and that the republic may command his services whether as a soldier, a pub- lic functionary, or a citizen. Thus, then, all at- tempt by the discomfited of either of these great parties will be impossible. With equal readiness, and, we trust, with equal sincerity, they pledge themselves to the maintenance of order, the protec- tion of property, and an unflinching hostility to those subversive doctrines, xvhich would be alarm- ing, if there were division among the well-disposed, but which must be harmless, if the friends of order remain united in the cause of right. The Viscount dArlincourt appeared before the court of Assixes, to answer the accusation of hav- ing published a work, called Dieu le Veut, and M. Jeanne. a dealer in objects of art, and M. Gamier, a bookseller, were accused of having sold the pub- lication. The indictment charged that the work, which was of a strong legitimist tendency, con- tained numerous passages exciting to a change in the form of government and to civil war, attacking the republican institutions and the sovereignty of the people. Among the extracts on which the public prosecutor relied as bearing out the indictment, were some in which the evils of the republic were strongly dwelt on, and the Duke de Bordeaux clearly indicated as the savior of the country. The attack on the republican institutions consisted in this passage : Vive Ia Rdpublique !~ people cried in Paris at the moment at which they were slaying each other. It is like the sick man in delir- ium, who, in a country ravaged by a horrible malady, should cry, Vive la peste ! The attack on the sovereignty of the people was contained in a pas sage in which that sovereignty was declared to be a ridiculous deception when not a bloody fact. M. Fontaine (dOrleans) defended M. dArhincourt in a long and eloquent speech, in which, after giv- ing the biography of his client, and admitting that he was not, and never would he, a republican, he showed that some of the laws which M. dArlin- court was accused of violating, had been passed for the defence of Louis Philippe and his family. Two learned gentlemen having pleaded for the other de- fendants, M. dArhincourt addressed the court, and insisted that he had not excited to civil xv. r or re- volt. lie was interrupted in the middle of his speech by loud cries of Bravo! bravo ! anrl pro- longed applause. The president having summed up, the jury, after an hours deliberation, returned a verdict of acquittal, which was received by a crowd- ed auditory with enthusiastic shouts. Tutz Egytian government has issued an extraor- dinary document forbidding the wailing of women at funerals, and their congregating at the cemeteries. Amongst other things it says Aiiy woman who has met with a misfortune, and on that account beats her face and rends her garment, will surely fare as the wife of Lot, and be deprived of all hope of good; and any woman mourning the death of any man, exeel)t her hus- band, inure than three days, God xvill certainly cause her good deeds to perish, and she will be for- ever in the fire; arid any woman making lamenta- tions for a dead person belonging to her, God will certainly make her tongue the length of seventy en- bits, and she will be raised from amongst the dead to the last judgment-seat with a black face, blue eyes and the locks of her hair stretched out to her feet. The lifting of voices at funerals is to be abhorred, even Wit be the enunciation oh the name of God or reciting the Koran. The visiting of tombs by xvo- men is unlawful, because it is for the purpose of re- vmving grief, weepuig aiid lamentation. Every woman xvho visits tombs is cursed by every green thing and every dry thing which she passes; she will be subject to the anger arid enmity of God until the sanie time oii the fidlowing morning, arid if she dies immediately, she will be one of the people of the fire. It is better fur women to sit at home than to go and pray at the mosque. NEW BOOKS AND REPRINTS. Tales from Slial~speare. By CHARLES and MART LAMB. With 40 illustrations. New York: Francis & Co. Tiiis well-knoxvn work has long been a model for coml)usitions of its class. Though intemided (irigiu:illy for children, it is written with a purity of style, and informed throughorit by a sh)mrit of revereiice xvhich may charm readers of every age. The tumie is Shaksperian, much of the language of the original being immeorporated wit hi the narrative. The volume is riot only a suitable introduction to Shakapeare, limit a fimme discipline for the young mind inn mIme taste, purity arid strength of time lan- guage. There are very hi~w such volumes which can be furnisheul for children ; anrl it is an injunstic. to withhold from buy or girl, Charles und Mary Lambs Tales from Shmakspeart~.Lit. World. 46 POEMS DY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. From the Boston Poet. Poems. By OLIVER WENDELL IIOLM s. New and enlarged edition. Boston: For sale by Red- ding & Co. hERE is another volume deserving all possible attention. But though Oliver do ask for more, he xviii not get it at present. We bave bad the book on our table for a fortnight, and are obliged, at last, to dismiss it xvith a few general remarks. But every- body reads or oufrht to read Holmes. America has nothing just like him arid, from her long catalogue of glories, England produces Tom Hood alone who is at all similar. Hood is great both in smiles and in tears, but his prevailing nio(id is all absorbino and he is either all smiles or all tears at any one tinie. Holmes is as funny in his different way, though by 110 means so deeply pathetic and start- ling as the other. In recompense lie often produces a delightful mingling of the sail arid gay, scarcely found in Hood, and has a marvellous gift, moreover, of sliding front the real to the idealbeginning with jest arid ending xvith poetry. Hoods jokes are merely jokesHolmes are buth jokes arid poetry ; or, rather, the one mounts sir naturally to the other, that fun would seem to be the only legitimate dour-step of poesys temple. Hood has written verse both grave and gay, aird, of irs kind, such as no man bath written since the world began. Ilolrries, perhap~, has done nothinus so excellent in either strain, hut he has uttered marry a combination of both, which, if less marked and (listirict, on accoutt of that very combination, are yet beautiful exceedingly. Ilolrnes, moreover, as it seems to us, has shown more of the true lyric fire than hood. His Old Irotisides is urisur- passed in the language. Then he has nut only more geniality tItan Hood, but he has it in a very high (legree. The reader of holmes may say to himself1- I feel the old convivial glow (rmnaided) oer me stealing 1he warm, champagny, old-particular, brandy-punchy feeling. Or, if not exactly this, he feels that the writer must be a good, kind, arid pleasant fellow. lie ptmts one at tans ease in a jiffy, arid converses so nicely arid easily, that, in faith, the histeraer is scarcely aware, till afterwards, that he is dropping pearls arid di- amonds, xvhich cinmrnorr finks may steal but cart not create. At a distance, ilinhirmes is riot so vividly distinct as Hood, bitt, closely scanned, he has better prol)n)rtiomts and a greater ritirimber of beauties. Nit man who hias yet ptmt pert tin) hiniper, has so ortia merited a jest, with idealimy, as to make it poetry. No mart hens written verse more j)laiiily, sincerely, easily, amtd smoothly. But ~iend as is time exltres siomi, rhe thiniughit still reignis supreme. holmes has not only ant exhaustless frutinimaimn of ideas, bitt his intelhigentee kiiows what it xvishnes to say, and his taste knows mow to say it. lit a weird, there is n~t a particle etf humbug abenut htimn. his prmnductiomes are of Iti) new school or old schoini ; lint rrterely sense, wit, hinrmor, anid loft~r feehinz, illustrated by fancy, anl(l expresseil so clearly that he who runs may reail and urriderstanid. Great as is the repritation of Holmes in this vicin- ity, we hardly thitik it is of the order which Ire deserves; fur holmes is a greater writer, by far, thaur Ire is gerterally snipposeil tin he. Take away his wit aud oddity, and there xviii yet remai~m, itt the 47, volumme before ins, stanz., which none living, either inn the old or new world, can excel. Old Iron- sides, strange to say, is not mm thte collection, but titere are Tire Seittiment, A Sorrg of Other Days, The Punch-bowl, portions of Urania, The Dickemis Dirtner Sort0, TIme Last Leaf, The Wasp and the Hornet, besides innutmerable single lines and phrases ut many of the funniest effusiomis. But, as he himself says, Dont you know that people wont employ A urair tttat xvrirn0s his manliness tiny irtughinglike a boy Ainid suspect the aznre tintossom nh t innutolis uporm a sti0ott As if windoiris old potatto could riot flourish at its root! People are slow to give one man credit for two kinds of greatness. 1hey can readily ahinpreciate the mingled pathos and humor mt play and miervel, perhaps because the scenes amid personages are fic- titieeus and artificial, antd, after all, the play or novel is but one thing and tite author but one ntan. But they are hard to believe that a funny nan, in pro- pria persona, can be a great poet, great ott itigh and noble uhtemes, and still greater itt drawing ilte truest poetry from the niost humble, homely, and even comical srthjects. To interrtmpt oturselves, the lines just quoted fumrnislm a fine example mrf Holmes pecur- liar gift. Were onte to ransack tue world, he w(uuld fintd mien better illunstratitin titan the last two hues of the maieaning of time first two. And thrommgh titis ihlu~- tratmon be merely a potato and its bhtssom, yet, by smumue nteans or other, it has a beauty and digrtity of the highest kind. The four lines, teigemimer, are among the best of their kind ever produced by their author. To return. The very funny pieces (chiefly old) are first-ratethere is nn mistake abunut that but we luerid that. ginnod as they are, they itave done Dr. Hointes more evil titan giii)d. hind he not written them hue mirrht riot Itave comntanded the pinminlie ear so readily, brim, nmtce comamanded, he would itave ranked higher with time nimass of rearlcr~ as a trinme peret. Time ease with witich thee world is deceived finr a timne, in matters of taste and literature, is preuverhaial, and Wa cerrild now pirinit tel writers, bmuthi in Enigland and America, not liavimig a tithe of the originality, fire, strengdm arid delicacy ofHohrttes, but whie, by qiteer themes arid queerer expressiorts, mace ntanraged to be considered (for a time) as the poets of time day. Brit mitese writers are irut Imifant Rosciinovelny gives t heroin ephenteral emintence they will srtrinn wane before time gentuine Siddmenses of hterituire. Iholmes is both a great grave atid a ureat gay writerite is two gentlememi imi r)reehe ns one umore tlmarm iris brethrent bards, who deal in the grave ahuinne, or at niost, in thine satirical. He is omme ltesi(le himself, amid because ire cimarice tic ire tutors versatile than iris neightitturs, ann at the same tints hmave tlte ktiack euf doming everything well, ire shmunuld nert, mt comnion sense arid juishice, be lightly ra gardeul therefiur. 1mm reading ilurimes poetry one feels that, in almost every instamice, the aim thor ht~ well perfeurmed time task set by hirmiselfif defect threre be, it is mm tite task, niuint in tite perfuurmance. This is ann nutisutal, but in the present case, a very nmarked feelimt0, and speahiitug vunIunirmes for thu mit A ligence and critical power of time artificer. h3tit w~ leave far exceeded mutrr proposed limits, arid niintsl merely add that the nelumme miniher entice conuta%.C aineetit o. .e Ito md ed pages of poetry no inn the fi~ edition. CONTENTS OF No. 242. 1. Entomology, 2. William Allen 3. John Foster, the Essayist, - - - 4. Quaker Love. 5. Inundation of the Indies, - - - - 6. Flood in the Macquarie, - - - - 7. Walpoles Letters to the Countess of Ossory, 8. European Correspondence - - - 9. Poems by Oliver Wendell Holmes, - - West reunster Review - - Chambers Journal, - ii a - Eel. New Philos. Journal, ii ii - Edinburgh Review, - - Of the Living Age, - - Boston Post, - - ScaAvs.German Marriage, 28.Eating Fruit; Hottentots and United Brethren, 38.New Books; Egyptian Women, 46. -ROSPECTUsTuis work is conducted in the spirit cf .~utelis Museum of Foreign Literature, (which was favor- ably received by tbe public for twenty years,) but as it is twice as large, aud appears so often, we not only give p iriS and freshness to it by many things which were ex- ci uded by a mouths delay, but while thus extending our scope and gatlering a greater and more attractive variety, are able so to increase the solid and substantial part of our literary, historical, and political harvest, as fully to satisfy the wants of the American reader. The elaborate and stately Essays of the Edinburgh, Quarterly, and other Reviews ; and Blackwoods noble criticisms on Poetry, his keen political Commentaries, highly wrought Tales, and vivid descriptions of rural and mountain Scenery; and the coutril)utions to Literature, History, arid Common Life, by the sagacious Spcctutor, the s~arkling K ansiner, the judicious Athenansrn, the busy and industrious Literary Gazette, the sensible and comprehensive Britannia, the sober and respectable ~ieris- Van Observer; these are intermixed with the Military arid N. vat reminiscences of tne United Service, and with tlse best articles of the Dnblin Urricersity, New Monthly, Frasers. Tuits, Aisserrort Iss, Hands, and Sporting Mug- zines, and of Chambers admirable Journul. We dQ not consider it beneath our dignity to borrow wit and wisdom from Punch; and, when we think it good enough, m ke use of the thunder of The Times. We shall increase our variety by importations from the continent of Europe, and from the new growth of the British colonies. The steamship has brought Europe, Asia, and Africa, into our nei~bborbood ; and will greatly multiply our con- nections, as Merchants, Travellers, and Politicians, with all parts of the world; so that much more than ever it now becomes every intelligent American to be info,mt~i of the condition and cur uges of foreign countries. And this not only because of their nearer connection with 0-ir- selves, but because the nations seem to be has:eniiig, through a rapid process of change, to some new state of things, which the merely political prophet cannot compute or foresee. Geographical Discoveries, the progress of Colonization, (which is extending over the whole world,) and Voyages and Travels will be favorite matter for our selections; and, in gen~tral, we shall systematically arid very ullv acqrtaint our readers with the great department of Foreign affairs, without entirely neglecting orir owix. While we aspire to make the Liviag Age desirable to all who wish to keep theIuseives informed of the rapid progress of the movementto Statesmen, Divines, Law- yers, and Physiciatisto men of business and men of leisureit is still a stronger ol)ject to make it attractive and useful to their Wives and Children. We believe that we can thus do some good in our clay and generation; and hope to malce the work indispensable in every well-in- formed family. We say irrdi.spcosnhlc, ber~ use in this day of cheap literature it is not possible to nuard a~ainst the influx of what is bad in taste and vicious in morals, in any other way than by furnishin0 a sufficient supply of a healthy clraractar. The mental and moral appetite mast be gratified. We hope that, by winnotring the wheat from the chcrf, by providing abundantly for the ima5ination, and by a large collection of Bio~rapby, Voyn~es and Travels, History, and more solid matter, we may produce a work which shall be popular, while at the sanie time it will aspire to raise the standard of public taste. TEnatsThe LiviNG AGE iS published every Satur- day, by E. LiTTELL & Co., corner of Tremont and Brom- field sts., Boston ; Price 121 cents a number, or six dollars a year in advance. Remittances for any period will be thankfully received and promptly atteridect to. ~ To insure re,,ularity in mailing the work, orders should be addressed to the ofllce of publication, as above. Clubs, paying a year in advance, will be supplied as follows Four copies for - . . - ~2O 00 Nine . . - . 840 00 Twelve - . - . 8i30 00 Complete sets, in fifteen volumes, to the end of 1847, handsomely bound, and packed in neat boxes, are for sale at thirty dollars. Any voiscine may be had separately at two dollars, bound, or a dollar and a half in numbers. Any msnsber may be had for t21 cents; and it may be worth while for subscribers or purcb~sers to complete any broken volumes they tetay have, and thus greatly en- hahee their value. Binding.XVe bind the work in a uniform, strong, and good style; and where customers bring their numbers in good order, can eiseralty give them bound volumes in ex- chan,,e without any delay. The price of the binding is 50 cents a volume. As they are always botind to one pattern, there will be no difficulty in matching the future volumes. Agencies.We are desirous of making arrangements in all p~rts of North America, for increasing the circula tion of this workand for doing tbL a liberal commission will be allowed to gentlemen who will int8rest themselves in the business. And we ~vihl gladly correspond on this stibject with any agent who wilt send us undoubted refer- ences. PostageWhen sent with the cover on, the Livin8 Age consists of three sheets, and is rated as a pamphlet, at 41 cents. But when sent without the cover, it comes within the definition of a newspaper given in the law, and cannot legally be charged with more than newspaper postage, (tlcts.) We add the definition alluded to: A newspaper is any printed publication, issued in numbers, consisting of not more than two sheets, and published at short, stated intervals of not more than one niouth, conveyiun intelhi0ence of passing events. Monthly parts.For such as prefer it in that form, the Living Age is put up in monthly parts, contaituing four or five weekly tiunshers. In ttiis shape it shows to great advanta5e in comparison with other worics, containing in each part double the matter of . ny of the quarterlies. But we recommend the weekly numbers, as fresher and fuller of life. Postage on the monthly parts is about 14 cents. The volumes are published quarterly, each volume containing as much matter as a quarterly review gives ha eighteen months. WAsilneoToN, 27 DEC., 1845. OF all the Periodical Journals devoted to literature and science which abound in Europe and in this country, this has appeared to me to be the most useful. It coiitains indeed the exposition only of the current literature of the English language, but this by its immense extent and comprehension inclades a portraiture of the human mind in the utmost expansion of the present a~e. J. Q. ADAMS. I - - 17 - - 21 - - 23 - - 27 - 28 - - 29 - 39 - - 47

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The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 243 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. January 13, 1849 0020 243
The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 243 49-96

LITTELLS LIVING AGE.No. 24313 JANUARY, 1849. From the North British Review. Final Memorials of Charles Lamb. By THOMAS NooN TALFOURD. 2 vols. London: 1848. IT sounds paradoxical, but is not so in a bad sense, to saythat in every literature of large com- pass some authors will be found to rest much of the interest which surrounds them on their essen- tial non-popularity. They are good for the very reason that they are not in conformity to the cur- rent taste. They interest because to the world they are not interesting. They attract by means of their repulsion. Not as though it could sepa- rately furnish a reaspn for loving a bookthat the majority of men had found it repulsive. Prima facie, it must suggest some presumption a0 ainst a bookthat it has failed to gain public attention. To have roused hostility indeed, to have kindled a fend against its own principles or its temper, may happen to he a good sign. That argues power. Hatred may he promising. The deepest revolu- tions of mind sometimes begin in hatred. But sim- ply to have left a reader unimpressedis in itself a neutral result, from which the inference is doubtful. Yet even that, even simple failure to impress, may happen at times to be a result from positive powers in a writer, from special originaliti es, such as rarely reflect themselves in the mirror of the ordinary un- derstanding. It seems little to he perceivedhow much the great scriptural* idea of the worldly and the smworldly is found to emerge in literature as well as in life. In reality the very same combina- tions of moral qualities, infinitely varied, which compose the harsh physiognomy of what we call worldliness in the living groups of life, must una- voidably present themselves in hooks. A library divides into sections of worldly and unworldly, even as a crowd of men divides into that same majority and miourity. The world has an instinct for rec- ognizing its own; and recoils from certain qualities when exemplified in hooks, with the same disgtist or defective sympathy as would have governed it in real life. From qualities for instance of childlike simplicity, of shy profundity, or of inspired self- communion, the world does and must turn away its face towards grosser, holder, more determined, or more intelligible expressions of character and intellect ;and not otherwise in literature, nor at all less in literature, than it does in the realities of life. Charles Lamb, if any ever was, is amongst the * Scriptural we call it, because this element of thought, so indispensable to a profound philosophy of morals, is not simply more used in Scripture than else- where, hut is so exclusively significant or intelligible amidst the correlative ideas of Scripture, as to be abso- lutely insusceptible of translation into classical Greek or classical Latin. It is disgraceful that more reflection has not been di:ected to the vast causes and consequences of so pregnant a truth. ccxLIII. LIVING AGE. VOL. xx. 4 class here contemplated; he, if any ever has, ranks amongst writers whose works are destined to be forever unpopular, and yet forever interesting; in- teresting, moreover, by means of those very quali- ties which guarantee their non-popularity. The same qualities which will be found forbidding to the worldly and the thoughtless, which will be found insipid to many even amongst robust and powerful minds, are exactly those which will con- tinue to command a select audience in every gener- ation. The prose essays, under the signature of Elia, form the most delightful section amongst Lambs works. They traverse a peculiar field of observation, sequestered from general interest; and they are composed in a spirit too delicate and unob- trusive to catch the ear of the noisy crowd, clamor- ing for strong sensations. But this retiring delicacy itself, the pensiveness chequered by gleams of the fanciful, and the humor that is touched with cross- lights of pathos, together with the picturesque quaintness of the objects casually described, whether men, or things, or usages, and, in the rear of all this, the constant recurrence to ancient recolleotions and to decaying forms of household life, as things retiring before the tumult of new and revoltitionary generations ;these traits in combination cominuni- cate to the papers a grace and strength of original- ity which nothing in any literature approaches, whether for degree or kind of excellence, except the most felicitous papers of Addison, such as those on Sir Roger de Coverly, and sotne others in the same vein of composition. They resemble Addi- sons papers also in the diction, which is natural and idiomatic, even to carelessness. They are equally faithful to the truth of nature; and in this only they differ remarkablythat the sketches of Elia reflect the stamp and impress of the writers own character, whereas in all those of Addison the personal peculiarities of the delineator (though known to the reader from the beginning through the account of the club) are nearly quiescent. Now and then they are recalled into a momentary notice, hut they do not act, or at all modify his pictures of Sir Roger or Will Wimble. They are~ slightly and amiably eccentric; but the Spectator himself, in describing them, takes the station of an ordinary observer. Everywhere, indeed, in the writings of Lamb, and noli merely in his Ehia, the character of the writer cooperates in an under current to the effect of the thing written. To understand in the fullest sense either the gayety or the tenderness of a par- ticular passage, you must have some insight into the peculiar bias of the writers mindwhether native and original, or impressed gradually by the accidents of situation; whether simply developed out of predispositions by tlk action of life, or vio-~ lently scorched into the constitution by some fierce CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. 50 fever of calamity. There is in modern literature a ter lies there dispersed in anagram; and to any whole ilass of writers, though not a large one, attentive reader the regathering and restoration of standing within the same category; some marked the total word from its scattered parts is inevitable originality of character in the writer become a co~f- without an effort. Still it is always a satisfaction ficient with what he says to a common result.; you in knowing a result, to know also its why and must sympathize with this personality in the author how; and in so far as every character is likely to before you can appreciate the most significant parts be modified by the particular experience, sad or of his views. In most hooks the writer figures as joyous, through which the life has travelled, it is a mere abstraction, without sex or age or local sta- a good contribution towards the knowledge of that lion, whom the reader banishes from his thoughts. resulting character as a whole to have a sketch of What is written seems to proceed from a blank in- that particular experience. What trials did it im- tellect, not from a man clothed with fleshly peculi- pose What energies did it task? What temp- arities and differences. These peculiarities and tations did it unfold? These calls UI)OO the moral differences neither do, nor (generally speaking) powers, which in music so stormy, many a life is could intermingle with the texture of the thoughts (loomed to hear, how were they faced I The so as to modify their force or their direction. In character in a capital degree moulds oftentimes tho such books, and they form the vast majority, there life, but the life always in a subordinate degree is nothing to be found or to he looked f~r beyond moulds the character. And the character being the direct objective. (Sit venia verbo!) But, in a in this case of Lamb so much of a key to the small section of books, the objective in the thought writings, it becomes important that the life should becomes confluent with the subjective in the thinker be traced, however briefly, as a key to the character. the two forces unite for a joint product; and filly That is one reason for detaining the reader with to enjoy that product, or fully to apprehend either some slight record of Lambs career. Such a element, both must be known. It is singular, and record by preference and of right belongs to a case worth inquiring into, for the reason that the Greek where the intellectual display, ~vhich is the sole and Roman literature had no such books. Timon ground of any public interest at all in the man, of Athens, or Diogenes, one may conceive quali- has been intensely modified by the humanities and fled for this mode of authorship, had journalism ox- moral personalities distinguishing the subject. We isted to rouse them in those days; their articles read a Physiology, and need no information as to would no doubt have been fearfully catistic. But, the life and conversation of its author; a medita- as they failed to produce anything, and Lucian in tive poem becomes far better understood by the an after age is scarcely characteristic enough for light of such information; but a work of genial the purpose, perhaps we may pronounce Rabelais and at the same time eccentric sentiment, ~vander- and Montaigne the earliest of writers in the class ing upon untrodden paths, is barely intelligible described. In the century following theirs, came without it. There is a good reason for arresting $ir Thomas Brown, and immediately after him La judgment on the writer, that the court may receive F~ontaine. Then came Swift, Sterne, with others evidence on the life of the man. But there is tess distinguished, in Germany, Hippel, the friend another reason, and, in any other place, a better of Kant, Harmaun, the obscure, and the greatest of which reason lies in the extraordinary value of the the whole bodyJohn Patl Fr. Richter. In him, life considered separately for itself Looically, it from the strength and determinateness of his nature is not allowable to say that here; and, considering as well as from the great extent of his writings, the principal purpose of this paper, any possible the philosophy of this interaction between the so- independent value of the life must rank as a better thor as a human agency and his theme as an intel- reason for reporting it. Since, in a case where lectual re~geucy, might best be studied. From him the original object is professedly to estimate the might be derived the largest number of cases illus- writings of a man, whatever promises to further trating boldly this absorption of the universal into that object must, merely by that tendency, have, is the concreteof the pure intellect into the human relation to that place, a momentary advantage nature of the author. But nowhere could illustra- which it would lose if valued upon a more abstract tions be found more interestingshy, delicate, scale. Liberated from this casual office of throw- evanescentshy as lightning, delicate and evanes- ing light upon a bookraised to its grander sta- cent as the colored pencillings on a frosty night tion of a solemn deposition to the moral capacities from the northern lights, than in the better parts of of man in conflict with calamityviewed as a re- Lamb. turn made into the chanceries of heavenupon an To appreciate Lamb, therefore, it is requisite issue directed from that court to try the amount that his character and temperament should be under- of power lodged in a poor desolate pair of human stood in their coyest and most wayward features. creatures for facing the very an.archy of storms A capital defect it would be if these could not be this obscure life of the two Lambs, brother and gathered silently from Lambs works themselves, sister, (for the two lives were one life,) rises into It would be a fatal mode of dependency upon an a grandeur that is not paralleled o .ce in a gen- alien and separable accident if they needed an ox- oration. ternal commentary. But they do not. The syl- Rich, indeed, in moral instruction was the life lebles lurk up and down the writings of Lamb of Charles Lamb; and perhaps in one chief result which decipher his eccentric nature. His charac- it offers to the thoughtful observer a lesson of con- CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. 51 solation that is awful, and of hope that ought. to be immortal, viz., in the record which it furnishes, that by meekness of submission, and by earnest conflict with evil, in the spirit of cheerfulness, it is possible ultimately to disarm or to blunt the very heaviest of curseseven the curse of lunacy. Had it been whispered, in hours of infancy, to Lamb, by the angel who stood by his cradle Thou, and the sister that walks by ten years be- fore thee, shall be through life, each to each, the solitary fountain of comfort; and except it be from this fountain of mutual love, except it be as brother and sister, ye shall not taste the cup of peace on earth !here, if there was sorrow in reversion, there was also consolation. But what funeral swamps would have instantly engulfed this consolation had some meddling fiend prolonged the revelation, and, holding up the cur- tain from the sad future a little longer, had said scornfully Peace on earth! Peace for you two, Charles and Mary Lamb! What peace is possi- ble under the curse which even now is gathering against your heads Is there peace on earth for the lunaticpeace for the parenticidepeace for the girl that, without warning, and without time granted for a penitential cry to heaven, sends her mother to the last auditP And then, without treachery, speaking bare truth, this prophet of woe might have added Thou also, thyself, Charles Lamb, thou in thy proper person, shalt enter the skirts of tltis dreadful hail-storm ; even thou shalt taste the secrets of lunacy, and enter as a captive its house of bondage; whilst over thy sister the accursed scorpion shall hang suspended through life, like Death hanging over the beds of hospitals, striking at times, but more often threatening to etrike; or withdrawing its instant menaces only to lay bare her mind more bitterly to the persecutions of a haunted memory ! Considering the nature of the calamity, in the first place ; considering, in the second place, its life-long duration ; find, in the last place, considering the quality of the resis- tance by which it was met, and tinder what cir- cumstances of humble resources in money or friendswe have come to the deliberate judgment, that the whole range of history scarcely presents a more affecting spectacle of perpetual sorrow, hu- miliation, or conflict, and that was supported to the end, (that is, through forty years,) with more res- ignation, or with more absolute victory. Charles Lamb was born in February of the year 1775. His immediate descent was humble; for his father, though on one particular occasion civilly described as a scrivener, was in reality a domestic servant to Mr. Salta bencher (and therefore a barrister of some standing) in the inner Temple. John Lamb the father belonged by birth to Lincoln ; from which city, being transferred to London whilst yet a boy, he entered the service of Mr. Salt without delay; and apparently from this period throughout his life continued in this good mans household to support the honorable re- lation of a Roman client to his patronusmuch more than that of a mercenary servant to a tran sient and capricions master. The terms on which he seems to live ~vith the family of the Lambs, argue a kindness and a liberality of nature on both sides. John Lamb recommended himself as an attendant by the versatility of his accomplish- ments; and Mr. Salt, being a widower without children, which means in effect an old bachelor, naturally valued that encyclopa~dic range of dex- terity which made his house independent of exter- nal aid for every mode of service. To kill ones own mutton is but an operose way of arriving at a dinner, and often a more costly way; whereas to combine ones own carpenter, locksmith, hair- dresser, groom, & c., all in one mans personto have a R(,binson Crusoe, up to all emergencies of life, always in waiting, ~s a luxtiry of the highest class for one who values his ease. A consultation is held more freely with a man familiar to ones eye, and more profitably with a man aware of ones peculiar habits. And another advantage from such an arrangement isthat one gets any little alteration or repair executed on the spot. To hear is to obey, and by an inversion of Popes rule One always is, and never to be, blest. People of one sole accomplishment, like the lzorno unius libri, are usually within that narrow circle disagreeably perfect, and therefore apt to be arrogant. People who can do all things, usually do every one of them ill; and living in a constant effort to deny this too palpable fact, they become irritably vain. But Mr. Lamb the elder seems to have been bent on perfection. He did all things; he did them all well; and yet was neither gloomi- ly arrogant, nor testily vain. And being conscious apparently that all mechanic excellencies tend to illiberal results, unless counteracted by perpetual sacrifices to the museshe went so far as to cub tivate poetry; he even printed his poems, and were we possessed of a copy, (which we are not, nor probably is the Vatican,) it would give us pleasure at this point to digress for a moment, and to cut them up, purely on considerations of respect to the authors memory. It is hardly to be sup- posed that they did not really merit castigation; and we should best show the sincerity of our re- spect for Mr. Lamb, senior, in all those cases whcre we could conscientiously profess respect by an unlimited application of the knout in the cases where we could not. The whole family of the Lambs seem to have won from Mr. Salt the consideration which is granted to humble friends; and from acquaintances nearer to their own standing, to have won a tenderness o4 esteem such as is granted to decayed gentry. Yet, naturally, the social rank of the parents, as people still living, must have operated disadvanta- geously for the children. It is hard, even for the practised philosopher, to distinguish aristocrati2 graces of manner, and capacities of delicate fee ing, in people whose very hearth and dress bear witness to the servile humility of their station. Yet such distinctions, as wild gifts of vaturtt, CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. timidly and halfunconsciously asserted themselves in the unpretending Lambs. Already in their favor there existed a silent privilege analogous to the famous one of Lord Kinsale. He, by special grant from the crown, is allowed, when standing before the king, to forget that he is not himself a king ; the bearer of that peerage, through all generations, has the privilege of wearing his hat in the royal presence. By a general though tacit concession of the same nature, the rising genera- tion of the Lambs, John and Charles, the two sons, and Mary Lamb, the only daughter, were permitted to forget that their grandmother had been a housekeeper for sixty years, and that their father had worn a livery. Charles Lamb, individ- ually, was so entirely humble, and so careless of social distinctions, that he has taken pleasure in recurring to these very facts in the family-records amongst the most genial of his Elia recollections. He only continued to remember, without shame, and with a peculiar tenderness, these badges of plebeian rank, when everybody else, amongst the few survivors that could have known of their existence, had long, dismissed them from their thoughts. Probably through Mr. Salts interest, Charles Lamb, in the autumn of 1782, when he wanted something more than four months of completing his eighth year, received a presentation to the magnificent school of Christs Hospital. The late Dr. Arnold, when contrasting the school of his own boyish experience, Winchester, with Rugby, the school confided to his management, found aothing so much to regret in the circumstances of the latter as its forlorn condition with respect to historical traditions. Wherever these were want- ing, and supposing the school of sufficient magni- tude, it occurred to Dr. Arnold that something of a compensatory effect for impressing the imag- ination might be obtained by connecting the school with the nation through the link of annual prizes issuing from the exchequer. An official basis of national patronage might prove a substitute for an antiquarian or ancestral basis. Happily for the great educational foundations of London, none of them is in the naked condition of Rugby. Westminster, St. Paul~s, Merchant Tailors, the Charter-House, & c., are all crowned with histori- cal recollections ; and Christs Hospital, besides the original honors of its foundation, so fitted to a consecrated place in a youthful imaginationan asylum for boy-students, provided by a boy-king innocent, religious, prematurely wise, and prema- turely called away fr~m earthhas also a mode of perpetual connection with the state. It enjoys, therefore, both of Dr. Arnold~s advantages. In- deed, all the great foundation-schools of London, bearing in their very codes of organization the impress of a double functionviz., the conserva- tion of sound learning and of pure religionwear something of a monastic or cloisteral character in their aspect and usages, which is peculiarly irupres- sive, and even pathetic, amidst the uproars of a capital the most colossal and tumultuous upon earth. Here Lamb remained until his fifteenth year, which year threw him on the world, and brought him alongside the golden dawn of the French revolution. Here he learned a little elementary Greek, and of Latin more than a little; for the Latin notes to Mr. Cary (of Dante celebrity) though brief, are sufficient to reveal a true sense of what is graceful and idiomatic in Latinity. We say this, who have studied that subject more than most men. It is not that Lamb would have found it an easy task to compose a long paper in Latinnobody can find it easy to do what he has no motive for habitually practising; but a single sentence of Latin, wearing the secret, countersign of the sweet Roman hand, ascertains sufficiently that, in reading Latin classics, a man feels and comprehends their peculiar force or beauty. That is enough. It is requisite to a mans expansion of mind that he should make acquaintance with a literature so radically differing from all modern literatures as is the Latin. It is not requisite that he should practise Latin composition. Here, therefore, Lamb obtained in sufficient perfection one priceless accomplishment, which even singly throws a graceful air of liberality over all the rest of a mans attainments having rarely any pecu- niary value, it challenges the more attention to its intellectual value. Here also Lamb commenced the friendships of his life; and, of all which he formed, he lost none. Here it was, as the con- summation arid crown of his advantages from the time-honored hospital, that he came to know Poor S. T. C.* roe Oat~ouurwrnrov. LTntil 1796, it is probable that he lost sight of Coleridge, who was then occupied with Cambridge having been transferred thither as a Grecian from the house of Christ Church. That year, 1796, was a year of change and fearful calamity for Chailes Lamb. On that year revolved the wheels of his after-life. During the three years succeeding to his school-days, he had held a clerk- ship in the South Sea House. In 1795, he was transferred to the India House. As a junior clerk he could not receive more than a slender salary; but even this was important to the support of his parents and sister. They lived together in lodg- ings near Holborn; and in the spring of 1796, Miss Lamb, (having previously shown signs of lunacy at intervals,) in a sudden paroxysm of her disease, seized a knife from the dinner table, and stabbed her mother, who died upon the spot. A coroners inquest easily ascertained the nature of a case which was transparent in all its circumstances, and never for a moment indecisive as regarded the medical symptoms. The poor young lady was transferred to the establishment for lunatics at * The affecting expression by which Coleridge indi- cates himself in the few lines written durin~ his last illness for an inscription upon his grave; lines ill con- strucled in point of diction and compression, but other- wise speaking from the depths of his heart. 52 CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. Hoxton; she soon recovered, we believe; but her relapses were as sudden as her recoveries, and she continued through life to revisit, for periods of un- certain seclusion, this house of woe. This calam- ity of his fireside, followed soon after by the death of his father, who had for some time been in a state of imbecility, determined the future destiny of Lamb. Apprehending, with the perfect grief of perfect love, that his sisters fate was sealed for lifeviewing her as his own greatest benefactress, which sh~ really had been through her advantage by ten years of ageyielding with impassioned readiness to the depth of his fraternal affection what at any rate he would have yielded to the sanctities of duty as interpreted by his own con- sciencehe resolved forever to resign all thoughts of marriage with a young lady whom he loved, forever to abandon all ambitious prospects that might have tempted him into uncertainties hum- bly to content himself with the certainties of his Indian clerkship, to dedicate himself for the future to the care of his desolate and prostrate sister, and to leave the rest to God. These sacrifices he made in no hurry or tumult, but deliberately, and in re- ligin us tranquillity. There sacrifices were accepted in heavenand even on this earth they had their reward. She for whomhe gave up all, in turn gave up all for him. She devoted herself to his comfort. Many titnes she returned to the lunatic establishment, but many times she was restored to illeminate the household hearth for him; and of the happiness which for forty years and niore lie had, no hour seemed true that was not derived from her. Henceforwards, therefore, until he was emancipated by the noble generosity of the East India Directors, Lambs time, for nine-and-twenty years, was given to the India House. 0 fortunati nimium, sua si bona ndrint, is applicable to more people than agricol~. Clerks of the India House are as blind to their own ad- vantages as the blindest of ploughmen. Lamb was summoned, it is true, through the larger and more genial section of his life, to the drudgery of a copying clerkmaking confidential entries itito mighty folios, on the subject of calicoes and muslins. By this means, whether he would or not, he became gradually the author of a great serial work, in a frightful number of volumes, on as dry a department of literature as the children of the great desert could have suggested. No- body, lie roust have felt, was ever likely to study this great work of his, not even Dr. Dryasdiist. He had written in vain, ~vhich is riot pleasant to know. There would be no second edition called for by a discerning public in Leadenhall street; not a chance of that. And consequently the opera omnia of Lanib, drawn up in a hideous battalion, at the cost of labor so enormous, would be known only to certain fhmilies of spiders in one generation, and of rats in the next. Such a labor of Sysyphus the rolling tip a ponderous stone to the summit of a hill only that it might roll back again by the gravitation of its own dulness, seems a bad em- ployment for a man of genius in his meridian ener gies. And yet, perhaps not. Perhaps the col- lective wisdoni of Europe could not have devised for Lamb a more favorable condition of toil thati this very India House clerkship. his works (his Leadenhall street works) were certainly not read; popular they could not be, for they were not read by anybody; but then, to balance that, they were not reviewed. his folios were of that order, which (in Cowpers words) not even critics crit- icize. Is that nothing~ Is it no happiness to escape the hands of scoundrel reviewers l Many of us escape bein~ read; the worshipful reviewer does not find time to read a line of us; but we do not for that reason escape being criticized, shown up, and martyred. The list of errata again, com- mitted by Lamb, was probably of a magnitude to alarm any possible compositor; and yet these errata will never be known to mankind. They are dead and buried. They have been cut off pre- maturely; and for any effect upon their generation, might as well never have existed. Then the re- turns, in a pecuniary sense, from these folios how important were they! It is not common, cer- tainly, to write folios ; but neither is it common to draw a steady income of from 3001. to 4001. per annum from volumes of any size. This will be admitted; but would it not have been better to dra~v the income without the toil 1 Doubtless it would always be more agreeable to have the rose without the thorn. But in the case before us, taken with all its circumstances, we deny that the toil is truly typified as a thorn ;so far from being a thorn in Lambs daily life, on the contrary, it was a second rose engrafted upon the original rose of the income, that he had to earn it by a moderate but continued exertion. Holidays, in a national establishment so great as the India House, and in our too fervid period, naturally could not be fre- quent ; yet all great English corporations are gra- cmos masters, and indulgences of this nature could be obtained on a special application. Not to count upon these accidents of favor, we find that the regular toil of those in Lambs situation began at ten in the morning and ended as the clock struck four in the afternoon. Six hours composed the daily contribution of labor, that .is precisely one fourth part of the total day. Only that, as Sun- day was exempted, the rigorous expression of the quota was one fourth of six sevenths, which makes six twenty eighths and not six twenty fourths of the total time. Less toil than this would hardly have availed to deepen the sense of value in that large part of the time still remaining disposable. lIad there been any resumption whatever of labor in the evening, though but for half an hour, that one encroachment upon the broad continuous area of the eighteen free hours would have killed the tranquillity of the whole day, by sowing it (so to speak) with interniitting anxietiesanxieties that, like tides, would still be rising and falling. XVhereas now, at the early hour of four, when day-li~ht is yet lingering in tIme air, even at the dead of winter, in the latitude of Lotudon, and when the enjoyin~, section of the day is barely 53 54 CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. commencingeverything is left which a man would care to retain. A mere dilettante or ama- teur student, having no mercenary interest con- cerned, would, upon a refinement of luxury would, upon choice, give up so much time to study, were it only to sharpen the value of what remained for pleasure. And thus the only differ- ence between the scheme of the India House dis- s~ributing his time for Lamb, and the scheme of a wise voluptuary distributing his time for himself, lay, not in the amount of time deducted from en- joyment, but in the particular mode of appropriat- ing that deduction. An intellectual appropriation of the time, though casually fatiguing, must have pleasures of its own ; pleasures denied to a task so mechanic and so monotonous as that of reiter- ating endless records of sales or consignments not essentially varying from each other. True; it is pleasanter to pursue an intellectual study than to make entries in a ledger. But even an intellec- tual toil is toil; few people can support it for more thau six hours in a day. And thc only question, therefore, after all, is, at what period of the day a man would prcfer taking this pleasure of study. Now, upon that point, as regards the case of Lamb, there is no opening for doubt. He, amongst his Popular Fallacies, admirably illustrates the ne- cessity of evening and artificial lights to the pros- perity of studies. After exposing, with the per- fection of fun, the savage unsociality of those elder ancestors who lived (if life it was) before lamp-light was invented, showing that jokes came in with candles, since what repartecs could have passed when people were grumbling at one another in the dark, and when you must have felt about for a smile, and handled a neighbors cheek to be sure that he understood it 3 He goes on to say, this accounts for the seriousness of the elder poetry, viz., because they had no candle-light. Even eating he objects to as a very imperfect thing in the dark; you are not convinced that a dish tastes as it should do by the promise of its name, if you dine in the twilight without candles. See- lug is believing. The senses absolutely give and take reciprocally. The sight guarantees the taste. For instance, Can you tell pork from veal in the dark; or distinguish Sherries from pure Malaga 3 To all enjoyments whatsoever candles are indispensable as an adjunct; but, as to reading, there is, says Lamb, absolutely no such thing but by a candle. We have tried the affectation of a book at noon-day in gardens, but it was labor thrown away. It is a mockery, all that is reported of the influential Phcebus. No true poem ever owed its birth to the suns light. The mild inter- nal light, that reveals the fine shapings of poetry, like fires on the domestic hearth ,goes out in the sunshine. Miltons morning hymn in Paradise, we would hold a good wager, was penned at mid- night; and Taylors rich description of a sunrise smells decidedly of the taper. This view of evening and candle-light as involved in literature may seem no more than a pleasant extravaganza; and no doubt it is in the nature of such gayeties to travel a little into exaggeration, but substan tially it is certain that Lambs feelings pointed habitually in the direction here indicated. His literary studies, whether taking the color of tasks or diversions, courted the aid of evening, which, by means of physical weariness, produces a more luxurious state of repose than belong to the labor- hours of day, and courted the aid of lamp-light, which, as Lord Bacon remarked, gives a gorgeous- ness to human pomps and pleasures, such as would be vainly sought from the homeliness of day-light. The hours, therefore, which were withdrawn from his own control by the India House, happened to be exactly that part of the day which Lamb least valued and could least have turned to account. The account given of Lambs friends, of those whom he endeavored to love, because he admired them, or to esteem intellectually because he loved them personally, is too much colored for general acquiescence by Sergeant Talfourds own early prepossessions. It is natural that an intellectual man like the Sergeant, personally made known in youth to people whom from childhood he had re- garded as powers in the ideal world, and in some instances as representing the eternities of human speculation, since their names had perhaps dawned upon his mind in concurrence with the very ear- liest suggestion of topics which they had treated, should overrate their intrinsic grandeur. Hazlitt accordingly is styled the great thinker. But had he been such potentially, there was an abso- lute bar to his achievement of that station in act and consummation. No man can be a great thinker in our days upon large and elaborate ques- tions without being also a great student. To think profoundly, it is indispensable that a man should have read down to his own starting point, and have read as a collating student to the par- ticular stage at which he himself takes up the subject. At this moment, for instance, how could geology be treated otherwise than childishly by one who should rely upon the encyclopredias of 18003 or comparative physiology by the most in- genious of men unacquainted with Marshal Hall, and with the apocalyptic glimpses of secrets un- folding under the hands of Professor Owen? In such a condition of undisciplined thinking, the ablest man thinks to no purpose. He lingers upon parts of the inquiry that have lost the importance which once they had, under imperfect charts of the subject ; he wastes his strength upon prob- lems that have become obsolete; he loses his way in paths that are not in the line of direction upon which the improved speculation is moving ; or he gives narrow conjectural solutions of difficulties that have long since received sure and comprehen- sive ones. It is as if a man should in these days attempt to colonize, and yet, through inertia or through ignorance, should leave behind him all modern resources of chemistry, of chemical agri- culture, or of steam-power. Hazlitt had read nothing. Unacquainted with Grecian philosophy, with Scholastic philosophy, and with the recoin- position of these philosophies in the looms of Ger CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. 5; many, during the last sixty and odd years, trust- ing merely to the unrestrained instincts of keen mother-witwhence should Hazlitt have had the materials for great thinking It is through the collation of many abortive voyages to Polar re- gions that a man gains his first chance of entering the Polar basin, or of running ahead on the true line of approach to it. The very reason for Haz- litts defect in eloquence as a lecturer, is sufficient also as a reason why he could not have been a comprehensive thinker. He was not eloquent, says the Sergeant, in the true sense of the term. But why Because it seems his thoughts were too weighty to be moved along by the shal- low stream of feeling which an evenings excite- ment can rouse ;an explanation which leaves us in doubt whether Hazlitt forfeited his chance of eloquence by accommodating himself to this evenings excitement, or by gloomily resisting it. Our own explanation is different. Hazlitt was not eloquent, because he was discontinuous. No man can be eloquent whose thoughts are abrupt, insu- lated, capricious, and (to borrow an impressive word from Coleridge) non-sequacious. Eloquence resides not in separate or fractional ideas, but in the relations of manifold ideas, and in the mode of their evolution from each other. It is not indeed enough that the ideas should be many, and their relations coherent; the main condition lies in the key of the evolution, in the law of the succession. The elements are nothing without the atmosphere that moulds, and the dynamic forces that combine. Now Hazlitts brilliancy is seen chiefly in sejia- rate splinterings of phrase or image, which throw upon the eye a vitreous scintillation for a moment, but spread no deep suffusions of color, and distrib- ute no masses of mighty shadow. A flash, a ~oli- tary flash, and all is gone. Rhetoric, according to its quality, stands in many degrees of relation to the permanencies of truth ; and all rhetoric, like all flesh, is partly unreal, and the glory of both is fleeting. Even the mighty rhetoric of Sir Thomas Brown, or Jeremy Taylor, to whom only it has been granted to open the trumpet-stop on that great organ of passion, oftentimes leaves be- hind it the sense of sadness which belongs to beautiful apparitions starting out of darkness upon the morbid eye only to be reclaimed by darkness in the instant of their birth, or which belongs to pageantries in the clouds. But if all rhetoric is a mode of pyrotechny, and all pyrotechnics are by necessity fugacious, yet even in these frail pomps there are many degrees of frailty. Some fire- works require an hours duration for the expansion of their glory ; others, as if formed from fulmi- nating powder, expire in the very act of birth. Precisely on that scale of duration and of power stand the glitterings of rhetoric that are not worked into the texture, but washed on from the outside. Hazlitts thoughts were of the same fractured and discontinuous order as his illustrative imagesseldom or never self-diffusive; and that is a sufficient argument that he had never culti- vated philosophic thinking. Not, however, to conceal any part of the truth, we are bound to acknowledge that Lamb thought otherwise on this point, manifesting what seemed to us an extravagant admiration of Hazlitt, and perhaps even in part fur that very glitter which we are denouncingat least he did so in a con- versation with ourselves. But, on the other hand1 as this conversation travelled a litile into the tone of a disputation, and our frost on this point might seem to justify some undue fervor by way of bal- ance, it is very possible that Lamb did not speak his absolute and most dispassionate judgment. And yet again, if he did, may we, with all rever- ence for Lambs exquisite genius, have permis- sion to saythat his own constitution of intellect sinned by this very habit of discontinuity. It ~vas a habit of mind not unlikely to be cherished by his habits of life. Amongst these habits was the excess of his social kindness. He scorned so much to deny his company and his redundant hospitality to any man who manifested a wish for either by calling upon him, that he almost seemed to think it a criminality in himself if, by accident, he really was from home on your visit, rather than by possibility a negligence in you, that had not forewarned him of your intention. All his life, from this and other causes, he must have read in the spirit of one liable to sudden interrup- tion ; like a dragoon, in fact, reading with one- foot in the stirrup, when expecting momentarily a summons to mount for action. In such situa- tiQos, reading by snatches, and by intervals of precarious leisure, people form the habit of seek- ing and unduly valuing condensations of the mean- ing, where in reality the truth suffers by this short-hand exhibition, or else they demand too vivid illustrations of the meaning. Lord Chester- field himself, so brilliant a man by nature, already therefore making a morbid estimate of brilliancy, and so hurried throughout his life as a public man, read under this double co& cion for craving instantaneous effects. At one period, his only time for reading was in the morning, whilst under the hands of his hair-dresser: compelled to take the hastiest of flying shots at his author, naturally he demanded a very conspicuous mark to fire at. But the author could not, in so brief a space, be always sure to crowd any very prominent objects on the eye, unless by being audaciously oracular and peremptory as regarded the sentiment, or flashy in excess as regarded its expression. Come now, my friend, was Lord Chesterfields morn- ing adjuration to his author; come now, cut it shortdont prosedont hum and haw. The author bad doubtless no ambition to enter his name on the honorable and ancient roll of gentle- men prosers : probably he conceived himself not at all tainted with the asthmatic infirmity of humming and hawimmg ; but, as to cutting it short, how could he be sure of meeting his lordships expec- tations in that point, unless by dismissing the limitations that might be requisite to fit the idea for use, or the adjuncts that might be requisite to integrate its truth, or the final consequences that CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. might involve some deep arri~re pens~e, which, comin~ last in the succession, might oftentimes he calculated to lie deepest on the mind. To he lawfully and usefully brilliant after this rapid fash- ion, a man most come forward as a refresher of old truths, where his suppressions are supplied by the readers memory; not as an expounder of new truths, where oftentimes a dislocated fraction of the true is more dangerous than the false itself. To read therefore habitually, by hurried instal- ments, has this bad tendencythat it is likely to found a taste for modes of composition ~oo artili- cially irritating, and to disturb the equilibrium of the judgment in relation to the colorings of style. Lamb, however, whose constitution of mind ~vas even ideally sound in reference to the natural, the simple, the genuine, might seem of all men least liable to a taint in this direction. And undoubt- edly he was so as regarded those modes of beauty which nature had specially qualified him for ap- prehending. Else, and in relation to other modes of beauty, where his sense of the true, and of its distinction from the spurious, had been an acquired sense, it is impossible for us to hide from our- selvesthat not through habits only, not through stress of injurious accidents only, hut by original structure and temperament of mind, Lamb had a bias towards those very defects on ~vhich rested the startling characteristics of style which we have been noticing. He himself, we fear, not bribed by indulgent feelings to another, not moved by friendship, but by native tendency, shrank from the continuous, from the sustained, from the elab- orate. The elaborate, indeed, without which much truth and beauty must perish in germ, was by uame the object of his invectives. The instances are many, in his own beautiful essays, where he literally collapses, literally sinks away from open- ings suddenly offering themselves to flights of pa- thos or solemnity in direct prosecution (if his own theme. On any such summons, where an ascend- ing impulse, and an untired pinion were required, lie refuses himsclf (to use military language) in- variably. The least observing reader of Elia can- not have failed to notice that the most felicitous passages always accomplish their circuit in a few sentences. The gyration within which his senti- ment wheels, no matter of what kind it may be, is always the shortest possible. It does not pro- long itself, and it does not repeat itself. But in fact, other features in Lambs mind would have argued this feature by analogy, had we by acci- dent been left unaware of it directly. It is not by chance, or without ~ deep ground in his nature common to all his qualities, both affirmative and negative, that Lamb had an insensibility to music more absolute than can have been often shared by any human creature, or perhaps than was ever be- fore acknowledged so candidly. The sense of music, as a pleasurable sense, or as any sense at all other than of certain unmeaning and imperti- nent differences in respect to high and lowsharp or flatwas utterly obliterated as with a sponge by nature herself from Lambs organization. It was a corollary, from the same large substratum in his nature, that Lamb had no sense of the rhyth- mical in prose composition. Rhythmns, or pomp of cadence, or sonorous ascent of clauses, in the structure of entences, were effects of art as much thrown away upon Itim as the voice of the charm- er upon the deaf adder. We ourselves, occupy- in~ the very station of polar opposition to that of Lamb, being as morbidly, perhaps, iii the one ex- cess as he in the other, naturally detected this omission in Lambs nature at an early sta~c of our acquaintance. Not the fabled Beoulus with his eye-lids torn away, and his uncurmained eye- balls exposed to the noon-tide glare of a Cartha- ginian sun, could have shrieked with more anguish of recoil from torture than we from certain sen- tences and periods in which Lamb l)erceived no fault at all. Pomp, in our apprehension, was an idea of two categories ; the pompous might be spurious, but it might also he genuine, it is well to love the simple ace love it ; nor is there any opposition at all between that and the very glory of pomp. But, as we once put the case to Lamb, if, as a musician, as the leader of a mi0hty or- chestra, you had this themne offered to you Belshazzar the king gave a great feast to a thousand of his lordsor this, And on a cer- tain day, Marcus Cicero stood up, and in a set speech rendered solemn thanks to Cams C~sar for Quintus Ligarius pardoned, amid for Marcus Mar- cellos restoredsurely no man would deny that, in such a case, simplicity, though in a pas- sive sense not lawfully absent, must stand aside as totally insufficient for the positive part. Simo- plicity might guide, even here, but could not fur- nish the power; a rudder it might be, but not an oar or a sail. This, Lamb was ready to allow; as an intellectual quiddity, he recognized pomp in the character of a privileged thing ; he was obliged to do so ; for take away from great cere- monial festivals, such as the solemn rendering of th nks, the celebration of national anniversaries, time commemoration of public benefactors, & c., the element of pomp, and you take away their very meaning amid life ; hut, whilst allo~ving a place for it imi the rubric of time logician, it is cer- tam that, sensuously, Lamb would not have sym- pathized with it, nor have felt its justificatiomi in any comicrete instance. We find a difficulty in pursiuimig this subject, without greatly exceeding our limits. We pause, therefore, and add only this one suggestion as partly explanatory of the case. Lamb had the dramatic intellect and taste, perhaps in perfection ; of the Epic, he had none at all. Here, as happens sometimes to men of genius preternaturally endowed in one direction, he might be considered as almost starved. A fa- vorite of nature, so eminemut iii some directions, by what right could he complain that her bounties were not indiscriminate I From this defect in his nature it arose, that except Imy culture and by re- flection, Lamb had no genial appreciation of Mil- ton. The solemn planetary wheelings of the Par-. 56 CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. 57 adise Lost were not to his taste. What he did comprehend, were the motions like those of light- ning, the fierce angular coruscations of that wild agency which comes forward so vividly in the sudden 7TUCt7rSTT& te, in the revolutionary catastro- phe, ard in the tomultoons conflicts, through per- Sons or through situations, of the tragic drama. There is another vice in Mr. Hazlitts mode of composition, viz., the habit of trite quotation, too common to have challenged much notice, xvere it not for these reasons 1st, That Sergeant Tal- foord speaks of it in equivocal terms, as a fault perhaps, but as a felicitous fault, trailing af- ter it a line of golden associations ; 2dly, be- cause the practice involves a dishonesty. On 00- casion of No. 1, we must profess our belief that a more ample explanation from the serjeant would have left him in substantial harmony with our- selves. We cannot conceive the author of Ion, and the friend of Wordsworth, seriously to coun- tenance that paralytic mouth-diarrhma, (to bor- row a phrase of Coleridges)thatfiuxe de boedte (to borrow an earlier phrase of Archbishop bets) which places the reader at the mercy of a man s tritest remembrances from his most school-boy reading. To have the verbal memory infested with tags of verse and cues of rhyme is in itself an infirmity as vt]lgar and as morbid as the stable-boys habit of whistling slang airs upon the mere mechanical excitement of a bar. or two whistled by some other blockhead in some other stable. The very staae has grown weary of ridi- culing a folly, that having been long since ex- pelled from decent society has taken refuge amongst the most imbecile of authors. Was Mr Hazlitt then of that class? No ; he was a man of great talents, and of capacity for greater things than he ever attempted, though without any pre- tensions of the philosophic kind ascribed to him by the sergeant. Meantime the reason for resist- ing the example and practice of Haxlitt lies in thisthat essentially it is at war with sincerity, the foundation of all good writing, to express one s own thoughts by another mans words. This di- lemma arises. The thought is, or it is not, wor- thy of that emphasis which belongs to a metrical expression of it. If it is not, then we shall be guilty of a mere folly in pushing into strong re- lief that which confessedly cannot support it. If it is, then how incredible that a thought strongly conceived, and bearing about it the impress of one s own individuality, should naturally, and without dissimulation or falsehood, bend to another mans expression of it! Simply to back ones own view by a similar view derived from another may be useful a quotation that repeats ones own senti- ment, but in a varied form, has the grace which belongs to the idem in alio, the same radical idea expressed with a difference ; similarity in dissimi- larity ; but to throw ones own thoughts, matter, and form, through alien organs so absolutely as to make another roan ones interpreter for evil and good, is either to confess a singular laxity of thinking that can so flexibly adapt itself to any casual form of word, or else to confess that sort of carelesamiess about the expression which draws its real origin from a sense of indifThrence about the things to be expressed. Utterly at war this distressing practice is with all simplicity and ear- nestness of writing it argues a state of indolent ease inconsistent with the pressure and coercion (if strong fermentiub thoughts, befbre we caim be at leisure for idle or chance quotations. But last- ly, in reference to No. 2, we must add that the practice is signally dishonest. It trails after it a line of golden associations. Yes, and the burglar, who leaves an army-tailors after a mid- night visit, trails after him perhaps a long roll of gold bullion epaulettes which may look pretty by lamp-light. But diet, in the present condition of moral phi- losophy amongst the police, is accounted robbery. Arid to benefit too much by quotations is little less. At this moment we have in our eye a word, at one time not withotit celebrity, which is one continued cenlo of splendid passages from other people. The natural effect from so much fine writing isthat the reader rises with the im- pression of having been enga~ed upon a most elo- quent work. Meantime the whole is a series of mosaics a tessellation made up from borrowed fragments and first, when the readers attention is expressly directed upon the fact, he becomes aware that the nomimial atithor has contributed nothing more to the book than a few passages of transition or brief clauses of con nection. In the year 1796 the iain incident occurring of any importance for Englisjm literature was the publication by Southey of an epic poem. This poem, the Joan of Arc, was the earliest work of much pretension amon at all that Southey wrote amid by many degrees it was the worst. In the four great narrative poems of his later years, there is a combination of two strikimig qualities, viz., a peculiar command over the visually splen- did, connected with a deep-toned grandeur of mor- al pathos. Especially we find this union imi the Thalaba and the Roderick; but in the Joan of Arc we miss it. What splendor there is for the fancy and the eye belongs chiefly to the Vision, contrib- uted by Coleridge, and this was subsequently withdrawn. The fault lay in Southeys political relations at that era ; his sympathy with tho revolution in its earlier stages had been boundless in all respects it was a noble sympa- thy, fading only as the gorgeous colorimig faded from the emblaxonries of that awful event, droop- ing omdy when the promises of that golden dawn sickened under stationary eclipse. In 1796 Southey was yet under the tyranny of his own earliest fas- cination in his eyes the revolution had suffered a mtuomentary blight from refluxes of hianic hut blight of some kind is incident to every harvest on which human hopes are suspended. Bad augu- ries were also ascending from the unchaining of martial instincts. But that the revolutiomin, having ploughed its way through umiparalleled storms, was preparing to face other storms, did but quicken CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. ~he apprehensiveness of his lovedid but quicken the duty of giving utterance to this love. Hence came the rapid composition of the poem, which cost less time in writing than in printing. Hence, also, came the choice of his heroine. What he needed in his central character wasa heart with a capacity for the wrath of Hebrew prophets ap- plied to ancient abuses, and for evangelic pity ap- plied to the sufferings of nations. This heart, with this double capacitywhere should he seek it A French heart it must be, or how should it follow with its sympathies a French movement? There lay Sootheys reason for adopting the Maid of Orleans as the depositary of hopes and aspira- tions on behalf of France as fervid as his own. In choosing this heroine, so inadequately known at that time, Southey testified at least his own nobility of feeling ; * but in executing his choice, he and his friends overlooked two faults fatal to his purpose. One was this sympathy with the French revolution meant sympathy with the open- ing prospects of manmeant sympathy with the Pariah of every climewith all that suffered so- cial wrong, or saddened in hopeless bondage. That was the movement at work in the French Revolution. But the movement of Joanne dAre took a different direction. In her day also, it is true, the human heart had yearned after the same vast enfranchisement for the children of labor as afterwards worked in the great vision of the French Revolution. In her days also, and shortly before them, the human hand had sought by bloody acts to realize this dream of the heart. And in her childhood, Joanna had not been insensible to these premature motions upon a path too bloody and too dark to be safe. But this view of human misery had been utterly absorbed to her by the special misery then desolating France. The lilies of France had been trampled under foot by the con- quering stranger. Within fifty years, in three pitched battles that resounded to the ends of the earth, the chivalry of France had been exterminated. her oriflamme had been dragged through the dust. The eldest son of Baptism had been prostrated. The daughter of France had been surrendered on coercion as a bride to her English conqueror. The child of that marriage, so ignomir~ious to the land, was King of France by the consent of Chris- tendom; that childs uncle domineered as regent of France ; and that childs armies were in military possession of the land. But were they undisputed masters? No; and there precisely lay the sorrow of the time. Under a perfect conquest there would have been repose; whereas the presence of the English armies did but furnish a plea, masking itself in patriotism, for gatherings everywhere of lawless marauders ; of soldiers that had deserted their banners; and of robbers by profession. This was the woe of France more even than the military dishonor. That dishonor had been palliated from the first by the genealogical pretensions of the English royal family to the French throne, and these pretensions were strengthened in the person of the present claimant. But the military desola- tion of France, this it was that woke the faith of Joanna in her own heavenly mission of deliver- ance. It was the attitude of her prostrate country, crying night and day for purification from blood, and not from feudal oppression, that swallowed up the thoughts of the impassioned girl. But that was not the cry that uttered itself afterwards in the French Revolutioti. In Joannas days, the first step towards rest for France was by expulsion of the foreigner. Independence of a foreigtt yoke, liberation as between people and people, was the one ransom to be paid for French honor and peace. That debt settled, there might come a time for thinking of civil liberties. But this time was not within the prospects of the poor shepherdess. The fieldthe area of her sympathies never coin- cided with that of the revolutionary period. It followed, therefore, that Southey could trot have raised Joanna (with her condition of feeling) by any management, into the interpreter of his own. That was the first error in his poetn, and it was irremediable. The second was, and strangely enough this also escaped notice, that the heroine of Soutbey is made to close her career precisely at the point when its grandeur commetmees. She believed herself to have a mission for the deliver- ance of France; and the great instrument which she was authorized to use towards this end, was * It is right to remind the reader of this, for a reason applying forcibly to the present moment. Michelet has taxed Englishmen with yielding to national animosities in the case of Joan, having no plea whatever for that in- sinuation but the single one dra~vn from Shakspeares Henry VI. To this the answer isfirst, that Shak- speares share in that trilogy is not nicely ascertained. Secondly, that M. Michelet forgot (or, which is far worse, emot forgetting it, he dissembled) the fact, that in under- taking a series of dramas upon time basis avowedly of us- tiomial chronicles, and br the very purpose of profiting by old traditionary recollections connected with ancestral glories, it was mere lunacy to recast the circumstances at the bidding of antiquarian research, so as entirely to disturb these glories. Besides that, to Shakspeares age no such spirit of research had blossomed. Writing for the stage a mains would have risked lapidation by uttering a whisper in that direction. Amid, even if not, ahnt sense conid there have been in openly miming counter to the verr motive that had originally prompted that particular cc of chronicla plays? Thirdly, if one Englishman had, in a memorable situatiomi, adopted the pop~ilar view of Joans conduct, (popular as niuch mu France as in Emm~- land;) on the other hand, fifty years be(bre M. Michelet was writing this flagrant injustice, ammother Englishman (viz. Southey) had, in an epic poem, reversed this mis- judgment, amd invested the shepherd girl with a glory nowhere else accorded to her, unless indeed by Schiller. Fourthiy, we are not entitled to view as an attack upon Joanna, what, in the worst comistruction, is but an umiex- amining adoption of the contemporary historical accoumits. A poet or a dramatist is not responsible for the accuracy of chronicles. But what is an attack upomi Joan. being briefly the foulest and obseemmest attemlit ever made to stifle the grandeur of a great human struggle, viz., tue French burlesque poem of La Puice/tewhat memorable I the king, Charles Vil. Him she was to crown. man was it that wrote that? Was he a Frenchman orj W this coronati was he not? That M. Michelet should pretend to have I ith on her triumph, in the plain his for~otten this vilest of pasquinades, is more shocking to tormeal sense, ended. And there ends Southeys the general sense of justice thamin any special untruth as to Shnkspeare can be to the particular nationality of a~ poem. But exactly at this point, the grander Englishman. stage of her mission commences, viz., the ransom 58 CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. 59 which she, a solitary girl, paid in her own person for a Fellow Remarkably Stupid ; to which versioa for the national deliverance. The grander half of of the three letters our English epitaph alludes. the story was thus sacrificed, as being irrelevant The French original of Piron is this to Southeys political object; and yet, after all, Ci git Piron ; qui ne fut rien; the half which he retained did not at all symbolize Pas maine acaddmicien. that object. It is singular, indeed, to find a long The bitter arrow of the second line was feathered poem, on aii ancient subject, adapting itself hiero- to hit the French Acad~mie, who had declined to glyphically to a modern purpose; 2dly, to find it elect him a member. Our translation is this failing of this purpose; and thirdly, if it had not failed, so planned that it could have succeeded Here lies Piron; who wasnothing; or, if that only by a sacrifice of all that was grandest in the could be, was less: theme. How nothing Yes, nothing; not so much as F. R. S. 170 these capital oversights Southey, Coleridge, ~nd Lamb, were all joint parties; the two first as But now to our friends memorandum concerned in the composition, the last as a frank October 6,1843. though friendly reviewer of it in his private cor- Mv DEAR X.You ask me for some memorial, respondence with Coleridge. It is, however, some however trivial, of any dinner party, supper party, palliation of these oversights, and a very singular water-partyno matter whatthat I can circum- fact in itself, that neither from English authorities stantially recall to recollection, by any features i~or from French, though the two nations were whatever, puns or repartees, wisdom or wit, con- equally brought into close connection with the ca- necting it with Charles Lamb. I grieve to say tha4 reer of that extraordinary girl, could any adequate my meetings of any sort with Lamb were few, view be obtained of her character and acts. The though spread through a score of years. That official records of her trial, apart from which noth- sounds odd for one that loved Lamb so entirely, and ing can be depended upon, were first in the course so much venerated his character. But the reason of publication from the Paris press during the cur- was, that I so seldom visited London, and Lamb so rency of last year. First in 1847, about four seldom quitted it. Somewhere about 1810 aM hundred and sixteen years after her ashes had been 1812 I must have met Lam.b repeatedly at the Cou~ dispersed to the winds, could it be seen distinctly, ncr Office in the Strand; that is, at Coleridges, to through the clouds of fierce partisanships and na- whom, as an intimate friend, Mr. Stuart (a proprie- tional prejudices, what had been the frenzy of the tar of the paper) gave up for a time the use of some persecution against her, and the utter desolation of rooms in the office. Thither, in the London season, her positionwhat had been the grandeur of her (May especially and June,) resorted Lamb, God- conscientious resistance. win, Sir H. Davy, and, once or twice, Wordsworth, Anxious that our readers should see Lamb from who visited Sir George Beaumonts Leicestershire as many angles as possible, we have obtained from residence of Coleorton early in the spring, and then an old friend of his a memorialslight, but such travelled up to Grosvenor Square with Sir George as the circumstances allowedof an evening spent and Lady Beaumont; speetatum veniens, veniens with Charles and Mary Lamb, in the winter of spectetur ut ipse. 18~2l52. The record is of the most unambitious But in these miscellaneous gatherings, Lamb character ; it pretends to nothing, as the reader will said little, except when an opening arose for a seenot so much as to a pun, which it really re- pun. And how effectual that sort of small shot quired some singularity of luck to have missed was from him, I need not say to anybody who re- from Charles Lamb, who often continued to fire members his infirmity of stammering, and his puns, as minute guns, all through the evening, dexterous management of it for pnrposes of light But the more unpretending this record is, the more and shade. He was often able to train the roll appropriate it becomes by that very fact to the of stammers into settling upon the words imme- memory of him who, amongst all authors, was the diately preceding the effective one ; by which humblest and least pretending. We have often means the key-note of the jest or sarcasm, bene- thought that the famous epitaph written for his fiting by the sudden liberation of his embargoed grave by Piron, the cynical author of La Metro- voice, was delivered with the force of a pistol- manic, mi~lmt have come from Lamb, were it not shot. That stammer was worth an annuity to for one objection ; Lambs benign heart would him as an ally of his wit. Firing under cover of have recoiled from a sarcasm, however effective, in- that advantage he did triple execution; for, in the scribed upon a grave-stone ; or from a jest, how- first place, the distressing sympathy of the hearers ever playful, that tended to a vindictive sneer with his distress of utterance won for him una- amongst his o~vn farewell words. We once voidably the silence of deep attention; an.d then, translated this Piron epitaph into a kind of rambling whilst he had us all hoaxed into this attitude of Drayton couplet; and the only poimit needing ex- m.ute suspense by an appearance of distress that planation isthat, from the accident of scientific he perhaps did not really feel, down came a men, Fellows of the Royal Society being usually plmmuging shot into the very thick of us with ten very solemn men, with an extra chance, therefore, times the effect it would else have had. If his for being dull men in conversation, naturally it stammering however often did him true yen- arose that some wit amongst our great-grandfathers mimamis service, sometimes it led him imito scrapes translated F. R. S. into a short-hand expression Coleridge told me of a ludicrous embarrassmeo.t CHARLES LAMB AND IllS FRIENDS. which it caused him ~t Hastings. Lamb had been medically advised to a course of sea-bathing; and accordingly at the door of his bathbjg machine, whilst he stood shivering with cold, two stout fel- lows laid hold of him, one at each shoulder, like heraldic supporters; they waited for the word of command from their principal, who began the fol- lowing oration to them: Hear me; men! Take notice of this--J am to be dipped. What more he would have said is unknown to laud or sea or bathing machines; for having reached the word dipped, he commenced such a rolling fire of Di dididi, that when at length he descended J plomh upon the full word dipped, the two men, rather tired of the long suspense, became satisfied that they had reached what lawyers call the op- erative clause of tIme sentence ; and both exclaim- ing at once, Oh yes, sir, we re quite aware of thetdown they plunged him into the sea. On emerging, Lamb sobbed so much from the cold, that he found no voice suitable to his indignation froum necessity he seemed tranquil; and a~ain ad- dressing the men, who stood respectfully listening, he began thus : Men ! is it possible to obtain your attention ?~ Oh surely, sir, by all means. ~ listen : once more I tell you, I am to be dididiand then, with a burst of indigna- tion, dipped, I tell you Oh decidedly, sir, rejoined the men, decidedlyand down the stammerer went for time second time. Petrified with cold and wrath, once more Lamb made a fee- ble attempt at explanation Grant me papa patience; is it mumnmmurder you meme mean? A0ain and agagagain, I tell you, I m to be didididipped, no speaking fu- riously, with the voice of an injured man. Oh yes, sir, the men replied, we know thatwe fully understood itand for the third time down went Lamb into the sea. Oh limbs of Satan! he said, on coming up for the third time, its now too late; I tell you that I amno, that I wasto be didididipped only once. Since the rencontres with Lamb at Coleridges I had umet him once or twice at literary dinner parties. One of these occurred at the house of Messrs. Taylor and Hessey, the publishers. I myself was suffering too much from illness at the time to take any pleasure in what passed, or to notice it with any vigilance of attention. Lamb, I remember, as usual, was full of gayety ; and as usual he rose too rapidly to the zenith of his gayety; for he shot upwards like a rocket, and, as usual, lmem~ple said he was tipsy. To me Lamb never seemed intoxicated, but at most adrily eleva- ted. He never talked ~nonsense, which is a great point gained ; nor polemically, which is a greater; fiinr it is a dreadful thing to find a drunken man bent upon converting oneself; nor sentimental- ly, which is greatest of all. You can stand a mans fraternizing with you; or if he swears an eternal friendshiponly once in an hour, you do ivot think of calling the police ; but once in every three minutes is too much. Lam.nb did none of these things; he was always rational, quiet, and gentlemanly in his habits. Nothing memorable, I am sure, passed upon this occasion, which was in November of 1821 ; and yet the dinner was mem- orable by means of one fact not discovered until many years later. Amongst the company, all lit- erary men, sate a murderer, and a murderer of a freezing class; cool, calculating, wholesale in his operations, and moving all along under the advan- tages of unsuspecting domestic confidence and do- mestic opportunities. This was Mr. Wainwright, who was subsequently brought to trial, but not for any of his murders, amid transl)orted for life. The story has been told both by Sergeant Talfourd, in the second volume of these Final Memoirs, and previously by Sir Edward B. Lytton. Both have been much blamed for the use made of this extraor- dinary case; but we know not why. In itself it is a most remarkable case for more reasons than one. It is remarkable for the appalling revela- tion which it makes of power spread through tIme hands of people not liable to suspicion, for pur- poses the most dreadful. It is remarkable also by the contrast which existed in this case between the murderer~s appearance and the terrific purposes with which he was always dallying. He was a contributor to a journal in which I also had writ- ten several papers. This formed a shadowy link between us; and, ill as I was, I looked more at- tentively at him than at anybody else. Yet there were several men of wit and genius present, amongst whom Lamb (as I have said) and Thomas Hood, Hamilton Reynolds, and Allan Cunning- ham. But them I already knew, whereas Mr. W. I now saw for the first time and the last. What interested me about him was thisthe pa- pers which had been pointed out to me as his (signed Janus Weathercoek, Vinhhooms, & c.) were written imm a spirit of coxcombry that did not so nauch disgust as amuse. Time writer could not conceal the ostentatious pleasure which he took in the luxuriotis fittings-up of his ronums, in the fancied splendor of his bijouteric, & c. Yet it was easy for a man of any experience to read two facts in all this idle ~1alageone being, that his finery was but of a second-rate order; the other, that he was a parvenu, not at home even amongst his second-rate splendor. So far there was nothing to distimmguish Mr. XV s papers from the papers of other trifiers. Bmmt in this poimmt there was, viz., that in his judgments upon the great Italian masters of painting, Da Vinci, Titian, & c., there seemed a tone of simicerity and of native sen- sibility, as in one who spoke from himself, and was not merely a copier from books. This it was that interested me ; as also his reviews of tIme chief Italian engraversMorghen, Vol pato, & c. not for the manner, which overflowed with levities and impertinence, but for time smmbstance of his judgments in those cases where I happened to have had an opportunity of judging fir myself. Here arose also a claim upon Lambs attemimion ; for Lamb and his sister had a deep feeling for what was excellent in painting. Accordimugly Lamb paid him a great deal of attention, and continued ~6O CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. 61 to speak of him for years with an interest that seemed disproportioned to his pretensions. This might he owing in part to an indirect compliment paid to Miss Lamb in one of Ws papers else his appearance would rather have repelled Lamb; it was commonplace, and hetter suited to express the dandyism which overspread the sur- face of his manner than the unaffected sensibility which apparently lay in his nature. Dandy or not, however, this man, on account of the schism in his papers, so much amiable puppyism on one side, so much deep feeling on the other, (feeling, applied to some of the grandest objects that earth has to show,) did really move a trifle of interest in me. on a day when 1 hated the face of man and woman. Yet again, if I had known this man for the murderer that even then he was, what sudden loss of interestwhat sudden growth of another interest, would have changed the face of that party Trivial creature, that didst carry thy dreadful eye kindling with perpetual treasons Dreadful creature, that didst carry thy trivial eye, mantling with eternal levity, over the sleeping surfaces of confiding household lifeoh, what a revolution for man wouldst thou have accomplished had thy deep wickedness prospered What was that wickedness In a few words I ~ill say. At this time (October, 1848) the whole British island is appalled by a new chapter in the history of poisoning. Locusta in ancient Rome, Madame Brinvilliers in Paris, were people of original ge- nius; not in any new artifice of toxicology, not in the mere management of poisons, was the audacity of their genius displayed. No ; but in profiting by domestic openings for murder, unsuspected through their very atrocity. Such an opening was made some years ago hy those who saw the possibility of founding purses for parents upon the murder of their children. This was done upon a larger scale than had been suspected, and upon a plausible pretence. To bury a corpse is costly but of a hundred children only a few, in the ordi- nary course of mortality, will die within a given time. Five shillings apiece will produce 25 annually, and that will bury a considerable unto- her. On this principle arose Infant J3urial Socie- ties. For a few shillings annually, a parent could secure a funeral for every child. If the child died, a few guineas fell due to the parent, and the funeral was accomplished without cost of his. But on this arose the suggestionWhy not execute an insurance of this nature twenty times over? One single insurance pays for the funeral the other nineteen are so much clear gain, a lucro ponatur, for the parents. Yes; but on the supposition that the child died! twenty are no better than one, unless they are gathered into the garner. Now, if the child died naturally, all was right; hot how, if the child did not die? Why, clearly this the child that can die, and wont die, may be made to die. There are many ways of doing that; and it is shocking to know, that according to recent discoveries, poison is compara- tively a very mcrciful mode of murder. Six years a~o a dre~ dful communication wa made to the public by a medical man, viz., that three thousand children were annually burned to (lentil under circumstances showin~ too clearly that they had been left by their mothers with the n~e~ns arid the temptations to set themselves on fire in her ab- sence. But more shocking, because more linger- lug, are the deaths by artificial appliances of wet, cold, hunger, bad diet, and disturbed sleep, to the frail constitutions of children. By that machinery it is, and not by poison, that the majority qualify themselves for claiming the funeral allowances. Here, however, there occur to any man, on reflec- tion, two eventual restraints on the extenston of this domestic curse 1st, as there is no pretext for wantin~ more than one funeral on account of one child, any insurances beyond one are in them- selves a ground of suspicion. Now, if any plan were devised for securing the publication of such insurances, the suspicions would travel as fast as the grounds for them. 2dly, it occurs, that event- ually the evil checks itself, since a society estab- lished on the ordinary rates of mortality would be ruined when a murderous stimulation was applied to that rate too extensively. Still it is certain that, for a season, this atrocity has prospered in manu- facturing districts for some years, and mo.e recent- ly, as judicial investigations have shown, in one agricultural district of Essex. Now, Mr. Ws scheme of murder was, in its outline, the very same, but not applied to the narrow purpose of obtaining burials from a public fond. he per- suaded, for instance, two beautiful ynun~ h dies, visitors in his family, to insure their lives for a short period of two years. This insurance was repeated in several different offices, until a sum of 18,000 had been secured in the event of their deaths within the two years. Mr. W took care that they should die, and very suddenly, within that period ; arid then, having previously secured from his victims an assi2nment to himself of this claim, he endeavored ti~ make this assignment available. But the offices, which had vainly en- deavored to extract from the young ladies any satisfactory account of the reasons for this iirtuited insurance, had their suspicions at last strongly roused. One office had recently experienced a case of the same nature, in which also the young lady had been poisoned by the man in whose be- half she had effocted the insurance ; all the offices declined to pay ; actions at law arose ; in the course of the investigation which followed, Mr. W s character was fully e~iposed. Finally, in the midst of the embarrassments which ensued, he committed forgery, and was transported. From this Mr. W , some few days after- wards, I received an invitation to a dinner party, expressed in terms that were obligingly earnest. He mentioned the names of his principal guests, and amongst them rested most upon those of Lamb and Sir David Wilkie. From an accident I was unable to attend, and greatly re.rerted it. Sir David one mi& ht rarely happen to see except at a crowded party. But as regarded Lamb,J. CHARLES LAMB AND HIS FRIENDS. was sure to see him or to hear of him again in some way or other within a short time. This opportunity, in fact, offered itself within a month through the kindness of the Lambs themselves. They had heard of my being in solitary lodgings, and insisted on my coming to dine with them, which more than once 1 did in the winter of 18212. The mere reception by the Lambs was so full of goodness and hospitable feeling, that it kindled animation in the most cheerless or torpid of inva- lids. I cannot imagine that any memorabilia oc- curred during the visit; but I will use the time that would else be lost upon the settling of that point, in putting down any triviality that occurs to my recollection. Both Lamb and myself had a furious love for nonsense; headlong nonsense. Excepting Professor Wilson, I have known no- body who had the same passion to the same ex- tent. And things of that nature better illustrate the realities of Lambs social life than the gravi- ties which weighing so sadly on his solitary hours he sought to banish from his moments of relaxa- tion. There were no strangers; Charles Lamb, his sister, and mysalf made up the party. Even this was done in kindness. They knew that I should have been oppressed by an effort such as must be made in the society of strangers; and they placed me by their own fireside, where I could say as little or as much as I pleased. We dined about five oclock, and it was one of the hospitalities inevitable to the Lambs, that any game which they might receive from rural friends in the course of the week, was reserved for the day of a friends dining with them. In regard to wine, Lamb and myself had the same habitperhaps it rose to the dignity of a principleviz., to take a great deal during dinner none after it. Consequently, as Miss Lamb (who drank only water) retired almost with the dinner itself, nothing remained for men of our prin- ciples, the rigor of which we had illustrated by taking rather too much of old port before the cloth was drawn, except talking; amab~an colloquy, or, in Dr. Johnsons phrase, a dialogue of brisk reciprocation. But this was impossible; over Lamb, at this period of his life, there passed regu- larly, after taking ~vine, a brief eclipse of sleep. It descended upon him as softly as a shadow. In a gross person, laden with superfluous flesh, and Bleeping heavily, this would have been disagreea- ble; but in Lamb, thin even to meagreness, spare and ~viry as an Arab of the desert, or as Thomas Aquinas, wasted by scholastic vigils, the affection of sleep seemed rather a network of aerial gossa- mer than of earthly cobwebmore like a golden haze falling upon him gently from the heavens than a cloud exhaling upwards from the flesh. Motion- less in his chair as a bust, breathing so gently as scarcely to seem certainly alive, he presented the image of repose midway between life and death, like the repose of sculpture; and to one who knew his history a repose affectingly contrasting with the calamities and internal storms of his life. I have heard more persons than I can now distinctly re- call, observe of Lamb when sleeping, that his countenance in that state assumed an expression almost seraphic, from its intellectual beauty of out- line, its childlike simplicity, and its benignity. It could not be called a transfiguration that sleep had worked in his face; for the features wore essen- tially the same expression when waking; but sleep spiritualized that expression, exalted it, and also harmonized it. Much of the change lay in that last process. The eyes it was that disturbed the unity of effect in Lambs waking face. They gave a restlessness to the character of his intellect, shift- ing, like northern lights, through every mode of combination with fantastic playfulness, and some- times by fiery gleams obliterating for the moment that pure light of benignity which was the pre- dominant reading on his features. Some people have supposed that Lamb had Jewish blood in his veins, which seemed to account for his gleaming eyes. It might be so; but this notion found little countenance in Lambs own way of treating the gloomy media~val traditions propagated throughout Europe about the Jews, and their secret enmity to Christian races. Lamb, indeed, might not be more serious than Shakspeare is supposed to have been in his Shylock ; yet he spoke at times as from a station of wilful bigotry, and seemed (whether laughingly or not) to sympathize with the barba- rous Christian superstitions upon the pretended bloody practices of the Jews, and of the early Jew- ish physicians. Being himself a Lincoln man, he treated Sir Hugh* of Lincoln, the young child that suffered death by secret assassination in the Jewish quarter rather than suppress his daily anthems to the Virgin, as a true historical personage o~n the rolls of martyrdom; careless that this fable, like that of the apprentice murdered out of jealousy by his master, the architect, had destroyed its own authority by ubiquitous diffusion. All over Eu- rope the same legend of the murdered apprentice and the martyred child reappears under different namesso that in effect the verification of the tale is none at all, because it is unanimous ; is too nar- row, because it is too impossibly broad. Lamb~ however, though it was often hard to say whether he were not secretly laughing, swore to the truth of all these old fables, and treated the liberaliti ~ of the present generation on such points as mere fantastic and effeminate affectations, which, no doubt, they often are as regards the sincerity of those who profess them. The bigotry, which it pleased his fancy to assume, he used like a sword against the Jew, as the official weapon of the Christian, upon the same principle that a Capulet would have drawn upon a Montague, without con- ceiving it any duty of his to rip tip the ground. of so ancient a quarrel; it was a feud handed down to him by his ancestors, and it was their business to see that originally it had been an * The story which furnishes a basis to the fine ballad in Percys 1{eliques, and to the Canterbury Tale of Chae~ cers Lady Abbess. 62 CHARLES LAMB AND IllS FRIENDS. honest feud. I cannot yet believe that Lamb, if seriously aware of ally family interconnection with Jewish blood, would, even in jest, have held that one-sided language. More probable it is, that the fiery eye recorded not any alliance with Jewish blood, but that disastrous alliance with insanity which tainted his own life, and laid desolate his sisters. On awakening from his brief slumber, Lamb sat for some time in profound silence, and then, with the most startling rapidity, sang out Did- dle, diddle, duinpkins ; not looking at me, but as if soliloquizing. For five minutes he relapsed into the same deep silence; from which again he start- ed up into the same abrupt utterance of Did- dle, diddle, dumpkins. I could not help laughing aloud at the extreme energy of this sudden commu- nication, contrasted wit.h the deep silence that went before and followed. Latnb smilingly begged to know what I was laughing at and with a look of as much surprise as if it were I that had done something unaccountable, and not himself. I told him (as was the truth) that there had suddenly occurred to me the possibility of my being in some future period or other called on to give an account of this very evening before some literary commit- tee. The committee might say to me(sup- posing the case that I outlived him) You dined with Mr. Latnb in January, 1822 ; now, can you remember any remark or memorable observa- tion which that celebrated man made before or after dinner 3 I as respondent. Oh yes, I can. Corn. What was it 3 Resp. Diddle, diddle, dumpkins. Corn. And was this his only observation Did Mr. Lamb not strengthen this remark by some other of the same nature 3 Resp. Yes, he did. Corn. And what was it 3 Resp. Diddle, diddle, dumpkins. Corn. What is your secret opinion of Dump- lcins3 Do ~OU conceive Dumpkins to have been a thing or a person 3 Rasp. I conceive Dumpkins to have been a person, having the rights of a person. C~om. Capable, for instance, of suing and be- iri~ sued 3 I?esp. Yes, capable of both; though I have reason to think there would have been very little use in suing Dumphins 3 Com. How so 3 Are the committee to un- derstand that you, the respondent, in your own ease have found it a vain speculation, countenanced only by visionary lawyers, to sue Dumpkins 3 Resp. No; I never lost a shilling by Dump- kins, the reason for which may be that Dumpkins never owed me a shilling; but from his prwno- men of diddle I apprehend that he was too well acquainted with joint-stock companies ! Corn. And your opinion is, that he may have diddled Mr. Lamb 3 Resp. I conceive it to be not unlikely. Corn. And, perhaps, from Mr. Lambs pa- thetic reiteration of his name, Diddle, diddle, yos would bo disposed to infer that Dumpkins had practised his diddling talents upon Mr. L. more than once 3 Resp. I think it probable. Lamb laughed, and brightened up ; tea was announced ; Miss Lamb returned. The cloud had passed away from Lambs spirits, and again he realized the pleasure of evening, which, in his ap- prehension, was so essential to the pleasure of lit- erature. On the table lay a copy of Wordsworth, in two volumes ; it was the edition of Longman, printed about the time of Waterloo. Wordsworth was held in little consideration, I believe, amongst the house of Longman ; at any rate, their editions of his works were got up in the most slovenly man- ner. In particular, the table of contents ivas drawn up like a short-hand bill of parcels. By accident the book lay open at a part of this table., where the sonnet beginning Alas! what boots the long laborious quest had been entered with mercantile speed, as Alas! what boots, Yes, said Lamb, reading this entry in a dolorous tone of voice, he may well say that. 1 paid libby three guineas for a pair that tore like blotting paper, when I was leaping a ditch to es- cape a farmer that pursued me with a pitch-fork for trespassing. But why should W. wear boots in Westmoreland 3 Pray, advise him to patronize shoes. The mercurialities of Lamb were infinite ; and always uttered in a spirit of absolute recklessness for the quality or tile prosperity of the sally. Is seelned to liberate his spirits from some burthes of blackest Inelancholy which oppressed it, wheh he had thrown off a jest: I~e would not stop one instant to improve it ; nor did he care the value of a straw whether it were good enough to be re- membered, or so mediocre as to extort high moral indignation from a collector who refused to re- ceive into his collection of jests and puns any thai were not felicitously goud or revoltingly bad. After tea, Lamb read to me a number of beauti- ful compositions which he had himself taken the trouble to copy out into a blank paper folio frors llnsuccessful authors. Neglected people in every class won the sympathy of Lamb. One of the poems, I remember, was a very beautiful sonnet from a volume recently published by Lord Thur- lowwhich, and Lambs just remarks upon it. I could almost repeat verbatim at this mument~ nearly twenty-seven years later, if your litnits would allow me. But these, you tell tl~e, allow of no such thing; at the utmost they allow only twelve lines more. Now all the world knows that the sonnet itself would reqtiire fourteen lines but take fourteen from twelve, and there remains very little, I fear ; besides which, I am afraid two of my twelve are already exhausted. This forc~e me to interrupt my account of Lambs reading by 63 CHARLES LAMB AND illS FRIENDS. reporting the very accident that did interrupt it in fact since that no less characteristically ex- pressed Lambs peculiar spirit of kindness, (always qoickeuin~ itself towards the ill-used or the down- trodden,) than it had previously expressed itself in his choice of obscure readings. T~vo ladies came in, one of xvhom at least had sunk in the scale of woririly consideration. They ere ladies who would not have found much recreation in literary discussions; elderly, and habitually depressed. On iheir account, Lamb proposed whistand in that kind effort to amuse them, which naturally drew forth some momentary gayeties from himself, but not of a kind to impress themselves on the rec- ollection, the evening terminated. We have left ourselves no room for a special examination of Lambs writings, some of which were failures, and some were so memorably beau- tiful as to be uniques in their class. The charac- ter of Lamb it is, and the life-stro gie of Lamb, that. most fix the attention of many, even amongst those wanting in sensibility to his intellectual merits. This character and this struggle, ~s we have already observed, impress many traces of themselves upon Lambs writings. Even in that view, therefore, they have a ministerial value but separately, for themselves, they have an inde- pendent value of the hi~best order. Upon this point we gladly adopt the eloquent words of Ser- geant Talfourd The sweetness of Lambs character, breathed through his writings, was felt even by strangers but its heroic aspect was unguessed even by many of his friends. Let them now consider it, and ask if the annals of self-sacrifice can show anything in human action and endurance more lovely than its self-devotion exhibits It was not merely that he saw, thron h the eusanguined cloud of misfortune wnicb had fallen upon his family, the unstained ex- cellence of his sister, whose madness had caused it; that he was ready to take her to his own home witla reverential affection, and cherish her through life ; and he gave up, for her sake, all meaner and more selfish love, and all the hopes ~bich youth blends with the passion which disturbs and eunobles it; not even that he did all this cheerfully, arid without pluming himself upon his brotheri t noble- ness as a virtue, or seeking to repay hr ~melf (as some uneasy martyrs do) by smdl instsmrneuts of long repining but that he carried the ~piit of the hour in which he first knew and took h15 course to his last. So far from thinkiu~ that los ~acruce of youth and love to his sister gave him a license to follow his own caprice at the expense of her feel- ings, even in the lightest matters, he always wrote and spoke of her as Iris wiser self, his generous benefactress, of whios& protecting care he was ecareely worthy. It must be remembered, also, which the Ser- geant does not overlook, that Lambs efforts for the becoming support of his sister lasted through a period of forty years. Twelve years before his death, the munificence of the India House, by granting him a liberal retiring allowance, had placed his own support under shelter from acci- dents of any kind. But this died with himself; and he could not venture to suppose, that in the event of his own death, the India House would grant to his sister the same allowance as by custom is grant- ed to a wife. This they did ; but not venturing to clculate upon such nobility of patronage, Lamb had applied himself through life to the sav- ing of a provision for his Jster under any accident to himself. And this lie did with a persevering prudence, so little known in the literary class, amongst a continued teiior of generoities, often so princely as to be scarcely known in any class. Was this man, so memorably good by life-long sacrifice of hiiniself, iii any profound sense a Chris- tian The ii pre~sion isthat he was snot. We, from private communications with him, can under- take to say that, according to his knowledge and opportunities for the study of Christianity, lie was. What has injured Lamb on this point isthat his early opiiiions (which, however, from the first were united with the deepest piety) are read by the in- attentive, as if they had been the opinions of his mature days ; secondly, that lie had few religious persons amongst his friends, which made him re- served in the expression of his own vie s ; third- ly, that in any case where he altered opinions fur the better, the credit of the im;)rovenieut is assigned to Coleridge. Lamb, for exaurple, he- ginning life as a Unitarian, in not many years be- came a Trinitarian. Coleridge passed through the same changes in the same order; am)(h, here at least, Lamb is supposed simply to have obeyed thin influence, confessedly great, of Coleridge. This. on our own knowledge of Lambs views, we pro nounce to be an error. And tIne fohhowiing cx tracts from L~mbs letters will shownot only that he was religiously disposed on impulses self derived, but that, so far from ebeyin~, tIme hmias of Coleridge, he ventured, on this one suinjeet, firmly as regarded the matter, though humbly as regard- ed the manner, affectionately to reprove Coleridge. In a letter to Coleridge, xv itten in I ~h7, the year after his first great affliction, he ~ays Coleridge, I have not one truly elevated charac- ter amori~ my acqoaint?rnee not our C hri~tian not ouc but undervahues C hur tianity. Sngly, what a n I to do XYe~lex [hr ye you read his hife?]~~ s not be n elevrtcd ehrracrer1 XYe hey hors san(l r hignon xx s not solitary tnn~nr Alas it is mmrc~sariiy so w .mh icr. or next to solit ry. T is t i~ a on mite to roe but corre~pondence by letter 511(1 person ml intimacy are widely duffi rent. Do, do write to me ; and rho some good to my mind ahreadv bow iiiiicia xvarped and relaxed by the world Iii a letter written about three months previously, he had not scrupled to blame Colerinige at some hengtlr frmr audacities of religious speculation, which seemed to him at war within the simplicities of pure religion. He says Do continue to write to moe. I read your letters with my sister, amid they give u. both abundance of delight. Especially they please irs two when you talk in a religious strain. Not but we are offemided occasiommahly with a certain freedotri of ex 64 AN ACTRESSKNOWLEDGEIGNORANCE. 65 pression, a certain air of mysticis m, more consonant to the conceits of pagan philosophy than consistent with the humility of genuine piety. Then, after some instances of what he blames, he says Be not angry with me, Coleridge. I wish not to cavil; I know I cannot instruct you I only wish to remind you of that humility which hest he- cometh the Christian character. God, in the New Testament, our best guide, is represented to us in the kind, condescending, amiable, familiar light of a parent ; and, in my poor mind, tis best for us so to consider him as our heavenly Father, and our hest friend, without indulging too hold conceptions of his character. About a month later, he says Few but laugh at me for reading my testament. rrhey talk a language I understand not; I conceal sentiments that would be a puzzle to them. We see by this last quotation where it was that. Lamb originally sought for consolation. We per- sonally can vouch that, at a maturer period, when he was approaching his fiftieth year, no change had affected his opinions upon that point; and, on the other hand, that no changes had occurred in his needs for consolation, we see, alas! in the rec- ords of his life. Whither, indeed, could he fly for comfort, if not to his Bible And to whom was the Bible an indispensable resource, if not to Lamb? We do not undertake to say, that in his knowledge of Christianity he was everywhere profound or consistent, but he was always earnest in his aspi- rations after its spiritualities, and had an apprehen- sive sense of its power. Charles Lamb is gone; his life was a continued struggle in the service of love the purest, and within a sphere visited by little of contemporary applause. Even his intellectual displays xvon but a narrow sympathy at any time, and in his earlier period were saluted with positive derision and con- tumely on the few occasions when they were not oppressed by entire neglect. But slowly all things right themselves. All merit, which is founded in trut.h and is strouct enough, reaches by sweet exha- lations in the end a higher sensoryreaches higher orgaus of discernment, lodged in a selecter audi- ence. But the original obtuseness or vulgarity of feeling that thwarted Lambs just estimation in life, will continue to thwart its popular diffusion. There are even some that continue to regard him with the old hostility. And we, therefore, standing by the side of Lambs grave, seemed to hear, on one side (but in abated tones) strains of the ancient malice This man, that thou,,ht himself to be somebody, is deadis buried:is forgotten ! and, on the other side, seemed to hear ascending, as with the solem- nity of an anthem This man, that thought him- self to be nobody, is deadis buried; his life has been searched; and his memory is hallowed for- ever ! AN ACTRESS OF TIlE LAST C NTcRY.Hogarth has immortalized the ugliest, most extraordinary, and most unprincipled of artists who ever neglected CCXLIII. LIVING ACE. VOL. XX. 5 the future in abusing the present; we refer to Sig- nora Cuzzoni, a lady who, despite a stumpy figure, a repulsive obliquity of vision, and a coarse and complexionless faceto say nothing of a tasteless style of dress, and silly and fantastical manners held all England in thraldom exactly one century since by the powerful truth of her acting, and by the melting pathos and inexpressible beauty of her singing. With such talents she might have become a millionaire, but she neglected opportunity. One evening, in the year 1749, she was visited by two gentlemen, who felt pity at the miserable condition into which the once enchanter and favorite of the public was plunged, and who desired to relieve it. They found her dull, dirty, morose, and almost speechless. She niade excuse for herself at length by statin,, that she was hungry. She had eaten nothing during the previous day, and now, at six oclock in the evening of the second day, she con- fessed that she had not a penny in the world. The friends offered her such hospitality as it was usual to offer: they proposed that she should go with them to a tavern, where they would treat her with the best roast fowls and port wine that London could prod uce. No ! screamed the squalid and fam- ished artist ; I will have neither my dinner nor my place of eating it prescribed to me; I need never want a repast did I choose to submit to such conditions. The friends apologized, put a guinea into her hand, and urged her to procure food at once. She muttered her thanks, and dismissed her visitors. They had no sooner departed, titan she summoned a friendly wretch who inhabited the same theatre of misery, and, ptltting the guinea into his hand, bade him run with the money to a neigh- boring wine-merchant. He is the only one, said Cuzzoni, who keeps good tokay by him; it is a guinea a bottle, so bid him give you a loaf into the bargain; he 11 not refuse.(Jhurch of England Quarterly Review. EXCELLENCIES OF KNowLeouFThere are in knowledge these two excellencies: first, that it offers to every man, the most selfish and the most exalted, his peculiar induicement to good. It says to the former, Serve mankind, and you serve yourself; to the latter, In choosing the best means to secure your own happiness, you will have the sublime inducement of promoting the happiness of mankind. The second excellence of knowledge is, that even the selfish man, when he has once be- gun to love virtue from little motives, loses the motive as he increases the love, and at last worships the Deity, where before lie only coveted gold upon its altar.Btelwer. INABILITy OF IGNORANCE.lli)w many men, rich in physical energy, stand with folded and idle hands because they are poor in knowledge! Tell such a man what he should do, and lie is ready and willing to act. He stands still because he cannot see his way. He is uncertain because he cannot make out which of two plans he should choose. He is neg- ligent, only because he is ignorant of what he ought to do, or of how it may best be done. Or if, in his physical impatience, such a man rushes forward, he fails to reach his aim, because he is deficient in the materials for successful action. How often do we see the energy of one man ill or wrongly directed because he knows too little of what he engages in, while, under the guidance of knowledge, every step, impelled by the energy of another, is observed to be a sure stride in advance !Professor Johnston. 60 GZOIIGE PSALMANAZAR~ From Sharpes Magazine. costin~ none hut clergymen and persons of condi~ GEORGE PSALMANAZAR. lion, and found this so profitable that he formed a taste for a wandering life, which he was after- ON Tuesday, the 23d of May, 1763, died, at wards unable to conquer. We iteed not dwell his lodgings in Ironmonger Row, Old street, St. minutely on his subsequent adventures. his first Lukes, the eccentric individual who had for mary step in the art of deception was to procure a cer- years been known in England by the assumed tificate stating him to be an Irish priest who had name of George Psalmanazar. been persecuted for his religion. lie soon re- His real name and nation have never transpired. solved on a bolder speculation. In his college The secret he kept so religiously in his life-time days he had heard the Jesuits speak of India, was buried with him. A sense of shame, accord- China, and Japan ; and his imaginatiOn was ing to his own confession, had sealed his lips upon warmed by their descriptions. It occurred to the subject he deserved, he said, no other name him that a Japanese convert to Christianity would than that of the impostor. be an object of interest. He accordingly forged Psalmanazar is now only remembered as the au- a certificate setting fifth the fact. His scheme thor of a strange fabrication, called A Descrip- succeeded. In his own words, he travelled tion of the Island of Formosa, of which place many hundred leagues through Germany, Bra- he professed to he a native. Without having even bant, and Flanders, under the notion of being a travelled otit of Europe, he invented an account Japanese converted from heatitenism by some of an Asiatic island, and preserved sufficient con- Jesuit missionaries, and brought to Avignon by sistency in his narrative to obtain for it, for a time, them, to be forth er instructed, as well as to avoid almost universal credence. Long after the impos- the dreadful punishment inflicted on all that turn ture was discovered and confessed, the book was Christians in Japan. His miserable appearance quoted as genuine, and it is admitted to carry with everywhere excited compassion ; and even the it an air of fact and reality, ~vhich does credit, at wayside he~gars regarded hitn with contempt. any rate, to the ingenuity of the author. After many vicissitudes of fortune, he found him- But little interest, perhaps, now attaches to a self in the garrison town of Sloys, where he at- fabrication once so famous. There was, however, tracted the attention of a Reverend Mr. Innes, the (if we may use the word,) a completeness about Scotch chaplain of a regiment stationed there. the imposture which renders it remarkable. Psalm- This gentletnan immediately took a remarkable anazars great difficulty was to support the charac- and most suspicious interest in the alleged Formo Icr he had assumed. There was nothing of the san, whom he forthwith persuaded to visit Eng- Asiatic in his appearance ; he was surrounded by land. Tie wrote an account of hitn to Dr. Comp- sceptical inquirers, and frequently puzzled with ton, Bishop of London, who, when Psalmanazar questions and objections but his hardihood and arrived in England, received him with interest ingenuity enabled him to maintain his ground, and and kindness. He had by this time become an baffle his most pertinacious opponents. In the adept in the art of deception. lIe had invented a narratjve of his life, which, in a spirit of peni- latiguage in a peculiar character, x hich he ~vroto tence, he drew up in after years, he has given an with ease, from right to left, after the manner of interesting account of the strange adventures of the orientals a new division of the year into his youth, from which we will extract a few par- twenty months ; and an original system of my- ticulars. thology. In order to gain still greater credit for He was born, he says, in the southern l)art his story, he would eat nothing but raw meat and of Europe most probably, it has been sun est- venetables, and he soon became fully reconciled to ed, beneath the bright sky of Languedoc. his this disgusting diet. At the request of Bishop mother was a good and pious woman, whom lie Compton, he translated the Church Catechism in- seems to have truly loved. At the age of six he to the Formosan language, which was examined was sent to a free-school taught by two Francis- by many learned individuals, and pronounced can monks, where his remarkable quickness made regular and grammatical. Having been so him a favorite with his masters, and laid the foun- far successful, and cnriosit.y having now attracted datio,i for his future ritin. lie was afterwards re- to him a numerous circle (if friends, he com- moved to a Jesuit college, the course of study in menced writing in Latin his famous Description which he minutely describes. Upon leaving col- of Formosa, which was translated for him as it lege, he was engaged as a tutor in what he calls went through the press. The composition of this a middling family.~ His pupil was an over- worlc occupied him two months, and lie was at grown youth, and taller by a head and shoulders the time scarcely twenty years of age. Although than himself. Here he gave way to idle habits: much of it was pure invention, he derived a great instead of graver studies, he and his pupil ocen- part of his materials from a g rntiine account of pied themselves in learning the flute and violin ; the island written by Candidus, a Dutch minister, and, as a natural consequence of his thoughtless- and from Varenius Description of Japan. In ness and indolence, he became dissatisfied and on- order to avoid arty variance from the statements settled. At length he resolved to return home, he had made from time to time in conversation, and commence a new course of life. Having no he was compelled to insert many improbabilities mimoney, he begged his way, in fluent Latiti, ac- in his narrative that he would gladly have omitted GEORGE PSALMANAZAR. or altered. Thus, he says, having once in- advertently in conversation made the yearly num- ber of male infants sacrificed in Formosa to amount to 18,000, I could never be persuaded to lessen it, though I had often been made sensible of the im- possibility of so small an island losing so many males every year, without becomiug at length quite depopulated. The immolation of children he makes a charac- teristic feature in the religion of the islanders, and he gives rather a strange account of his own es- cape. My father had three sons by his first wife, of which I was the youngest: my eldest brother was free from being sacrificed, as the law directs ; the second was but one year and a half old when his heart was broiled, and before the turn came to me I was near eight years of age: my father was ex- trernely concerned for me, especially because my brother was almost eat up with a cancer. * * * My father then, considering the short life of my brother, and that he should have no heir or succes- sor if I was sacrificed, * * * he went to the hiTh priest, and used all the arguments he could invent to induce him to spare me. The high priest re- plied, he was sorry it happened so, but the laws of God were to be preferred to the good of a family, and even of the whole country. * * * At last, my father, seeing nothing would do but money, offered him a large sum to accept of my brother. This argu meot prevailed: so my father sent the money and my brother. Many persons naturally wondered that a strip- lino of twenty could give suchan account of him- self. According to his own story, he could not have been much more than sixteen when he left the island, and it was not thought likely that a youth of that age could have made the minute and shrewd observations recorded in the volume. Dr. Halley, again, puzzled him by inquiring about the duration of the twilight in Formosa, and how long every year the sun shone down the chimneys. As a further example of some of the improbabili- ties and monstrosities contained in the work, we quote the commencement of one chapter, which is entitled Of our manner of eating, & c. All who can live without working eat their break- fasts about seven of the clock* in the morning; first they smoke a pipe of tobacco, then they drink Bo- hes, green, or sage tea; afterwards they cut off the head of a viper, and suck the blood out of the body: this in my opinion is the most wholesome breakfast a man can make, & c. The first edition of this remarkable romance was 5000 exhausted, and another called for. In spite of its improbabilities, the book was devoutly believed in. Psalmanazar was sent to Oxford, and maintained there by the Bishop of London. He seems at college to have indulged in many ir * In a former chapter we are expressly told that neither clocks nor watches are known in Formosa. and that their mode of measuring time is altogether duff rent from the V~uropean mcthod. regularities, and to .have displayed, as might he expected, a total want of principle. From the 20th to the 32d year of his age he describes as a sad blank. We now approach the second period of Psalma- nazars life. The first, it must be confessed, was sufficiently infamous ; but in the latter part of his life he endeavored by sincere and bitter penitence to atone for his youthful errors and disreputable impostures. Dr. Johnson, who at this period knew him well, often stated that he was the best man he had ever known. I have heard John- son, said Mrs. Piozzi, frequently say, that George Psalinanazar~s piety, penitence, and vir- toe, exceeded almost what we read as wonderful in the lives of the saints; and when the great lexicographer was asked, whether he ever contra- dicted Psalmanazar, I should as soon, he said, have thought of contradicting a bishop. Psalmanazars powers of conversation must have been considerable. In his Life of Johnsonthat rich storehouse of literary gossipBoswell has preserved this little dialogue He (Joh& son) praised Mr. Duncombe of Canter- bury as a pleasing man. He used to come to me ; I did not seek much after him. Indeed, I never sought much after anybody. Boawell Lord Orrery, I suppose B Johnson : No sir; I tinever went to him, but when he sent for me. Boswell : Richardson B Johnson : Yes, sir; but I sought after George Psalmanazar the must. I used to go and sit with him at an aleh& ose in the city. During the latter portion of his life, Psalmana- zar supported himself entirely by literary pursuits. lie wrote several articles for the Universal His- tory, and, amongst oilier compilations, a genuine account of the island of Formosa, to serve as a counterpart to the description he had forged. There can be no question about the sincerity of his repentance; he would speak of himself, on all occasions, as a despised, dishonored, and degraded being, who had forfeited all claim to the regard and respect of society ; and be commences his narrative by avowing his steady resolution pub- licly to disclaim all the lies atid forgeries lie had formerly published in that monstrous romance, (th Description of Formosa,) and at any rate or risk to take the shame to himself, and make a free confession of the whole imposture. Psalmanazars Will is a singular document, and bears out all we have said respecting his penitence and humility. It is entitled The last Will and Testament (if me a poor sinful and worthless crea- ture, commonly known by the assumed name of George Psalmanazar. One clause is worded as follows : And it is my earn~st request, that any body be not iriclosed in any kind of coffin, but only decently laid in what is called a shell, of the In est value, and without lid or other covering which may hinder the natural e~ rth from coveritig it all around. 67 STOFtY OF A FAMILY. CHAPTER XI.MAKING ACQUAINTANCE. IDA speedily found herself the centre of a circle whose admiration was so unequivocally expressed, that even her simplicity could not be blind to it. She took it all for affection, and thought she could never be grateful enough for the kindness of her relations. Aunt Ellenor won her heart at a glance, and so did the gentle and cheerful Frederick there was instant sympathy among them, and the separation of fourteen years was annihilated at once. Uncle Alexander treated her with that mixture of gallantry and patronage which elderly gentlemen frequently exhibit toward~ young ladies, which is particularly pleasing to some, and par- ticularly embarrassing to others. Cousin Alexan- der took advantage of his cousinly privilege to he open and familiar in his devotion, and, if the truth must be told, to worry her to death. Had Ida been trained according to common young lady training, it is probable that this might not have been the case. She might have indulged in a harmless flirtation with her cousin, and found him perfectly endurable; but this she could not do. His armory of petits soins oppressed her, for each of them was a claim upon her gratitude, and she did not know how to pay the debt; his compli- ments put her out of countenance, his wit was too satirical to please her, his sentiment utterly con- fused and repelled her. She was accustomed never to speak about her feelings except where she gave and received full sympathy ; here she had no sympathy at all, and yet she was not al- lowed the privilege of silence. She did not at all comprehend that artificial upper current with which society busies itself without ever exploring the real depths; she had no shallow half-thoughts, no p01- ished shells of sentiment in her heart, all was genuine and profound ; she was like a person try- ing to converse in a foreign language, of which he does not know the grammar, and cannot catch the accent ; but she was young and light-hearted, and so when she felt puzzled, her ordinary resource was to laugh, which did not please her cousin in the least. He would have been still less pleased could he have heard the tone in which she was apt to say to Mrs. Chester, Poor Alexander! he is so kind ! so expressive was it, that I may ven- ture to say, that it would have pretty effectually checked his kindness for some time to come. But he could not believe that he was really repul- sive to her, and so he persevered, sometimes find- ing her very piquante, oftener in his heart thinking it slow work. Agnes was quite impenetrable; she was one of those unfortunate persons who, born destitute of attractions either external or mental, seem to consider it a kind of revenge upon nature to make life as disagreeable as they can, both to themselves and to all who approach them. No charm of manner atoned in her for repulsiveness of face, no glow and generosity of affection made ample amends for all other deficiencies; for, ever brood- ing over her own defects, she yet resented their consequences as so many injuries to herself; she was at least as pitiable as faulty, and the misery which she made for herself, if it had been accept- ed as discipline, would have seemed suflicient to cure every fault under heaven. No kind word was ever spoken in her presence without causing her to feel a secret and bitter pain that it had not been addressed to herself, yet she passed over with a hurried half-consciousness and an immediate for- getfulness the scanty portion of good-will that was really testified towards her by anybody, and took a strange pleasure in denying herself such comfort as she might fairly have received. She had baf- fled even aunt Ellenor, whom it was a hard thing not to love, and to whom it was still harder to be refused the privilege of loving. She could not be fond of Ab nes; she was not suffered to be intimate with her, she was repulsed at every turn ; so she had taken refuge in the habit, very unpleasant to her warm nature, of scarcely ever speaking to her niece, thou,,h the deprecating gentleness of her manner when she did address her, showed how fearful she was of giving pain, how anxious to give pleasure, yet how utterly ignorant of the means by which the one might be avoided and the other achieved. Poor Agnes! there is no saying what this chill and stunted plant might have be- come in a kindlier atmosphere. Now there seemed little hope, for the food which nourishes health only embitters disease. Yet the very perfection of her disagreeableness was in some sense a hope- ful sign; it was such a genuine article, so unmiti- gated, undisguised, and unconquerable. There she was, a most bitter morsel, neither gilded nor sweetened; you could make no mistake about her, you must needs receive her as a trial, and if any good whatsoever eventually came out of her, it was a surprise to you, and you were thankful for it. And Godfrey He was as impenetrable as Agnes, though in a very different manner. He was so capricious that Idas opinion of him varied every day, and she was left equally in doubt as to his opinion of her. At their first introduclion, and during the whole birthday evening, he was polite and gentlemanly, but cold ; he seemed not to desire to remember or renew their childish intimacy; he behaved to her as any gentleman might have be- haved to any young lady whom he met for the first time in society, except that Ida~s singular beauty and gracefulness would assuredly have commanded more admiring attention from an ordi- nary acquaintance ; yet he varied, and she could not but observe and be puzzled by these variations. She did not think he was happy; his habitual ex- pression was certainly one of gloom and predccn- pation, he was silent and inanimate, yet when speaking to his brother, to whom his attention was most devoted, his eye kindled, his voice softened, his whole aspect was for the moment transformed. He took no part in the general conversation, and was the only person who did not thank Ida when she rose from the piano; yet from time to time she was aware that he was observing her with an expression that could not be mistaken for disap 68 STORY OF A FAMILY. 69. proval, and though his manner repelled her, she felt of the park, deep in conversation, when they per- excessively anxious that he should like her as ~vell ceived Godfrey at some distance carrying a basket as his mother and brother did, and not quite in in his hand. Ida bounded over two or three in- despair about it. He was not handsome but dis- tervening borders, and, running to iriect him, ex- tinguished looking, with eyes and forehead full of claimed in admiration at the magnificent Cape intellect. Whether he was a,,reeable or not it jessamines which his basket contained. was impossible to discover, because, as has been They are for Frederick, said lie; it is his already said, he scarcely spoke at all, and never on favorite flower, and there is no specimen in the any subject of interest. The change from the greenhouse; I have brought them from Claxton. boisterous mischief, impetuous glee, superabundant This was a country-town about ten miles from life of his childhood, was so complete that it was Evelyn Manor. impossible for Ida not to be curious as to the What a walk ! exclaimed Ida, and how cause. pleased Frederick will be! Oh! Godfrey, may Some two or three days after her eighteenth I have one (loweil I want it for the bouquet I am birth-day, Ida had gone out, as was her custom, painting for aunt Melissas screen; it would finish accompanied only by Madeline, for a morning the group so beautifully. ramble in the grounds, long before aunt Melissa his hand was immediately on the plant, and, and most of her guests had forsaken their pillows, though he winced a little at the name of aunt Her early rising was the result of habit and train- Melissa, between whom and himself there was a iiig, not the voluntary adoption of her own taste perpetual quiet feud of a somewhat aggravated de- or resolution, and, therefore, there was nothing scription, he severed one of the finest blossoms, self-gratulatory about it, which, let the reader be and presented it to her. Introduce me to Mrs. assured, is a rare merit in early rising. In many Chester, whispered he. cases it is a charter for contradictiousness during Ida complied, and the three were speedily en- the whole of the following day, and may be said gaged in easy conversation. to effect inure towards pampering the vanity of Whether the exercise had particularly agreed those who practise it, and destroying the domes- with Godfrey, or whether, in general, he was on- tic comfort of those who do not, than any other der the influence of some spell which did not be- apparently harmless custom in this civilized coon- gin to act till the day was a certain number of try of England. Just think of the officious vigor, hours old, we will not pretend to say, but he the insulting triumph, the outrageous animation seemed to have thrown aside his melancholy, and of the man who has dressed by candlelight in the was so vivacious that Ida scarcely recognized him. month of December. Oiily imagine his cheerful- Her doubts of his cousinly disposition to hike her van- ness. Is it not enough to set your teeth on edge ished in a minute, and her old predilection revived when you remember what he has gone through with double force. They talked of all things be- lle ought to be in the state of a mild convalescent neath the stars, and a few beyond them ; for the who has just weathered a sharp attack of ague, most part sportively, but with an occasional touch and there he is snapping his fingers and laughing of deeper thought, indicating many a vein to be in defiance of iiature and probability ! Very like- explored in future. Oh, those delicious first con- ly, too, he has done it from no sufficient motive versatiomis ! when you see dimly a hundred half- in fact, from no motive at all, except that he closed doors, and calculate beforehand on the pleas- may read his newspaper or write his letters some ore of watching their gradual opening. Pity, three hours before ten, instead of some three that the chambers within so often disappoint you hours after that rational breakfast-hour. Yet he when you enter! is insanely pleased with himself for this ; he They parted at the house-door, the best friends shakes hands with himself mentally, and thinks possible, and as Ida took off her bonnet, she men- he has done a great thing, in thus actively wasting tally ran over the various topics which they had the tinie which might have been devoted to whole- been discussing, and thought how she would ask some and profitable sleep. He takes quite a birds this question, and suggest that remark, and how eye view of the student, whose midnight lamp has there was a passage she must look for which was guided him through some labyrinth of thought, exactly applicable to one part, and how she would the clue whereof shall hereafter be presented to ask Godfrey to write down for her the pretty the ~vorld, and comidescendingly pities the achiiig verse which he had quoted from some old Span- brow which seeks a few hours late repose after ish ballad. She went down to the breakfast-room, many of labor and tension. Two hours at night ready, with her characteristic eagerness, to re- are no merit at alltwo in the morning are the some at once where they had left off; and there height of virtmie, and qmmime virtue enough to last sat Godfrey with his ordinary sombre look, ana you for the whole day, my friend, says Con- spoke neither to her nor to any one else during science ; you have done your self-denial, and may the whole meal, except to take care that Freder fearlessly indulge yourself for the future. ick had all he wanted ! She had not courage to But ~ve are forgetting Ida and her early walk address him, and she almost began to feel as she and Madeline had jtist left the chapel, where thomigh their past conversation must have arisen they wero in the habit of repairing for their devo- out of some forwardness on her part; she was tions, and were proceeding towards the open part ashamed of having ventured to feel so intimate 70 STORY OF A FAMILY. She thought it a very dull breakfast-party, for the whole length of the table separated her from Frederick, and she sat between the Alexanders, father and son. The father Alexander was talk- ing politics with perfectly disinterested enthusiasm, for nobody seemed to be listening to him and the son was afflictingly minute in his attentions. Agnes sat opposite, with a quiet scowl on her face, which it gave you a sick headache to look at, and uncle John was absent on some farming busiiiess. It was altogether a deplorable break- fast. However, just as it was completed, uncle John caine in with a face like the concentrated essence of a dozen firesides, and a voice that seemed to be compounded of the singing of kettles upon their bobs, the crowing of vigorous babies on all fours upon their hearth-rugs, and the music of Paddy ORafferty played at a rattling pace by drutns and fifes outside the window. He was an embodied latigha hurrah personified. It was out of the question for anybody to be low-spirited in his pres- encehe was worth all the camphor julep and sal volatile in the world. ~ Well, young people ! cried he, rubbinr his hands, Ive got a scheme for you ! Indeed and pray what is it? replied Me- lissa, with a good-humor and alacrity which showed that she rather liked the style of his ad- o ress. Oh yes, yes ! answered he, you are in- cluded tooit is a scheme for us all, old and yoting, girls and boys. Such splendid weather toonot a cloud in the sky ; upon my word and honor it would be a sin if we did nt. I think if we have the chariot and the phactonand then there will be the Woodleys carriage and Alexan- ders gig ; it will look magnificent in this weather, after the rains, ton, which are always an advantage. Godfrey can steer, you know; he is a capital sailor; and Kate Wyllys, we must nt forget her, you know, for she is the best hand in the world at this sort of thing. I dont think we can man- age before this day week; but I dare say we can make up our minds to wait so long. We must set the cook to work, my lady housekeeper; you know she is famous for her chicken pie. I cant help thinking how grand it will look at sunset and if we should have a rainbow, it will be per- feet. Chicken pie, with rainbow sauce ! observed Alexander junior, quite a novelty in the Eng- lish cuisine. Pray, sir, be so good as to give me the recipe. Eli? ab! Ha, havery good that! What did I say 3 returned his uncle. I am sure, my dear John, said Melissa, with that emphasis of special crossness which is so often attached to the epithet dear, it would he quite hopeless to attempt to tell you what you said, or what you meant. I do wish you would explain yourself quietlyit is very trying to ones nerves to have all this confusion first in the morn- ng, and for my part (ptxtting her hand to her forehead) I have not the slightest idea what you have been talking about. I beg your pardon, my dear; I am the most noisy, thoughtless fellow in the world; I believe I shall be a boy all my life, and I never can recol- lect that we are not all of us as young as ~ve used to be. He now lowered his voice, and addressed his irate sister in the quietest and most explana- tory tone, as you might speak to a superannuated person, whose intellect it was extremely difficult to awaken, aiid whose temper it was necessary to soothe in a very cautious and conspicuous man- ner. It is a pic-nic, my deara party in the open air. I believe he thinks I dont know what a pic-nic is ! said Melissa, turning with a sharp artificial laugh to the rest of the company ; per- haps, she added, you will be so condescending as to carry your explanation a little further, and tell all present, who I believe are as much in the dark as myself, what expedition it is that you are meditating, and who are the persons whom you propose to invite. Poor uncle John felt himself decidedly in dis- grace, though he did not in the least understand the reason. So he made a very quiet, jog-trot speech, in an humble, apologetic manner; una- dorned by any of those curvets and caracoles by which his ordinary mode of talk, when in high spiritsand it was a very exceptional case when uncle John was not in high spiritswas distin- guished. He had planned a days excursion to Thelwar Castle, a fine Norman ruin about twenty miles from Evelyn. Mr. Woodley, a great croiiy of uncle Johns, his son and daughter, were to join the party, together with any other friends whom Melissa might think proper to ask. Kate Wyllys, for whose presence he had made special stipulation, was a young lady of ackno~vledged fashion and beauty, then irradiating the neighbor- hood, and commanding the attentions of all the disposable gentlemen. She was, of course, far more attractive than any resident belle, however superior to herself in natural or acquired qualifica- tions ; and being very lively, perfectly fearless, and rather qtdck at repartee, was exactly the sort of person to command the attentions of a whole party when present, and their strictures when ab- sent. Gentlemen would engross her for an entire evening, and make her as conspicuous as they could by flirtation ; and then, as soon as she was gone, would betake themselves with languid zeal to the side of some older acquaintance, who had been looking over prints with sublime indifference to neglect, and say on approaching her, I really havent been able to get a word with you this evening! Miss Wyllys would nt let me get away for a moment. Of course, it was all her fault in such cases it is an axiomn in popular phiiloso- phy, that the lady is in the wrong, and deserves all that she encounters. We would not for a mo- ment dispute the axiomit must be true, because everybody says itboth the gentlemen who have been encouraged and the ladies who have been 71 STORY OF A FAMILY. r~eglected we would only say, that this true view of the matter requires some exercise of faith in those who receive it, inasmuch as reason and observation would commonly lead to a different conclusion. Theiwar Castle was beautifully situated it was approachable by sea, and therefore uncle John projected a boating party for some of the youiig people ; and it was within two miles of a very respectable waterfall, which, as he observed, would be in its best looks after the recent rains. A castle, a pic-nic, and a waterfall! Could any scheme by land or sea be more enchanting Idas face grew brighter and brighter as the idea de- veloped itself, and the last word had scarcely es- caped her uncles lips, when she exclaimed, with clasped hands, Oh, how delightful! Dear aunt Melissa, pray say yes !you will enjoy it too, be- cause you are so fond of fine scenery, and there will be no fatigue. A whole week !Oh, how I wish the day were come Melissa, who liked any species of gayety, relaxed into benign acquiescence; and uncle John, in a perfect ecstasy at meeting with approval and caus- ing So much pleasure, first kissed Ida, out of gratitude for her delight, and then executed a short impromptu polka, of a new and somewhat outrageous pattern, which, happily, did not last above a minute. And now, said Melissa, I will write the invitations, and we will settle how the party is to ~ Yes ! cried Mr. Lee, with assumed noncha- lance, it is always the best way to make ones arrangements clearly beforehand, and then nobody is put out. I am quite at your disposal; you may put me just where you please. Alex can drive Ida, and the rest will easily be settled. I hope I may consider this an engagement: I was just going to offer myself as your charioteer when my father forestalled me, said the son, with his most elaborate smile arid bow. The Alexanders had made a false move there. Melissa was uninterruptedly conscious that she was mistress of the house, and never inclined to agree in any proposition which did not emanate from herself, unless, like the present expedition, the conduct of it were placed at once in her hands. Moreover, to do her justice, she was really fond of Ida, and would riot have done anything to annoy her, unless it had been unmistakably ad- vantageous to herself. A woman seldom mistakes a womans feelings, and Idas face, as she politely acquiesced in her cousins proposal, was tolerably expressive of dissatisfaction. Excuse me, my good friends, said Melissa, with her blandest and most obstinate manner, my little Idas life is a great deal too precious to be risked by any amateur coachmariship. I consider myself responsible for her, and must have the entire management of her proceeding& When I get the answers to my invitations, and know what our numbers will be, I shall be able to make arrangements definitively. Ida ~vas to go in the boat; she was charmed, and her rapture increased when she fiuud that Frederick was to be of the party. She had beea thinking of him, but was afraid to ask, arid she now congratnilated herself that they should be together, and expressed her liveliest thanks that the plan for her was exactly that which she best liked. She and Melissa (strange companionship!) were the only two persons thoroughly pleased, when, afier much shaking and fermenting, the scheme had settled into its final shape. Aunt Elleroor was to chaperone the water-party; she made no resistance, but suffered secretly, inasmuch as she was a great coward, and every minute of her pleasure excursion was consequently a painful and heroic effort at composure. Poor Frederick never felt his privation so keenly as on an occasion like the present, but agreed to go, because he knew that his exclusion would be as painful to his mother as his participation could be to himself. So long as he did everything like other people, she was able to flatter herself with the idea that he was nearly unconscious of his loss ; but the smallest sign of consciousness on his part cost her so many tears, that he would have avoided it by any sacrifice of his own personal comfort. It was touching to see how instinctively he comprehended her feelings, and how tenderly he cared for them, though he could see no exhibition of them. No infliction of her voice was lost upon him, and so profound was his knowledge of her, that he could divine that she was grieved merely by her silence when he knew that it would have been natural to her to speak. There is no science so deep and so unerring as that of unselfish love; its percep- tions are as supernatural as its origin. And so as may often be seen when a weak and half- disciplined character sympathixes with one of a higher order than itselfthe relative positions of this mothier and son seemed to undergo a strange kind of change, and practically it was the consoler who needed supl)ort, and the sm]fferer who gave it. But these two were not unhappy; there is no unhappiness, properly so called, in the calm har- mony of a double sorrow such as theirs. Young Woodley, a gawky personage from col- lege, with a strong fear of the fair sex, taking the outward form and vesture of contempt, was another member of the water-party. He wanted to go on horseback; but his father, who was try- ing hard to worry him into premature polish, would not hear of it. He could not bear the arrange ment made for him, and submitted with the worst grace possible. Kate Wyllys agreed, with per- fect and polite good-nature, to) make a third in the chariot with Melissa and Mr. Lee; but snarled inn her heart at a plan so very untoward, whien three aimless young men were within reach, army one of whom would have proved a satisfactory corn- panmiontwo in the capacity of flirts, the third in that of butt. However, there was rio help for it, as she was known to be delicate, and coinuld not be allowed to go by water. When the time arrived, she was all smiles and serenity, but it i~ 72 STORY OF A FAMILY. doubtful whether she felt more amiably than the collegian. Even uncle John was a little down- cast, for he shared the phaeton with Mr. arid Miss Woodley, and lie wanted to have accompanied Ida. Godfrey seemed in lower spirits than usual, kept apart from his companions, and occupied him- self with the business of the boat. But the crown- ing discomfiture was Alexanders, who actually had to drive Agnes. To the very last he manteu- vred to avoid this, but there is no being on earh so helpless as a well-bred man in the hands of a lady who is giving a party. He has neither de- fence nor redress ; his very remonstrances must be made with fictitious playfulness, as though iii reality he were grateful for the very things which he deprecates; and his final submission to the most aggravated sufferings must be cheerful and uncon- ditional. Poor Alexander asked Miss Woodley, privately, if she would allow him to drive her; but Miss Woodley (who, by the bye, was a trifle unrefined, and had never received such a compli- ment from the sublime Alexander before) had been previously told, in confidence, by Melissa, that she was to go in the phaeton, because it was desirable for many reasons, (this with much sie,nificance,) and it would be so pleasant for John. The poor girl fancied she was somehow doing a favor, and, besides, would not have presumed to alter Miss Lees plans for the world ; so she de- clined, graciously and regretfully. Alexander then made a desperate attack on young Woodley, whom he esteemed an utter bore, but this was likewise a failure ; parental authority was too strong for the unhappy youth, and he was compelled to be victimized. Eventually, Alexander proposed to drive his father, as a last chance ; but his father was afraid of catching cold, arid liked the ease of the cushioned chariot, and the pretty face of Kate Wyllys, who understood and responded to his gallantries far better than Ida, and thought him a tolerable substitute when originals were not pro- curable. No one who had seen the faces of Alex- ander and Agnes, when they set off for their t~te4i- t~te drive, would have been surprised to hear that a murder had been. perpetrated before the end of itonly, fortunately, deeds do not always answer to looks, either good or bad. Is not a pleasure-party the most delightful thing in the world! CHAPTER xII.THE PIc-NIc. A few minutes before the boat landed, Fred- eric, with some timidity of manner, presented Ida with a pretty sketching apparatus. She had expressed a wish to sketch the castle, he said, and though here he paused for an instant, and then abruptly concluded by saying, that it would be a pleasure to him to think that she cotild make any use of a gift of his. She thanked him warmly; but was a little puzzled by remem- bering that he had not been in the room when the picturesqueness of the castle as a subject for sketching was discussed ; she was sure of this, because she had felt a sudden fear lest the con- versation should give him pain, and had looked for him and been relieved to find that he was absent. Thelwar Castle was built on a rock which rose steeply from the edge of a wide and gentle river. In style it blended the Saracen and the Norman, and formed no inapt representation of the age to which it belonged; at once massy and graceful, rude, yet full of beauty. There were tall slender turrets of circular form with overhangiug parapets broken and encrusted with moss; huge dwarf towers strongly battlemented and pierced with those cruel loopholes which admit no light save for purposes of destruction, and look like sullen eyes winking at you ; great irregular walls of unhewn stone all scarfed and garlanded with ivy and plumed with the airy fern ; green sward in the courts as smooth as though it had been shorn for the feet of fairies, whom you might fancy skim- ming tenderly over its surface, or perching upon the fragmentary corbels which jutted from the walls, or climbing by the shattered tracery of the windows, or swinging by the green streamers which hung from many a giant arch, and rocked upon the air as though only just loosed from sonie tiny grasp, or lying crushed beneath the damp lichen-covered masses of stone which had fallen from above, and might have been hurled down by some stern mailed ghost upon the battlements to check such unseemly revel in a place so sombre. There were vast hospitable chimneys, calling up strange visions of those old uncivilized dinner par- ties, when wayfarers and beggars had their place and their portion, and servants feasted at the same board with their masters ; wonderful little bed- chambers, suggesting the idea that our ancestors slept in one invariable position, and stood upright to dress, having their clothes let down upon them from the roof; interminable twisted staircases, which you must convert yourself into a screw to ascend painful as one of those miraculous opera cadenzas, (named, we suppose, on the lucus-a-non-lucendo principle,) where, after a certain point, every step seems the highest possible, and yet is succeeded by one higher and more excruciating still, and where the descent is accomplished by a series of accentuated plunges, any one of which is sufficient to break your neck; long shadowy passages through the hearts of the enormous walls, with sharp streaks of light here and there catching the curve under the square head of some narrow door- ~vay, and tempting you to proceed, though you must needs walk trembling, lest at the next open- in~ the ray should be reflected from a stooping helmet or a poised spear, or lest the hesitating feet which you can scarcely guide along th.e un- even floor, should stumble aainst the coiled-up limbs of an old sentinel sleeping at his post. There seemed a waste of strength, as though a great deal of it were built out of sheer symbolism a mixture of the jovial and the sombre, so no- like the world in which our own forms of thought are cast, that it was almost impossible to imagine it into any consistent whole, but the ideal picture STORY OF A FAMILY. 793 was forever resolving itself into a host of out- rageous contradictions. One moderate sized tomb- stone might have sufficed for the flooring of any bed room, and the great banqueting-hall looked as if it might have been appropriately papered with a series of rubbings from sepulchral brasses. Oh! for one day, for one single hour, to see it all alive again ! cried Ida, as, after a breath- less ahd eager examination of every attainable nook and corner, she paused at the summit of a winding stair, and, se~ ting herself in the hollow of a battlement, looked out upon the rich valley and the sweet fresh river, that one could tell how they really lived and thought from hour to hour, those grim soldiers, and graceful knights, and stately ladies ! It is almost painful to have such a strange kind of unseen existence so per- petually suggested without being able to fill up the blanks, and imagine what it actually was. It is like se~ing the very corpse of the past. Cannot you construct a living character out of these autographs 3 asked Godfrey, smiling as he laid his hand on the summit of a roughly-orna- mented and overhanging buttress I do not think it would be a very difficult task. He stopped, and Ida looked earnestly in his face as though she wanted him to continue. An easy one, I should say, observed Alex- ander. Human nature is always the same in detail as well as in outline. We have a distant twilight view of the man of the middle ages, and he looms upon us huge and grand and vague, till our imagination bows down before him, and re- fuses to approach and examine more closely. But if we do approach we shall find him flesh and blood after all, perhaps differing only from our- selves in the unavoidable peculiarity that he was a good way behind us in the march of time. He ate and drank, was weary, slept arid was refreshed, loved and hated like the rest of us. And all those foibles and follies, littlenesses and meannesses which distress us in our own day because they are close under our own eyes, were just as rife in the past, if we could only see them. Very true, replied Godfrey; depend upon it, it was all the same five hundred years ago, just as truly as it will be the same a hundred years hence. The Baron Dingo de Bracy could never obtain the entr~e to the highest society, because it was noticed that he did not always pronounce his Hs, and the dame Eleonora de Montauban frowned sorely upon her danghter, the lovely Lady Adelicia, because she had engaged herself for three l)olkas to a younger son ! Dont be ro- mantic, Ida! Dont fancy that an external devel- opment totally different from that of our own age betokens that there was any difference at all in the inner lifewhy should it 3 Dont we all know that Dr. Johnson was as great a dramatist as Shakspeare, only somehow or other he did nt manage to write such good plays 3 You are a worshipper of the past, I per- ceive, said Alexander, coolly, as he seated him- self at Idas feet, and looked expressively into her face, though he addressed Godfrey, as for me, I live in the present. I hope the climate suits you, replied God- frey, with an emphasis too marked to be perfectly polite, and which called the color to his cousins cheek. Ida felt uncomfortable, and it was quite a relief to her that Agnes joined them at that moment. Do come down, Ida, said she, aunt Melis- sa ts so cross. She is unpacking the baskets, and she says it is a shame that we should leave it all to her, and go away to amuse ourselves. For my part, I thought we came here for amusement, such as it is. She is very hungry, and she says we must dine before we do anything else ; and she wants you, but not Alexander or Godfrey ; be- cause, she says, gentlemen are of no use. She had just upset something when I came away, and that was one reason why I hurried. Ida felt guilty ;she had forgotten all but the enjoyment of the moment; and she now hastened to accompany Agnes, in spite of the remonstrances of the gentlemen. As they descended the stairs, she dropped her sketch-book, and Agnes picked it up for her. Ali ! said she, Godfrey was very mysterious about his present. Godfrey ! repeated Ida, surprised. This was Fredericks present. I beg your pardon, replied Agnes, who took a sour kind of pleasure in thwarting any little schetne that came under her notice, whether she understood it or not. I was in the room when Godfrey brought it; and he told Frederick it was for you, and begged him, as a particular favor, to give it as if from himself. There was no time for Ida to express the as- tonishment she felt, as they had now reached the spot where Melissa was awaiting them. She had overset the basin of powdered sugar into a dtin- geon, and was vehemently insisting that her broth- er John should descend in search of it, a service which he did not appear to relish, though he made many apoplectic efforts to reach it by stooping over the edge. She was making a solemn business of dinner ; putting herself into a fretful hustle about all the adjuncts necessary and unnecessary, being sentimental about finger-glasses, and highly digni- fied in regard to salt-spoons. It was all to be done in a regular, grand way, as unlike a pic-nic as possible ; and the feeding was the [nain object and purpose, evidently, of the whole partythey came not to see but to eat. It was sad waste of time, indeed, to be sketching and staring about, when the cold chickens were still unpacked, and the damask napkins undistributed. Ida ran light- ly to and fro under her orders, restoring her to good-humor by the force of her alacrity and readi- ness, and greatly cheering the s~inits of the de- pressed maid, who had been vainly endeavoring to do right in the eyes of her mistress for the last twenty minutes. Agnes moved heavily and awk- wardly, never understood anything that she was STORY OF A FAMILY. expected to do ; and, in making an unwonted ef- fort to be useful, finally set her foot upon a cherry tart. They were a contrast, certainly. Poor uucle John, glad to be released, hastened away, and tried to make the agreeable to Mr. \XToodley, who was thoroughly tired both of him aud of the. l)arty, and who responded but feebly to his charitable effi~rts. Queer old place, this ! said uncle John, who had a vague idea that Mr. \Xoodley was a politi- cian of the modern school, and wished to propiti- ate him by s~me congenial remark. Now, they would nt tolerate such a place in these days. If any one were to run up such a place, public opin- ion would have it down again in five minutes. WellI (lout know, said Mr. XVoodley, with cautious hesitation concerning the vigor of public opinion, lookin0 inquiringly at the stalwart old walls as he spoke. lie was a gentleman who spent his life in the mild excitement of perpetual expectationin a kind of permanent astonishment which never rose above the fussy point. Every night in winter he perceived appearances in the heavens whicit betokened that there would he a fine Aurora Borealis before morning, and frequent- ly suocested that his daughter, who bad never beetm so fortunate as to see that phenomenon, should sit up, and call him when it began. The watchinr the ejaculations, the asst~rances that there was a light in the north quite unnatural, and which must terminate in coruscations, sup- plied the substance of his conversation for the evenirtg, and effectually prevented conversation in others. In summer he was equally far-sighted as to the detection of an approaching storm ; and has been known to prophesy continuously for six weeks the arrival of one, which seldom failed to come in the end and justify his prediction. He now discovered that the tower beneath which the dinner-party was being arranged, was out of the perpendicular, and would assuredly fall in the course of the next twenty-four hours. He re- monstrated so pertinaciously, that good breeding compelled the unhappy Melissa to consent to the removal of her preparations just as they had at- tained completion, which put the cro~vning stroke to her discotnfiture for the day. Altogether, I should think, there has seldom been a inure dis- consulate ,and dejected repast than that pic-nic. Everything had somehow gone wrong, and nearly everybody was omit of sorts. Ida was as silent as the rest; she was thinking ahout her sketch-book, and determining to eluci- date the mystery. Ap opportunity occurred soon after they had risen from table-cloth. She found herself near Godfrey, and a little apart from tIme others, and immediately addressed him. Godfrey, have I done anything to vex you ~ she spoke timidly, and blushing. You To vex me! What could possibly make you think so Only, said Ida, titat yott change so to- wards meandandI beg your pardon for mentioning it, as you did not wish me to know it, hut I find yotm were so kind as to think of giving nine that sketchin~apparatus. You must let me thank you for itand I was afraid I had annoyed you in some manner, as you did not like to give it to me yourself. Godfrey colored, cast his eyes on the ground, and seemed to find notch difficulty in ans~vering this speech. At last he said It was such a pleasure to Frederick to give it to you, and he has so few pleasures. Dear Frederick ! said Ida. Ah ! cried Godfrey, eagerly, you cannot love him too well ; Ito is absolutely perfect. His intellectual equals his moral nature, thottgh it is not so readily discerned. I have tinever beard him otter a hasty word, nor known him think an un- kind thomtght ; and the whole temper of his mind is so beautiful. You must love ii~m, Ida. I do, replied Ida. I love him dearly, and aunt Ellenor too. I cannot bear that yomt should be cold to me, Godfrey, for I feel at home with your family as if I were one of yourselves. It is quite curiousthe rest are all like strangers, with whom I have to make acquaintance by degrees, though they are very kind ; but I cant Itelp fan- cyimug that you and aunt Ellenor and Frederick have lived with me all my life, and that we have not been separated at all. Godfrey took her hand between his, and looked at her with an expression of unspeakable gentle- ness ; it was difficult to believe that those were the samne eyes wimich were ordinarily so downcast and so sullen. Be one of us, then, dear Ida, said he ; niny mother loves you as if yout were her own child, and you and I will be brotluer and sistershall we not I Oh ! said Ida, timat implies so much ! Too much fir you to grant ! cried he, in a tone of disappointment. Too much, a great deal, returned she, play- fully, to be granted on one side only. I never had a brother, bitt I can fancy very well what a brother would be to me. First, he would be quiet and steadfast in his friendshipthere would he no changes, and doubts, and mysteries ; them I should know all his sorrows, and ito wommld come t(t me to console them ; and we sluould tell each other of faults, and help each other to amend them. 1-le would never give me black looks without an explanation, or In fact, interrupted Godfrey, you think me a savage; and you carmno4 think too ill of me. But, Ida, I promise to perform my part of the compact, if you will be faithful to yours. I am only afraid that you will repent when you know me better. If I do I will tell you so, she answered but I amn not afraid of you, or, at least, only a very little afraid sometimes. And when were you afraid last B asked God- frey. When Alexander began Ida, but he interrupted her immediately. Oh! I was very rude I know ; but Alexan 74 STORY OF A FAMILY. der is perfectly intolerable to me. It s a wonder that I (lont jOSuit hun every hour of the day and when he speaks to you in that patronizing, complimentary tone, I assure you, Ida, it is be- yond my powers of endurance to be polite. But he is very kind, said Ida, thought folly, and I believe he is very clever. I cannot un- derstand why he is not agreeable. Had Alexander been in Godfreys place he would certainly have told Ida that she was the most piquante person in the world, with her un- conscious sarcasm. Godfrey thounht so, but did not say it. It seemed to him that it would have been quite unnatural to pay Ida a compliment. it is curious how little we praise those whom we love best. We are shy ahont it, as though we were speaking of ourselves a tone, a look, the mere presence of some unaccountable restraint of mannerthese are indications enough for those who are intended to read them, and bystanders may think it all as cold as they like. Our choic- est gifts are not for the world to scrutinize ; we put them quietly, and with averted eyes, into tIme hand that is stretched out to receive them. Do you like this sort of party, Ida I asked Godfrey, after a minutes pause. Yes I enjoy it excessively, she replied. Do not you ? I think, said he, that it is the most inge- nious contrivance ever invented for compressing the greatest quantity of annoyance into the smallest possible compass. What a dinner ~ve had Noth- ing seems to me so strange a mistake as that a number of people, whose whole existence is made up of common-places and decorums, should volun- tarily put themse!ves into a position where these are absurdities, and yet try to retain them all the while. It is as if one were to go out shooting in a court- dress, and put l)attens over ones pumps, to prove oneself a sportsman. It is so comic to see how we all behave; anybody who did nt know the circumstances would make sure that the pic-nic had been inflicted as a punishment, and that, beimy compelled by force to submit to it, we were trying to neutralize it in the best manner we could. Look there, misanthrope, replieui Ida, laying one hand gently upon his arm, and pointing with the other to the scene before them. A solitary arch stood up, httge, and broken in outline, against the cloudless sky ; beneath it, partly veiled by the drooping cloud of ivy which floated about its sides, was visible the smooth soft river, passing through wood arid hill, with a steady onward motion, like the flight of a bird, and melting into the vague far distance. A little beyond the arch, at the base (if one of those graceful turrets, a group was seated upon the green sward ; their figures would per- haps, have marred the effect in a picture, but some- how they blended very picturesquely with the real- ity. Kate Wyllys, with bonnet off, dark braided hair, and smiling sunny face, was holding some flowers for Alexander to examineflirting very prettily under the pretence of botany. Agties and Miss Woodley stood micar, filling the double office of chaperon and back-ground. Godfrey looked at the picture, an.d then at Ida. Alt ! said he, we enjoy this thoroughly now; but how was it with us an hour ago is this the ninode in which one ought to visit fine scenery or interesting ruins? Is it pleasant to be obliged either to parade your solitary enthusiasm, or else, by suppressing it, to lose all enjoymemit? Parties are all very well in ball-rooms, and pic-nics in sumumerhouses, hut I dont like comiming to boil potatoes arid provide small-talk among the reliques of the past, any better than I should like to be taken out into the moonli~ht to dance a polka. As to making smalltalk, said Ida, laughing, I cant say you have over-exerted yotirself in that particular. But, though I dont agree with you, Godfrey, I do think that one thing which you said, is quite trueI have not enjoyed the beauty and grandeur of this place as I expected to do, ex- cept just for the first half hour. I fitid it is nat- itual to think more of the party and less of the place ; and it would indeed be delightful to come here quite alone, or withxvititpapa. This seems to me the same sort of thing as the having a regular evening party to read Shakspeare, which you know would be a kind of desecration, umiless they were all poets, or thorough lovers of poetry. Heaven preserve me from an evenimig party where they were all poets! cried Godfrey, fer- vently. But I see I shall make a couivert of you at last. I have gained one step already, and now I shall call for another confession. Dont you thimik everybody was more or less out of humor I Not began Ida. Not more than usual, exclaimed he, inter- ruptirmg her. Well, perhaps that may be true enough, only I think it is a very severe observation of yours. Oh, but I was not going to say that, said Ida, nor anything in the least like it. In the first place, I thimik yott have no right to complain, inasmuch as you were time cmossest of the whole party ; in time second place, I have no right, be- cause I was rude amid went away to enjoy myself, and forgot that I was wanted. I dont think, she added archly, that a pic-minic is at all likely to make everybody perfectdo you I Of course not, added he, a little startled. Well, site said, but is nt that just what you are expecting of it.? I think one mayhave atm immense quantity of pleasure in spite huinthm of ones owmm faults and of other umeoples, and I should never expect to become faultless because I was at a pleasure party. Nmnw, are you amigry ?for I tlmimik I am very impertinent. Only in calling yumurself so, answered he; if your philosophy is impertinent when addressed to me, it can only be because I am not capable of comprehending it; so you see what you make of me. Was that philosophy? asked Ida; I thought it was only common semise. 75 76 STORY OF A FAMILY. Godfrey laughed heartily. You look quite dis- mayed at being bruught in guilty of philosophy, said he; I suppose you will expect me to call you a blue-stocking next. Have you the same horror of learned ladies that Alexander has? inquired Ida. Perhaps, replied Godfrey, but not for the same reason. I hate all things that are false or un- natural in their proportions, and, as I hold that a womans heart should always be larger than her head, the instances wherein this true proportion is marred are especially distaseful to me. A learned woman ought to be a most loving and gentle one, or else the woman in her is lost ; but I am afraid that you and I look at things and people with very different eyes; you see all the good, and I have the habit of looking at the evil ; your way is both wise and right, but mine is my own, I might say myself, and I cannot change it. Can you not? said Ida simply. He felt the unintentional rebuke, and it 50 hap- pened that it touched him on a peculiarly sensitive point. Oh, my dear Ida ! cried he, who is there in the world that ever radically changes his own character? If I could see one complete trans- formation, one character wherein the original ten- dencies had been not modified but obliterated, it would do more good to my fait.h than a miracle, which in fact it would be. And if our relioion be indeed the divine reality which we are taught to believe, is it not marvellous that it should not trans- figure the human into the divine? But it seems impotent in this which is surely its own proper sphere. Just think of what we see; a man is born with a certain fault of character, say feeble- ness and instability of purpose. He is an earnest Christian, he confesses this fault, deplores it, strives against it, and sinks under it! Take him in the prime of his vigor, mental and bodily, and set him beside one born with a strong will, perhaps with- out faith at all, andwhet has his religion done for him? And yet it is his life, his hope, his rule. But I ought not to talk to you in this way. But ought you to think in this way? ex- claimed Ida, eagerly. Is it true? Dear Godfrey, you know it is not true; have not the weakest and most timid been martyrs, the most violent become meek as infants, the proudest humble, and the meanest abundant in charity? Oh, Godfrey, for- give me! I am quite unfit to teach you, but sure- ly when we remember our invisible communion, we can never lose our faith in man.~ Such things were, returned he, gloomily. And are and will bemust be, she replied but even as she spoke, the glow of enthusiasm died away upon her face, and left it in the shadow of a strange new trouble. She looked sorrowful and bewildered and full of pity. Godfrey once more took her hand into his own. It is I who should ask you for forgiveness,said he; I have done, as I always do, wrong. Do not, however, think worse of me than I deserveI This is a strange, unsuitable conversation, and I dont know how we came to it; 1 wish you would forget it as fast as you can. Look, there is Frederick; shall we join him? I think, said Ida, when such ideas as you have been describing come upon you, it ought to be enough to disperse them only to look at Fred- erick. He smiled. But Frederick was born without faults, said he. Ida made no answer, and after a little while Godfrey addressed her again, half playfully, yet with a manner sufficiently betokening that he re- proached himself bitterly. Sister Ida, said he, I expect you will be more afraid of me than ever now. She looked up into his face with her lovely, cloudless eyes, that seemed the visible life of a pure spirit. No, she replied, not afraid, only sorry. One thing would always keep me from being afraid of you, and that is, the tenderness of your love for Frederick. He drew his hand from hers with an expression of acute pain, ahnost of horror, and with a sudden heavy sigh quickened his pace, and in another minute they were at Fredericks side. The rest of the day offers little worthy of record; they walked to the waterfall, and uncle John, in his eagerness to bring each lady of the party in succession to the best point of view, xvent slipping about over the wet stones with a spasmodic and misdirected agility, had three serious falls, and splashed his sister Melissa from head to foot. Mr. Woodley made one of the water-party on their re- turn, and never ceased making the others change places in order to trim the boat, which, if his movements were at all effectual, must have rivalled any court dress in the world by the time it was fin- ished. Alexander steered, and Godfrey drove Ag- nes; but Alexander was not much delighted with his change of position for he had never yet found Ida so absent. SCIENCE IN MATJEITIUS. From Chambers Journal. SCIENCE IN MAURITIUS. IT is always gratifying to be able to invite at- tention to the efforts made for the growth of knowledge, the practical application of science to the business of life, or the opening up of hitherto undiscovered resources in nature. We have now before us a volume of the Transactions of the Natural History Society of Mauritius, compris- ing a period of four years, which enables us to form a tolerable estimate of the progress of science in that remote dependency. The society numbers about one hundred resident members, and nearly as many foreign and honorary. Shut up in an island about equal in extent to the county of Wor- cester, they have a comparatively small field of ob- servation ; but so much the more reason is there that the work should be effectually done. They are well situated for communication with other parts of the world, and the Transactions show that correspondence with China, India, Europe, and Africa, is actively maintained. The society has been in existence about t~venty years ; and with a view to greater usefulness, has recently added Arts and Sciences to its title. The members profess as their primary object the study of natural science, more particularly to the appli- cations which science may render to agriculture and the industrial arts. Under this head are em- bracedmeans for promoting the cultivation of vanilla, silk, tea, sugar-cane, & c.; prizes for the best and utost prolific samples of rice, maize, manioc, and other vegetable productions, com- bined with experiments on the use and properties of manures, and the effect of climate. The scheme is a good one, and if well followed up, we have no doubt of the result proving most satisfac- tory and advantageous. The vanilla plant, we read, has been introduced and grown in the island with most encouraging success. This production, it is pretty well known, is used to give a flavor to confectionary, liqueurs, and principally chocolate. Mexico exports annu- ally a quantity valued at 40,000 dollars; and its further culture in Mauritius is looked forward to as likely to add an important item to the resources of the island, as a plantation may be raised at compar- atively small expense. It is said to be superior to the vanilla of Brazil, which bears a high price in European marketsfrom seventy to eighty shil- lings per pound. Some idea of the probable re- turn may be formed from the fact, that one plant at the end of three years will produce 10,000 ficiwers, and one hundred pods make a poiThd weight of the vanilla of commerce. The success of the plant in Mauritius was for some time problematical, so scanty was the produce, when the undue growth of a particular membrane was found to be the cause which had prevented the maturing of flowers into pods. An investigation took place, and the defect was remedied by mak- ing an incision at a certain time; and the assist- ance thus rendered to nature has had the desired effect of multiplying the flowers. It is a little singular that the introduction of the vanilla into Mauritius is of comparatively recent date; although a native of tropical climates, it ~vas unknown in the island until about twenty years ago. In the year 1818, an individual from the neighboring island of Bourbon, on a visit to Paris, saw a va- nilla plant at the Jardin du Roi. Astonished at its growing in so unnatural a climate, he addressed himself to the director of the garden, and ulti- mately resolved on attempting to introduce it into the colony. Three or four cuttings were taken from the rare exotic, and removed with all due precautions to Bourbon in 1822. Slips from these were afterwards conveyed to Maurithis, where their naturalization at first appeared to be hopeless. At length, in 1831, after various alternations of failure and success, the first crop of a dozen pods was gathered, and vanilla now forms a staple in the markets of the colony. The first cherry ever grown on the island appears to have given rise to some extraordinary proceedings. A tree had been introduced and tended with great care by a planter, who watched over it with trembling anxiety during the flowering season ; all the fruit, however, failed except one cherry, which gradually ripened and came to per- fection. A festival was given in celebration of the event by the delighted planter, and the gov- ernor, Sir R. Farquhar, invited to gather the unique and interesting specimen. He arrived punctual to the hour, and at the head of the assem- bled company approached the tree. The cherry was gone ; a young negro, unable to resist the temptation of the red and juicy fruit, had swal- lowed it. The governor appeased the planters vexation with the good-humored remark, that the will would suffice for the deed, and the company consoled themselVes for the disappointment by adjourning to the breakfast table. The climate of Mauritius must be admirably adapted for the enhetre of silk; the quantity of rain is comparatively smalla fact of much im- portance in the rearing of silk-worms. The East India Companys establishments have been taken as models for the silk-growing plantations, or magnaneries, as they are locally called. The most important is under the management of a lady, whose father introduced the cultivation of silk. The first plantations were made by the assistance of Indian convicts lent by the government, and a grant of 100 allowed for a further supply of mulberry-trees. The first supply of silk ofThred for sale was in 1820, wheti 750 lbs. of the article in a raw state were brought into market. Certain untoward circumstances have subsequently tended to check this branch of industry, but the society is now working in earnest to improve and extend it. We tnay add, that an annual vote of 10,000 francs is made by the French goveruntent as prizes for the best cocoons and mulberry trees in the island of Bourbon. Experiments, undertaken with a view to make the tea-tree productive in Mauritius, were sanctioned by the home government; and a 77, (7 SCWNCI~ IN MAURITItJS. small sum towards defraying the expenses was granted, on condition that seeds should he distrib- uted to all who chose to apply for them, with a view to ren(ler the growth of tea general through- out the island. Two Chinese acquainted with the manufacture of tea were brought from Canton, and the first plantation of 5000 square yards has realized every expectation. Samples have been sent to England, and approved as tuarketable and the growing and manufacture of tea are con- sidered as so thoroughly established, that the so- ciety unanimously assented to the cessation of the annual grant. Tea now appears in the list of cx- ports from the island. Among the communications to the society, is one describing a process for making sea biscuit to keep for three years without deterioration. It consists in mixing a pulp obtained from yams with dry wheat flour; no water to he used. The bis- cuit ma(le in this way is said to be of better flavor than sea biscuit generally. Some of it kept for eighteen months had undergone no sensible altera- tion, and small quantities have been placed in charge of captains of ships bound on long voyages, as the only means of effecturdly testing the quali- ty. If successf~il, a protitable branch of industry may here be made available, as yams yield 40,000 to the acre. With regard to sugar, it has been shown, by improved machinery, ~vhich subjects the canes to a greater amo nut of pressure than usual in passing through the mill, that the sugar crop may be set down at 8,000 lbs. to the acre. The experiments from which this datum is taken werc made with canes grown on a rocky soil eleven or twelve hundred feet above the level of the sea. In fact, the Transactions of the Man- ritius Society furnish sufficient evidence to prove that more depends on the care and attention paid to the canes while growing, and period of cutting, than en the quantity brought to the mill. Among other improvements is a new reverberating furnace, by which the juice is rapidly heated with a very small expenditure of fuel. The quantity of sugar exported from Mauritius to England in 1845 was over 80,000,000 lbs., besides 10,000,000 lbs. to other countries. The society has for some time entertained the project of naturalizing the salmon in the rivers of the island. A series of instructions have been drawn up, at the suggestion of a member residing at Belfast, as to the best means of transporting salmon spawn, or the young fish, from this coun- try, without injurious oscillation or unequal temper- ature. It is obvious that the nicest. precautions will be required to insure 5~CCC55 in a voyage of from ten to twelve weeks. The experiment is an interesting one; hut it remains to be seen whether salmon will live in the turbid rivers of an island in the Indian Ocean, or if, after remaining one sea- ~n, they will ever return. The great demand for guano as manure induced the chief civil engineer, Lieutenant-colonel Lloyd, (the same, we presume, whose name was asso- ciated with the enterprising ascent of the Peter Butte mountain in 1832,) with some other gentle- men, to make a trip to a group of rocky islets about twenty miles from the coast of Mauritiu~. So tremendous a surf beats upon these islands that they can only be visited during what are called the hurricane months,~ when there are frequent calms; and even then the voyage is perilous, owing to the rapid and uncertain currents running between the reefs. On this occasion the party, who had embarked in a small colonial schooner, were exposed to extreme danger from the spring- ing up of a gale of wind, which raised mountain- ous breakers in the narrow channels, and were obliged to bear up for Round Island, one of the largest of the group, where they with some difficulty effected a landing, with the stores intended to sup- ply them during the prosecution of their search, while the schooner was forced to run hack to Port Louis. The gale increased to a hurricane ; the party had no other shelter than that afforded by an old worm-eaten tarpaulin ; their ~vater-casks were washed away by the tremendous waves, although the precaution had been taken of rolling them nearly one hunJi~ed yards up time steep rocky beach ; and they had no water but what was found in holes in the rocks. They were kept prisoners in this way for seven days, when they were taken off, not without risk, by a steamer manned with volunteers from a vessel of war then lying at Mauritius. During our forced sojourn, writes Lieutenantcolonel Lloyd, in his conimnunication to the society, we witnessed from our half-sheltered nooks such a wonderful and impressive scene tn the strife of the elements, and the indescribable magnificence of the monstrou~ waves, beating with overwhelming violence the crumbling preci- pices beneath our very feet, that we never shall forget a sight which but few mortals have had the opportunity of safely enjoying. Round Island is des~ribed as a most extraordi- nary geological phenomenon. A mile in length, and somewhat less in breadth, and rising to the height of 1000 feet, it is broken up into caverns, clefts, pinnacles, and overhanging cliffs of calca- reous conglomerate, lava and basalt. During the commencement of the gale, Lieutenant-colonel Lloyd had an opportunity of ~yitnessing a most in- teresting fact in natural history connected with the habits of the Pha~ton plmomicurusred-tailed boat- swain, or tropic-bird. Myriads of these birds, he writes, exist on this island ; and to our utter astonishment, what we had only previously re- marked to be a most becoming ornament in the tail of these splendid sea-birds, proved to be an essential portion of the beautiful mechanism which nature has afforded them to aid in their s~vift and varied motions; and that the two slender and deli cate feathers of their tail serve them as a rudder or backwater, which, with their feet, they work with the greatest ease and rapidity on either side, to guide them in their evolutions in steering through the air. It was not omme, but hundreds, that we saw applying this most extraordinary power; and iL was 78 DICTIONARY 0? AMERICANTSMS. 7,9 beautiful to observe the suddenness and energy Englishman. If you have flap-jacks for break- with which they used this simple machine, when, j fast, call them flap-jacks, and learti from Mr. on pursuinF their course against the increasing Bartlett, if you have forgotten it before, that in gale, they discovered us hehind a jutting rock, and Shakspeares Pericles (if it be Shakspeares) yoti seizing their tail, and placing it almost at right- may read, angles to their body, their head outstretched in the We 11 have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting opposite direction, they changed their course in the days, and moreoer puddings and flap-jacks. circumference of a few feet, I may almost say a few inches. But for witnessing this fact, I cotild hardly have credited the appliance of so frail a material to such a purpose fortunately tlte cor- roboration of my friends will not place me in that category with regard to others. By the puhlication of such facts and observa- tions as those we have brought forward, the Mati- ritius Society is rendering good service to the cause of science and industry. In a scientific point of view, comparatively insihniflcant things are not without their value. Bring me a plant, a leaf, a flower, an insect, said Linnams, and you add a new link to tIme chain of my investiga- tions. The society has our cordial wishes fir its prosperity, and we trust the sentiment expressed by one of its members will be fully realized that scientific and philosophical inquiries, whilst they exalt the intellectual portion of roans nature, and consequently react on the mass of mankind, also assemble together individuals of different creeds, of different opinions, of different stations of life, in the one peaceful and useful aim of benefiting by their inquiries their fellow-men for generations to come. In fine, the proceedings of this remote society, the zeal and success whim which its mem- bers combat against the difficulties of their situa- tion, might put to shame the communities of more highly-favored districts at home, among whom it is found almost impossible to establish with any degree of permanency even a book-club or reading- room. From the Boston Advertiser. DICTIONARY OF AMERICANISMS. MR. JortN RUSSELL BARTLETT, a gentleman of New York, ~veil known to students of Amer- ican history, has completed and published his glossary of words and phrases usttally regarded as peculiar to the United States. In a hatid- some volume of 400 pages, he goes over his ground with great care and erudition. The intro- duction contains an agreeable and sound essay on the dialects of this cotmutry and of England. Mr. Bartlett constantly illustrates the fact that many of our provincialisms are the repetitions of those of the mother country, brought hither by the English settlers. Many more are words which have died out of use in England, but have been more tenacious of life here. Let this encoura e those who are fearful that some wandering Eng- lishman may pronounce them un~vorthy of kin with Shakspeare ;let it lie a warning to those who are putting their syllables all in training, in the hope that at some future day, a good-natured blue-nose or York-shire-man may pronounce them to speak English almost as well as an The width of ground to be covered in a book of this kind is wider, probably, than the study of the dialects of any other nation. Thus, to speak simply of the origin of ottr people, Mr. Bartlett reminds us, that he has to trace dialects derived from English, Scotch, Irish, Welsh, Dutch, Norwegian, French and Spanisim colonists, besides the words and phrases of the abotigines, which still linger in ottr use, for which, and the things they represent, we cannot be too grateful, as in the cases of samp, kominy, sapawn and suckatash. All these various sources he has investigated witla great success arid, while a dictionary of any sort is always entertainimig, here we have one peculiarly interesting to our travellers and readers. We were a little surprised to find from the preface that the residents of the city of New York are perhaps, less marked in their pronuncia- tion and use of words, than the residents of any (ither city or state. To a New Yorker, of comsrse, they are. But in the matter (if intonation atid pronunciation, no section of the country can call the other black. The chickn, and oin, and vcashn of the New Yorker are a sibbolefiu which exposc Imis nativity as quickly as the dooty of the Bostomiian. The whole book is so diligently compiled, with stich careful stmmdy of time classics (if dialect and idiom, Major Jones, Jack Downing, Samn Slick, Margaret, amid others, that it is hard to pick out any class of phrases as better illustrated than the rest. Mr. lemmarm, of the Commercial Advertiser, Imas fmmrrmislmed the political phrases articles espe- cially interesting in the ramifications of tIme inconi prehensible party lines of the state of New York. The quotatiomts introduced to show instances of tIme use of words are very laughable. The whole hook, in(leed, furnislmes a fund of fun to entertain amiy winter circle of trmie-bred Americans. We make two or three extracts only, of these, almost at random ; a dictiormary, of course, is only to be judged as a whole. Arid whoever tinder- takes to Imave any books of reference at hand, must obtain Mr. Bartletts for hmimselfl HucacLEeRatnY ABOVE TItE southern phrase. The way he and his companions used to destroy the beasts (if the forests, was huckleberry above the persimmon of ammy native in time country. Thorpe, Backwoods. PECK o~ TaoueLies.G meat trouble. Neptune at that his speed redoubles, To ease them of tlmair peck of troubles.Gotton. DICTIONARY OF AMERICANISMS. When I wrote my last letter to you, I was in a peck of troubles, and it did seem to me like heaven and earth was inspired agin rne.Maj. Jones Courtship. Rocn.A stone. In the southern and western states, stones of any size are absurdly called rocks. [This absurdity is in use in some parts of New England.] To RooxTo throw stones at; to stone. This supremely ridiculous expression is derived from the preceding. They commenced rocking the Clay Club House in June, and one occasion threw a rock in at the window, & c., & c.fonesborou0h, Tenn., Whi0. SMART SPRINKLEA good deal. A good many. Used in the interior of the western states. In answer to some query about snakes, our landlord said there was a smart sprinkle of rattle- snake on Red Run; and a powerful nice day to sun themselves. Carltons New Purchase. Mr. Pickering, late President of the American Academy, published, in 1816, a vocabulary of this character, which Mr. Bartlett has, of course, occasion to refer to. But since that time the number of Americanisms has probably at least kept pace with the increase of the people that uses them. Full as is Mr. Bartletts book, even, a travelling commission on provincialisms would probably make many additions to it, which have never slipped into print or away from the frontiers. The value of merely bringing them to the light would be questionable, but each such provincialism gives very valuable suggestions in philology, and every new phrase fixed assists in tracing the deriva- tion of others. In this view we regard this curi- ous volume as of very great value. Mr. Bartlett defines CAT-STICK a bat or cudgel, used by boys in a game at ballgiving Rhode Island as the locality of the phrase. The word has a more general use; it is Yankee for any un-split stick of wood with the bark on, which is small enough to be grasped in the hand. This is probably the English provincial use of it. The stick used in playing ball is the hockey-stick, or hawky-stick, [see Mr. Abbots Caleb in Boston for the latter spelling,] of the New England play- ground, the bandy-stick of the southern and English schools. It must have a crook at the end farthest from the hand. FILLIPEEN, or PHILLTPINA.Mr. Bartlett de- cribes pleasantly this little game, and gives an account of a similar name in Germany, where the presents given in it are called vie/-liebehens. From this word he derives ours. The derivation is more probably a hybrid one, perhaps through the French, from phi/os, a friend, and poena, a gage, fine, or pledge. The proper spelling is philo- poena. Huon PAWS is not of New York, but of Bos- ton origin. CAucusA private meeting of the leading politicians of a party to agree upon the plans te be pursued in an approaching election. This is the leading meaning of this word, but in New Fugland at least, it also covers any party meeting however largeheld with reference to an election. LUCY-VEE [Omitted.] Fr. Loup-cervier. The wild-cat or lynx of Maine. SAss-TEAA decoction of Sassafras, (says Mr. Brtlett.) He has been happy enough never to have met with Jarsey-tea, or mint-tea, or sage- tea. We must beg him to spend a few months in the back of New Hampshire or Maine, to pre- pare himself to re-write his articles on SAss and SAUCE. His definition is Websters: Culinary vegetables and roots eaten with flesh. This is quite too much limited. Conscious of this, per- haps, he has added in his appendix, misled by Carlton, the word SAavxs for preserves, giving the following authority We had also custard pies and maple molasses, (usually called them are molasses,) and pre- served apples, preserved water melon rinds, and preserved red peppers and tomatoes, all termed for brevitys sake, (like words in Websters Diction- ary,) sarces. Car/tons. New Purchase. Mr. Carltons ear misled him, if, as is probable, the parent~word was sauce. IJJes boast, that he could give a new sauce for every day of a luaus life, who would live as short a life as one of Udes clients would be apt to, is nothing compared with the resources xvhich the provincial language gives to the American housekeeper. In this passage we observe that Mr. Carlton says for brevitys sake. Of this rather lengthy phrase, the true rendering is for short. My little gals name is Helen, but we call her Ileelen for short. Washi n~ ton Coachman. It has been understood that in Miss Edgworths unpublished novel Takino for Granted, one of the characters is a proverbial philosopher, whose speech flows with as varied phrases an lanchos. Miss Edgworth has asked the assistance of her friends here in furnishing American phrases. Mr. Bartletts admirable book will fully supply her. so TIE GREAT BEDFORD LEVEL. 81 From Chambers Journal. THE GREAT BEDFORD LEVEL. XVrnar the western side of the island of Great Britain is remarkable for its generally rocky and mountainous character, the eastern side is for the most part equally distinguished by its alluvial plains and soft sylvan scenery ; the truth seeming to be, that the eastern coast is composed to a large extent of the washings of mud and sand from the higher regions of the west. In some places, the beach on the eastern shore consists of wide tracts of pure sand, laid bare at the recess of the tides, and at others it is of the character of a marsh, in which water anil vegetation carry on a contest for a mas- tery. We propose to give a short account of the largest of these marshes, usually called the great level of the fens, or the Great Bedford Level. The district comprised in this term, about seventy miles long, and from twenty to forty wide, contain- ing ii early 700,000 acres, is hounded by the high lands of six countiesNorfolk, SnW)lk, Cambridge, ITnntingdou, Northampton, and Lincoln. The waters of nine counties are carried through it by ejolit rivers, four of whichthe Witham, Welland, Nene. and Ousediseharging their contents into the great estuary of the Wash, form the natural outfalls for that portion of the country. For a long period, extending further back than our oldest his- toric I records, this district has been an immense swamp, dreary and pestilential. The quantity of water pouring down from the uplands was greater than, from the levelness of the surface and choked condition of the outlets, could find a ready passage to the sea; besides which, the tides from the Ger- man Ocean rushing up the streams caused periodi- cal inundations, and the whole region became a succession of shoals, stagnant lakes or meres, with intervening spaces of slimy bog, and a few elevated spots resembling islands. Such a wilderness as this must have been a paradise for wild fowl, nox- ious reptiles, and barbarian freebooters. We have no knowledue of any attempts at reclamation prior to these of the Romans; remains of forts, mounds, and gravel dikes made by these enterprising inva- ders, being yet visible. One of their dikes, com- mencing on the Nene at Peterborough, may be traced to Lincoln, and, according to the late Mr. Bonnie, as far as the Trent. From what we know of the Romans, we may believe that their works ~vere maintained by powerful industry ; they com pehed the natives to cut down trees and raise banks; but on their departure, in the fifth century, the barriers and drains were neglected and de- siroved, and the fees relapsed into their original condition. During the Saxon rule, several monas- tories were built on some of the higher grounds, the immediate precincts of which were doubtless protected and improved by the monks; but beyond this, nothing was done in the way of general im- provement. Readers (if history will remember the use made imf the fens in the Danish and Norman invasions; the woods and marshes became strong- holds for fugitives, and a camp of refuge was held for many years in defiance of the enemy. It is probable that the condition of the (histrict may have been sometimes better than at others; for Henry of Iluntinredon and William of Malmesbury, speak of it in elowinme terms, describing the beauties of the lexel surface, the rich grass, vines, and apple-ti ees Most likely this description was ap- plied to thu elevated sites cultivated by monks or (timer pri)uiieto~e as sudden floods occasionally thu of the enuntry. Obscure tra ee. VOL. xx. 0 ditions tell of inundations in far remote times: Dngdale records an irruption of the sea which tonic place in 1236, and destroyed men, ships, land, and cattle. ~A similar deluge occurred in 1613, and again in later times, so that the level kept up the character given of it, as having been for the space of many ages, a vast and deep fee, affordin~ little benefit to the realm other than fish or fowl, with overmuch harbor to a rude and almost barbarous sort of lazy and beggarly people. Down even to within a very recent period, much (if the surface consisted of dismal sloughs, overgrown with acres of reeds, a fountain of ague on a large scale. The inhabitants lived in a state of isolation from one another, and travelling was so difficult, that boards were affixed to the horses shoes to prevent therra sinking into the soft soil. The task of reclaiming such a morass must have appeared hopeless, yet adventurers have not been wanting. From the era of William the Conqueror to the rome of Elizabeth, various bold efforts were made to reclaim at least portions of the fens. James I. also regarded the subject with much interest: successful drainage would give him new lands to distribute among his followers; and he is reported to have sai(l that lie would not suffer any longer the laud to lie abamidoned to the use of the waters.~ In his reign, the first local act for draining was (ibtained, but not without great opp(isition. To nisure simecess, the king invited from Holland Cor- tidies XTermuyden, an eminent Zealander, whose knowledge and aliilities were presumed equal to the task. The undertaking was further supported by several Dutch capitalists, who, by what. appeared to he a prudent investment, secured a home in the new c(iiintry to which to flee in case of emergency. Vermeyden was kimighted by James; the remo- neration for his services was to be 95,000 acres of the fen. Though an able iiian, he originated many fatal errors, particularly that of relying too much on artificial cuttings, and neglecting the natural outfalls. His efforts in many instances were but temporarily successful. In addition to natural ob- stacles, lie had to encounter those opposed to him by the inh~ bitants, who were exasperated at the invasion, as they termed it, of their common lands. Their hostility xvas directed not omdy against the foreigners, but against draining altogether. For the gratification of a few petty interests, it was thought better that a large tract nuf country should remain a pestilemitial xvaste than become productive. So great was the discomitent, that when, in the reign (if Charles I., a tax of six shillings per acre was laid on the xvhole fee land, to provide a drainage fund, not a single penny could be collected. An estate of 35,000 acres, which the Earl of Lindsay had obtained amid cultivated under the authority of the king, was reduced to its former condition by a mis- chievous assemblage of the lazy and beggarly people~ who broke doxvn the banks and destroyed the drains. Rather than tolerate the presence of the hated foreigners, the fenmen petitioned the Earl of Bedford, xvho held large estates near Ely, to undertake the work. He did so: large cuttings were effected, the principal hem,, the Old Beil- ford river, twenty-one miles long; but in the end. the work was again stopped, in consequence of thee opposition to the Dutch laborers who were em-. ployed. The son and successor of the earl, some years afterwards, in company with other adven- tumors, resumed operations under the authority of an act of the Long Parliament, and noxv the New Bedford river w s cut, and other useful drainages effected. Scottish pri~oucrs, captured THE GREAT BEDFORD LEVEL. by Cromwell at the battle of Dnnbar, and Dotch prisoners, taken by Blake in his action with Tromp, were set to work on this great effort at land recla- ination. After Cromwells death, the works lan- guished; hot by the exertibns of the Earl of Bed- ford, a charter was obtained from Charles II., and the Corporation of the Bedford Level established in 1644. The body still exists; and to their able management are doe the gradual improvements which have ever since taken place. The opposition encountered by the early adven- turers abated as the economic results of their labors became apparent; and attempts to reclaim different portions of the fens were made by other parties. The attempts, however, were rendered in a great measure abortive, by neglecting the out- falls of the river into the sea; the waters, not hav- ing free vent, were thrown back upon the interior, and there remained but to adopt the alternative of mechanical drainage. First, a few horse-mills, and after~vards a vast number of windmills, were em- ployed to raise the water; but all proved unavailing, until the po~verful and continuous aid of steam was called into operation. At the present time there are from 40 to 50 steam-engines and 250 windmills working at the fens. The consequence is, that vast tracts of ground once swampy and dotted over with pools, have been reclaimed, and brought under cultivation. A powerful steam-engine is pumping the water out of Whittlesey Mere, which spreads over 1000 acres; and Hoim Fen which, a few years since, was a reed shoal of 5000 acres, now produces crops of excellent wheat. Ugg Mere is changed into productive fields; and Ramsey Mere, 560 acres, which once grew enormous quantities of long reeds, (used for thatching in the neighbor- ing counties,) now comprises three farms of beau- tiful land, on a higher level than the surrounding fen. And this mere has now farm-buildings built upon its bed, a good gravel road running thronob the middle of it, and produces fine crops of wheat and oats. As a necessary consequence, the value of land has increased ~vith the march of improvement. Farms which, thirty years ago, were bought at 5 per acre, are now worth seven or eioht times as much. The annual rental of 1000 acres near Harneastle, in what is now one of the richest dis- tricts, was at one time less than 10. Now the fertility and productiveness of the Great Level have become proverbialfor crops and cattle, there are few places which excel it. Some of its produc- tionssuch as wood arid peppermintare peculiar to the district; and recently, a Yorkshire company have taken a considerable tract of some of the best land on lease, for the cultivation of chicory. With- in the last seven years the farms and pastures have been still further improved by underdraining; and the peaty soil, as it becomes drier, subsides from two to three feet,. and is rendered more fruitful by the compression. Clay is found throughout the level, at various depths below the surface, and has been largely taken ~dvantage of for admixture with the lighter soil. The excavations made from time to time have brought to light many evidences of the firmer state of the fenswhole forests of Aiak and fir lying flat, with the roots yet firmly imbedded in the subjacent earth, renmains of boats and habitations, farming implements and tools; and iii one singularinstance a meadow was exposed with the swaths of grass still ranged on the surface as they fell under the scythe. The discovery of these i~elics at different depths, leads to the conclusion that the Level was at one time a vast estuary, in which the sea at different epochs has deposited layers of silt. The presidency of the Bedford Level Corporation has devolved upomi several eminent noblemen from the time of Francis, Earl of Bedford, to the present time. The company appoint a registrar and re- ceiver-general of the taxes levied for the maintemi- ance of works, and an engineer. The latter em- ploys a superintendent, with a staff of sluice-keepers and laborers, whose duty it is to attend to the out- falls, and make the necessary repairs. He is authorized to prevent the mooring of vessels in improper situations, or the deposition of any im- pediment that may retard the flow of the water. For the latter purpose he is furnished with rakes and other implements for the periodical weedin and clearing of the rivers. Each division of th Level has its superintendent and subordinate staff. The sluice-keepers are required to be on the watch night and day to close the gates against the flood tide, and open them at the ebb, by which means the channels are kept scoured out. They have also to see that boats pass through the gates accord- ing to the established regulations, amid to keep a daily account of the depth of the water on the sill of the sluice, recording floods or any other unusual rise. The embanking up of the water-courses has brou~hmt a most important means of fertilization within reach of the fen-farmers, known as warp- ing.~ This consists in flooding the lands one or two feet deep, by opening sluices placed for tIme purpose and allowing time water to remain nutil all the mud in stispension is deposited before it is anain drawn off. In this way any number of inches of a most valuable fertilizer may be spread over the land, with but little trouble or expense, and with a most remunerative effect. Such is the quan- tity of mud brought down by the rivers which traverse the fens, that the operation of warpin~, is continually and naturally going on at their eruhou- cCurcs to an extent scarcely credible. Accordimg to Sir John Reminie, on the Nene channel the de- posit was fourteen feet, and on the Ouse, twenty- five feet, perpendicular, in about six years. The quantity, however, varies according to situation; but two feet per annum appear to be no unusual amount. This circumstance has led to the takmng in (if many hundreds of acres from the sea. The first plant that makes its appearance on the new land is the marsh samphiire, which is soon followe by sea-xvlieat (Triticrun repens) and ~rasses. Experience has shown, observes a writer in th Agricultural Societys Journal, to whose report we are indebted for several particulars, that the ground ought to be covered by nature with sam- phire or other plants, or ~vith grass, before an attempt is made to embank it. Similar reclamations are taking place at the out- fall of the Welland, where the stream at present is compelled in a tortuous course by mud banks. The method adopted is to straighten the channel of the river by placing two rows of bush fagots. perhaps fifty yards in advance, on the mud, at low water, on each side of the river. After a few tides these fagot heaps are found full of warp, a mixture of fine sand and mud, which renders them in some degree solid; another tier of fagots is then laid upon the first, and is again embodied with them by the warp. This kind of embankment is continued in a straight line over sand and through water, or across the old bed of the river, the fagots LAND OF PLENTY. being sunk in the water and bedded in the soft antiqul tyth~ t of utility. When completed, we mud, by means of earth, & c., thrown upon them may hope that other portions of the island will re- out of boats. One row is always advanced before ceive the same attention. For example, the Sol- the other on that side which will most impede the way Firth, Morecambe Bay, the Leven and Dud- current of the river; the tide, in coming up, over- don Sands, all of~vhich, if reclaimed, would add flows this weak fimce, filling it with warp, and largely to the resources of the empire. A some- making it so strono the ebb water is unable what similar project is contemplated by our neigh- to remove such an obstacle from its course, and is hors the Dutch, in connection with a railway from compelled to dig out a new channel through the Flushing to Middleburg, and across the islands of sandbank in the intended direction. In this way Waleheren and Beveland, to unite with a line on the fagots are advanced, taking care to keep the the mainland. At the narrowest part of the Sloe scour side fore most, and a new deep channel is the channel between the two islandsembank worn by the water. ments or jetties have been carried some distance The most beneficial improvements yet effected in into the water, round which the conflicting tidal the draining of the fens are the new outfall of the currents of the East and West Scheldt have de- Nene at Wisbeach, and that of the Ouse, by what posited such a thickness of silt, that Mr. G. Rennie, is called the Eau Brink Cut, at Lynn. The former on making a professional inspection of the place, of these works cost 200,000; but by making the found the channel fordable at low water, and recoin-. necessary einbankments more than ten thousands mended the carryin0 of the embankment entirely acres were gained from the sea, besides the promise across, by which means it is calculated 40,000 of future increase. For no sooner is a barrier bank acres will be naturally reclaimed in the course of ratsed than the sea begins immediately to throw six years, and be worth 40 an acre. The Dutch down a deposit at its foot. In this way the outside authorities have not yet determined on the project, of some banks is elevated higher than the inside. but we think they cannot reject so desirable an I3y the 2j miles of the Eau Brink Cut, the work acquisition of territory, especially as the railway of the late Mr. Rennie, the last circuitous bends of will assist in restoring to Middleburg a share of its the Ouse, stretching double that distance, are avoid- former prosperity. We cannot conclude our notice ed. The cost was 150,000: a good part of the of the great level of the fens better than in the sum was wasted in defeating the opposition offered words of Sir John Rennies report: If ever the to the bill authorizing the work, in its passage undertaking should be carried into effect, not only through parliament. After the opening of the new will the drainage and navigation of an extensive cutting, in 1821, its ttsility became so obvious, that district, bordering on the rivers Ouse, Nene, Wel- five years afterwards, it was rendered still more land, and Withamn, and the Great Wash, and coin- serviceable by widening. prising little short of a million acres of land, be In 1751, a grand and comprehensive scheme greatly improved, and thus their power of produc- was proposed by Mr. Kinderley for uniting t hef tion be greatly augmented, which alone is worthy rivers flowing into the Wash in one common chan- of considerable sacrifice to obtain, hut an entire new nel, and conveying them away into deep water. district, containing 150,000 acres of valuable land, The project, a mo st masterly one, has been since (which is half as large again as the entire county then occasionally revtved, but no active measures of Rutland, which contains only 95,000 acres,) taken to carry it into execution. In 1839, Sir J. may be added to the kingdom. It will, I trust, be Rennie drew up a report on th.e subject, demon- admitted that few enterprises, if any, have offered stratiug its entire practicability. The proposal is a more satisfactory prospect, whether regarded in to strait~hten and embank the outfalls of the Nene, light of profit to the individual or to the community Ouse, Withain, and XVellandto conduct them to at large, and such as otight to command attention. the centre of the Wash by a grand system of harrier - banks, which will give an additional fall of six feet, and thus secure a channel that shall keep itself LAND OF PLENTYIn Singapore, with the cx- cl.aar, and at the same time more effectually drain ception of children amid bed-ridden adults, it would the interior; besides which, it would offer a safe be impossible to suffer from starvation : privations roadstead for vessels. There is now reason to are the lot of all; but it must be said for this our hope that the project so long in abeyance will be tropical region, that an all-kind Providence seems realized. Within the past few weeks meetings to have opened her stores most lavishly for the use have been held on the subject at Londun and Lynn. of man; he iieeds n~ither to toil nor spin, and yet, The leading men of the latter town will subscribe like the lilies of the field, he can be fed and clothed. 120,000 towards the undertaking; and it is mimi- Fvery cleared spot that is allowed to run into derstood that application for the necessary powers jungle furnishes leaves of various kiiids that can be will be made to the next session of parliamemit. used in curries or in stews. The common Ui~i Seventy thousand acres of the Wash are already keyu gives a delicious arrowroot, and this plant is left dry at low water; but should this scheme be found as a weed, an(l used as a fence; in all parts, carried into effnct, the number of acres reclaimed the clady (Aruni esculenturn) that springs up mdi- ~vill be lSO,OOOa territory larger than some of oemious to our marshes and ditches, though pos- our present countiesfor-which, the namite of Vie- sessed of a poisonous fluid in its leaves and epider- tuna Level has been proposed. The cost of re- mis of the root, yet furnishes in the latter, whc& claiming is estimated at 17 an acre, while the boiled, a ~vholesoine food for man, and fattening land, when gained, will be worth 00 per acre. nourishment for pigs in its he yes. The sea and According to one of the calculations, in 1862 the rivers teem ~vith fish, and the beaches with mol- shareholders will be receiving 4 per cent. in addi- luses an(l edible sea-weeds. If any part of a ditch tion to the repaymnent of the whole of their capital. is dug, in three or six months it will be filled with Such a work as this is quite in accordance with the fish, and daily from it you ill see superannuated engineering intelligence and capacity of the age, women and young children drawirtg out small ye; of which it will remain a monument, stamped with tasty fish to season their dry rice or itisipid clady. a higher character than the great undertakings of Journal of the Indian Archipelago. 84 From the Dublin University Magazine. THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. MRS. MURPHY was searching through one of her drawersthe old-fashioned mahogany drawers she had brought to her husbands house when she was married. She was thinking at that very mo- ment of her marriage, and those thoughts were wo- ful, for sorrow was shadowed in her face. She was searching for pieces of linen to dress the ulcerated leg of her invalid husband. At that instant she heard his complainin0 voice from the fireside of the sitting-room, which adjoined the bed-room Come, Bettywhat keeps you? I say come. Bettyyes, Bettypoor Bettyif she had only died long ago, muttered Mrs. Murphy, and her eyes glared, and her face became white for a moment with anger, and a protid, and even lofty expression, such as Elizabeth of England in her haughtiest mood, when domineering most over her nobles and her kingdom, might have assumed, passed over Mrs. Murphys countenance, though she was but the wife of a man in humble rank, and her life had always been mingled with the concerns and the people of that rank. She made no answer to her husbandshe had not found the object of her searchshe torn ad over a great variety of thingsshe examined the corners and sides of the drawersshe went to the bottom of themshe disarranged the folded precision of many garmentsshe dragged to light old hand- kerchiefs and old aprons, which were c~val with her marriage, and she disturbed the repose of old baby-linenthe baby-linen of her first and only child, Robert; her face softened a little, but only a little ; for combating with the natural mothers love, there had long been powerful antagonist passions in her soul. She pushed the baby-linen carelessly into its corner, and continued her search, but she could find none of the article in question. There had been a great demand for it of late ; that ulcerated limb of her husbands had consumed her whole store of old linen. Still she searched in another corner; in a particular place in the lower drawer of all, which had been little disturbed for a length of titne, she found a parcel loosely tied together, and drawing it out, proceed- ed to examine the contents. Alas these were only pieces of printed calicopieces of many an old dress which had long since been worn out, and consigned, in the shape of rags, perhaps, to the paper manufacturejthere was not one frag- ment of old linen in the bundle. Mrs. Murphy was carelessly tying the fragments together again, when she espied what seemed an old letter. She took it op carelessly, but her whole frame became anitatedit ~ a well-remembered handwriting. Mrs. Murphy was, to a casual observer, a com- mon-place looking woman ; there was usually a cold expression on her rather hard features ; there was a cast of sorrow and paio about her eyes, but on her thin and pale lips there was always indica THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. tion of bitterness which told that though she had sorrowed much, she had not sorrowed as a Chris- tian should. Her figure was middle-sized, and neither majestic nor graceful ; her plain, brown stuff gown, and her still plainer thick muslin cap, caused her to seem in all respects an individual in whose mind there had never been any feelings beyond the common order of emotions which live and die in the great masses of the world. I thought I had burned them allevery one ay, many a day ago, I thought it, she \vhis- pered, still holding the letter in her hand. The deepest sorrow of the world had passed through that womans soul ; a hurricane of passion was still within it, yet her face was only somethin~, paler than usual, and her lips a little more corn- pressed. She turned the letter over, and read a few words, then she suddenly crumpled it together, and tore it in pieces. Ill do ityesI 11 tear his happiness to pieces, as I am doing thisno inure pity for her no more. She was gazing out of the small window of the apartment close to which a public road led. Two individuals were pa sing at that very moment one was Mrs. Murphys son, and the other was the person who, thirty years before, had writte. the letter Mrs. Murphy had just torn. She looked on his face, and smiled with apparent calmness. He was a man of somewhat respectable appear- ance, though the black dress which he wore was old and threadbare, and showed evident marks of having often been sorely brushed. his name was Henry Allen, and he was the master of school in a rather humble line in the neighboring town of L . His face was inclining to ruddi- ness, notwithstanding his sedentary occupation and unlike the generality of schoolmasters, his countenance was good-humored, and his brow was very mild and benevolent; the affectionsthe do- mestic affectionswere written on his face, and expressed in every tone of his voice. He was almost sixty years of age ; but in appearance he was not so old. Little did this man think, as he entered Mrs. Murphys house, and saluted her with his usual mild but cheerful manner, that thoughts of him, of his long past, long forgotten letters, had raised a deadly storm of passion and rage in her breast. It was fully more than thirty years since, in his youthful days of folly, he had paid attentions more than attentions, it might have beento Mrs. Murphy, then a young girl. They had quarrelled, perhaps he had wilfully, even rudely quarrelled ; but then it was so long ago, it lay so covered with the mists of time, lie could hardly think it had really been now, if by some accident it came to his mind ; but he rarely, if ever, did think of it. He had been married to another for so many years, and Mrs. Murphy having been married also, and as they both resided in the same neighborhood, he had been so accustomed to see THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. 85 her with her husband, that he had almost come to think she had never been anything but Mrs. Mur- pliy. Had he been questioned on the subject, he would have said that he believed Mrs. Murphy retained no recollection whatever of the period of their early flirtations ; for neighbors and ac- qusintarices, as they had long been, she never was in the habit of making the slightest reference to the past. That past was in his estimation now like some state of prior existence, none of the in- fluences of which could, by any possibility, affect his present condition. Little did he think, as he bid a cheerful good-day to Mrs. Murphy, and glanced carelessly on her, seeing her usual homely, housewife contour of face and figure, that in her soul she was the young girl of her early days, deep-passioned, and agonized with the bitterest of all earthly disappointments, and that she saw in him, not the man advanced in years, from whom the sentiment of young romance had long since departed, but the Henry AlIenyoung, handsome, intellectualwho had called into existence the one deep love of her girls heart. He might have seen the momentary glaring of unutterable hatred in her muddy, dark, grey eyes, but he never dreamed of her entertaining such feelings towards him. The schoolmaster was come to have some con- versation regarding matters connected with the approaching marriage of his daughter Agnes to Robert Murphy, the only child of Mrs. Murphy; the marriage was to take place on the ensuing day. Mrs. Murphy received the schoolmaster in the kitchen, and invited him to be seated there as usual ; it was her own and her husbands corn- mon sitting apartment. Mrs. Murphys early education had been a slight degree be~tter than what is usually bestowed on the daughters of farmers of an unpretending class in Ireland ; but when she married John Murphy, who was a farmer of an unpolished order, she gave up many of the little pretensions to taste in which she had indulged in her youth, and with a hardy stoicism fulfilled the duties of a lot, in which there were none of the refinements nor the adormnents of life. The schoolmaster seated himself beside the master of the houseJohn Murphy, master of the house he was called, but the name only apper- tairted to him. lie was an old, a very old man he had been past middle age when he married he had been an invalid, and confined to the house for years. Mrs. Murphy had managed the farm, and still continued to manage it, though, ostensibly, the business was conducted by the son, Robert. John Murphy was reclining in an old, broken, unpolished arm-chair; his thin, skinny face was one mass of deep furrows, and miserable discontent was in every glance of his hollow eyes, and in every tone of his cracked voice. I say, Betty, what are you doing~why dont you briup the raRs here to dress my leg~ be said, looking sourly at his wife, after having exchanged a few words with the schoolmaster. Be quiet, and have some patience, will you ~ atnswered Mrs. Murphy, bestowing a glance of such bitterness on her shrivelled husband, that the schoolmaster could not help trembling for the hap- piness of his daughter, who was soon to take up her residence in the house with a woman who dis- played such palpable ill-temper. Ay, be quietbe quiet; it s easy for them to be quiet that s not sufferinthat s not sufferin the long years that I ye been here, and not able to go out and see the fields that I ye so often ploughed and sowed, and the blessed corn that God sends us. Is the corn gettin strong no~v, RoberU I dont see the field out of that window since the leaves come on the treesif it was Gods will that Id only get out as I used to do ; the old mans voice softened into a sad resignation as he said the last words. The schoolmaster spoke soothingly to the sick old man, and strove to encourage him by hopeful words, telling him what a good nurse his future daughter Agnes w~s; how attentive she was in her own family when sickness came, and how he and the young brothers of Agnes would miss her. The old man listened, and seemed pleased. Aywellrnaybe she will have the kind hand about me, the creature. I ye thought sometimes, when I was lying here, and me hoarse with calling somebody, if it was only to get me a drink of water, that if I had a daughter, she would nt be cross with the poor, old, sick father. As he spoke, a gleaming of hope came beauti- fully over the miserable wrinkles of his face, and smiles played arotind the corners of his withered lips. Well, if she does be the kind darlin I hear y(tu say, it 11 be good of Providence to send her here to take care of the old man. Robert there attends me kindly enough sometimes; but a daughteray, a daughter, it stands to reason, should know best how to take care of a sick old man ; he glanced at his son as he spoke, as if wishino to hear his sentiments concerning the coming daughter-in-law. Agnes will be kitid, very kind to you, father Agnes has a kind heart, Robert Murphy said. He was a young man of pleasing appearance, with an air of something above his condition; his figure was rather under the middle size, but well-formed his face was handsome, though a little effeminate and unexpressive ; an air of extreme self-satisfac- tion was visible in his soft blue eyes; his whole countenance showed that he had never in his ex- istence either thought or felt deeply. At times lie exhibited indications of stronger passions; but his course of life had been smooth and monoto- nous, and if any powerful energies were within him, they still remained slumbering in the depths of his sotil. He believed that he loved his bride elect; he had certainly never loved anything else excepting himself so well; she had flattered his rulinu~ passionvanityby accepting of him in preference to some other suitors, as eligible as him- THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. self; therefore, he fancied he loved her; he was He was interrupted by Robert who, with every not in the habit of examining deeply his own feel- appearance of sincerity, and with real sincerity at ingsand so rested satisfied. the moment, made protestations that he never There are a few things I would like to men- dreamed of being discontented, because that his tion, said the schoolmaster, looking around the Agnes had not more fortune. kitchen, and gazing into an open door which led to The schoolmaster was a little pacified; but he a sitting room. You know my Agnes is a girl of tasteshe likes to see things so nice and neat she has made our little parlor at home so pret- ty, and all at but a trifling expense. Mrs. Murphy sneered audibly at this. The old man moved restlessly on his chair, and his eyes, with a dissatisfied, and at the same time inquiring look, turned towards his wife, as if to discover her sentiments on this point. You have no notion, continued the school- master, how saving Agnes is on all points, though she has such a taste fir seeing things nice about herwhy, I am sure she saved the price of a bit of carpet, and the chintz window-curtains that I bought for our little parlor; yes, she saved it out of her own dress, every farthing of it, 1 do think. Carpets and window-curtains !humph, in- deed, reiterated Mrs. Murphy. Why it does nt cost much, indeed, said the schoolmaster beseechingly ; and your parlor there, ~vhen you get a piece of carpet on it, and when Agnes brings her little baskets, and things are put all to rightswhy, you 11 be delighted yourselves will have the comfort of it allarid this kitchen, when Robert gets flags for it (he looked down at the earthen floor, which was worn into holes and damp in some places;) and when some nexv glass is put in the window there it will be so clean and cheerful, with Agnes to see that it s all kept right, that you 11 not rue any little money you may spend oii it, believe me. I have lived here many a year without car- pets and window-curtains, ay, arid without flags an the kitchenwhat s good enough for me won do for her, I suppose, said Mrs. Murphy, in a sharp, bitter voice. Ay, it s true ; it done for Bettymy Bet- tv, as it isand why should nt it do for Roberts wife too? cried the old man gruffly. To be sure she s to bring such a great for- tune with her, that she II buy new furniture out and out, sneered Mrs. Murphy, with a malicious smile on her thin lips. The father of Agnes reddened with anger. I am sorry my daughter is to enter your house, he cried, passionately; my daughter, who is one of the best treasures of heaven in her- selfmy daughter to be twitted by you, because she does not bring a large fortune. I have saved a moderate fortune for her, as much as girls of her rank usually haveas much as your son, Mrs. Murphy, is entitled to, let me tell you ; but if heif you, Robert, have such sentiments re- garding my daughters fortune, as your mother xpresses, my daughter shall never enter this houseit is not yet too late to break off I sighed deeply, and seemed very sorrowful. Poor Agnesthe good daughterthe delight of my eyes ; to hear them talking about her fortune her, with all the riches of goodness and kindliness in herthe riches that gold and silver can never bring to many a wealthy man ; it s heart-break- ing to hear it. lie spoke slowly and dreamily, as if in a sad reverie on the future Pate to which his daughter might be subjected. You love her, I seeyou re very fond of Agnes, said Mrs. Murphy. Love her! ay, love her, indeednobody knows how I love her. God knows I ye beemi troubled sometimes thinking that good would nt happen her, because I love her too wellthe dar- ling girl, she s so like her mother. She is, replied Mrs. Murphy she is like her mother ; and a look of bitterness, mingled with triumph, passed (iver her face. Her good, beautiful mother, who died and left me so soon, continued the schoolmaster. Agnes does nt speak, or smile, or walk, or turn round, but I think I see her mother before ire. Dont you see it, Mrs. Murphy You remem- ber her mother ; is nt the likeness great ~ Little did the schoolmaster dream of the old, hut uiihealed aiid cankering wound he was probing as he spoke. I reuiember it well ; I remember her very well. Mrs. Murphy turned her face towards the window as she spoke ; but neither her voice nor countenance betrayed any eumotion. It was not the wish of my poor Agnes that I should talk to you about these little matters I have mentioned. She begged nie not to speak on the subject, the dear girl ; for it s no ambition to be finer than her neighbors, or the like of that, makes her wish to have things tasty. She told me she could live with Robert in the worst cabin in Ireland, and thiiiik it no hardship ; though, to be sure, if her circumstances allowed it, she would like to have a nice clean house, to make her hius- band comfortable, and content with his home. Shortly afierwards the father of Agnes took his leave, carrying a message from Robert, to the effect that he would spend the evening with his bride elect. Do not be late of returning home this even- ing, Robert, Mrs. Murphy said to her son, when the schoolmaster had gone; I want to have some very particular conversation with you. Agnes sat in her fathers little parlor, which she was so shortly to leave for her new home or rather, which she calculated on leaving. A female cousin ~vas with her, and they were both busily engaged in finishing a dress. It was not 86 THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. the white muslin bridal dress, with its white rib- bonsthat was finished already; it was a printed calico dress, for every-day household wear. The smile and the blush of the young bride showed beyond all doubt that she was one of the happy. She had large, bright, affectionate, brown eyes, with a smooth and pink-tinted complexion, and soft brcwri hair; her face and figure were al- together very pleasing and graceful. As she sat and sewed industriously, she looked round the lit- tle parlor with a half sigh now and again, that she was so soon to leave it. It was a humble room, when cnmpared with fine apartments ; nevertheless, it was most cheer- ing and comfortable, and there was taste displayed in its decorations. It was well lighted with two windows to the south; the window panes were strikingly bright and unfracttired for an Irish cot- tage. The walls of the little parlor were painted of a light gold-colored green; the chititz window- curtains were white and green, witlt scattered rose-colored liowers; the carpet was of green, scarlet and white. There was a small mahogany centre-table, which had been kept most carefully polished; it was, indeed, a perfect mirror in its way, that little table, for it reflected distinctly the glass filled with beautiful red and white roses, which stood on it. There was a canary in a handsome green wire-cage; a happy, healthy ca- nary it was, with remarkably beautiful plumage, and a particularly pleasing note. There were pots of flowering plants in the window-seats, cov- ered with a profusion of green leaves and many- tinted blossoms. It was in every respect a neat and pretty room, and showed that Agnes was gifted with tastes too rarely, alas! to be met with in her rank in Ireland. The bright tint on the cheek of Agnes, and the glow in her happy eyes, showed that she and her cousin were talking of Robert Murphy. He is so kind to his motherso attentive to her sli~htest wish, said Agnes. She has very great influence over him, I be- lieve, said the cousin, who was a thin, pale- faced, reflective, and wise girl, or woman, consid- erably past the flush of the bright blood and bright hopes of youth, but yet with nothitig of the ill- nattire so falsely attributed to old maids in general. Very great influence, reiterated Agnes, gen- tly ; but that is not wron ~., surely. It is right that a mother should have influence over her son. She looked earnestly and anxiously in her cous- ins face; she was eager to hear some explanation of the doubtful word, or rather doubtful manner of her cousin, for she fully appreciated her wis- dom and penetration of character. It is perfectly right that a mother should in- fluence her son, provided that influence is for good, answered the cousin. But you do not surely think that Robert could be influenced to do anything evil, even by his mother ? The young bride laid down her work as she spoke, and a shade of uneasiness passed over her usually placid face. The cousin looked pitifully and fondly on her. The cousin had heard much of the manner in which Mrs. Murphy had influenced her son, even to the extent of treating his father sometimes with neglect, if not unkindness; but the cousins heart was too full of kindness to wound the happy young bride, by detailing the reports which were in circulation. Iam convinced that when you are married to Robert, there will be no bad influences exerted over him which you will not be able to counter- act, she said Agnes seemed to wish for some further infor- mation, but at that moment her two young broth- ers came into the room. Henry, the elder, was nineteen; he looked grave atid thoughtful, and rather sorrowful, on the occasion of lositig his sis- ter, whom he most fondly loved. But George, the youngest, a boy of thirteen, was all animation and mirth at the idea of a wedding taking place in the house. And this poor canary will go, too, said Henry, in a sorrowful tone, looking up at the bright bird, which was singing gayly at the mo- ment. Yes, answered the bride ; Robert wishes me to take it with me. He says he will put the cage tip in the most cheerful place in his parlor; and, indeed, it will enliven the room so much, you know. You can make another cage, Henry; and it will be easy for you to get another canary. I am very fond (if poor carey, up there; he is a little friend to me; I would miss him sadly if I did not see him every day, or every hour, rather. And the flower-pots, cried George, you will carry them off with you, too ? Oh! I shall leave you at least the half of them; and I hope you will become a better guar- dian than you have been, George; you recollect the poor fuchsia you took charge of. I dont care for flowers; I like fishuing and shooting better tItan flowers; hut I 11 have some fun at your wedding to-morrow. I shall take that geramuium that was so nearly dead awhile ago; see how fresh it looks now. 1 have watched every leaf of it opening out in re- newed health ; I would not like to part with that flower, do you know. You may laugh at me now; but, iiideed, I could not help thinking, many a time, as I put fresh clay about its sickly roots, amid wa- tered it, and attended to it, and watched over it, that it had some kind of feeling in itthat it knew I was its friend, and looked fresher every time I came near it. The young bride paused in her sewing for a moment, and looked with enthusiastic fondness on the geranium. The younger brother laughed merrily, and said that the l)lant in the flower-pot would, he doubted not, if it continued to flourish, soon be able to speak; and hold a coiiversation with Agnes. The elder brother sighed, saying The flowers will miss you, Agneswe shall all miss you heavily. At that moment, Robert Murphy entered. One 87 88 THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. by one the brothers and cousin left the room, and mal, to be sure; it wont he so when Agnes Robert and Agnes were left to hold by themselves comes. that conversation of love which is so delightful to Its not so dark and dismal as my heart, said the parties concerned, but so uninteresting gener- his mother, with a deep sigh. ally to all the world besides. Your heartyour heart dark and dismal ! reiterated Robert, lunking on her with surprise and He s so long of coming, muttered Mrs. Mur- concern, for he loved his mother as deeply as his phy, looking out of the door, and gazing on the nature would permit him to love. road by which her son was to come; he soon for- Is it any wonder Im the sorrowful woman gets me when he s with her; her mother had the this night? she said, sighing deeply, and covering same artsjust the same. Well, it s no matter; her face with her hands. it will all turn round on them yet. But what sorrow have you, mother?only Her face wore its usual cold calmness, and bit- tell me, and I m not the man to let anybody make terness of look. None of the restlessness of some you sorry. anxiously-debated design was visible on her feat- You ye been a good son to me, Robertshe ures. The impress of a fixed and evil purpose placed her hand on his shoulder, and partly around was on her brow. It seemed years since any his neck struRoiin~s between the two governing spirits of You ye been the very light of my eyes our ~vorldgood and evilhad been depicted on What had I but you to make me live on in this black her hard countenance, worldmy hearts pride is in you, for who s like She stood, and gazed up on the sky. It was you in the whole country; is there a gentlemans the beautiful sky of a summ-ner moonlight night.; son has a face and shape like you, or better breed- from the bright heavens there seemed to come, as ing ? if palpably, those holy influences of quiet and peace A thrill of delight went through the soul of which a night-sky shadows forth so much more Robert, for vanity was the ruling passion of his strongly than the light of day. But no light of soul, and well his mother knew it. peace and happiness could be kindled in the dark, And to think, continued his mother, that evil eyes of Mrs. Murphy, by gazing on the fair such a young man as you would throw yourself and holy expanse to which her head was raised. away on that girl, that Agnes Allen, the daughter Doubtless she felt that there was condemnation of of a poor schoolmaster. her mind and purposes in that sky; for she closed But, mother, cried Robert, I thought you the door, and went and seated herself by her kitchen had got over all the dislike to poor Agnes and her fire. All was solitary around. Tier husband was father, that you had at first. Did nt you tell me, in bed some time. Roberts dog had gone with three or four days ago, that you would try and be its master, and remained with him; the cat was content, and was nt I quite sure you were con- out on her nocturnal expeditionsno sound, ex- tented ? cept a feeble chirping of crickets, was heard. A I was minever contented in my heartmy heart few turf burned down to almost the last remains, was always black when I thought of her coming glimmered on the hearth, and cast a dull, dim light here, and me having to look at her all day long; throogh the kitchen; its usually squalid and com- but I seemed to be contented for a while, because, fortless aspect was more discernible by the dull light Robert, I thought she loved you. She laid a deep than even in the sunshine of day. emphasis on the last words. Mrs. Murphy crossed her arms on her breast, Robert opened his eyes wide in surprise. and sat. gazing into the ashes. She sat in the same And does she not love me,I know poor immovable position for a length of time. She did Agnes loves me better than she does herself, he not seem drowsy, nor in any way inclined to sleep. said. The demon of evil is ever sleepless; and, there- I wish she did, answered his mother, cold- fore, she dreamed not of slumber. Three or four ly. times she turned to the door, fancying she heard But ~vhat do you mean, motherwhat do the footsteps of her son, and then, with a slight and you see in Agnes, except the deepest love for momentary gesture of impatience, she would fold me her arms again, and continue her gaze on the ashes She can pretend it very well before your face of the dying fire. she drew cunning in with her mothers milk. At length, when midnight had come, a light, Pretend it! Mother, explain yourself. I 11 brisk, step was heard at the door, and Robert en- not listen to this from you. tered. But if I could prove that she likes another He approached his mother with a cheerful and better than you, though she s going to marry happy face. you Well, mothersitting up, I see; but what You 11 drive me mad, mother, cried Robert, have you got to say to me? You told me it was who, like all weak-minded persons, was of a sus- ~mething particular. It s a dull, dark place you picious and credulous nature. have got of it here. He drew a stool to his There s no use in telling you what I ye mothers side and sat down. It s dark and dis- heard, for I suppose you would not believe roe, THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. 89 you re so much blinded by your love for Ag- nes. But tell me what you did hear, exclaimed Robert, with an earnestness and energy which showed that the passion of jealousy, though it had been slumbering, was strong within him. It s no matter; there s no use, I say, in tell- ing you. 1 must hear it, he cried fiercely. Well, well, I ~as foolish enough to think you had little spirit ; I thought you would be blind, no matter what she didbut I see now you have the spirit of your mother in you. Tell me at once what you are alluding to, and then you 11 see if I have nt spirit. There s many a girl as well as Agnes casts an eye upon that recruiting serjeant in L . To be sure lie s a fine fellowhe s the half of the head taller than you, Robert, i iii thinking; there s no farmer has a chaiice for the heart of a girl when a redcoat comes in her way. Now, tnother, I think that s only foolishness. Agnes is not the girl to do thatwhen did ever she speak to that serjeant? I knew you would nt believe me; no, you would not believe it, if you saw her with your own eyes, sitting drinking, her and that serjeant, them- selves two, in a public-house in the town, when she went last Friday to buy the ribbons for the dress in which she s to be married to you. She uttered this unfounded slander of poor Ag- nes tn a manner so apparently sincere, that the credulous mind of the intended bridegroom was struck with a forcible conviction of its truth. Like all persons whose passions are of an evanescent nature, his first emotions were strong. He could not speak for some moments. I shall go to herI shall tell her, if she has deceived me, that He was rushing hurriedly to the door, when his mother seized him by the arm ; he was so ac- customed to be led by her, that without any re- sistance he allowed her to draw him back to the fireside. Sit down, sit down, Robert, dear, my own darling Robert ; it s not worth your while to think so much about a girl like Agnes ; there will be ladies, beautiful and high ladies, dying to have you yet, maybe. Wait till you hear what I 11 tell you next. The vain, though wounded heart of the young man, was considerably soothed by her words. He re-seated himself in silence. Mrs. Murphy drew out the coals, which were merely glimmering with life, and proceeded to light a candle, which she placed on a small table close to where Robert was seated. It was the most tucagre of candles, and burned with a mock- ing gleam of yellow light that was scarce clear enough to show the thick rust of the battered old tin candldstick from which it arose. It s a poor place we have here, sure enough, satd Mrs. Murphy, standing up and looking all around the ill-furnished and comfortless kitchen. It 5 not the like of this l)lace Ill have you, my own darling Robert, living in all your life, and with only a poor school masters can g hter fbr a wife. Listen to roe, mw, au(l dont let Agnes have a thought of your heart. Robert. with all the poverty that s about us here, I m a rich wo- manI have hundreds, maybe thousands. Robert looked on her in bewildered amazement. Dont misdoubt my words ; 1 am richvery rich for a woman of my rank. I know you got all the farm produce sold for a number of years, and might havebut then my father always had a regular account of the quanti- ty of everything, and the price it brought, given to him, and I dont see how you could grow so rich. Grow rich by our farm ! exclaimed Mrs. Murphy, with a tone and gesture of contempt grow rich by what I could steal without your fathers knowledge from the miserable fifty acres, half made up of bog and mountain, and paying the best part that was made off it into the greedy pockets of the landlord. No, no ; I d have been a poor woman this d y, if I had waited for money coming that way. Well, how is ithow have you become rich B inquired Robert, looking as if he was un- der the influence of a dream. Mrs. Murphy made no ans~ver, hut she drew from out her pocket a ~vorn and badly-soiled, but well-filled purse, and emptied a heap of gold coins on the ill-kept deal t~ ble before Robert. It was all I could get in gold of the interest to-day. Ive a liking for gold, sonmhow ; that is, if I cared about money at allbut it never did rue any good yet. At the same moment she put into the hands of her astonished 50fl bank bills to the amount of four thousand, and between six and seven hundred pounds. It is mine, Rohertit will be yours, every farthing of it will be yours, if you do as I wish you. Ilow did you get it, mother ?what do you want me to do B Robert, that money came when it could do me no good ; if it had otily come four years soon- erbut, then, he might have married her after all ; if he had married me, it would only have been for my money; noit could nt have done me much good in any way. She said this in a dreamy, soliloquizing tone, as if unconscious that she had a listener. I am saying, Robert, she continued, looking on his face with a slight start of uneasiness, as if fearing he had heard some of the thoughts which she was far from the habit of revealing, that money came to rue when I did not care about any- thing else in the world except yourself. I was three years tnarried to your father when that mini ey came ; I remember time night I got the first news of it ; it was just a suinnier evening, some- thing like this, hut earlier in the night ; I was alone, as I was this evening before yoti came in, THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. except that 1 had you in my arms, and you were only two months old ; your father had gone to bed, for John Murphy was an old man even then; I had sent the servant girl to sleep, too; I did not care for any company. but youyouholding you to my heart was the only pleasure I had in the world; I did not know how it could he a pleasure either, for I did not care for your father, nor for myself, nor for anything in or out of the world ; I would not have thought I had a living heart, like other people, only for you ; well, there came a knock to the doora neighbor woman, who was coming home late from the town. Here, Mrs. Murphy, said she, is a letter for you, and they say it s from London. She stood waiting a lit- tle, to see if I would open and read it to her; but I was not in the habit of speaking much, either with women or men then, and she soon went away. I read the letter; it was to tell me that my brother Daniel, who was dead in London, had left me his money, for the sake of old times, he said, when he and I were children, and used to be beat together, and cry together, and lament about it to,.~ether. Poor Daniel! 1 recollect that he and I were not the favorites in our family. We were neither the eldest nor the youngest, and somehow we happened to miss the indulgence that is likely to be bestowed on the first and the last of the family. The end of it was, that Daniel went away, none of us knew where, when he was sev- enteen, and I had never heard what he had done with himself, until the letter came. I grew sick when I saw he had made me his heirthat was the first feeling it gave me. I had married old John Murphy. I had a heart so black, that all the light of all the gold and silver in the world could not cheer it. I had lost all relish for every- thingit was all one to inc whether the sun shone, or the rain rained. I might have taken you, and, with my brothers legacy, went away to some place of the world far from this, and tried to forget the life I had escaped ; but I had not activity of mind even to do that, and, besides, when it came to my leaving old John Murphy, 1 could not do it. He had come and offered me his love ~vhen another had forsaken me, and when I was sick, and miserable, and poor, and tormented in my own family, he was the only one to offer me his heart and house. He was kind to me, too, and let me have my own way, though his temper was very had, to be sure, and he was al- ways a dying creature. I was grateful to him, however, for the good he had done, as far as he was ableI stayed with him, but I told him nothing concerning this legacyit could have done him no good ; he had enough for the rank he was reared inthousands and millions of mon- ey could not have cured his sores, and his un- sound constitution. I let my money remain at interest, and now, Robert, I shall give it all to you. To me! to me ! cried Robert, with a face and voice of such unutterable delight, that it was evident the love of money, though it had been a passion hitherto but little excited in his nature, was in reality more powerful than his feeling for Agnes. I shall give it every farthing to you, on one condition. VVhat is it I shall do it. his mother looked on hiui earnestly, as if anx- ious to ascertain the exact limits of her power over him. Tell metell me, if it is not impossible. No, it is easily done. I shall tell you in the morning ; it is late, now, and yoti must go to sleep. But you can dream of all the delights which money can bestow on the young and un- broken in spirit like you. Think of the world there is, away beyond these bogs and mountains, which have shut you in ever since yoti were born. You were not made to live always as you have lived, my own boy. You have the something in you that shows you were made to be a gentle.. man. Roberts cheeks glowed, and his eyes kindled, as his mind drank in deep draughts of the intoxi- cating essence of vanity which his mother admin- istered to him. Let me know what I am to do, now, mother for pitys sake tell me before I go to sleep, and I 11 promise. In the morning, whei~ you are ready to go to marry Agnes, I shall tell you what you must do, if you wish to get all my money. Marry Agnes ! he repeated, as if the words brought him back from some new golden world, in which Agnes and his love had been completely forgotten, but you told me something about her and Sergeant Morton. It is no matter ; when you are going to mar- ry Agnes to-morrow, you shall know what I re- quire of you. And the money shall be mine? he cried, impa- tient to have it in his grasp. Yes, yes; and you will have the clever heart to spend it happily, as your poor mother could not do; hut now go to bed, or you will be a blear-eyed bridegroom to-morrowgo to bed. She placed the candlestick in his hand. He hes- itated for a little; but knowing by the expression of her face that he would obtain no further satisfac- tion from her, he bade her good night, and went to dreamn of money and happiness. All were noisy and mirthful, hut in the loud and reiterated laugh of the young bridegroom there was something strange and mysterious. His eyes glowed and his cheeks burned, as if with fever; yet, when Agnes inquired softly if he was well, he said, Yes, very well. They had been married by the Presbyterian cler- gyman, in the brid es house, as was the custom at that period. The marriage had been performed before dinner, and now a large aud joyous party were celebrating the happy event, by feasting, and drinking, and talking, and jesting, with much zest and energy. If studied refinement was wanting, 90 THE BOUGHT RRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. there was a warmth, and cordiality, and sincerit.y, the palpable manifestations of which are often ban- ished from a more polished circle. There was a look of free and unthinking happiness on almost every face except that of the bridegroom. He did not seem sad either to a common observer; for his face was one perpetual smile, and his voice had the tone of unceasing laughter, except at intervals, when it became l~usky and broken. But all his mirth seemed the joy of delirium to his bride Agnes, who was the only one of the party gifted with any degree of observation. She gazed wonderingly on him. She looked for the glow of love she had been accustomed to see in his soft, fond eyes; hut those eves were n ow strange and hard to her, and filled with incomprehensible meanings. In place of the long and earnest gaze she had been accus- tomed to receive from him, his glances were quick and stolen, and lie seemed anxious to avoid meeting her eyes. An expression of somethingshe knew not whatof evil and gloom pervaded his whole countenance, even whilst the features were writh- ing in forced smiles. She Ion ~ed to question him concerning what it all meant. She would have asked him, with her natural frank-heartedness, the meaning of every constrained smile and look, had they only been in some solitary placehad they l)ut been by themselves two, in the little nook over- shadowed by the large rock and the one solitary old fir-tree, and the cluster of thick furzethat place where they had so often met as lovers; but in the close, crowded~, small parlor in her fathers house, with every eye on her, and every ear listen- ing, she could not speakshe could only think her own deep and sorrowful thoughts. And much cause was there for the bitterness of those thoughts. She had entered into the bond of marriagethe awful bond which in life there is no cancelling; and now, for the first time, she saw strongly marked on the face of her bridegroom the indications of some black and fearful passious, which she had never even dreamed of finding in his nature; the bright gold of her pure love had gilt him so well before this hourand now all had so suddenly be- come dimmed and changed. She was astonished and bewildered, and could have fancied that she was gazing on the face of her Robert in some dream, but from such hallucinations the noise and mirth of the wedding party quickly recalled her always to the actual state of things. The bridegroom moved restlessly from place to place. One moment lie would be seated by his bride, ami addressing to her some common-place observation with a voice and manner strange, ex- cited, and incomprehensiblehe would laugh when nothing mirthful had been spoken; and then, with a stolen glance on the face of Agnes, a short, quick sigh would suddenly arrest his words. She was in truth a fair bride, one of those young, bright, and high-souled creatures, on whom the eyes of all must gaze with delight. She was dressed in a robe of simple white muslin, with a few judiciously and gracefully disposed white ribbons, and natural pink roses, in her hair and in her bosom. In the early part of the day, a quiet but deep happiness was reflected from her eyes and from her whole face; but now there was a pensive, inquiring, and most thoughtful cast on her countenance, as she observed and reflected on the strange conduct of her bridecrroom. He would start away from her side in the middle of a sentence, and she would see him laughing and talking to some other individual of the company in the same mysterious and aimless manner. This strange manner could not be accounted for on the score of inebriation, as he drank most sparingly of the native beverage of Irelandwhiskey; which, at the period in question, was indulged in, on occa- sions of festivity, to a much greater extent than at present. Whilst pressing the guests to partake freely, he preserved a strict guard over himself, though every moment some kind of unaccountable mental intoxication was more and more overpower- ing his mind. The shades of the summer evening had come on; the mirthful strains of a violin resounded from the room usually appropriated to the school kept by the brides father. The young brothers of Agnes had arranged a dance there, and a brisk reel had been opened by the bride after much solicitation, for she felt few impulses for dancing. She had seated herself, and in a short period, Robert was seated by her; lie took her hand suddenly, and looked earnestly in her face You and Serjeant Mortonyourselves two had a pleasant conversation in the public house at L ,last Fridayhad you not? lie said, speak- ing in her ear in a low, quick voice. Serjeant Morton ! she repeated, in much as- tonishment, I never spoke to him in my life. I have been told you did last Friday, reiter- ated the bridegroom. Last FridaySerjeant Morton she said musingly. Ah! let me me see, there has been some sad mistake here. I was in L last Fri- day, I and my two brothers, and we did see Ser- jeant Morton arid my poor cousin; poor Agnes, you know, whom we have not visited with this while, because her conduct is not too correct, and she would not take my fathers advice, who has done all he could for his brothers daughter. We saw her going into a public house to drink, I sup- psse, with Serjeant Morton, and I was 5(1 sorry I could have t~iven the world to have taken her away with us; but you know she does not mind us of latepoor cousin Agnes. Then it. was riot my Agnes was drinking with that serjeant. If you do not believe your poor Agnes, ask my brothersask Serjeant Morton himself. It is no matterit is no matter to me now. I ye sworn to goshe made me swear ityet I m glad you were not with the serjeant, Agnes. Ho took her band and pressed it; his lips became white and trembled; he bestowed one lingering look on her facethen he suddenly turned away, and she thought be had gone to speak with some of tha company. 01 THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. Her spirits became lighter, for she thought she knew now why there had been a cloud on his brow. She believed her explanation concerning Serjeant Morton had satisfied him; his last look had some- thing of his old kindness in it; therefore her eyes brightened, and her cheeks glowed, as she listened to the gay music, and looked on the mirthful, happy, dancing party. When about a quarter of an hour had elapsed, she looked round for her bridegroom; she gazed on every face and figure through the small, crowded dancing-room, but he was not to be seen. A pre- sentiment of some fearful evil struck on her heart, but she sat like a silent statue still gazing on the crowd before her; minute after minute passed away, and he did not come. She watched the doorher eyes fixed movelessly on that door; she was addressed by some of her female companions, but she could not answerher lips were parched she had no power of utterance, still she neither moved nor seemed to breathe. Where is the bridegroom became at last the general inquiry. The violin became silentthe dancers paused. A search was made Nithin the house and without, but Robert could not be found; all became confusion. The bride was removed to a private apartment; she neither wept, nor sighed, nor fainted; but she sat where they placed her the functions of life seemed almost to stand within her frame. After much search and much conjecture, the father of the bride went out, and hastily look the road leading to Robert Murphys house. It was a calm, pleasant, summer evening; the stars looked down iu clusters from their deep purple clouds, gazing placidly on our small, troubled world. There was a feeling of tranquillity in the soft evening air which came over the excited brow of the unhappy father with a kind of mockery at that moment, for his thoughts were stormy and over- whelming. The sight of the pale, patient, but most sorrowful face of his beloved Agnes was be-. fore his eyes as he walked hurriedly on, and he could not avoid execrating the day in which she had formed an 6ngagement with Robert Murphy, for whose unaccountable absence at such a time he could see no excuse. Without the ceremony of knocking at the door, he abruptly entered John Murphys house. The kitchen was most dimly lighted by a few glimmer- ing turf embers, and over the hearth Mrs. Murphy. was sitting in a recumbent or crouching position. She was quite alone, the old man had been long in bed, and the serva~t girl was also in her slum- bers. Where is Robert? cried the father of Agnes in a loud, sharp voice, gazing all round without seeing the object of his search. Where is Robert, I say ?woman, what have you done with your son? He spoke sternly, walking to her side and fix- ing his eyes on her face. She returned his gaze with the utmost coolness and indifference. My son is now master of himself and of a good fortune, thank God. But where is he ?woman, tell me all ! ex- claimed the father, almost choking with grief and indignation. He is gone from this country, thendo you think I would allow my son to live with your daughter i Gone from this country ! repeated the poor schoolmaster, in a husky voice, and passing his hand over his temples as if he dreaded some sud- den attack of madness or disease. Woman, are you raving, or am I madyour son was married to my daughter this morning, and you say he has left the country now. It is true; he has left Agnes to yourself Great God! is this true B cried the father, clasping his hands, and looking upwards. She will never see him again, cried Mrs. Murphy, with a tone of bitter triumph; and as a transient gleam of fire-light shone on her face, her eyes were seen glaring with fierceness on the schoolmaster, and her whole countenance exhibited indications of something approaching to incipient~ though rarely perceptible; insanity. The schoolmaster made no answerno sound escaped his lips for some moments; but his whole frame shook, and his face was like that of a dying man. Good God! my poor Agnesmy darling girlhis lips continued to move in prayer. Go homeI want to sleep, cried Mrs. Mur- phy, in a voice more and more approaching to the sharp scream of madness. Monsterfiend! cried the schoolmaster, suddenly withdrawing his eyes from the heaven to which he had applied for aid, in his agony, and fixing them on the author of his sorrow if you had only sent your son away before you allowed him to marry my girlif you had only sent him yesterday, I would have bid God~s blessing go with him and you both, and my Agnes would have been happily rid of him ; but nowto send him away now, when they are married! Woman, there is a vengeance everlasting Henry Allen, this is the just retrihntion of Heaven which I have wrought on you. Remem- ber the pastremember how you vowed before God to marry me; yes, and, Henry Allen, we were maried in our vows that moonlight evening, before God; yet only six months afterwards you married the mother of Agnes. That act of yours, Henry Allen, took away the innocent young girls heart from me, and put another in its placea harder and stronger heart, that has lived to see you well punished this day. The schoolmaster gazed on her with a bewil- dered look, as if he felt under the strong influence of a dream. She is mad, he said half aloud. It is not possible you can recollect the folly that happened twenty-six or thirty years ago. My God! we are different people nowwe are not the same persons this many a day that we were 92 THE BOUGHT BRIDEGROOMA STORY OF GOLD. then; that was only a dream of a foolish boy and girl. It cannot be that you remember it yet; it is impos- sible that you could take revenge for that now. Well, wellt is no matter whether I remem- ber it o~ not. I would not look at your daughter sitting here as the wife of my son ; so go out of my house, Henry Allen. Go away, I say; and take with you as black a heart as ever you gave me in our young days. Our young days ! he reiterated, still gazing with a look of dreamy astonishment. The woman is deranged, and he gazed for a second hard on her face, and then again looked up to heaven, in deep and mental prayer. A few more words of bitterness passed be- tween them, and the wretched father left the house, oppressed with a weight of hopeless sor- row; for no doubt remained on his mind but that the husband of his daughter had most bas6ly de- serted her, in obedience to the commands of his mother. When I last saw Agnes, she was still residing with her brothers and her father. She had borne her fate with the resignation which a deep feeling of religion, arid the strength of a naturally wise and reflective mind, could alone bestow. The round, fresh outlines of happiness and health had long disappeared from her face and figure, and her eyes and the expression of her pale face, told that there had been a severe inward conflict with sor- row ; but there was a holy composure on her brow, which showed that the peace of God had settled on her soul. Her tastes for all beautiful things were encouraged, and more than ever in- dulged by her father and brothers, out of compas- sion to her sorrowful destiny. Her little parlor bloomed with a profusion of flowers, and three or four handsome cages, containing birds of bright plumage, gave an air of animation to the place. A number of books were scattered about ; and there was fancy-workdelineations of her flowers and leavesin bright wools and silk, wrought most tastefully by the hands of Agnes. It was beautiful and touching to see the doating fondness with which the father of Agnesnow an old man and her brothers attended to her slightest wish- es, and unweariedly, year after year, endeavored., by their affection, to iuake up to her for the base cruelty with which she had been treated by her husband. The poor schoolmaster had lost much of the gay cheerfulness of manner which formerly distinguished him. Grief for the fate of his daugh- ter had caused him to become rapidly thin, feeble, and gray-haired ; but he always strove to have some word of love an.d consolation for her, and to devise some little plans for her comfort and amuse- ment. Her brothers vied with their father in demonstrations of affection to her. The youngest became grave and thoughtful, like his brother; both were studious, and it was their delight to lead Agnes along with them in the course of sci- ence and moral philosophy which they were study- ing, as far as their means would permit. In the exercise of their mental powers, the grief of all was soothed and there were momentsvery niany moments, in long, quiet summer evenings, and studious, pleasant wiiiter nights, when they might well be called a happy family. Robert Murphys father died within a year after the departure of his son. Mrs. Murphy left the country immediately after the death of her hus- band, and went to rejoin her son in England. It was reported soon afterwards that she had become insane, and after lingering some time in an iricura- ble state, had died in raving madness. About four years after Robert Murphy had de- serted Agnes, she received a letter from him, in which he requested her to join him in America, where he had gone, after squandering, in London, all the money he had received from his mother. The father arid brothers of Agnes perused this letter with indignation, and expressed themselves strongly opposed to the project of Agnes ever re- joining the man who, calling himself her husband, had treated her with such base cruelty. Their remonstrances were not needed, however; for Agnes shrunk from the thought of leaving the relatives whose deep affection had soothed her misery, and trusting her destiny to a man who had already shown himself capable of conduct so ut- terly unprincipled towards her. She answered his letter very briefly, stating that she would not leave her father and brothers, and praying that God would forgive him the part he had acted to- wards her, as he had her entire forgiveness, but she never wished to see him again in this world. A.gnes is still residin~, with her brothers, who, for her sake, have both remained unmarried. Their family affection remains bright and strong as ever; and in their perfect union of domestic love, and their sympathy and cultiva~on of tastes, they create for themselves a deep, pure, arid en- during happiness. SMALL PRoFITsThe advantage pointed out by physiology on farming produce niay be objected to as scarcely appreciable, and therefore of no moment. All natural processes are of this kind. The mass is made out of minims. And if manufacturing pros- perity consists of vast returns resulting from small profits, why should not aoricultoral prosperity be built upon a similar basisl Produce must be in- creased in every possibLe way, and that produce secured to the most profitable end; so that he who guides the loom in the manufactory, to produce fabrics of the most subtile texture, with the most consummate skill, and ekes out his recorupense from farthings and half-farthings, accum ulating by thou- sands; and he who guides the never-tiring loom of nature, must pursue the self-same plan, and out of the secret processes of the same, xhich meet not the eye of the looker-on, find his reward in the vast aggregation of very small advantages. If we mean to farm well, we riust employ our capital in en- couraging produce to extend itself in every minute particular, and then so secure that produce that miot a particle of its valu~i be lost to us, as the producers, nor to the community as consumers.?lIr. Just, in. Memoirs of Mieucliesi3r Philosophical & cict~. 93 NEW BOOKS AND REPRINTS. NEW BOORS AND REPRINTS. From Messrs. Harper 4- Brotherr. Nos. 121, 122, 123, Library of Select Novels: Mary Barton; a Tale of Manchester Life, is a very good story; we can recommend it to our readersThe Great Hoggarty Diamond, is by Win. M. Thackeray. The Forgery, a Tale by G. P. R. James, is about an average of the authors works. Model Men, and Model Women, are two little books profusely illustrated by well drawn designs, which make us very curious to read the letter press if we had time. But this is not important, as our readers have had timethe books being quite the fashion. King Charles I., by JACOB ABBOTT, is a match for Mary of Scotland, noticed before. Both these books are very popular at our bouse, and we hope that Mr. Abbott will go on with a course which will pleasantly introduce history. This is the best way of getting rid of forbidden booksmake good books to occupy all the spaceor, in the words of an early temperance writer, Fill the stomacb witb cold water. The Moral, Social and Professional Duties of Attorneys and Solicitors. By SAMUEL WARREN, Esq., F. R. S., of the Inner Temple; Barrister at Law. Now, by saying that this beok is by the author of Ten Thousand a Year, we might perhaps deceive some young ladies into thinking it a moving story; but we prefer telling tbe truthit is intend- ed to fill the minds of young lawyers with prin- ciples adverse to sharp practice, abuse of technicalities, & c., & c. We 5O~~O5B that gen- tlemen who have been so misguided as to fall into these practices, may be seen reading this little hook with tears running down tbeir innocent noses. We are bappy to say, tbat, like some other parts of the book, these admonitions are peculiarly adapt- ed to the Bar in England. Here there is nothing of the kindat least, we know of one lawyer who is free from them. The Romance of Yachtingin two parts. Here is a Voyage to Spaina good deal about Cadiz something about the Pilgrim Fathersand all very entertaining. The Use and Abuses of Air; showing its influ- ence in sustaining life, and producing disease; with remarks on the Ventilation of Houses. In two parts. Part I. Published by J. S. Redfield, New York. We thank the author of this little hook (12~1 cents) for the great amount of instruction, upon so important a subject, which he has conveyed to us. Always habitually careful about ventilation, we find that we have been less so than after read- ing this x~ork we shall heand we gasp for the second part. Three Hours; or, the Vigil of Love, and other Po s, by Mrs. S. J. HALE. This beautifully printed hook has been sent to us by Mr. W. P. rewksbnry, Boston. We are glad to find some old favorites reprinted; with new pieces by the author, so highly appreciated. Poems, by JoHN G. WHITTIER, illustrated by H. Billings. B. B. Mussey & Co., Boston. Was it RIGHT While my unnumbered brethren toiled and bled, That I should dream away th entrusted hours On rose-leaf t)eds, pampering the coward heart With feelings all too delicate for use ?CoLzawcz. Here is a splendid octavo volume, with rich illustrations in great number. We have occasion- ally copied from the newspapers one of Mr. Whit- tiers spirited occasional poems; and we have passed by others, which we greatly admired, be- cause there was too strong meat in them for some of our weaker brethren. But althouoh he is faithful to the mission on which he has been sent, the poet preaches love in the spirit of love. He does not strike maliciously with the olive branch. XVould that our southern readers were able to be- come well acquainted with Mr. Whittier; they would like him, notwithstanding his heresies on one subject, for he is very far from being a man of one idea. lie is a regular contributor to the National Era, a weekly paper published in Washington, the ob- ject of which is to prevent the increase of slavery. We think it does nut attempt to interfere with the constitutional power of the states upon the subject. This paper had, for a long time, in our opinion, the rare quality of stating arguments and probabilities against itself, with great fairness; and we were glad to listen, even when we did not agree with it. But in the heat of the election, in its ardt)r to en- large the vote for Mr. Van Buren, its mind became clouded, so far as to say that there was no reason to suppose that General Taylor, if elected, would not veto the Wilmot Proviso! But a cooler time has come now, and we recommend the paper to titat part of our readers who can understand and believe things they do not like. We are a middle- state man, slipped away down east ; and while we have oftener to talk in favor of union, hearty union, with our southern brethren, we must not neglect to do what we can to make them believe that the great north is not fairly represented by some who make the loudest professions, and who seem to have lost all desire to convince persons who differ from them, eveti when the success of their avowed objects reqttires it. We copy a notice from the New York Albino. The writer thinks differently of the poets spirit his vindictive intolerance. But lie speaks of him as a lecturer, in which capacity we know nothing of him. We transcribe the whole of the proem This is a beautiful and richly illustrated edition of the complete poetical works of a writer, whose fugitive pieces have attracted mtich notice in New England and elsewhere. There is a vigor and originality in his style, that forcibly arrest the attention; and inasmuch as these are the very qual- ities commonly wanting now-a-days, they are the more acceptable when found. Weary of the nam- by-pamby effusions of the Rosa Matilda school ,we hail Mr. Whittiers muse, earnest, thoughtful, powerful. What she lacks of grace and finished loveliness is compensated by her boldness and sim- plicity. The rough mantle that she wears covers a noble form. There are but two long pocms in the book The Bridal of Pennacook, and Mogg Megotte. Both are illustrative of the early history and the Indian legends of New England, and, if we mis- take not, are well known. Legendary, anti-slavery, and miscellaneous pieces swell out the volume; and of these the second-named will prevent its crossing the Potomac. A Quaker in his religious creed, and a radical reformer in his political, Mr. Whittier denounces the Puritan intt)lerance of the pilgrim fathers, and the bloated church of England; launches out his fierce anathemas against hls own countrymen in the south, and has a hail fellow well met for the chartists across the water. AR 94 is generally the case with ultraliberals, Mr. Whit- tier exhibits a most vindictive intolerance. So marked is it, that whilst we would award him a high place as a poet, we have small sympathy with him as a lecturer. We should not say so much, were not the author~s views on public topics of the day so deeply wrought into the matter of the work before us. We will not attempt to prove our assertion by quoting one of Mr. Whittiers most savage denun- ciations; neither will we show that his ear is not nicely balanced for blank verse by giving a few very onmusical lines from pages 1l~2 and 13 of the opening of The Bridal of Pennacook. On the contrary, we call the reader~s attention to two or three stanzas from the Proem, which, to otir mind, are the gems of the bookstanzas, which any one might be proud to have written, and which any one will surely be pleased to read. PROEM. I love the old melodious lays Which softly melt the aces through, The songs of Spensers golden days, Arcadian Sidneys silvery phrase, SprinkIin~ our noon of time with freshest mornittc dew. Yet, vainly in my quiet hours To breathe their marvellous notes I try I feel them, as the leaves and flowers In silence feel the dewy showers, And drink with glad, still lips the blessing of the sky. The rigor of a frozen clime, The harshness of an untaught ear, The jarring words of one, ~vhose rhyme Beats often Labors hurried time, Or Dutys rugged march through storm and strife, are here. Of mystic beauty, dreamy grace, No rounded art the lack supplies; Unskilled .the subtle lines to trace, Or softer shades of Natures face, I view her common forms with unanointed eyes. Nor mine the seer-like power to show The secrets of the heart and mind To drop the plummet line below Our common world of joy and woe, A more intense despair or brighter hope to find. Yet here at least an earnest sense Of ho man right and weal is shown A hate of tyranby intense, And hearty in its vehemence, A8 if in) brothers pain and sorrow were my own. Oh Freedom! if to me belong Nor mighty Miltons gift divine, Nor Marvels wit and graceful song, Still with a love as deep, as strong As theirs, I lay, like them, my best gifts on thy shrine! Amesbury, lit/i mont/i, 1847. 95 These verses take right hold of the memory. Note, in the first stanza, the felicitous expressions the delicate alliteration, palpable, but not over- donethe harmonious rhythm and the apt meta- phor. Judging by it, we should have thought elegance and finish the peculiar characteristics of the author. That they are not, we have already observed. The book is admirably printed; and some of Mr. Billings illustrations should not be passed by without praise. WIJIPPLES EssAys AND REvtEws.~Every friend of literature will be glad to see these beauti- ful essays, which have been hitherto scattered amon so many different periodicals~ brortght together in one work, and ascribed to their proper author. Ihcy relate to a great variety of subjects, more or less connected with elegant literature; and they well deserve to appear in this collected form ; fir they have not been lightly thrown off, like niost of the superficial and impromptu criticism of the day, but are the result of ripened reflection and study, and discuss not merely the peculiarities of the par- ticular work under review, hut those principles of art which may be said to form the basis of the ~vork. Mr. Whipple has higher and larger views of the business of a critic than many of his brethren, who look on the tribunal of criticism as a kind of Old Bailey, before which authors are to be arraigned like culprits, whose acquittal must bring obloqtty on the court itself. He does not think it the chief duty of the reviewer to scent out blunders and b~lemishes, but rather to distinguish what is really good, and give it his hearty commendation. his sensibility to the beautiful makes him quick to dis- cern this wherever it exists, and his generous sym- pathy is willingly extended even to those less for- tunate aspirants whose efforts have iiot been entire- ly crowned with success. With these tolerant feelings, Mr. Whipple com- bines some of the higher qualities of a critic, in the moA enlarged sense of the term. To the power of generalization he adds that of individual analv- sis, shown frequently in the skilful dissection, both of the intellectual character and the peculiar pro- cesses of the writer, lie discusses the great liter- ary l)roblems which present themselves, with the calm consciouseess of one who has made them his familiar study; borrowing his illustrations from the works tinder review, or, where these will not serve, from the ready stores of his own memory. His style, warm arid flexible, takes the coloring of a lively imagination, tempered by good taste, and gives an interest to whatever falls from his pen. His essays, in short, whethcr regarded as speci- incus of criticism, or in the light of elegant compo- sition, make an important addition to literature, and will, we doubt riot, meet with the same favor in their present dress as that shown to them in the promiscuous assemblage of articles, of which they have been hiitherto a principal ornament.Bosto~ Daily Advertiser. NEW BOOKS AND REPIIINTS. CONTENTS OF No. 243. 1. Charles Lamb and his Friends, - - 2. George Psalmanazar. - - 3. Story of a Family, Chaps. xi, xii, 4. Science in Mauritius, - - 5. Dictionary of Americanisms, - 6. The Great Bedford Level, - - - 7. The Bought Bridegroom ,A Story of Gold) 8. New Books and Reprints, - - - - - 49 - - - - 66 - - - - - 68 - - - - 77 - - - - 79 81 84 94 PARAGRAPHS.ACIreSS of last Century; Knowledge; Inability of Ignorance, 65. Land of Plenty, 83. Small Profits, 93. North British Review, Sharpes Magazine, I Chambers Journal, Boslon Advertiser, - Chambers Journal, Dublin University Magazine, aosPEcTUs.Tms work is conducted in the spirit cf ~,rtells Museum of Foreign Literature, (which ~va~ favor- ably received by the public for twenty years,) but as it is twice as 1nr~e, and appears so often, we not only give spirit and freshness to it by many things which were ex- clode dby a months delay, but while thus extending our scope and gatbering a greater and more attractive variety, are able so to increase the solid and substantial part of our literary, historical, and political harvest, as fully to satisfy the wants of the American reader. The elaborate and stately Essays of the Edinburgh, Quarterly, and other Reviews; and Blackwoods noble criticisms on Poetry, his keen political Commentaries, highly wrought Tales, and vivid descriptions of rural and mountain Scenery; and the contributions to Liternture, History, arid Conimon Life, by the sagacious Spectator, the sparklin, Examiner, the judicious Athenecrsm, the busy and industrious Literary Gazette, the sensible and comprehensive Britannia, the sober and respectable Chris- tian. Observer; these are intermixed with the Military and Naval reminiscences of toe United Service, nod with the best articles of the Dublin University, New Monthly, Frasers, Tails. Ains,corths, Hoods, and Sporting Mag- azines, and of Chambers admirable Journal. We do not consider it beneath our dignity to borrow wit and wisdom from Punch; and, when we think it good enough, make use of the thunder of The Times. We shall increase our variety by importations from the continent of Europe, atid from the new growth of the British colonies. The steamship has brought Europe, Asia, and Africa, into our neighborhood; and will greatly multiply our con- nections, as Merchants, Travellers, and Politicians, with all parts of the world; so that much more than ever it now becormnes every intelligent American to be ~nfcnm~s of the condition and cnanges of foreign countries. And this not only because of their nearer connection with nir- selves, but because the nations seem to be hns:ening, through a rapid provess of change, to some new state of things, which the merely political prophet cannot compute or foresee. Geographical Discoveries, the pro~ress of Colonization, (which is extending over the whole world,) arid Voyages and Travels, will be fisvorite matter for our selections; and, in general, we shall systematically arid very ullv acquaint our readers with the grent department of Forei~ affairs, ~vithout entirely neglecting our owi~. While we aspire to malce the Living Age desirab leto all who wish to keep themselves infornied of tlse rapid progress of the movementto Statesmen, Divines, Law- y ers, and Physiciansto men of business and men of leisureit is still a stron~er object to make it attractive and useful to their XVives aind Children. We believe that we can thus do some good in our (lay and generation; and hope to make the work indispensable in every well-in. formed family. We say indispensable, because in this day of chen p liter, tore it is not possible to guard against the influx of what is bad in taste and vicious in morals, in any other way than by furnishing a sufficient supply of a healthy character. The mental and moral appetite must be gratified. We hope that, by winnowing the wheat from the chaff, by providin~ abundant!y for the iniagination, and t~y a lar~e collection of Biography, Voyages aiid Travels, History, and more solid matter, we may produce a work which shall be popular, while at the same time it will aspire to raise the standard of public taste. TxaMs.ThS Liviua AOE is published every Satur- day, by E. LiTTELL & Co., corner of Tremont and Brom- field st.s., Boston; Price t2~ cents a number, or six dollars a year in advance. Remittances for any period will be thankfully received and promptly attended to. 7~- To insure regularity in mailing tIme work, orders should be addressed to the o.fflce of publication, as above. Clubs, paying a year in advance, will be supplied as follows Four copies for . . . . ~20 00 Nine . . . .84000 Twelve . . . . 8s0 00 Complete sets, in fifteen volumes, to the end of 1847, handsomely hound, and packed in neat boxes, are for sale at thirty dollars. An~iI volume may be had separately at two dollars, boon , or a dollar and a half in numbers. Any namber may be had for t2i cents; and it may he worth while for subscribers or purchasers to complete any broken volumes they may have, and thus greatly en- hance their value. Bindin~ We bind the work in a uniform, strong, and good style; and where cu~tomers bring their numbers in good order, can generally give them bound volumes in ex- change without any delay. The price of the binding is So cents a volume. As they are always bound to one pattern, there will be no difficulty in matching the future volumes. AgenciesWe are desirous of making arrangements in all parts of North America, for increasihg the circula lion of tlsis workand for doing this a liberal commission will be allowed to gentlemen who will interest themselves in the business. Arid we will gladly correspond on this subject with any agent who will send us undoubted refer- ences. Postage. When sent with the cover on, the Living Age consists of three sheets, and is rated as a pamphlet, at 4i cents. But when sent without the cover, it comes within the definition of a newspaper given in the law, and cannot legally be charged with more than newspaper postage, (t~cts.) We add the definition alluded to: A newspaper is any printed publication, issried in numbers, consisting of not more than two sheets, and published at short, stated intervals of not more than one umooth, conveying intelli0ence of passing events. Monthly parts.For such as prefer it in that form, the Living Age is put up in monthly parts, contuinin5 four or five weekly numbers. In this shape it shows to great advantage in comparison with other works, containing in each part doul,le the umatter of any of the quarterlies. But we recommend the weekly numbers, as fresher and fuller of life. Postage on the monthly parts is about 14 cents. The volumes are published quarterly, each volume containing as much matter as a quarterly review gives in eighteen months. WAsiniscaTow, 27 Dxc., 184b. OF all the Periodical Journals devoted to literature and science which abound in Europe and in this country, this has appeared to me to be the most useful. It comitains indeed the exposition only of the current literature of the Enolish lan_ us e, hut this by its immense extent and comprehension includes a portraiture of the human mind in the utmost expaImsion of the present age. J. Q. ADAMS.

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The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 244 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. January 20, 1849 0020 244
The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 244 97-144

LITTELLS LIVING AGE.No. 244.20 JANUARY, 1849. From the Christian Remembrancer. A Description of Active and Ecrtinct Volcanoes, of Earthquakes, and Thermal springs, 4~c. By CHARLES DAUBERY, M. D. F. R. S. London: Richard and John E. Taylor. 1848. Da. DAUBENY considers it necessary, in his preface to the first edition of his work on volcanoes, to offer some explanation for such a task having been undertaken by a professor of chemistry. His chief aim, indeed, is to prove the close connection between the smaller phenomena of chemical action and the greater works of nature which are the sub- ject of this book; yet he feels that the importance of the latter merits an historian whose attention is exclusively devoted to it. He is afraid that his remarks may be thought by some unphilosophical, because they smell of the laboratory. The professors modesty prompts him to make these apologies; but his confidence in performing the task contradicts any impression that he really con- siders the work before us as out of his province. And on such a subjectone which admits of great difference of opinion, and of much wildness in the minds of mere theoristswe confess to having the greater confidence in the views advocated by one who has been led to the subject through more or- dinary scientific researches, and who, therefore, has dealt with causes before he comes to results, and arrives at certain conclusions from a preconceived opinion of the sufficiency of certain means, rather than from a determination to propound an ingenious theory to account for the tremendous operations of the interior of this globe. The practical chemist of the laboratory, who now gives us the result of his more extended investigation, is, moreover, fully aware, in answer to the charge of his views being unphilosophical, that true philosophy ever com- pares great things with small, and especially de- lights in discovering a grand unity of cause for most diverse results; minute analysis, the division of matter into its smallest atoms and most secret elements, with all their multiplying essences and subtle influences, have thus been a favorite theme in all ages, with th use who have aimed at philoso- phy, whether their contemplations have been to the advantage of science, or merely to the confu- sion of their owr~ thoughts. We have in the book before us a vast catalogue of volcanic phenomena, collected from personal ob- servation in part, but chiefly, of course, from other sources. The whole world is traversed to record the history of fire. Yet we cannot say that the most is made of such material, as an attractive or amusing book. All has been sacrificed to its sci- entific object, which is to advocate the chemical theory. There are many descriptions interesting, of course, in themselves; but other parts are un CCXLIV. LIVING AGE. VOL. xx. 7 inviting to any one reading for general information, without perfect knowledge of the phraseology of science. There is also an absence of the contem- plative spirit of Humboldt and other philosophers, which adds so great a charm to their writings. We think this is a pity, since it most prevent the work being popular; and, although it may be the more valuable as a scientific treatise, must limit the interest which such a valuable store of infor- mation is calculated to excite. Perhaps, however, it is almost unavoidable for such a mass of facts to be collected without assuming too much the charac- ter of a book of reference for the general reader; and we cannot but acknowledge that we are under great obligations to one who thus collects material for future use, with so little of that philosophical egotism which deals with theory rather than fact, and loves to obtrude the authors idea of what may be, rather than what is. The general argument of the work is, first to show, a unity of cause for many phenomena, and then to establish chemical action as that cause. Extinct and active volcanoes, earthquakes, and warm springs, are all attributed to the same in- ternal combination in their different degrees of activity and power; and all the trappean rocks which are so scattered over the world, are brought in to bear testimony to the same origin. There is, then, a distinct theory as the object of the pro- fessor, though urged with so much moderation and modesty. The chemical theory was started mainly by Sir Humphry Davy, though he rejected it in his old age, and left it to be followed out by its present teacher. The cause of its former rejection by so great a philosopher, himself its parent, is stated by Dr. Daubeny to have been a misappre- hension as to the nature of volcanic products. The emission of inflammable gases would be an essential concomitant of chemical action. These were supposed not to exist when Sir Jlumphry Davy gave up his theory; but, as it is now dis- covered that they do, that faithless desertion of the offspring of his youth is no argument against it. To understand clearly what volcanic or trap rocks are, and so to connect together ancient and modern Volcanic phenomena, it will be necessary for the unscientific reader to have fresh in his mind the general condition of the earths surface. We will, therefore, attempt to accomplish this; and as we believe that considerable ignorance ex- ists as to the rudiments of geology in otherwise well-informed persons, we will take the liberty of being elementary in order to be also brief. T~e various materials which compose the sur- face of the earth, as far as our investigations have carried us, are divided into unstratified or igneous rocks, and stratified rocks bearing witness to the DAIJBENY ON VOLCANOES. action of water. Granite in all its varieties is of the former class, and all above that of the latter. Following, therefore, the undisturbed order of things, we take granite as the foundation, the bottom of which has not yet been discovered. On this foundation there are a vast number of strata, divided generally into three great periods. The first period begins with gneiss, mica schist, clay slate, which are apparently the result of violent action on the granite, grinding it and laying the broken fragments on its surface. Over this are the Silurian rocks, and the old red sandstone for- mation, the carboniferous or mountain limestone, gritstone, the coal formations, and the magnesian limestone. The second period is composed of the new red sandstone, the oulite formations, and the chalk; and the third, of London clay and alluvial deposits. Throughout the first period there would appear to have been most tremendous convulsions on the surface of the earth; one stratum lying ver the ruins of another, itself, when tossed in the same wild confusion, to be the foundation for a still higher deposit. All these strata, however, are not to be found lying over each other in any given place on the earths surface. On the con- trary, the original granite is often exposed, and all the superincumbent beds generally deviate from the horizontal line. Sometimes, indeed, they are even vertical, but more commonly have a gradual dip away from the more ancient projecting rocks. The obvious result of this is, that the ends of all the strata are exposed to our view more than the flat horizontal surface. In travelling, therefore, through a country away from the granite or early rocks, we shall pass over all the various forma- tions as they come up to the surface, or, as it is called, basset out. We will illustrate this by the example of England. In England the strata basset out in a line run- ning from north-east to south-west, so any one travelling in that direction might be on the same description of ground from one sea to another. On the contrary, if he travelled from north- west to south-east he would cross the whole, and be changing his scenery every few miles. The granite we only find in the extreme west of the system thus marked outin Scotland, the island of Anglesea, and in the south promontory of Cornwall and Devonshire. If we imagine some one taking a walk from Anglesea to the eastern coast, he will meet the edges of all the strata as they, one after another, t~ome to the surface; and it is curious, that, as a general rule, he will ascend short steep hills and descend long slopes. He will pass over the wild scenery of North Wales, which is the grand breaking up of the original granitic substance of the earth; he will traverse the other strata of the first period, thrown together in inextricable confusion, though still preserving everywhere tokens of their proper relative position; the romantic scenery of the mountain limestone being followed by the gritstone or moorland; after which come the coal districts, the magnesian lime- stone, and the extended plains of the new red sandstone. Having gone thus far, he has arrived at a line drawn from the north of Lincolushire to Dorsetshire. All the country to the east of this line is much more regular, in a geological point of view, as these later deposits have not under- gone such violent convulsions as the earlier. Our traveller will meet the various oulite formation on which rests the counties of Lincoln, Northampton, Oxford and Gloucester. A range of chalk will then appear from Norfolk to Wiltshire, succeeded by the London clay, and the alluvial deposits of the east coast. Those who knew all this before, perhaps will excuse our digression from the immediate subject, since we have introduced it in order to explain clearly the nature of trap rocks. Rising up through the depositary strata we have described, it frequently happens that there are veins of rock, as if forced from below when in a molten state, which, on arriving at the surface, either form iso- lated rocks, or spread over the ground, assuming almost the appearance of a stratumespecially, as is often the case, when other stratified forma- tions are laid over them. These veins come through even granite they abound in the first period, and occur sometimes in the chalk. They are known by the various names of basalt, green- stone, serpentine, syenite, cliukstone, and trachyte; which latter is but a generic term for a large class of rocks, characterized mineralogically by their harsh and gritty feel, together with the frequent presence of crystals and glassy felspar. All these rocks, therefore, which go under the general desig- nation of trappean, have their origin from a molten mass below the known surface of the earth; their varieties, as seen by us, depend on the constituent materials of which they are made, and also very much on the manner in which the process of cool- ing was allowed to take place. If molten minerals cool rapidly in the open air, they form a very different substance to what would result if cooled very gradually and under great pressure. To this we may reply, that heat affects a mineral in two ways, according to the rate at which the subsequent cooling is allowed to proceed. When the latter takes place rapidly, all traces, not only of crystallization, but even of segregation of parts, will he obliterated, and the entire mass will assume, throughout, a uniform texture, like that of glass. In such an instance as this, however, we do not require any such test as the one proposed, because the vitreous character which the whole presents sufficiently reveals its igneous origin. But in the case of those substances which have returned more slowly into a solid state, and which in consequence have acquired a stony aspect, there appears to be always an exertion of the chemical affinities subsisting between the several constituents of the mass, sufficient to cause the production of distinct minerals, even when the latter are so inti- mately blended as to present a uniform appearance to the eye.P. 10. In these rocks we find every variety of compo- sition, from a substance almost resembling granite, 98 DAUBEN~ ON VOLCANOES. 99 to modern lava. They are the link between the most ancient tokens of volcanic action, and the mountain which we may now see burning before our eyes. The analogy is most close between the two; and the differences that exist are so plainly accounted for by circumstances, that they confirm their common origin. Before, however, we come to the consideration of what this origin isin fact, to the theory of volcanic action, we will follow Dr. Daubeny in his travels and researches, and lay before our readers a few of the facts we have to deal with. Whatever dispute there may be about the cause, the effects are most obvious; though, even here, it is more difficult than might, perhaps, be imagined, to collect anything like a systematic account of them. The remains of old convulsions have often the green mantle of nature kindly thrown over them, while a personal inves- tigation of volcanoes in action is generally a mat- ter of great chance, and also of considerable peril to those who are lucky enough to have the op- portunity. All parts of the world come in for their share of notice in this valuable collection. Europe and its adjacent islands have been visited by the professor in person; while for the rest of the world he is indebted to other sources. Asia, Africa, and America, are brought in review to disclose their fiery histories; the islands of the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans, tell the same tale. The gigantic icebergs of the South Pole gleam with volcanic flames; and the bottom of the sea itself would appear to be by no means unac- quainted with some vast internal power, by which its own level is being constantly affected. No volcanic region has been so accurately ex- amined by our author as the neighborhood of Auvergne, in France. There have been no symptoms of activity within historical times; but the whole country is full of most sure tokens that the powers from beneath did at one time, and for a long series of ages, most grandly boil over on the surface. The most recent are thus described: The modern ones in Auvergne are more cellular, and have in general a harsher feel, with more of a vitreous aspect, their surface presenting a series of minute elevations and depressions, and the scanty portion of soil which covers them affording but little pasturage, and that generally of the worst description. The mountains referred to this division constitute a chain which rises considerably above the elevated granitic platform on which they rest, and extends at intervals over a space of above eight leagues from north to south; from whence the rocks which composc them may often he traced a considerable way into the valleys contiguous. Above sixty of these eminences might, I believe, be enumerated within the boundary marked out; hut as their num- ber renders selection necessary, I shall simply notice such as are most remarkable, beginning with that of Volvic near Riom, the lava of which fur- nishes a considerable part of the building-stone used in that neighborhood, and, in spite of its porous character, is exceedingly durable. The fact of its having descended in a liquid form from the mountain above, and that at a period sub- sequent to all the great revolutions which have changed this portion of the face of our planet, is demonstrated by the exactness with which the stream has moddled its course to the slope of the valley; and that its fluidity was owing to heat, is evident enough from its porous texture and semi- vitreous aspect; so that its connection with volca- noes now in activity, seems sufficiently apparent. On the summit of the Puy de Nugere is a bason- shaped cavity of an oblong form, broken away on the side down which the lava has taken its course, and, notwithstanding the changes which timc has effected in its form, still retaining marks of having been once the crater from whence the lava of Volvic was ejected. It is interesting to remark, that the stream in its descent appears to have been arrested by a sort of knoll of granite, which, probably rose considerably above the general level, and, by the obstacle it opposed to its progress, caused it to divide into two branches, between which this little granitic eminence is seen protrudinga solitary vestige of the rock which formerly existed on the surface, but which is now overspread with lava. Trhe two branches of the main stream appear to have become reiinited below, and having descended the slope of the hill, to have spread themselves over the valley of Volvic, extending to within a mile of the town of Riom.Pp. 24, 25. In a region such as this, we have a most per- fect model of the result which volcanic action ultimately has on the face of the country. The immediate effects of an active volcano prevent our judging so clearly what this will be. In central France, however, we see the process by which many a lull and dale, now reposing in the entire forgetfulness of any violence, were once modelled by the thunderings of volcanic action. Take, for instance, the following account of the influence of Puy de C3me on the face of the surrounding country Still more interesting, from the changes it has produced in the configuration of the country, is the lava of the Puy de Cdme, a mountain a few miles to the south-west of Clermont, originally described by the Comte de Montlosier, the well-known author of an ingenious Essay on the Theory of the Vol-. canoes of Auvergne, published quite at the com- mencement of the present century. The lava that has flowed from the hill above mentioned, divides, he says, into two branches, one of which flows directly into the bed of the river Sioule, whilst the other takes the direction of a place called Tournebise, reaches the village of Pont Gibaud, and terminates, like the other, by flowing into the bed of the river, about three miles lower down. A torrent of this description might naturally be expected to effect singular changes in the face of the country xvluich it traverses. Accordingly, we shall find that it has blocked up a little valley which formerly seems to have had a drainage to the west, on the side of Chambois and Masayes, and has converted it into a sort of swamp, known by the name of the Lac de Come. Lower down, the same lava has occasioned still greater changes. The rivers Sioule and Monges formerly ran parallel, in a direction from south to north, and entered the plain of Pont Gibaud by two 100 DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. defiles, separated by the intervention of a line of hills. But one branch of the lava of C6me has so obstructed the course of the river Sioule, that its waters have been turned aside to the left, where they have worked themselves a passage through an argillaceous hill, made enormous excavations in it, and in this manner have reached the bed of the river Monges, a league and a half higher up than they would naturally have done. Compelled, however, to flow in a direction contrary to the slope of the country, a large portion of the water constantly stagnates in its channel, and has formed a swamp which goes by the name of the Etang de Fung, whilst a portion only of the stream conttnues to flow onwards by its original outlet. Now the changes here brought about in the phys- ical condition of the country through the agency of lava-streams, which, according to the definition 1 have above given, would be regarded as modern, afford some of the most instructive lessons that can be set before us, how impracticable is the attempt to tie down the operations of nature within the hard lines of our artificial classifications. We see presented to us in this locality instances~ of a lava which proceeded from a volcano of apparent- ly modern date, its crater being still entire, and it5 course being through a valley antecedently filled up, at least in part, with alluvial matter. Nevertheless this current, by obstructing the course of a stream, has caused the latter to work its way subsequently through a mass of alluvium no less than 140 feet in thickness, and even through twelve feet of the sub- jacent gneiss, thus forming a sinuous valley of about two miles and a half in length. Moreover, the river Sioule has in another place cut for itself a channel through the obstructing bed of lava, which conse- quently exhibits a perpeiidicular escarpment near the town of Pont Gibaud nearly fifty feet in depth. Such facts as these have been seized upon as proofs, that valleys in general may be produced by existing rivers, and that there is consequently no natural line of distinction between post-diluvial and at~ite-diiuvial volcanoesPp. 26, 27. Great variety is seen here in the means by which the molten masses from beneath found their way upwards. Sometimes a complete crater still re- mains; sometimes an imperfect ruin of one and sometimes the lava is discovered to have issued out from holes in the sides of a motintain. The two first we will illustrate by the following ex- tract lar iron ore, the oxidation of which imparts a gen- cral redness to the rock, and likewise occasional crystals of augite and olivine. There would seem to have been formerly a crater on the summit, three sides of which are now standing, whilst the fourth was, perhaps, broken away by the stream of lava which descended from that quarter. The coul6e is easily followed with the eye along the valley as far as the lake, in consequence of the irregularities of its surface, and the ridge which it forms above the level plain. The most complete crater, however, which exists in Auvergne is that of the Puy Parion, north of the town of Clermont. It is perfectly round, and, according to M. Ramond, more than 250 feet in depth. Its structure is simple enough, as it con- sists wholly of loose masses of slag~y lava, suffi- ciently decomposed to allow of the growth of turf, so that cattle are seen tranquilly grazing within the very spot which once constituted the vent for the pent-up energy of thevolcano. It has given off a stream of lava which may be traced southward to the place called Les Barraques, where, meeting with a projecting knoll of granite capped with an- cient lava, it divided into two branches, which take different directions, but nevertheless alike descend the slope of the granitic hills intervening between that spot and Clermont, terminating finally near the entrance of the valley in which that city is situated. Pp. 28, 29. Puy Graveneire is a striking instance of lava penetrating the sides of a mountain, that mountain itself being the effect of previous volcanic action. But amingst the modern volcanoes met with ia this neighborhood, there is probably no one, upon the whole, more interesting than the Puy Graveneire. This mountain, which lies within two miles of Clermont, seems, as we approach its summit, to consist of an entire mass of scoriform and highly cellular lava, so that we may in some degree com- prehend the origin of a ludicrous opinion ascribed to a professor of the Academy of Clermont, when the volcanic nature of the rocks of Auvergnc was first asserted, and maintained by an appeal to the structure of this particular mountain, who, it is said, accounted for the scoria~ found on its surface, by gravely remarking that he ltad heard of iron-foun- dries having formerly been established on the spot. Notwithstanding such strong indications of its having been in a state of ignition at a comparatively recent ~ra, no trace of its crater can be detected; nor has A somewhat similar circumstance to that which it that abrupt and conical form characteristic of vol- has been above noticed with respect to the Etang canic hills, being rather a long, round-backed emi- de Fung has happened in the case of the lake of nence, rising abruptly, indeed, on two of its sides, Eidat, which seems likewise to have been formed but to the north connected with the chain of the Puy originally by the stream of lava now stretching de ID6me, and to the south reaching into the plain across it. In this case, however, a still greater of Limagne. In spite of the absence of a crater, impediment existing to the escape of the waters by two streams of lava appear to have pierced the sides any other outlet, they have, in process of timc, suc- of this mountain through a bed of ancient basalt, oeeded in cutting themselves channels through the which here caps the granite of the country. They parapet of lava thrown across them, the projecting have thence descended into the valley, one on the portions of which stand forth like islands in the side of the village of Royat, the other on that of the midst. Puy Montaudoux. These coui& s display a singular The stream of lava that has occasioned this im- intermixture of compact and cellular lava, the for- pediment appears to have been furnished by one of mer generally occupying the centre, and surrounded three mountains, all of which have given out coul& s by the latter variety, but without any marked line flowing in the same direction, and therefnre inter- of demarcation between the two. The compact mixed one with the other. The most considerable rock is a basalt, remarkable for its large distinct of these mountains is called the Puy de Ia Vache, the crystals of augite and olivine; and its being seen in whole of which is composed of scoriaceous lava very connection with a lava of so cellular and vitreous an different from that of Volvic, as it contains much iron aspect affords, in common with the facts I shall de- in the state of magnetic, as well as in that of spece- tail with respect to the German volcanoes, a sufficient DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. 101 proof that great pressure is not always necessary for the formation of such products.Pp. 29, 30. Though volcanic action has been extinct in central France within the times of authentic his- tory, yet there are signs of some little life still remaining, like the faint breathing of one at the point of death, who has long lost the power of motion Nor have we a right to assume an entire extinc- tion of these processes throughout the distr~t; for the frequency of thermal and of acidulated springs the copious evolution of carbonic acid which takes place, according to M. Fournet, in the mines of Pont Gibaud, as well as in other localitiesthe springs of bitumen also met withand the abun- dant deposition of travertin now taking place near Clermont, where it has stretched across a rivulet, forming a natural bridge over itcannot but be viewed as indications of a langnid action of volcanic forces still continuing underneath.Pp. 30, 31. The scenery in this district is of considerable hold ness, as we may gather from the following The department of which Clermont is the capital has received its name from a mountain, which, as the highest in the province, and occurring in some degree detached from the rest, has acquired more importance than it might in other situations have obtained, although, indeed, its height is consid- erable, being 4840 feet. The Puy (le D6me, the hill to which I allude, is of a conical form, and remarkable for the distinctness of its outline, rising abruptly from the midst of a sort of amphitheatre of volcanic rocks, which it considerably overtops, hut which, xvithoot much stretch of the imaolna- tion, might be supposed to have constituted the era- ter from whence this great central mass was pro- truded.?. 35. To judge of the material which composes these hills, we will take one as a specimen. The term altered, which occurs in the following extract, signifies in geology a change on rocks produced by heat or chemical action. Thus, a stratum of limestone would be altered by the proximity of a stream of molten lava. Statuary marble is the result of this particular case. The fourth of these is a little bill south of the Puy de D& me, called the Puy de Gromanaux, of which only one third part is trachytic, and this apparent- ly a prolongation of the latter mountain. The last in the series is the Puy Chopine, which requires some more particular notice than the rest, from the singular confusion and anomalous structure of the rocks which compose it. Owing, indeed, to the quantity of debris which everywhere covers its sides, where not concealed by vegetation, it is diffi- cult to determine with precision the position they oPcu~)y, or the relations they bear to each other. On climbing to its summit, I found, in situ, a rock, analogous to domite, unaltered granite, and a con- glomerate with a granitic base, rocks which seem to be related to each other. Lower down I ob- served a granular hornblende rock, which appeared to pass into the granite; and these four substances make up, so far as my observations extend, the higher portions of the mountain. Lower down we have lavas, both compact and vesicular, none of which, so far as I observed, occupy the summit, although M. Montlosier, who examined the spot doubtless with more attention, states that he saw one small portion extending thus high. It should be remembered that the Poy Chopine, even more than the Poy de D6me, is encircled by an amphi- theatre of bills, which are comprehended under the names of the Puy Chaumont and the Montagne des Gouttes. I examined these hills, and found them all to be volcanic, consisting chiefly of a tuft con- taining portions of scori~, and lavas of various de- nominations, all cemented together by an ocherous paste.?. 37. We now come to the more ancient rocks of the same district; first passing through a kind of transition, or doubtful period I have already admitted, that no decided line ofde- marcation exists between the class of modern and of ancient volcanic rocks; for here, as in all other cases, though the extremes of a natural series may be as unlike as possible, there will always he cer- tain connecting links which might seem referable almost, equally well to either group. Mr. Scrope, and subsequently Sir Roderick Mur- chison and Mr. Lyell, have afforded us a striking example of this in their description of the volcano of Chaluzet below Pont Gibaub, where a stream of lava may be traced from a worn-down crater situat- ed on the western side of a conical hill, called the Puy Rouge, composed entirely of red and black scoriie, and yet is seen distinctly resting upon a bed of pebbles which separates it from the subjacent gociss. The character of the hill from which it issues, the scoriaceous appearance of its own mass, its course in the same direction as that of the valley now existing, and its position incumbent on a bed of detrital matter, are circumstances which, might entitle it to a place amongst the products of modern volcanoes. But, on the other hand, the section which has been worked through the lava, the pebble bed, and the guciss underneath, to a depth of not less than 400 feet, is of sufficient importance to rank as a valley rather than as a mere ravine, and thus to place the volcanic matter in the class of ancient ig- neous products, with which view, indeed, the ba- saltic character of the greater part of the lava- current, of which the vertical face is exposed at the point alluded to, seems more strictly in correspond- ence. The lava of Chaluzet is not seen on both sides of the valley, and we have therefore, perhaps, no right to assume that it has been itself cut through by the waters of the Sioule; ~ at any rate, at the time when it was erupted, the bed of pebbles upon which it rests must have constituted the low- est level of the then existing valky, and the remain- ing fifty feet, or thereabouts, which have been ex- cavated through the gneiss subjacent to this allu- vial muatter, are attributable to causes in operation since this very remote volcanic eruption.Pp. 41, 42. Those decidedly ancient hear a closer resem- blance to the basahic regions of Great Britain than what we have hitherto considered. The basalt of Montaudoux, which Dr. Bou6 has remarked to be nearly identical in character with the rock of Calder, between Glasgow and Edin- burgh, evidently belongs to an ~ra much more remote, and has been formed under conditions alto- 102 DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. gether different from those of the scoriaceous lava of Graveneire, to which it is so contiguous. The mountain Gergovia, too, situated a little further to the south, consists principally of a suc- cession of beds of fresh water limestone; hut these are intersected by strata of tuff consisting of a mixture of nodules of limestone and basalt, with kidney-shaped masses of chalcedony imbedded in volcanic clay and sand. A bed of basalt divides the strata of tuff, and the same material caps the fresh ~vater beds, which, resting upon the tuff, form the upper portions of the hill. Elie de Beaumont appears to have proved that these apparently hori- zontal beds of basalt are in reality dykes intersect- ing the fresh water formation of the Limagne; but this fact only places in a stronger light their antiqui- ty, as it is evident that they must have been injected before the excavation of the valley which the moun- tain of Gergovia overlooks. The fact is also im- l)ortant, as it may assist us in explaining the anom- alous position which t.he basalt sometimes assumes with reference to the trachyte and even to the tuffs subjacent, both which it occasionally underlies, al- though its general relation to both these rocks indicates that it is of more modern eruption. P. 42. The frequent occurrence of dykes in the north of England seems further to connect this species of volcanic action in France with our own island. I should also expect, from what I have since seen among the German volcanoes that the basalt which caps the table-land of Mont ~Dor has been ejected through the medium of dukes rather than of craters, Asnd it is therefore not improbable that those of the Grande Cascade de Mont iDor may be among the number of these vents. I am still, however, of opinion, that the dykes of volcanic tuff that occur in Cantal, of which several are mentioned by Stei- ainger, and one has been noticed by myself in the communication alluded to, are nothing more than an uplifting of fissures that existed in the subjacent rock; and I ani confirmed in this idea from having seen at the foot of the Siebengebirge, on the Rhine, similar veins of trass filling up the cracks in a rock of the same description which there encircles the trachyte.P. 51. The process by which a district, like the one we are speaking of, has been formed, as it were, through volcanic action is imagined as follows existing lake, the trachytic rocks which constitute the ridge of Mont Mezen.P. 62. This may seem to give these commotions an ancient date in the history of the world, but on this subject we extract the following From his (Mr. Rouxs) statement it would ap- pear that the volcanic rocks of this neighborhood are of very different ages, although he infers the extreme antiquity even of the most modern of them b~contrasting the depth to which they have been excavated, and the vast quantity of niatter removed, with the almost imperceptible amount of decay which has taken place in the same rocks since the Christian era, as shown in the old Roman roads, none of which can be less than 1300 years old, by the side of which the rock has since undergone scarcely any sensible abrasion. A limit on the other hand is set to the age that can be assigned to this volcanic breccia, by the cir- cumstance of its being superposed on strata contain- ing fresh water shells and bones of mammalia similar to those of the basin of Paris. Hence the eruptions to which the materials of this tuff owe their exist- ence must date their commencement from a period somewhat subsequent to that of the eocene forma- tion.P. 60. The eocene formation our ungeological readers must understand to have derived its name from be- ing the first law of the present state of things. But it is time now that we change the scene of our extracts; France has been dwelt on at some length, because our author paid great attention to this district, and therefore it may be considered as the one best calculated to be our model, from which we may understand the effect of volcanic action in remote ages. Germany contains many relics of extinct volcanic action, but none in activity. The principal district ~vh~re the fornier are discovered, is bounded on the south-east by the Moselle, on the north-east by the Rhaine, on the west by the Ardennes and the other mountains round Spa and Malmedy, and on the south by the level country about Cologne. In many parts there are most curious basaltic columns, not unlike those of the Giants Causeway in Ire- land. An attempt has been made to prove activity Thus, during a period antecedent to that at which within historic records, but we cannot say that the man and other existing species of mainmalia first ease is made out. Strange volcanic bombs are in- came into beingat a time when the lower parts deed found about the size of a mans head, and of the country were still under water, but the higher Tacitus is brought forward to bear testimony to had become peopled with various tribes of land ani- fires bursting forth from the earth; but as it also mals, the neighborhood of the Puy appears to have appears that the inhabitants assailed these terrific been agitated by volcanoes, which, overspreading fires with stones, and finally extinguished them the country with their ejected materials, may have with wet cloths, instead of standing on the defen- caused the destruction of the animals that existed there; and, according to M. Roux, by obstructing sive against such missiles, and rather taking care the drainage of the district, have raised the waters to keep out of the way lest they themselves should to a still higher level than before. The ejected be the extinguished parties, we cannot place much materials, intermixed with fragments of older rocks confidence in the arguments on this side the ques- washed down at the same time from the neighbor- tion. ing high ground, would be deposited at the bottom Hungary abounds with volcanic remains, and of the water, forming those immense masses of tufT trachyte is there found in quantities to satisfy the which wow cover the valley of Puy; and during ardor of the most zealous geologist. This mm- the latter part of the period occupied by this pro- cess, the same volcanic forces which had before eral, so closely connected with Dr. Daubenys best poured forth these melted materials, may be sup- affections, is described by its devoted admirer to be posed to have elevated, from the midst of the then thus arrayed DAUFIENY ON VOLCANOES. Trachyte, properly so called, is characterized by its porphyritic structure, by the scorified and cellu- lar aspect which it has such a tendency to assume, by its harsh feel, and by the presence of crystals of glassy felspar, generally cracked, and sometimes passing into pumice. Besides these, which may be regarded as essential to its composition, crystals of mica and hornblende are often present, and all these minerals are united either confusedly without any apparent cement, or by the intervention of a paste of a felspathic nature, sometimes compact and sometimes cellular. This paste is generally light colored, though different shades of red and brown are sometimes communicated to it by the presence of iron; and there is one variety in which the paste is perfectly black and semi-vitreous, being intermediate in its characters between pitchstone and basalt, but distinguished from either rock by melting into a white enamel. Augite is sometimes present, and grains of titaniferous iron are often discoverable, but olivine rarely, if ever, occurs, and therefore appears to be the only mineral which has any claim to be considered as peculiar to basalt. Pp. 119, 120. Hungary, however, though so decked with charms, presents one feature not so pleasing to our author. His theory of volcanic action, as we will presently see, requires that it must be in the neighborhood of the sea. Now, Hungary is at a distance from it, and yet bears indisputable proofs of the greatest activity. This difficulty is obviated by supposing that the great marshes at the foot of the mountains of Transylvania once formed an in- land sea; which, indeed, is very probable, even apart from its usefulness to a volcanic theory. Italy presents a wide field for the investigation of volcanic phenomena, both extinct and in action. It would far exceed our present opportunity to go into a detailed account of this country; we will therefore confine ourselves to a few of the more striking features. The Lagunes in central Italy are curious effects of internal heat. The Lagunes are artificial pools of water, occa- sioned partly by the rains of which they are the re- cipients, and partly by the drainings from the higher parts of the country, the contents of which are probably swelled, as well as heated, by the con- densation of volumes of steam, which is continually finding its way upwards through fissures in the earth into the spots where the pools have been made. As the water in these places is raised nearly to the boiling temperature by the passage of heated gas through it, the Lagunes generally emit a lofty column of steam, which first arrests the travel- lers attention, and has consequently led to the adoption of the name Fumacchie, by which they are often designated.P. 154. The lake of Bolseno is also worthy of notice. The volcanic tuff continues from Acquapendente to the Lake of Bolseno, which has heen imagined by some to be the crater of an extinguished vol- cano; and although I am disposed to question this, not only from the great size of the lake, which is more than twenty miles in circumfer- ence, but also from its form, ~vhich is rather oval than circular, yet the rocks which are scattered round its borders betray a volcanic origin. Bolseno itself stands upon an aggregate of scorite, rapilli, & c., united into a kind of loose con- glomerate which forms precipices overlooking the lake. Clusters of basaltic columns, however, occur at no great distance from the town. The modern city stands mouldering upon the ancient Volsiniumruins, as Forsyth says, built upon ruins, yet both from its modern and ancient history a place of some interest. Volsinium, it is well known, was one of the princi- pal towns of Etruria, and the analogy of the modern name with the word Vuican, especially according to the old spelling, [Bolcano,] may lead us to im- agine that it derived its name from the homage paid to that god, originating in the volcanic phe- nomena which excited the fears of the earlier in- habitants. It is curious that the Volsci, as well as the Volsinii, inhabited a volcanic country, and it is known that particular homage was paid to Vulcan all over Latium.Pp. 158, 159. The dabbling of science in etymology, even in the case of our academical philosopher, has met with a sharp rebuke from the authoress of the Sepulebres of Etroria, which is inserted in a note by the polite professor. My idea of Bolseno does not at all coincide with yours, for there is no evidence of my people amongst their various sciences having ever cultivated geolo- gy. I believe them to have been Assyrians in the wide sense of that term, modified by Egypt, and and therefore look back to those two countries for the origin of their language and instittitions. I daily expect to hear that their language has been traced in Lycia, Caria, or some of the many lands of the arrow-headed character. For this amongst other reasons I believe all their Dais, or Eels, or Dels to be the same, and usually have reference to %, Lord, or Sun. The god Del, I doubt not, was often fire; hence Vulcan, the son of Jupi- ter. Jupiter was the sunthe God of heaven. But Vulcan in Etruscan was Sethlan, not Bel. Pp. 159, 160. The professor of chemistry, however, in spite of this mistake, is a scholar, and has scholar-like tastes, as are contained in the following extract The same cause also contributed to circumscribe my excursions in the neighborhood of Rome during the stay which in the year 1823 I made in that city, where, indeed, it must be confessed, the trav- eller, surrounded as he is by antiquities of such ex- treme classical interest, can hardly help being frequently called away from subjects of scientific inquiry. It has been said, that what Vesuvius is to Naples, the Coliseum and St. Peters are to Rome; and as the scholar almost necessarily imbibes some- what of the spirit of a naturalist during his stay in the former city, from his attention being so frequent- ly directed to the movements of the volcano, so it is equally to be supposed that the study of nature will give place to that of art, whilst we are in the midst of the monuments of Roman taste and mag- nificence.Pp. 162, 163. The fables of antiquity, however, did not quite extinguish our authors calm reasoning, even in the eternal city, as we may judge from what follows I saw enough, however of the physical structure of the neighborhood to be persuaded, that the inter- 103 DAtTBENV ON VOLCANOES. The distance at which this mountain stands from the sea requires the same explanation we have alluded to in the case of Hungary, to pre- pare the way for the chemical theory of volcanoes. pretation which Breislac has put upon some well- volcano, and contained within it two minor depres- known fable or traditions handed down to us by an- sions, in both which were lakes communicating by cient writers, in proof of his idea tHat ancient Rome a narrow outlet one with the other, and discharging occupied thesite of a volcano, as altogether unten- their superfluous waters by means of a little rivulet able, and that his assertion as to the capitol of the which runs from the lower and more southern of eternal city Capitoli immobile so umhaving the two lakesPp. 185, 186. been erected on the tottering edge of a crater, how- ever well-suited it may be to point an antithesis, or to illustrate the vanity of human pretensions, rests on too slender grounds to deserve a place in a sci- entific treatise.Pp. 163, 164. Southern Italy, or the kingdom of Naples ex- hibits volcanic action in its greatest variety. We there find extinct volcanoes of two distinctly dif- ferent periods, and we also have the modern fires of Vesuvius. Rocca Monfina is classed as the most ancient, and is a most striking mountain in its appearance. After a rather steep ascent of about 2000 feet, we find ourselves all at once within a very regular crater, the brim of which is perfect on the west, where it forms the lofty and precipitous Monte Cor- tinella, and may be traced in other parts throughout its entire circumference, except on the side which we enter on coming from Sessa, where it is so far broken away, that there is scarcely any sensible descent before arriving within its precincts. The circular form and extent of the crater are, however, better observed from some point near to its centre than from its margin, and a remarkable conical protu- berance, which rises up from the midst of the crater, and reaches an elevation of 3200 feet, considerably exceeding the highest point which the margin of the latter attains, gives us an excellent opportunity of surveying its internal dimensions.P. 177. Mount Vultur comes next in order. This mountain stands about half-way between Naples and the Adriatic, and would appear, from its situ- ation, to have had some connection with the vol- canic system now in activity ; for if a line marking the direction of volcanic forces were drawn from the island of Isehia through Vesuvius, and were continued to the east, it would skirt the lake of Amsanctus and extend to Mount Vultur. In the province of Basilicata, a part of Apulia, and on the eastern flank of the Apennine chain, rises near the city of Melfi a lofty isolated hill, the Mount Vultur, which Horace has celebrated as the scene of his early poetical adventures. This mountain, both from its conical form and the nature of the rocks composing it, is at once recognixed as volcanic. Its remoteness from the ordinary routes of travellers, and the insecurity of the roads in that part of Italy, have caused it to be very little explored; but since the publication of the former edition of this work, it has been visited by myself, and at a still later period by Abich. I found the mountain composed principally of volcanic tuff, some beds of which were very com- pact, whilst others were loose and friable, consisting chiefly of pumice like those about Pompeii. On its northern flank, about half-way from the summit, is a great circular expansion, surrounded by an amphi- theatre of rocks on all sides except the lower, by which we had ascended, some of which rise more than a thousand feet above the average mar gin of the cavity. It evidently was once the crater of the It has been conjectured that the eruptions of this mountain took place at a time when the physical structure of the country was different from what it is at present, and the low land between Melfi and the Adriatic constituted a sort of gulf, extending from Taranto up~vards, the waters of which washed the foot of this volcano. Not having seen the work referred to, I am una- ble to state in what degree this hypothesis is borne out by fact, and shall only remark that it seems favored by the direction of the Apennines as laid down in common maps, where they are represented as dividing about Melfi into two branches, one of which takes the direction of Ban to the east, the other that of Calabria to the south, thus inclosing the greater part of the province of Basilicata in a kind of basin. What this intermediate tract of country may consist of, I have not been able to as- certain; hut should it be such as .to confirm such a conjecture as to an extension of the gulf at one pe- riod in thh direction contended for, we may derive from the present extinct condition of Mount Vultur an additional proof of the theory which I shall pro- pose in another part of this work, with respect to the necessity of the access of the sea, or at least of large bodies of water, to feed the fires of every vol- cano. At present the distance of Mount Vultur from the Adriatic cannot be less than thirty-five miles, whilst from Naples it is nearly twice as re- mote.Fp. 188, 189. The crater of Astroni, on the north side of the bay of Naples, is a curious relic of an ancient vol- cano Another remarkable crater is that of Astroni, the perfect condition of which has caused it to be select- ed by the King of Naples as a preserve for his wild boars and other animals destined for the chase; it is a circular cavity, nearly a mile in diameter, the walls of which are formed of a congeries of scoriie, pumice, and other ejected materials, in regular strata, dipping away in all directions from the cen- tre, which, as at Rocca Monfina, is occupied hy a boss of trachyte protruding above the level of the cavity to the height of 200 feet.P. 201. Between Astroni and the city of Naples is Sol- fatara, which still shows languid indications of activity, in the discharge of gases mixed with aqueous vapor. It is time, however, now, that we come to Vesuvius itself: The date of that part of the mountain properly called Vesuvius, or rather of its cone, does not per- haps go further back than the period of the famous eruption of 79 after the Christian a~ra, in which Herculaneum and Pompeii were destroyed; for the ancient writers never speak of the mountain as consisting of two peaks, which they probably would have done, if the Monte Somma had stood, as at 104 DATJBENY ON VOLCANOES. present, distinct from the cone of Vesuvius. It is also remarked that the distance mentioned in ancient writers as intervening hetween the foot of Vesuvius and the towns of Pompeii and Stabi~, appears to have heen greater than exists at present, unless we measure it from the foot of Monte Somma, so that this affords an additional probability that the latter mountain was then viewed as a part of the former, and that no separation between them had at that time occurred. We may also he sore, from the semi-circular figure which the southern escarpment of the Monte Somma presents towards Vesuvius, that it constituted a portion of the walls of the original crater, and Visconti, it is said, has proved by actual adrneasurements that the centre of the circle, of which it is a segment, coincides as nearly as possible with that of the present cone. There seems, therefore, little room to doubt that the old mouth of the volcano occupied the spot now known by the name of the Atrio del Cavallo, hut that it was greatly more extensive than this hollow, as it comprehended likewise the space now covered by the cone, which was thrown up afterwards in consequence of the renewal of the volcanic action that had been suspended during so many ages. P. 215. During the long period of rest which this moun- tain enjoyed, it is described by Plutarch as covered with wild vines, and forming the scene of military enterprises, in which the soldiers made ladders of the vine branches, to let themselves down the precipices. The following extract, ho~vever, shows a different state of things This period of apparent security was, however, at length to cease; in the year 63 after Christ the volcano gave the first symptom of internal agita- tion, in an earthquake which occasioned considera- ble damage to many of the cities in its vicinity, a curious proof of which is exhibited by the excava- tions made at Pompeii, showing that the inhabitants were in the very act of rebuilding the houses over- turned by the preceding catastrophe, when their city was finally overwhelmed in the manner I am about to describe. On the 24th of August of the year 79, the tre- mendous eruption took place, which has been so well described in the letters of the younger Pliny. It was preceded by an earthquake, which had con- tinued for several days, but, being slight, had been disregarded by the inhabitants, who were not unac- customed to such phenomena. However, on the night preceding the eruption, the agitation of the earth was so tremendous as to threaten everything with destruction. At length, about one in the afternoon, there was seen, in the direction of Vesuvius, a dense cloud, which, after rising from the mountain to a certain distance in one narrow vertical trunk, spread itself out laterally in a conical form, in such a manner that its upper part might be compared to the branch- es, and its lower to the trtmk, of the fir which forms so common a feature in the Italian landscape. It was descried from Misenum, where the elder Pliny, as commander of the Roman fleet, happened to be stationed with his family, among whom was his nephew, the author of the letters referred to. The latter, who seemed already to have imbibed somewhat of the spirit of the Stoical philosophy, which inculcated rather an indifference to the course of external events than an inquiry into their nature, pursued his usual train of studies as before; but the former, with the zeal and enterprise of a modern naturalist, prepared, in defiance of danger, to obtain a nearer view of the phenomena, as well as to ren- der assistance to the sufferers. Accordingly he first repaired to Resina, a village immediately at the foot of Vesuvius, but was soon driven back by the increasing shower of ashes, and compelled to put in at Stabime, where he proposed to pass the night. Even here the accumulation of volcanic matter round the house he occupied ren- dered it necessary for him to remain in the open air, where it ~vould appear that he was suddenly over- powered by some noxious effluvia; fir it is said, that whilst sitting on the seashore under the protec- lion of an awning, flames, preceded by a sulphure- ous smell, scattered his attendants, and forced him to rise supported by two slaves, but that he quickly fell down, clxoked, which proved the more fatal from the shortness of breathing under which he la- bored. The absence of any external injury proves that his death was caused by some subtle effluvia, rather than by the stones that were falling at the time; and it is well known that gaseous exhala- tions, alike destructive to animal and vegetable life, are frequent concomitants of volcanic eruptions. The other circumstances of this memorable event are sketched by the younger Pliny with a rapid but masterly hand. The dense cloud which hovered round the mountain, pierced occasionally by flashes of fire more considerable than those of lightning, and overspreading the whole neighborhood of Naples with darkness more profound than that of the deep- est night; the volumes of ashes which encumbered the earth, even at a distance so great as that of Misenum; the constant heaving of the ground, and the recession of the sea, form together a picture7 which might prepare us for some tremendous catas- trophe in the immediate neighborhood of the volca- noand that this catastrophe did occur, modern investigations have fully demonstrated.Pp. 218 220. Many eruptions have taken place since, though sometimes at long intervals. Accordingly, in the interval between the erup- tions of 1500 and 1631 the mountain put on the am pearance of an extinct volcano, the interior of the crater, according to Braccini, being in 1611 covered with shrubs and rich herhage, the plain called the Atrio di Cavallo overgrown with timber and shel- tering wild animals, whilst in another part there were three pools, two of hot, and one of cold water, and two of these impregnated with bitter salts. P. 225. Of late years this volcano has been very ac- tive, and an observatory has been erected on its side for the purpose of keeping an account of its movements, Dr. Daubeny has examined the whole construction of the mountain, and we are indebted to him for a most valuable description of the material of which it is composed ; but we can- not afford more space for extracts on this locality, as other parts of the world must have their share. As contrasted with the violent, but irregular ex- plosions of Vesuvius, there is a quiet, but myste- rious grandeur, in the signal-like warnings of Stromboli, one of the Lipari group of islands. The account of it is from our authors own inspec- tion 105 DATJBENY ON VOLCANOES. For my own part, it was with considerable diffi- culty that I reached the summit of the mountain, which rises at an angle often of nearly 400, and is covered completely with volcanic sand, consisting of titaniferous iron, amongst which I found nuiner- ous crystals of augite, and masses of black pum- ice, or of a highly scoriform and fibrous descrip- tion of lava which seems to approach nearly to that mineral. On looking down from that elevation upon the volcano, it appeared to me that its minor explo- sions were in general almost continuous, but that the greater ones, which alone were audible below, take place at intervals of about seven minutes. The latter were sufficiently terrific to give me an idea of what takes place during an eruption of Etna or XTesuvius, but as the wind did not blow the stones in our direction, we should have incurred no considerable risk in approaching it nearer. On ex- pressing, however, this wish to my guides, I was reminded, by their refusing to accompany me, of the remark which Spallanzani makes in respect to the superstitious horror entertained in his time by the Liparotes of the crater of Volcano, which obliged him to procure a Calabrian for his attend- ant; and finding that no one would venture to accompany me nearer, I thought it prudent to aban- don the attempt. The most remarkable circumstance connected with the operations of this volcano is their regu- larity and uninterrupted character. I have already remarked that there is a continual recurrence of explosions, to which may be added, that from the smaller and lower of the three apertures within the crater, a small stream of lava, like a perennial foun- tain, is constantly issuing. It flows down the mountain in the direction of the sea, which, how- ever, it never appears to reach, becoming solid before it arrives at that point. Some portions, however, of the congealed mass are continually detached, and roll down into the water. No cessat.ion, indeed, has ever been noticed in the operations of this volcano, which is described by writers antecedent to the Christian era in terms which would be well adapted to its present appear- ances. The unintermitting character of the eruptions at Stromboli appears to arise, as Mr. Scrope has suggested, from the exact proportion maintained bet.ween the expansive and repressive force. The expansive arises from the generation of a certain amount of aqueous vapor and of elastic fluids, the repressive from the pressure of the atmosphere and from the weight of the superincumbent volcanic products. In most volcanoes the gradual accumu- lation of scorisi and fragments of rock around the orifice increases the repressive force, until it con- trols for a time the expansive energy; but at Strom- boli no such accumulation takes place, because the greater part of the ejected matters finds its way into the sea, where it is probably washed away by some submarine current.Pp. 246248. But Mount Etna is the giant of volcanoes; Pin- dar calls it the Pillar of Heaven. Its general appearance is thus given Nothing of this kind is indicated by the structure of Etna. This mighty and imposing mountain, which, according to the accurate measurements of Captain Smyth, and Sir John Herschel, rises in solitary grandeur to a height not far short of 11,000 feet, embraces a circumference of eighty-seven miles, and is divided into three distinct regions, representing three climates, as opposite as those of the torrid, the temperate, and the frigid zones. The lower of these regions, called the fertile, or cultivated, extends from the base of the mountain to the height, perhaps, of 2500 feet, and is covered with orchards, vineyards, and corn-fields, of the most productive character. The second, called the woody, constitutes a girdle of forest trees, investing the flanks of the volcano to a height of 6279 feet, where it is suc- ceeded by a rugged and naked region extending to the summit, which goes by the name of the desert or barren, distinguished by a circle of snow, from the centre of which the great crater rears its ma- jestic head. The whole of this immense formation seems to be composed entirely either of lavas, or of ejected masses, for the most part of igneous origin, which, whatever subordinate differences may exist between them, all possess the appearance of having been thrown out above the surface of water, and not under pressure. In the structure of this mountain, everything wears alike the character of vastness. The prod- ucts of the eruptions of Vesuvius may be said almost to sink into insignificance, when compared with its coul6es, some of which are four or five miles in breadth, fifteen in length, and from 50 to 100 feet in thickness, and the changes made on the coast by them are so considerable, that the natural boundaries between the sea and land would seem, as it were, to be determined by the movements of the volcano. The height, too, of Etna is so great, that the lava frequently finds less resistance in piercing the flanks of the mountain than in rising to its summit, and has in this manner formed a number of parasit- ical cones, many of which possess their respective craters, and have given rise to considerable streams of melted matter. Hence an ancient poet has very happily termed this volcano the Parent of Sicilian Mountains, an expression strictly applicable to the relation it bears to the hills in its immediate neighborhood, all of which have been formed by successive ejections of matter frotn its interior. The grandest and most original feature, indeed, in the physiognomy of Etna, is the zone of subor- dinate volcanic hills with which it is encompassed, and which look like a court of subaltern princes waiting upon their sovereign. Of these, neatly eighty are enumerated; fifty-two on the west and north, twenty-seven on the east side of Etna: some covered with vegetation, others bare armd arid, their relative antiquity being probably decoted by the progress vegetation has made upon their surface, in which respect the extraordinary difference that exists would be sufficient by itself to indicate that the mountain to which they owe their origin must have been in a state of activity at a distance of time exceedingly remote.Pp. 271, 272. We cannot pretend to analyze the elaborate description and history of this mountain, which the professor lays before us, though it is most valuable and interesting. One extract must suf- flee under this head The last eruption of any moment which has taken place at Mount Etna was the one of Decem- ber, 1842, which produced a stream of lava taking the direction of Bronte and Randazzo, and produc- ing great devastations. A curious circumstance 106 DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. 107 is recorded of it, which has given rise to much discussion. The lava-stream was watched by a large number of persons proceeding steadly on- wards, in the direction of a small lake or pond of water. When it approached its borders, the first impulse of the assembled multitude was to retreat, aware of the consequences which usually attend the contact of molten matter with a body of liquid. To their surprise, however, no explosion took place at the moment the lava reached the pool, upon which a number of the spectators took courage, and went nearer to watch what would happen. After a brief interval, however, the effects which they had shrunk from with so much dread, actually occurred, the lava which had entered the stream being sud- denly projected into the air with a terrific noise, and the fragments in their descent proving fatal to a large number of those who had been rash enough to come near. M. Boutigny, whose ingenious experiments on the repulsion between bodies intensely heated, and water, are well known, explains the non-occur- rence of any explosion at the moment of the lava first entering the water, by its high temperature, which was such as not to cause the generation of steam till it had time to cool down to a certain point, when the usual consequences of the contact of a heated mass with water took placeP. 287. We have now finished with Italy and its sur- rounding islands. What a terrible mine of explo- sive powers must there be under the lovely shores and clear skies of far-famed Italy! If the Colos- seum itself does not stand on the crater of a volcano, yet surely the foundation of the whole country is a fit emblem of the stability of mans eternal empire. Volcanoes, however, are not always simply mis- chievous. They sometimes act as safety-valves. Lisbon fell for want of a volcano The notoriety which the great earthquake of Lisbon in 1755 has obtained, is calculated to create a general expectation, that many traces of volcanoes would be found in the imm.~diate neighborhood of that city. But it appears, by the most recent and authentic account of the geological strncture of that locality which has come to my knowledge, that although an immense sheet of basalt extends from Santa Catherina on the Tagus to Bucellas, a distance of nearly twenty miles, and although many of the hills around Oeiras, near the mouth of the Tagus, are capped by masses of the same rock, still, that the whole of it was thrown up before the deposition of the oldest of the tertiary formations, and consequently, as indeed its own texture would indicate, is submarine. The liability to earthquakes therefore, to which Lisbon appears subject, would seeni to arise from the want of a volcanic vent, and the frequency of thermal waters throughout many parts of Portugal would favor the idea, that volcanic action may be going on in many parts of this country, in a more subdued manner.Pp. 298, 299. Great Britain and Ireland are summarily passed over with the following remarks It is not my purpose, however, to treat of the geological structure of any portion either of Great Britain or of Ireland, first, because the details are already before the world in treatises readily acces- sible to the English public, and secondly, because the volcanic products seem in these regions mostly submarine, and are apparently in no cases of more modern date than the age of the chalk. In accordance, indeed, with this great antiquity, and with the almost total cessation of volcanic ac- tion in the country subsequently, (unless, indeed, the slight earthquake-shocks perceived at Cumrie he allowed to establish the contrary,) we observe throughout these districts an entire absence of ther- mal springs, as well as of those other minor exhi- bitions of igneous action, which occur in most other localities, where equally wide-spreading manifest- ations of the same forces have taken place. It is true that many of the basalts which I have noticed as occurring in Germany were similarly circumstanced, if we may judge by their characters and structure; but then they are associated with other igneous products more nearly approaching in these respects to those produced under actual cir- cumstances, and it would have been difficult to have described the latter, without introducing some no- tice of the first. In Ireland, on the other hand, as well as in the Hebrides, we have an example of volcanoes, which, during the whole of the extended period of time embraced within the tertiary epoch, no less than within the compass of historical times, have given no token of vitalitya circumstance, as it appears to me, more reconcilable with that theory which attributes volcanic action to certain chemical pro- cesses taking place within the interior of the earth, than to the idea of its arising merely from the con- traction of the crust upon its fluid contents, which latter being inexhaustible, ought, it should seem, according to this hypothesis, to be protruded peri- odically, and to afford a fountain of igneous matter as unfailing as the source from which it proceeded. Pp. 301, 302. The researches of the late Professor Edward Forbes have rendered it probable that there was a time when Ireland, the Faroe Islands, Iceland, and even the Awres, were connected together by continuous tracts of land however this may be, Iceland may be considered the throne of northern fire. I shall proceed, then, to Iceland, where volcanic operations have been carried on on a more gigantic scale, perhaps, than in any other part of Europe; for although there be no one mountain in this island which rivals Mount Etna in magnitude and height, yet evidences of igneous action pervade a much larger area than in Sicily, and have generated in the course of time a much greater amount of vol- canic products. Indeed, whilst the utmost length of Sicily is about 100 miles from Messina to Cape Passero, and its breadth 150 from Messina to Trapani, Ice- land measures at least 240 miles from its most northern to its most southern point, and as much from east to west ; and whilst of the former island not a tenth of the surface is volcanic, the whole of the latter is derived from igneous operations either of an early or of a recent date. According to King von Nidda, one of the latest geological travellers who have visited this island, the whole surface, embracing an area of 1800 square miles, presents only two principal rock-for- mations, one seeming to occupy the bottom of that northern ocean out of which the islands of Iceland and Fame have risen, and consisting of trap rocks of the ordinary kind; whilst the other, which forms DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. the nucleus of the former island, and may be re- garded as the principal cause of its existence as an upraised tract of land, is trachyte, with its accom- paniment.s of tuffs and lava currents. If, as Krug von Nidda thinks, there are any Neptunian beds in the island, they are at least so metamorphosed by the action of heat as to put on the characters of an indurated tuff or obsidian. The trachyte traverses the island in a broad band from S. W. to N. E., and has produced in the line of its elevation an im- mense fissure, along the sides of which the accom- panying traps are seen to be upheaved.Pp. 302, 303. Asia Minor presents bold scenery to those who search for extinct volcanic action Rocks of volcanic materials, chiefly tufaceous, extend all the way from Hassan Dagh to the iso- lated peak of Mount Argmus, the loftiest mountain of the Taurus range, which, according to Mr. Hamiltons measurements, cannot be less than 13,000 feet above the sea. This also consists of volcanic rocks, its summit being composed of a reddish brecciated and scoriaceous conglomerate, full of fragments of trap and porphyritic trachyte, and constituting nearly the point of junction be- tween two enormous broken craters, one of which opens to the N. E., the other t.o the N. W., and the steep sides of which to the north are covered with perpetual snow, for 2000 or 3000 feet below the summit. As of Mount Etna, numerous cones of pumice and lapilli encircle its base, and traces of streams of black basaltic lava were visible near the foot of the mountain. Yet, gigantic as the scale is in which volcanic agency must have operated at this locality, as well as in the mountain just before mentioned, a still more surprising feature is the occurrence of hori- zontal tertiary and volcanic rocks over the whole intermediate space, at the height of 4000 feet and upwards, above the sea. What a mighty effort of elevation, says Mr. Hamilton, must we not suppose to have been capable of raising a tract of land, above 200 miles in length, to this great height, without anywhere destroying the horizontality of the stratification ! Pp. 346, 347. posing that the valley of the Jordan was at the same time stopped up, and its waters thereby ac- cumulated till they formed a lake of sufficient extent to exhaust its fresh supplies by the natural process of evaporation ; and it also seems proba- ble that the whole valley was sunk beneath its former level; and the basin thus formed received the river, which it afterwards tainted with its bi- tuminous qualities. The latter supposition Dr. Dauberiy is inclined to, afier a comparison of the elevations of adjoining seas with the river Jordan. Mount Sinai would appear to be volcanic. At Sherm, in the peninsula of Mount Sinai, the hills for a distance of two miles presented, says Burckhardt, perpendicular cliffs, formed in half-cir- cles, none more than sixty or eighty feet in height, whilst in other places there was the appearance of volcanic craters. The rock of which these moun- tains are composed is black, with a slight tinge of red, full of cavities, and with a rough surface; fragments that have been detached from them were seen lying on the road. The cliffs were covered by deep layers of sand which also overspread the valleys. Burckhardt thinks it probable that other rocks of the same kind may be found near Ras Abou Mo- hammed, and that the name of Black Mountains, (~.iure o~i;,) applied to them by the Greeks, ma4y have arisen from this cause. It should be observe however, that low sand-bills intervene between the volcanic rocks and the sea, and that above them, towards the higher mountains, no traces of the lava are found, which circumstance seems to prove that the volcanic matter is confined to this spot. Burek- hardt adds, in a letter to the Association, that the Arabs, as well as the priests of the convent, men- tion that loud explosions are sometimes heard, ac- companied with smoke, ~)rocecding from a moun- tain called Om Shomnar, eight hours SS. W. of Djebel Moussa, where, however, he searched in vain for any traces of the kindPp. 363, 364. Those who have seen English soldiers sta- tioned in sentry-boxes on the tops of the rug- ged peaks of Aden, to guard the great coal- hole of our Indian steamers, may be curious to know the origin of so dismal a place. In the Holy Land there are tokens of volcanic action within the limits of authentic history; and that such was the case is rendered probable by the frequent reference to phenomena of this kind in the prophetic writings, as when Nahum says, The motintains quake at him, and the hills melt, and the earth is burned at his presence. * * * His fury is poured out like fire, and the rocks are thrown down by him. The destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the Dead Sea have given rise to some discussion among geologists. What it was strictly volcanic can hardly be doubted, as the whole valley of the Jordan appears to have been intersected with vol- The chain of the Caucasus has heen explored canic products. The slime-pits mentioned in Gene- sis, which may also be translated fountains of by M. Dubois de Montpereux with the greatest bitumen, would show that the valley of Siddim energy and perseverance. The result of his en- was a volcanic district. Taking, therefore, for terprise is to mark out the history of this district, as follows granted that the destruction of the cities was the immediate effect of volcanic action, we may ac- j It appears then, that at a period, geologically count for the existence of the Dead Sea by so p-I speaking, not very ren~ote, the whole region com The promontory of Aden, eighty miles west- ward of the straits of Babel-mandel, consists of a bold cluster of volcanic rocks, with lofty jagged peaks, and is connected with the mainland by a low isthmus. At the extremity of the promontory next the main-land is an immense, nearly circular crater, in the centre of which, upon a flat, little raised above the sea-level, stands the town of Aden. The diameter of the crater is about one and a half miles, and it is surrounded on all sides, except the eastern, with precipices chiefly composed of lava, rising from 1000to 1776 feet in height. The crater has been rent in two places on the north and south, but is elsewhere entireP. 365. 108 DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. prehended between the Euxine and the Caspian was covered with water, which, as many ~re led to believe, formed a vast Mediterranean Sea, ex- tending through Central Asia, of which the Lake of Aral, the Caspian, and other large expanses of water now existing, are the remnants. The first movement by which any part of the Caucasian range was elevated took place at the pe- riod of the formation of the Jurassic limestone or onlitic series, and caused an island to be thrown up between the two seas. Subsequently to this event, a deposition took place of schistous and arenaceous beds, which, from such fossils as Gryphites, Ham- ites, Amonites, and others, which they contain, seem capable of being identified with the cretaceous and greensand formations. A great eruption of melaphyre, or trap porphy- ry, then took place, through the instrumentality of which, the chain of Akhaltsikhe, consisting of the above-named secondary deposits, was heaved up above the level of the waters. At this period, then, there would seem to have existed a great tract of water north of the Caucasian range, cover- ing the space now occupied by those vast steppes that intervene between the two seas, in the 45th parallel from the Sea of Azof to Astrachan. South of this sea was the chain of mountains which had been uplifted at the epoch of the chalk formation; then occurred a straight or narrow sea, bounded on the north by this chain, and on the south by the Caucasian island consisting of Jura limestone, the result of a previous upheaval. Now it was at this epoch that the volcanic erup- tions began, by which the face of the country has been since so much modified.Pp. 367, 368. To this period are attributed various rocks of basalt, trachyte and other volcanic products ; and also the grand volcanic amphitheatre of Central Armenia, in which is Mount Ararat, 16,254 feet high. The history then proceeds All this succession of geological epochs appears to have preceded the great elevatory movement to which the Caucasian chain owes its existence. It was then for the first time that Elbrous, Passenta, Kasbek, and the Red Mountains, reared their heads above the surrounding country. The first of these, Elbrous, the most northern of the four, and the one nearest to the Euxine, is a vast crater at once of eruption and of elevation. Tra- chytic porphyries have here been pushed through schistose and perhaps granitic rocks; and the sec- ondary beds adjacent, consisting either of Jura limestone or of chalk, are more and more inclined in proportion as they approach the central mass. Passemta has not been yet explored, but its height is calculated at .not short of 14,000 feet. Kasbek, which stands considerably to the east of Elbrous, was also evidently another focus of vol- canic operations. Streams of lava proceeding from it have been traced as far ~s the village of Kasbek situated at its base. The Red Mountains lie above the village of Ka- chaor, on the road from Tiflis to Wladikavkas. Here there is a vast moral precipice, consisting of black slaty rocks, nine or ten thousand feet in height, on the summit of which two or three cones of volcanic materials, called from their color the Red Mountains, are placed. Streams of lava which have proceeded from it fill up a large fissure or val- ley to a considerable height. North of Elbrous lies the vast steppe above- mentioned, which is a tertiary formation in perfect- ly horizontal strata, deposited from the sea that once covered the whole of the country between the Euxine and Caspian. It is dotted over with de- tached hills, one of which, Bachetan, 4500 feet above the sea, is composed of trachytic porphyry. This volcano, however, would seem to have been in repose since the tertiary period, as its flanks are covered with undisturbed beds belonging to that class of rocks, but surrounded by a sort of amphi- theatre of hills, which consist of cretaceous beds. One of these hills is called Machouka.Pp. 369, 370. We trust, however, that M. Dubois observa- tions are more accurate that his speculations, judging from the following extract M. Duhois indulges in some bold speculations, with respect to the consequences that may have resulted from the bursting of some one of those great lakes, which we have seen to lie at so great an elevation above the sea, in the midst of the great mountainous tract of the Caucasus. Some such event as this he conceives competent for the production of an aqueous inundation, suffi- ciently wide-spreading to have swept off the face of the earth all the inhabitants of the plain of Mesopo- tamia, the cradle of the human race, and thus to have brough forth such a deluge as the one which the Scriptures record, supposing that catastrophe to have been no more than coextensive with the limits within which mankind was at the time cir- cumscribed.P. 373. With regard to Central Asia our information is but obscure: Cordier observes, that the existence of two burning mountains in the midst of the immense table-land bounded by the Ural, the Altai mountains, the frontiers of China, and the Himalaya chain, is a fact well worthy of attention. Sal ammoniac is never fiund in Europe in any but a volcanic rock; it is therefore probable, ~ priori, that the origin of it in Asia is that assigned by the Abb6 Remusat, and the professed learning of that scholar gives an authority to the facts detailed.P. 387. Dr. Daubeny, however, does not consider there is sufficient evidence to prove the existence of these volcanoes, and they would rather militate against his theory of the sea being necessary for their operations. He prefers accounting for t.he presence of sal amrnoniac by attributing it to the combustion of coal, as is the case in some parts of Germany. We now turn to the Indian Archipelago, which presents some remarkable phenomena. A line of volcanic action can be traced more than 3,000 miles long, and somewhat semi-circular in its form, within which, and consequently free from its influ- ence, are the islands of Celebes and Borneo, and the Malayan promontory. It commences with the Philippine Islands, passes between Celebes and New Guinea, then turns to the west, takes in Java and Sumatra, and ends on the coast of Pego. At the most southern part of this line is the island of Sambawa, where there is perhaps the log DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. most terrific volcano on the face of the earth. Sir Stamford Raffles has thus described one of its eruptions Almost every one, says this writer, is acquainted with the intermitting convulsions of Etna and Ye- suvius, as they appear in the descriptions of the poet and the authentic accounts of the natural- ist, but the most extraordinary of them can hear no comparison, in point of duration and force with that of Mount Tomboro, in the island of Sum- baya. This eruption extended perceptible evidences of its existence over the whole of the Molucca Islands, over Java, a considerable portion of Cel- ebes, Sumatra, and Borneo, to a circumference of a thousand statute miles from its centre, by tremulous motions and the report of explosions; while within the range of its more immediate activity, embracing a space of 300 miles around it, it produced the most astonishing effects, and excited the most alarming apprehensions. In lava, at the distance of 300 miles, it seemed to be awfully present. The sky was overcast at midday with clouds of ashes; the sun was enveloped in an atmosphere, whose palpable density he was unable to pene- trate; a shower of ashes covered the houses, the streets, and the fields, to the depth of several inches, and amid this darkness explosions were heard at intervals, like the report of artillery, or the noise of distant thunder. At Sumbaya itself thr~~e distinct columns of flame appeared to burst forth, near the top of the Tom- boro mountain, (all of them apparently within the verge of the crater,) and after ascending apparently to a very great height, their tops united in the air in a troubled, confused manner. In a short time the whole mountain next Sangir, appeared like a body of liquid fire, extending itself in every direc- tion. The fire and columns of flame continued to rage with unabated fury, until the darkness, caused by the quantity of falling matter, obscured it at about eight, ~. M. Stones at this time fell very thick at Sangir, some of them as large as two fists, but generally not larger than walnuts. Between nine and ten, p~ si., ashes began to fall, and soon after a violent whirlwind ensued, which blew down nearly every house in the village of Sangir, car- rying the alaps or roofs, and light parts away with it. In the port of Sangir, adjoining Sumbaya, its effects were much more violent, tearing up by the roots the largest trees, and carrying them into the air, together with men, horses, cattle, and whatever else came within its influence. [This will account for the immense number of floating trees seen at sea.] The sea rose twelve feet higher than it had ever been known to do before, and completely spoiled the only small spots of rice land in Sangir, sweeping away houses and everything within its rGach. The whirlwind lasted about an hour. No explosions were heard till the whirlwind had ceased, at about eleven, A. t. From midnight till the evening of the 11th, they continued without inter- mission; after that time their violence moderated, and they were heard only at intervals, but the ex- plosions did not cease entirely till the 15th of July. Of all the villages round Tomboro, Tempo, contain- ing forty inhabitants, is the only one remaining. In Pekat6 no vestige of a house is left; twenty-six of the people, who were at Sumbaya at the time, are the whole of the population who have escaped. From the best inquiries there were certainly not fewer than 12,000 individuals in Tomboro and Pe kat6 at the time of the eruption, of whom five or six survive. The trees and herbage of every description, along the whole of the north and west of the peninsula, have been completely destroyed, with the exception of a high point of land near the spot where the village of Tomboro stood. At Sangir, it is added, the famine occasioned by this event was so extreme, that one of the rajabs own daughters died of starvation.Pp. 402404. In the island of Java the following extraordinary and awful event is recorded The Papandayang, situated on the south-western part of the island, was formerly one of its largest volcanoes, but the greater part of the mountain was swallowed up into the earth in the year 1772, after a short but violent paroxysm. The account which has been transmitted of this event asserts, that near midnight, between the 11th and 12th of August, there was observed about the mountain an uncom- monly luminous cloud, by which it appeared to be completely enveloped. The inhabitants, as well about the foot as on the declivities of the mountain, alarmed by the appearance, betook themselves to flight; but before they could all save themselves, the whole mass began to give way, and the greatest part of it actually fell in and disappeared in the earth. At the same time a tremendous noise was heard, resembling the discharge of the heaviest can- non. Immense quantities of volcanic substances, which were thrown out at the same time, and spread in every direction, propagated the effects of the ex- plosion through the space of many miles. It is estimated that an extent of ground, belonging to the mountain itself and its immediate environs. fifteen miles long and six broad, was by this com- motion swallowed up in the bowels of the earth. Several persons, sent to examine the condition of the neighborhood, made report, that they found it impossible to approach the spot, on account of the heat of the substances which encircled it, and which were piled on each other to the height of three feet, although this was on the 24th of September, and thus full six weeks after the catastrophe. It is also mentioned that forty villages, partly swallowed up by the ground, and partly covered by the substances thrown out, were destroyed on this occasion, and that 2,957 of the inhabitants perished.Pp. 406, 407. The same island also affords two other extraor- dinary effects of volcanic action. One is the vomit- ing of mud. About the centre of this limestone district is found an extraordinary volcanic phenomenon. On ap- proaching the spot from a distance, it is first dis- covered by a large volume of smoke rising and dis- appearing at intervals of a few seconds, resembling the vapors arising from a violent surf, whilst a dull noise is heard like that of distant thunder. Having advanced so near that the vision was no longer im- peded by the smoke, a large hemispherical mass was observed, consisting of black earth mixed with water, about sixteen feet in diameter, rising to the height of twenty or thirty feet in a perfectly regular manner, and, as it were, pushed up by a force be- neath, which suddenly exploded with a dull noise, and scattered about a volume of black mud in every direction. After an interval of two or three, or sometimes four or five, seconds, tho hemispherical body of mud or earth rose and exploded again.. P. 409. 110 DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. The other in the Valley of Death, or Poison Valley. Amongst the remarkable phenomena connected with volcanic agency which Java affords, is that same abundant evolution of carbonic acid, which has been already described as occurring in the Lago di Ansanto, near Naples. A similar valley in Java has been called the Valley of Death, or Poison Valley, (Guevo Upas,) arid by combining the accounts given of it with those respecting the malignant qualities of a particular vegetable pro- duction of the island, called the IJpas tree, (Antiaris Toxicaria,) that monstrous fable has been concocted, to which Darwin has given currency in those well- known lines of his Botanic Garden, beginning, Fierce in dread silence on the blasted heath Fell Upas sits, the hydra-tree of death. Every living thing that enters this fatal valley is arrested there by instant death, and as the same fate awaits any one that may go to the rescue, the ground is covered with the bleached bones of numerous ani- mals, as well as of men, who have from time to time approached the precincts. Here the bones remain, whilst the soft parts have wasted away, as carbonic acid exerts little action upon the earthly constituents; but in anothet locality, at Talaga-Bodas, a volcano mentioned by Boon Meseb, on the authority of Rein- wardt, where the mephitic vapors are apparently ac- companied by sulphuric acid, the bony matter of the animals suffocated by the mephitic exhalations is eaten away, whilst the muscles, nails, hair, and skin, remain. The fact at least is vouched for by the Dutch naturalist; the explanation I offer as my own.Pp. 410, 411. In the Pacific Ocean nature may appear at first sight under a milder sway, and may seem to be secure from the effects of internal fire. Those isl- ands scattered over its waters, which rest on their foundation of coral, are often the most perfect pic- tures of safe retirement and happy repose which the world can afford. The Atolls, or lagoon isl- ands, are circles of land, more or less broken, enclosing a portion of the sea, kept in perpetual quiet by the wall around it. There are often islands within this calm retreat, which, consequent- ly, have never felt the roughness of the waves, though in the midst of the greatest ocean of the world. When this last is the case, they are called barrier reefs, as distinguished from lagoon islands. Quiet, however, as these islands may appear, they owe their very existence to volcanic forces. There are different theories of accounting for the forms in which the coral insects have built these monuments of indefatigable industry, but all agree in supposing that there have been changes in the bottom of the ocean produced by volcanic action. Mr. Darwins theory of subsidence is considered the most probable. He supposes that, at some antecedent period, a large tract of that ~vhich now constitutes a part of the. Pacific Ocean was dry land; but that it has for many centuries past been slowly subsiding, until at length the upper surface of the rock sunk beneath the level of the waters. Whenever this event occurred, the coral animals would commence their labors, and would go on building up to the point at which they were no longer covered by the waves and spray. If, therefore, this subsidence be supposed to have continued, a provision would exist for the continua- tion also of this building process, for the land sink- ing still further, the corals might go on adding to the bulk of the reef, without ever attaining the level of the water; and in this manner, during a vast succession of ages, a thickness of coralline matter would be produced, equivalent to the amount of de- pression which the rock upon which it reposed had in the mean time undergone. The more vigorous growth of the corals on the outer margin, from having space to expand, and from being freely exposed to the open sea, will ac- count for the annular form which the reef usually assumes, with a hollow within filled with sea- water; and this not only where there is a central island, as in the case of a barrier reef, but also where there is none, as in that of the Atoll or la- goon island. The absence of this internal hollow between the land and the growing mass of coral serves to show, that in the third kind, the fringing reef, there has been no subsidence; for, had there been any, the pro- gressive rise of the coral on the margin, in a greater ratio than that within, would have by de- grees produced a corresponding hollow.P. 419. More direct volcanic action is not wanting in the Pacific, but the situation of it would rather con- firm than interfere with the theory of subsidence. From this statement it appears that volcanic action is still rife in various parts of the Pacific Ocean, included within north latitude l5~ and 300, and in south latitude below the parallel of 160; but that there is an intermediate tract, on either side of the equator, over which a number of low coral islands are scattered, entirely exempt from all indi- cations of the kind, at least until we approach the shores of the American continent, where the Gal- apagos group make their appearance. These lat- ter, however, as well as the islands of Revillagige- do and Juan Fernandez, are so remote, that they will be considered as belonging to another system, and hence we can more easily admit the view for which Mr. Darwin contends that the tract alluded to is the seat of a vast subsidence, the rate of which may be supposed to keep pace in the main with the rate of growth which the coraline forma- tions are experiencing. This tract is in general avoided by navigators, from the dangers arising from the numerous coral reefs which exist under water, as well as forming islands above it. From these rocks the latitudes te the north and south are in great measure exempt, showing that the formation of coral is in a degree coincident with the area of subsidence.Pp. 457, 428. The lowest point ever reached by man in the southern hemisphere presents a most wonderful example of volcanic fire. Sir James Ross in 1841 discovered a vast continent, now called Vic- toria Land, in about the same longitude as New Zealand, and 77~~O south latitude. Here two volcanoes are observed, the one extinct, called Mount Terror, the other in a state of great activity, called Mount Erebus. The latter was estimated at no less than 12,600 feet above the level of the sea, and makes part of a ill DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. stupendous chain of mountains, belonging to a new continent of vast but undefined extent, the whole mass of which, from its highest point to the oceans edge, is covered with everlasting snow arid ice. This icy barrier, running east and west on this parallel, forbids any further progress towards the pole, or any nearer examination of the igneous phenomena there displayedPp. 431, 432. A beautiful description of this scene is given by Dr. John Hooker, in a letter published in the Journal of Botany, and which forms a note in our present work. The water and the sky were both as blue, or rather more intensely blue, than I have ever seen them in the tropics, and all the coast was one mass of dazzlingly beautiful peaks of snow, which, when the sun approached the horizon, reflected the most brilliant tints of golden yellow and scarlet; arid then to see the dark cloud of smol~e, tinged with flame, rising from the volcano in a perfect unbroken column, one side jet black, the other giving back the colors of the sun, sometimes turning off at a right angle by some current of wind, and stretching many miles to leeward! This was a sight so sur- passing everything that can be imagined, and so heightened by the consciousness that we had pen- etrated, under the guidance of our commander, into regions far beyond what was ever deemed practica- ble, that it caused a feeling of awe to steal over us, at the consideration of our own comparative insig- nificance and helplessness, and at the same time an indescribable feeling of the greatness of the Creator in the works of his hand.P. 432. We have no space for the description of many other volcanic districts scattered over the world. We, therefore, altogether omit the islands of the Atlantic and the continent of Africa, which con- tain some few examples, without, however, any particular interest. America has a great line of volcanoes, more or less developed, in the vast chain of mountains that, under different names, runs from north to south of both continents; other- xvise there are not many examples, for great flat- ness is the prevailing characteristic of the rest of America. We cannot, however, omit the description of Mount Jorullo. The volcano of Jorullo, situated between Colima and the town of Mexico, is of much more modern date than the rest, and the great catastrophe which attended its first appearance is, perhaps, (says Humboldt,) one of the most extraordinary physical revolutions in the annals of the history of our planet. In the month of June, 1759, a subterraneous noise was heard. Hollow sounds of the roost alarming nature were heard, accompanied by frequent earth- quakes, which succeeded each other for from fifty to sixty days, to the great consternation of the in- habitants of the farm. From the beginning of Sep- tember everything seemed to announce the complete refistabhishment of tranquillity, when in the night of the 28th and 29th the horrible subterraneous noise recommenced. The affrighted Indians fled to the mountains of Aguasarco. A tract of ground from three to four square miles in e tent rose up in the shape of a bladder. The bounds of this convulsion are still distinguishable from the fractured strata. Those who witnessed this great catastrophe from the top of A~uasarco assert, that the flames were seen to issue forth for an extent (if more than half a square league, that fragments of burning rocks were thrown to prodigious heights, and that throu,,h a thick cloud of ashes, illumined by volcanic fire, the softened surface of the earth was seen to swell up like an agitated sea. The rivers of Cuitimba and San Pedro precipitated themselves into the burning chasms. The decomposition of the water contributed to invigorate the flames, which were distinCuisha- ble at the city of Pascuaro, though situated on a very extensive table-land 4592 feet above the plains of Las Playas de Jorullo. Eruptions of mud, and especially of strata of clay, enveloping balls of de- composed basalt in concentrical layers, appear to indicate that subterraneous water had no small share in prod ucirig this extraordinary revolution. Thou- sands of small cones, from six to ten feet in height, called by the natives ovens, (Hornitos,) issued forth from the Malpays. Although, according to the testimony of the Indians, the heat of these volcanic ovens has suffered a great diminution during the last fifteen years, I have seen the thermometer rise to 212~ on being plunged into fissures which ex- hale an aqueous vapor. Each small cone is a fumarole, from which a thick vapor ascends to the height of from twenty-two to thirty-two feet. In many of them a subterraneous noise is heard, which appears to announce the proximity of a fluid in ebulhition. In the midst of the ovens six large masses, ele- vated from 300 to 1600 feet each above the old level of the plains, sprung up from a chasm, of which the direction is from NN.E. to SS.W. This is the phenomenon of the Monte Nuovo of Naples, several times repeated in a range of volcanic hills. The most elevated of these enormous masses, which remind us of the Puys in Auvergue, is the great volcano of Jorullo. It is continually burning, and has thrown up from its north side an immense quantity of scorified and basaltic lavas, containing fragments of primitive rocks. These great erup- tions of the central volcano continued till the month of February, 1760. In the following years they be- came gradually less frequent. The Indians, frightened at the horrible noises of the new volcano, abandoned at first all the villanes situated within seven or eight leagues distance of the Playas de Jorullo. They became gradually, however, accustomed to this terrific spectacle; and having returned to their cottages, they advanced towards the mountains of Aguasarco and Santa Ines, to admire the streams of fire discharged from an infinity of small volcanic apertures of various sizes. The roofs of the houses at Queretaro, at a distance of more than forty-eight leagues in a straight line from the scene of the explosion, were at that time covered with ashesPp. 476480. We now conclude this part of our subject with the following general notice of the volcanoes of South America The volcanoes we are now about to consider are distinguished from those that most commonly meet the eye in Europe, not only by their gigantic pro- portions, but also by their general conformation and their mineralogical characters. We have, indeed, described, as existing in Mex- ico and Guatemala, volcanoes nearly rivalling them 112 DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. 113 in point of elevation, and equally distinguished by their pyramidal forms, as well as by being made up of one uniform description of rock, and not of alter- nating beds of lava and scorial; but these characters are to be met with occasionally amongst the volca- noes of the old world also, and are not stated to be accompanied, in the case of the Mexican volcanoes, with any peculiar mineralogical composition. In the Andes, on the other hand, we observe a long range of conical mountains, forming som eof the highest eminences on the face of the globe, often destitute of craters, rarely pouring forth any streams of lava, but emitting from their summits only steam and aeriform fluids, whilst the material of which they are composed is that peculiar descrip- tion of feispathic rock, which Henry Rose has dis- ting nished, from the circumstance of its occurring in South America, by the name of andisite. No wonder that Humboldt, the great and princi- pal explorer of these extensive regions, should have felt himself privileged to protest against theo- ries founded only upon an observation of the puny volcanoes of Italy, and with a pardonable feeling of exultation at the wider field of induction which his own superior opportunities of foreign travel had af- forded him, should have compared the geologist who imagined all the eruptive rocks throughout the globe to be moulded according to the model of those he was familiar with in Europe, to the shepherd in Virgil, who supposed, in the simplicity of his heart, his own little hamlet to contain within itself the un- age of imperial RomePp. 485, 486. We leave now the region of phenomena imme- diately arising from volcanoes, and proceed to the consideration of (ithers supposed to be connected with them, such as earthquakes and thermal springs. That earthquakes are but volcanoes without any vent, there can hardly be a doubt. In dealing, therefore, with the theory of volcanic action, we need scarcely make any distinction between these two exhibitions of the same internal force. We must, however, lay before our readers a few ex- tracts descriptive of the effects of these fearful convulsions of nature. As the accidental bursting of a powder magazine is more dreadful than the firing of the heaviest artillery, inasmuch as the one spreads all round, and the other but in one direction, so have earthquakes ever inspired more terror, and been more destructive of human life than volcanoes. The nature of the earthquake shock is that of waves propagated from a central cause. These are of different kinds. In Southern Italy, where this is too often the case, the movements of the earth referred to earth- quakes, having beer carefully observed, are divided into three kinds. 1st. The undulatory motion, which takes the place horizontally and heaves the ground success- ively upwards and downwards, proceeding onwards in a uniforni direction. 2d. The successive motion, in which the ground is heaved up in a direction more or less approaching to the perpendicular, as happens in the explosion of a mine. 3d. The vorticose motion, which seems to be a combination of the two preceding ones, several un- dulations taking place contemporaneously, and thus CCXLIV. LIVING AGL VOL. xx. 8 interfering one with the other, so that during its continuance the surface of the land is tossed about somewhat in the same manner as that of the sea is during the prevalence of a storm, when a number of billows travelling in different directions strike one against the other, and thus produce every possible complexity of movement.Pp. 508, 509. Earthquakes of the two latter kinds are the most destructive. Now this second kind of movement has been noticed with greater or less distinctness by many of those who have observed and reported to us the frightful earthquakes which, on the 1st of Novem- her, 1755, brought about the destruction of Lisbon. Of the not less terrific, though less widely diffused earthquake, which in February and March, 1783, laid waste Calabria and Messina, we have also ob- tained authentic accounts. iDolomien, who made observations on it at the very time and place where it occurred, states distinctly, that the movements of the principal shock on the 5th of February were always of a wave-like character, and could be compared to nothing better than to the effect pro- duced, when we place small quantities of moist and slightly moistened sand near each other on a plate which we toss vertically upwards, moving it hori- zontally at the same time backwards and forwards. On the 28th of March of that year, a fine exam- ple of a movement of succession was perceived; for, according to Hamiltons account, the summits of the granitic hills in Calabria were clearly seen to rise and fall alternately, and individuals, and even houses standing by themselves, are said to have been suddenly borne aloft, and then, without any damage being done to them, brought back to a somewhat higher spot than before.Pp. 509, 510. Again The most frightful, however, of these catastro- phes was the earthquake which, in June, 1692, ravaged the whole of Jamaica. At Port Royal the entire surface of the ground seemed at the time like a rolling, swelling sea; houses were shifted from their places; men who, at the commencement of the phenomena, had escaped into the streets and open spaces of the town, were thrown down, tossed~ to and fro, arid often bruised and stunned in the most frightful manner; ethers again thrown aloft and borne to a great distance; so that some, by good fortune, were carried out into the harbor, and, fall- ing into the water, escaped with their hives.P.. 511. The following notice of the earthquake of Lis- bon seems to prove that its cause was very deep- seated. This earthquake affords the best example on record of the extent of ground over which some of these great natural convulsions diffuse themselves.. It has been computed, that the above-named shock pervaded an area of 700,000 geographical miles, or the twelfth part of the circumference of the globe,. comprising all the Spanish peninsulabeing felt at Cadiz, Gibraltar, Malaga, Madridand extending to the Pyrenees and to Provence. Shocks sufficient to damage houses were experienced at the same time in many parts of the Alps; sliebter ones at Geneva and Neufehatel; but at Como, Turin, and Milan, taking place with considerable force. Ye- suvius, which had shown signs of commotion pro- 114 viously, became tranquil on the day of the earth- quake. North of the Alps it was noticed at Augsburg; the hot springs of Tdplitz were disturbed at the same time, though the neighboring ones of Carlsbad continued unaffected; nay, even in Norway and Sweden the lakes were observed to be in a state of commotion. At Gluckstadt, on the borders of the Elbe, the sea rose and sunk in a remarkable manner; in Cornwall the waters rose as much as eight or ten feet, and swept away several small vessels; whilst on many parts of the coast the same phenomenon was observed, and even in Scotland the waters of Loch Lomond, Loch Ness, Loch Katrine, & c., rose above their banks. On the opposite side, many places in Morocco, such as Tetuan, Tangiers, Fez, & c., ~vere overturned, and shocks were experienced in the Canary Islands and the Azores. But what was more remarkable, the West Indian Islands sympathized in the movement, and the sea surrounding them assumed a black tint, perhaps from bitumen, whilst at the same time Boston, New York, and Philadelphia were sensibly affected. Pp. 514, 515. Yet this earthquake came without a moments notice, lasted but five minutes, and the first shock, which was the worst, but five or six seconds. Dreadful, however, was the damage done in this short time; 30,000 were killed in the churches alone; for it happened or~ the Feast of All-Saints, at the hour of service. The progress of an earth- quake has been accurately marked out by Mr. Mallet. Without following Mr. Mallet in his detailed ex- planation of the various accidents of earthquakes, arising from interferences in several waves, and from other causes of the same kind, I will just re- capitulate the order of the successive phenomena which present themselves, according to this writer, in the case of an earthquake affecting a maritime tract. First, we have the earth-sound wave, and the crreat earth-wave or shock; the sound-wave through the air; the sea-wave occurring at the time, which he calls the forced sea-wave; and the great sea- wave; all originating at the same moment~, and produced by one impulse. The sound-wave through the earth, and the great carth-~vave or shock arrive first, and are heard and felt on land, accompanied, as far as the beach, by the small sea-wave called the forced sea-wave; these are almost instantly succeeded by the sound- wave through the sea; next arrive the a& ial waves of sound, and continue to be heard for a longer or shorter time, and finally the great sea-wave rolls in upon the shore. Such is the sequence of phenomena when the earthquake takes place under the bed of the ocean; when it occurs on land, the great sea-wave is necessarily wanting, although disturbances may oc- ~ur in consequence of the falling of masses of rock into the water, which may be mistaken for it. Pp. 524, 525. The shock of an earthquake varies according to the substance through which it is transmitted. Some strata carry it much further than others; and hence it will be felt along a particular line of country, where the stratum is more elastic, when DAtTIIENY ON VOLCANOES. it is not at all perceived at places much nearer its centre. Of thermal springs we can only remark, that they are looked upon as slight symptoms of vol- canic action, chiefly on account of the vapors that accompany them, and the chemical ingredients of the water itself. They, are, moreover, generally found in situations favorable to this idea, where other signs of volcanic action, either extinct or present, are also to be found. This need not cause alarm to the frequenters of watering-places at this season of the year, for the difference be- tween a bubbling fountain and a volcano or earth- quake is about as great as between a fire in its proper place and a fire enveloping ones house in destruction. The difference in degree is as im- portant in many things, and may be confided in as much, as the difference in kind. The extracts we have chosen have not been those most calculated to form the basis of an elab- orate discussion on the various volcanic theories which are before the world ; nor have they been ones particularly connected with Dr. Daubenys own theory on the subject. The simple reason for this has been, that we have felt it more con- sistent with our present purpose to avoid as much as possible the details of chemical science, and the hard phraseology by which it expresses its meaning, and in which, consequently, the work- in gs of the chemical theory must be described. We must now, however, come to the theory, with reference to which the book is written. The general statement of the theories by means of which volcanic operations have been accounted for is thus laid down The theories which have been propounded with the view of accounting for the existence of volcanic action may be divided into two classes; those which assume some chemical process, of which the heat is merely an effect; and those which, assuming the existence of the heat, deduce the other phenomena from its presence. In the former, in short, which I shall henceforth designate as the chemical class of theories, the heat is one of the consequences; whilst in the second, which may be called the mechanical, it is assumed as the prime mover of all the phenomena observed. P. 594. Dr. Daubenys chemical theory, we believe, ho has most satisfactorily proved to be the immediate cause of all the phenomena before us; but we must be allowed to make one observation on the division just quoted. It may be an intrusion concerned with the language, more than with the substantial idea conveyed in it ; as Dr. Daubeny ottly means absolutely to exclude fire as the immediate cause; but we had rather have had it so worded as to leave it open even among holders of the chemical theory, to consider fire, in some ultimate way, the great mover in the production of these phenomena. The division just quoted, states that heat is the consequence only in the chemical theory, the prime mover in the mechanical. If this is a fair way of stating the different theories, those who believe iii DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES. 115 the chemical theory are excluded from the idea of original heat being the first cause; and those who hold the mechanical theory, or, as it is defined, start with the belief that heat is the prime mover, are likewise excluded from looking on the chemi- cal process as the immediate cause of the phenom- ena we see. Dr. Daubeny himself allows that there may be internal heat in the globe ; yet he says, it has nothing to do with volcanic action. Be the earth hot or cold, he believes his theory to maintain the same position. He is not sure but that the earth has been from creation perfectly cold, except when warmed by chemical combina- tions. The oblate figure of the globe, which is generally supposed to have arisen from the cen- trifugal force of diurnal motion when the earth was in a inure fluid state, he explains on other grounds. The passage, however, which meets this difficulty had better speak for itself. The other class of theories, which begins by as- suming the high temperature, and then deduces from it the other phenomena, seems at first sight to have an advantage over the preceding one, inas- much as the existence of internal heat may be thought to be in a manner ascert~tined, whilst that of the alkaline or earthly inetalloids, uncombined with oxygen, is at most only probable; and accord- ingly many have been induced to prefer this m6de of accounting for the phenomena, as less hypothet- ical, and requiring fewer postulates. They forget, however, that the existence of an internal heat is assumed alike on either supposition, and that the true point of dispute is, whether it can best be explained by the presence of a melted or ignited mass in the interior of the globe, or by a process of oxygenation going on amongst its con- stituents. It is, indeed, a common fallacy to set down inter- nal and central heat as identical, although a mo- ments consideration will convince us that the one is a matter of observation, the other purely of in- ference, and that the only decisive mode of estab- lishing the latter proposition would be by demon- strating that the nucleus of the globe either is, or at least once was, in a state of fluidity. Now the only direct argument in favor of the in- ternal fluidity of the globe is deduced front its fig- ure, which has been proved to be that of an oblate spheroid ; a form, it is contended, which could not have been imparted to it unless it had been origi- nally, liquid, and from whence the advocates of the above hypothesis conceive themselves at liberty to infer that it is in this state at present. Neither of these propositions, however, can be regarded as demonstrated. Sir J. F. Herschel has shown, in his Treatise on Astronomy, that the oblate figure of the globe may only have arisen from its long-continued rotation, this being the point to which, under this condition, it must tend, and which it would ultimately attain, even as its surface is at present constituted. Professor Playfair, in his Illustrations of the Iluttonian Pheory, (p. 435,) has also contended, that if the surface of the earth has been repeatedly Thanged from sea to land, the figure of the planet must in that case have been at length brought to coincide with its actual one.Pp. 598, 599. The mechanical theory, as Dr. Daubeny under- stands it, is certainly most unsatisfactory. It is simply, that the earth was originally in a molten state; that, as it gradually cooled, the surface be- came hard, and a crust was thus formed ; that this crust contracted, thereby pressing on the in- ternal fluid, and causing it to ooze out at what- ever vents it could find, or could make for itself. Every volcano would thus be supposed to have uninterrupted communication with the molten mass that constituted the interior of the globe. The acknowledgment that earthquakes and thermal springs have any connection with volcanoes, is expressing a disbelief in the mechanical theory as thus stated ; for no one can suppose that every slight tremor of the earth, or every warm foun- tain, springs direct from a bottomless mass of burning liquid. The chemical theory, on the other hand, sup- poses that volcanic action is the result of a process of internal oxidation, which goes on when the ox- ygen contained in air or water finds its way from the surface to the unoxidized material of the earth. Without entering into the details of chem- istry, this principle is obvious enough ; and we can readily attribute all volcanic action to some kind of chemical combustion, as its immediate cause. Such being the outline of these two theories, the products of volcanic action, we think, prove the latter, from their similarity to known chemical results ; yet we differ from Dr. Daubeny in this, that whereas he makes the chemical theory inde- pendent of original heat, we see no reason why original heat may not be the prime mover of chem- ical action itself; such action being only the inter- mediate process between central fire and volcanic action. Dr. Daubeny only concedes that the chem- ical theory is consistent with the belief in a cen- tral firehe denies that it is dependent on it yet, curious enough, he has no full explanation of his own theory contained in his work, but one which starts, as it were by this concession, from a point in the history of the globe, which the holders of the mechanical theory have made out for him. He offers, in fact, no complete theory from the first, yet builds on the theory of others, and then denies its necessity. We will quote, however, what may be termed his apology for having no theory I place but little confidence in those systems of cosmogony which profess to explain the various changes which our planet has undergone, from the first moment at which its materials were launched into space, down to the present advanced stage of its existence. Such pictures of nature have to me rather the as- pect of a philosophical romance, than of a series of sober deductions from ascertained facts; and, if ad- vanced with any higher pretensions than as one of many possible modes in which certain natural forces may have operated, lay the theorist 6pen to the charge of presumption, and shake the confidence of his readers in his authority on other pointsP. 646. lie then proceeds to state that be does not shrink from the test of a theory; and in proof of it he adapts his chemical theory to the early part 115 DAUBENY ON VOLCANOES~ in the history of the mechanical one. This is suppose it to have subsisted, when, through con- most ably done, and we think forms one consis- tractions in its cooling crust, inequalities of surface tent theory, which the professor impairs hy the would begin to take place, and the waters be di- implication, in other parts, that the chemical ac- videdfrorn the waters, by the formation of hollows or depressions, into which the seas might subside. tion described has no necessary connection with This would take place equally according to the the idea of central heat. view I have formed of the subject, and would give rise to similar consequences. Thus the contraction would tend to produce cracks, through which the sea-water might find its way down to the internal portions of the globe; chemical actions would thus be renewed, and fresh volumes both of steam and of hydrogen disengaged. The latter, however, would no longer be able to find a ready vent upwards, and in consequence would rend and fracture the crust in various direc- tions; or, when in the neighborhood of rocks soft ened, though not melted, by the internal heat, would swell them out, and form vast hollows or caverns which they would at first distend. The pressure outwards would prevent any more water from finding its way into the interior, and thus for the time put a stop to the action ; but no sooner did the heat diminish, than the gases contained in the caverns must contract in volume and become condensed, thus creating a partial vacuum, which would be supplied by water when the communica- tion was with the sea, and by atmospheric air when it was in connection with the land. No supposition would seem more natural, though sotne have made it a ground of objection, than this occurrence of a pressure outwards alternating with one in the contrary direction, according as gaseous matter was generated by the volcanic processes, or condensed by the cooling of the cavities that con- tained it. I may fortify these conclusions by the authority of Sir Humphry Davy, who, in a memoir on the Phenomena of Volcanoes, published in the Philosophical Transactions for 1828, remarks, that there is every reason to suppose in Vesuvius the existence of a descending current of air; that the subterranean thunder heard at such distances tin- derneath the niountain is almost a demonstration of the existence of cavities below, filled with aeri- form matter; and that the same excavations, which in the active state of the volcano throw out during so great a length of time immense volumes of steam, must, there is every reason to believe, in its quiet state become filled with atmospheric air. Hence perhaps we may explain a phenomenon that has been noticed during the continuance of an eruption, namely, that of the air being hear(l to rush through the various spiracles of the mountain with a loud, and, as it is represented, an almost musical sound. In this manner, then, a communication would l)e kept up between the interior of the earth and the atmosphere, aiid both air and water would gradu- ally find their way to greater and greater depths, in proportion as the crust continued more and more to contract. At length access would be obtained to that lower zone in which the heavier elements, such as caloi- um, magnesium, iron, manganese, remained un- oxidized, and new products would consequently be fornied, which becoming melted along with the more superficial granite, would give rise to combinations of silex with lime, magnesia, and the other oxides, and in consequence to the substitution of labradorite for orihoclase, arid of augite for quartz. Hence vol- canic products, such as greenstones, basalts, or tra- chytes, would take the place of those granitic ones, This adaptation of one theory to another, which strikes us as being the best explanation of the whole subject, as long as we really look on it as one consecutive idea, is contained in the following extract; which, as being the end and object of the whole work, must necessarily be rather long: Let us, then, take up the subject at the point which cosmogonists of the opposite school are agreed in picturing to us as the primordial condition of our planetthat in which its constituents, from the high temperature they possessed, were in a nebular condition, prevented only by the never-fail- ing force of gravity from being dissipated through space. Under such circumstances, all the elements of matter would remain in a state of chemical indiffer- ence, and the law of gaseous diffusion would occa- sion their intiniate intermixture without any union resulting. Let us next suppose a diminution of temperature in the course of ages to arise, which should bring down the volatilizable of these bodies to a state at least of liquidity; and there may then be conceived a certain segregation of the elements, such as should cause the heaviest of them to accumulate in a great- er degree in proximity to the centre of the mass. Thus, iron and some of the more ponderous met- als might constitute the laxger proportion of the inter- nal parts of the earth, the metals of lime and magne- sia might occupy a somewhat higher zone, whilst those of the alkalies arranged themselves above ; the whole, of course, enveloped in an atmosphere consist- ing not only of its present constituents, but also of hy- drogen and chlorine, incapable as yet, from the still exalted temperature belonging to them, of entering into combination with the bodies for which they have an affinity. But let us imagine a further reduction of temper- ature sufficient to allow these elements to exert their affinities, and it is evident that by the union of hydrogen both with oxygen and with chlorine, a sea would at length be created, strongly impreg- nated with muriatic acid. Now this water acting upon the metallic con- stituents of the superficial coats of the earth, would generate the alkalies and earths, as well as give rise to combinations between the same bases and the chlorine present in the muriatic acid which it held in solution. Hydrogen would of course be disengaged by both these processes, but no ultimate diminution in the amount of the sea need result, because whatever hydrogen was at first liberated would speedily recoin- bine with oxygen. Thus we should have a zone of salt water interposed between the atmosphere and the solid matter of the globe, whilst tire latter would con sist of a crust of alkaline and earthy materials envel. opirig an unoxided nucleus. If we suppose this crust to contain an excess of silica beyond what could combine with the alumnimia arid alkalies pres- ent, a material like granite might result from the intermixture of felspar and mica with quartz or on- combitied silica. I have now brought the earth down to that con- dition in which cosmogonists of a different school DAUBEN~ ON VOLCANOES. 117 which had been the first results of the action of oxygen upon the solid constituents of the globe. Pp. 647649. Exercising common sense, and bringing analogy to bear, may not an ordinary reader be allowed to associate these two theories together, so that his faith in the one depends on his faith in the other Every discovery in science seems to point to a time when this earth was fluid from its excessive heat and to ~come to any other con- clusion involves the philosopher in unintelligible explanations. Internal heat, therefore, hem gsup- posed, are we to imagine that the whole surface of the earth has been convulsed by heat, that ex- ternal heat not being connected with the internal Is this the philosophy which analogy teaches us to forget the fountain-head of power, in the more immediate presence of its agent We may talk of chemical combustions, but do they repre- sent final causes There must be latent dormant fire within the material of the globe, in order to burst out on accidental contact; and nothing seems more likely to have left this dormant property, which we call chemical action, in the hidden sub- stance of the earths crust, than the retreating heat, at depths inaccessible to the process of cool- ing, with which we are chiefly acquainted. Taking central heat as the prime mover, it is impossible to suppose, as we have already said, that it is the immediate agent in the present state of the world ; for these volcanic phenomena must surely be on a much larger scale than we experi- ence. A crack in the surface of the earth might then bury whole countries in the molten mass; indeed, we cannot imagine such a cause producing such comparatively slight results as we see at present. But the strata of the earth, as exposed by geologists, would seem to imply that such was at one time exercised. Here there is an addi- tional argument for the crust having been first but very thin, and having from the process of cooling become afterwards much thicker. The lower we go in the geological strata, and, conse- quently, the further back we go in the history of the earth, the more violent are the convulsions, and the more frequent are the ebullitions of inter- nal fluid which hardened down into trap rocks. May we not, then, imagine a time when the purely mechanical theory was in action ; that is, when the crust of the earth was so thin that it did give way from contraction and may we not trace a gradual change from this time to the more indi- rect exercise of central heat in the dormant fire of chemical action 1 Holding, then, the chemical theory, we yet consider it an important point not to give up the central heat of the earth as the prime mover. This enlarges the whole subject, makes it more intelligible, and opens out to its the consideration of other intermediate agents, which may have their origin in fire, and may also he connected with chemical action. A theory of volcanoes is surely imperfect in these days, without leaving some room for the supposition that electricity and galvanism are agents in it. If we know a mysterious power to exist in the many different shapes which electricity assumesfrom the northern lights, the thunder of the clouds,, to the never-ending still small voice of the magnetic needle, which is prob- ably in some way connected with galvanic influ- enceis it not natural to prefer a theory of vol- canic action which admits of this being considered Chemical action is believed by many to be con- nected with galvanism; but, however this may be, is it not probable that all these powers have their origin in fire The only notice of electricity taken by Dr. Daubeny is the following, and we cannot think lie gives this mighty influence its due p(isition, or that he~ sufficiently appreciates the value of analogy The arguments that have been from time to time adduced in favor of the electrical theory are vague and inconclusive; they are drawn from some fanci- ful analogy between the noise and shock accompa- nying lightning, and those which are experienced during an earthquake; from the extreme rapidity with which that motion is propagated; from the electrical state of the air both before and after an earthquake; and froni the sulphureous smell some- times perceived, which is thought to resemble that produced by the electrical shock. Electrical phenomena, indeed, are common dur- ing the continuance of volcanic eruptions, produced in all probability bythe evolution of large quanti- ties of steam and other elastic fluids, the decompo- sition and subsequent regeneration of water, and other processes that accompany these grand opera- tions of nature.Pp. 533, 534. May not fire, then, be the prime mover of all these forces And chemical action, electricity, galvanism, and many other active powers, the nu- merous offspring of their common parent, fire, which might thus be looked on as the vital principle of matterthe very soul of this earth As for the earth, Job says, out of it cometh bread, and under it is turned up as it were fire. There is a vestige of a true idea in the worship of fire. It seems to have been our origin, for every rock of the earth bears its stamp, and we are told it will be the end of time, and the prep- arati()n for eternity. Everything excellent in the spiritual world, every high gift of intellectual en- ergy, and every strong power of the natural world, is associated, more or less distinctly, with the idea of fire. A thousand instances will at once occur, which it would be rash, or even pre- sumptuous, to write down, but which point out, to our secret conviction, that among the mighty instruments of Providence, fire, in its direct or in- direct signification, occupies no small, and no con- fined position. Is it not almost a forewarning, that as the latter days would seem to be putting forward some of their appointed signs, the study of that earth in which we live, and which is to be passed through the fire, should first have risen up into a science I The discoveries of geology, if some have accused them of want of consistency with the scriptural account of the beginning of the world, can claim a most solemn uniformity of de MANUAL DEXTERITY IN MANUFACTURES. tail with the glimpses which are given us of its end. We find traces of former periods that are most exact types of what we believe will be here- after. Compare, for instance, the convulsions of the more early geological periods with Isaiahs announcement of the end of the world.* The foundations of the earth do shake. The earth is utterly broken down, the earth is clean dissolved, the earth is moved exceedingly. The earth shall reel to and fro like a drunkard, and shall be re- moved like a cottage. We will not, however, dwell longer on what are but suggestive ideas, but now conclude with expressing a hope that the study of science will he more generally seen to bear on the development of sacred truth, than has hitherto been the case. The church has lost much influence in its day, by too obstinate a refusal to admit the conclusions of scientific pursuits. Everything which springs as fruit from the working of the human mind mer- its an examination, which should purge it of its corruptions, and should add its truth to the many human instruments of good which can be made serviceable for the cause of heaven. English philosophers have set the example of a better spirit than those of other nations; for it cannot be denied that scientific speculations have often led to almost unmixed evil. Let our church, then, exhibit a willingness to accept truth, however brought before it, and to make those discoveries, which are of so much service to the worldly con- dition of man, give back their share as offerings, of the best gifts which we possess, on the altar of mans eternal interest. MANUAL DEXTERITY IN MANUFACTURES. THE body of a hat (beaver) is generally made of one part of red wool, three parts Saxony, and eight parts rabbits for. The mixing or working up of these materials is an operation which depends very much upon the dexterity of the workman, and years of long practice are required to render a man proficient. The wool and fur are laid on a bench, first separately, and then together. The workman takes a machine somewhat like a small violin bow; this is suspended from the ceiling by the middle, a few inches above the bench. The workman, by means of small pieces of wood, causes the end of his bow. to vibrate quickly against the particles of wool and fur. This operation, continued for some time, effectually opens the clotted masses and lays open the fibresthese flying upwards, by the action of the string, arp by the manual and won- derful dexterity of the workman caught in their descent, in a peculiar manner, and laid in a soft layer of equable thickness. This operation, ap- parently so simple and easily effected, is in reality very difficult, and only to be learned by constant practice. In type-founding, when the melted metal has * Isaiah xxiv. iS, 20. been poured into the mould, the workman, by a peculiar turn of his hand, or rather jerk, causes the metal to be shaken into all the minute inter- stices of the mould. In manufacturing imitative pearls, the glass bead forming the pearl has two holes in its exterior; the liquid made from a pearl-like powder is inserted into the hollow of the bead, by a tube, and by a peculiar twist of the hand the single drop intro- duced is caused to spread itself over the whole surface of the interior, ~vithout superfluity or de- ficiency being occasioned. In waxing the corks of blacking bottles much cleverness is displayed. The wax is melted in an open dish, and without brush, ladle, or any other appliance, the workman waxes each cork neatly and expeditiously, simply by turning the bottle upside down and dipping the cork in the melted wax. Practice has enabled the men to do this so neatly that scarcely any wax is allowed to touch the bottle. Again, to turn the bottle to its proper position, without spilling any of the wax, is ap- parently an exceedingly simple matter; but it is only by a peculiar movement of the wrist and hand, impossible to describe and difficult to imitate, that it is properly effected. One man can seal one hundred in an hour. In pasting and affixing the labels on the black- ing bottles much dexterity is also displayed. As one man can paste as many labels as two men can affix, groups of three are employed in this depart- ment. In pasting, the dexterity is shown by the final touch of the brush, which jerks the label off the heap, and which is caught in the left hand of the workman and thrown aside. This is done so rapidly that the three-fold operation of pasting, jerking, and laying aside is repeated no less than two thousand times an hour. The affixing of the label is a very neat and dexterous operation. To the watchful spectator the bottle is scarcely taken up in his hand ere it is set down labelled. In packing the bottles into casks much neatness is displayed. The heads of certain kinds of pins are formed by a coil or two of fine wire placed at one end. This is cut off from a long coil fixed in a lathe. The workman cuts off one or two turns of the coil, guided entirely by his eye; and such is the man- tial dexterity displayed in the operation, that a workman will cut off 20,000 to 30,000 heads with- out making a mistake as to the number of turns in each. An expert workman can fasten on from 10,000 to 15,000 of these heads in a day. The pointing of pins and needles is done solely by the hand. The workman holds thirty or forty pin lengths in his band, spread open like a fan and wonderful dexterity is shown in bringing each part to the stone, and presenting every point of its circumference to its grinding action. In finally papering needles for sale, the females can count and paper 3,000 in an hour. 118 THE WAXEN HEAD. 119 From Chambers Journal. THE WAXEN HEAD. ONE evening, as I entered the little salon, I found M. Dobarle engaged in carefully dusting a glass-case, which covered a curious-looking com- position head. There was a mystery connected with this work of art, which he had appointed this particular evening to elucidate. Seating himself in his gossip-chair, he forthwith plunged, nothing loth, into hisin this, as in most other instances somewhat episodical story. We English, let me premise, who used to boastat least some of us did, till we got ashamed of itthat one English- man was a match for three of any other nation, ought to regard with much indulgence the egotis- tical absurdities of the viejile moustache. The French are not the only nation whose self-esteem has been at times stimulated into peacock extrava- gance, for certain ends well understood by war governments of all countries. But I am detaining the lieutenant from his story. That head, my young friend, he began, was an improvisation of genius, which France, a country where, as all the world knows, coups d~ciairlightning strokesflash across the brains of thousands every day in the week, could rarely surpass. The spectaclesyou observe the green spectacleswere an absolute inspiration, similar to that of the emperor at Ratisbon, when * * * * * Before all those glorious events occurred, I was married to Madamoiselle Coralie Dupont, an artist in xvax, settled in the Rue des Copiennes, Paris. The mode of our introduction to each other was so unpleasantly singular, so strangely bizarre, that I may as well relate it to you. There was a grand wedding at the church of St. Rocqabout the last grande noce celebrated there till the brilliant days of the empire shone upo~ France-and I was among the crowd pressin~ forward to obtain a peep at the great people. Little Jules, my nephew, now a lieutenant in the 9th dragonsyou saw him here the other day but then a mischievous little gamin of four or five years of age, sidled up, and begged piteously that I would carry him into the church when the doors opened. I was ass enough to comply, and hoisted the young coquin astride my shoulders. The doors were an instant afterwards thrown back; and in we all pressed p~le-m~le. The crowd was the densest I ever beheld. We were packed, wedged together, without the possibility of turning or moving. My arms were pinioned to my side, which being perceived ~y amiable Master Jules, he forthwith began tc use my shoulders as a new and delightful sort of rocking-horse, bumping up and down with a short, quick motion, and freely using my hair as a bridle. I strove to liberate one of my arms to reach the young villain, but it was impossible. He spurred away too charmingly, now with his heels in my ribs, and now with his toes in the back of the neck of a lady immediately before us. This brought on a new infliction; the lady, justly indignant that such liberties should be takemi with her, and unable to turn round to ascer- tain the cause, retorted in the only way she could, by kicking out viciously behind ; and if ever a pair of vigorous heels played a devils tattoo upon a poor fellows sums, hers did on mine. Tonnerre! but it was dreadful! Vainly did I in frantic whispers adjure her, by all the saints in heaven, to forbear. It was useless. Human nature could not have borne it much l.onger, when fortunately the priests entered, and the ceremony began. Jules had some religion, if he had no mercy, and forbore his exercise. The lady, finding the assault had ceased, also graciously, after one vigorous parting salute, suspended hostilities. At length all was over, and out we struggled. The lady, Mademoiselle Coralie Dupont, on being apprized of the cause of the assault upon her, and perceiv- ing the effect of her cruel retaliation, melted with compassion, and insisted upon my accompanying her to her ~tablissen2ent, where she dressed my wounds with her own fair hands. Our friendship, commenced iii this odd manner, thrived so rapidly, that a month afterwards I was her adored, ador- ing husband, and the master of a comfortable manage, about a hundred wax figures., the best exhibited then in Paris, a good sum of money in hand, and as pretty an equipment of argenterie as any bourgeois could desire. Parbleu! it was a happy life I led then ; but my paradise was at last invaded by one of the foulest serpents that ever crawled the earth. One of the roomsau troisi~meof the house in which we lived was occupied by a sinister-look- ing scoundrel, a sort of clerk, who had managed in those topsy-turvy days to wriggle himself into an influential officeand a lucrative one of course, connected with the revolutionary tribunal. I had long felt, for various reasons, a dread of this Monsieur Tricard. Coralie had also her appre- hensions, and frequently cast about in her power- ful mind for the means of defeating him, should things come to the worst. To the worst they soon did come with a vengeance. My wife and I were sitting together after dinner sipping a glass or two of muscadin, and chuckling over the rumors, then rapidly acquiring strength, of the approaching downfall of Robespierre, Couthon, and the other scb~rats, when in stalked an officer with an order, for my immediate arrest. I resigned myself, after the first shock, to what was inevitable, and was leaving the apartment, when Coralie, matchless, divine Coralie! who was weeping as if her tender heart would burst, cried out, Your spectacles, cher Auguste; do not go out into the cold air without your spectacles, you that have such we.ak eyes.~ What could she mean l I had never worn spec.~ tacles in my life! I, however, fortunately held my tongue, while Coralie placed them, and tied them behind. The officer laughed hoarsely, and brutally remarking that I should not suffer much from weak eyes by that time on the n~orrow, bade me follow without delay. I did so. We entered a fiacre, and speedily arrived before the infernal THE WAXEN HEAD. tribunal. In about halt an hour my turn came. The trial was by no means tedious. I was told that I was accused by Citoyen Tricard of incivisme a charge which ranged from a plot to upset the republic, to the crime of doubting if Maximilian Robespierre was as lovely in person as he was gentle and mild in disposition. I had, it seems, or at least Monsieur Tricard said so, which was all the same, spoken disparagingly of Messieurs the executioners en chef of France ; and was accord- ingly condemned to be decapitated on the following day. My goods and chattels were at the same time declared forfeit to the republic ; the republic in my case meaning an amiable lodger au troi- s~eme. I was dragged off to La Force, crammed into a miserable cell, and there left to the undis- turbed contemplation of my present situation and future prospects. Two hours had lingered wearily away, when the bolts of the dungeon were suddenly drawn, and in stepped, like an angel of hope visiting the regions of despair, my charming Coralie. A rapid explanation ensued. M. Tricard had already taken possession; but dreading, as my guardian angel soon perceived, that his masters reign ~vas drawing rapidly to a close, he was anx- ious to obtain a better title to my effects than a mandate of Robespierres creatures, and he there- fore proposed to marry Coralie. Yes, the gredin actually offered marriage to my wife; and she, the siren, affecting dread of falling into poverty, con- sented, after a sufficient hesitation, to espouse him on the following morning, immediately after my head had fallen! She was now visiting me for the purpose of coaxing me to tell her where I had hidden certain rouleaux of gold which M. Tricard happened to know we were possessed of a few days previously. Coralie added that her future husband had fortunately obtained a peremptory or- der for my execution at dawn of day I comprehended all this very well afterwards; but as Coralie ran it over, weeping, smiling, laugh- ing, all in a breath, I became every instant more and more confounded. Ah La, I said at last ; all this to amuse you very much; but, parbleu! I cannot at all see the jest of it! The rouleaux you put away yourself; and as for the fortunate circum- stance of being first served to-morrow morn- ing ~ Do you see this head P interrupted Coralie, showing me the identical one now standing on that table. She had brought it in a basket. I started with amna~ement. It was my own head ! The long black hair, the prominent nose, Mere life itself; the eyes were effectually concealed by a pair of green spectacles! This is the head, cher Auguste, continued Coralie, which shall fall on the scaffold at to- morrows dawn. Bat come, quick, swallow some of this brandy, and .then to business. To work she went, and in an incredibly short space of time she had built my shoulders up even with the top of my head. A sort of surcoat was then drawn over, and a slit made opposite my mouth to breathe through; the head was then fastened on the summit; and my cloak, a very long one, was securely clasped round the neck. There, said Coralie, exultingly, but for your height, II should be myself deceived. We will remedy that also. Now, lie down on your straw; then draw your legs up as much as you can. Now mind when you are wanted in the morning you will be incapable of standing or rising. They will carry you out; and you must lie down in the cart, and suffer yourself to be carried quietly up the steps of the scaffold, keep- ing yourself as much in a heap as possible. Tn- card will be there to make sure, and so shall I. Thanks to the rouleaux, one of the jailers is al- ready our friend. I know where the executioner who officiates to-morrow morning is to be found, and depend upon it that gold, and his knowledge that the days, or rather hours of the terreur are numbered, ~vill induce him to aid the deception; and very fortunately, as I said, there will be, thanks to my futurs impatience, very little light. And now, dear Auguste, au revoir, for I have much yet to do. She was gone, leaving me gratified certainly, but by no means comfortablenot in the least, either in mind or body. I was sewed up in a sack, as it were, and, spite of the cold, my head and face were speedily in a profuse perspiration. Then there were so many chances! The exe- cutioner might refuse to cheat his beloved guillo- tine, or he might take the bribe, and still chop off the real head over the bargain ! Or the sham oneI could feel it shake and sway too and fro, except xihen I steadied it with my handmight slip away before its time! My friend, that was the dismallest night I ever passed. To crown all, I could not, try as I might, use my snuff-box; and the dreadful sensation I endured all night in con- sequence, none but an inveterate snuff-taker, as I was, and am, can imagine or dream! Tonnerre! but I was several times tempted to tear myself out of my enclosure, and have a pinch on two at all risks and hazards! Everything happened in the morning as Ca- ralie had foretold. I was dragged out, and I could understand, from the manner in which the gentle- man who officiated about my head and shoulders handled me, that he at least remained faithful to his hire. The cart rumbled on, and soon arrived at the foot of the scaffold. The comparative si- lence of the place satisfied me there were but few persons present. This was fortunate. Presently footsteps approached, and I discerned the voice of Coralie coaxing Tnicard to withdraw from contem- plating his supposed victim. An instant after- wards, a fellow, evidently not in the secret, drew me out by the legs, and threw me over his shoul- der, with a jerk so violent, that if I had not for- tunately made a successful grasp at the nose at the very moment, it would have sent the head spinning again. Up he ran with me, and deposit- ed me with another functionary. I heard the 120 SCHOOLBOY DAYS. scissors clipping away [fly false locks, and then I fainted. When restored to conscioosness, I found myself in a small strange apartment, liberated from the surcoat, with Coralie chafing my temples, I heard that, thanks to the obscority of the morning, and the address of the executioner, everything passed otT remarkably well ; and M. Tricard was at that moment impatiently awaiting his bride. Before next day closed, Robespierre and his asso- ciates had perished some by their own hands, and some by the doom they had so often awarded to others. Tricard shared the fate of the master- butchers. Coralie and I lived happily together for many months afterwards; hut at last the conscription found me, and I followed the consul-emperor in the brilliant career which, but for English gold, and a few French traitors, would have completed the subjugation of Europe, to the eternal glory of France.~~ Such was the story of Lieutenant Atiguste Dubarle; but, to speak frankly, had it not been for the evidence of the waxen head and its green spectacles before my eyes, I could hardly have believed it. From Chambers Journal. SCHOOLBOY DAYS. rITE time of childhood, the earliest time one remembers being anything or doing anything at all, is one everybody likes to think of and speak about ; and I cannot heap believing that the poor- est people in the streets can go back to something like fairy days, when everything looked as if it ~vas bathed in a great flood of lie, ht, when an hour was the same as a day, and a day like an hour. God pity those, indeed, that never had an infancy, and cannot recollect when they were happy. But after all, for regular th.orough-going, careless joy, for a whole host of things that you can gossip about, and adventures that come back on you like stories, for my own part I know nothing like the days when we were at school. The school and the lessons we tised to curse in our hearts for a useless bore unaccountably inflicted on us by our fathersblessings be on them, from the little boys form and the assistants desk to the masters from the primer to Mairs Introduction and old Virgilit was they that made us happy! And I dont care if I run over a few sketches of what befell in my own experience and that of my corn- panions of yore ; if it was only to remind others of it, or to make those, whose memory is less pleasant partake frankly of mine. So well I remember the day when our father, who had previously taught us himself, took us with him to be introduced to the school four miles off! We had both green bags on our backs, pro- vided by him with books, and by our mother with eatables, that did not at all interfere with our eat- ing a hearty dinner when we got home at night. All the boys laughed at that and our uncouth rus- tic cut in general; one after another came up with his slate to get a near look of the stranbers. The loud, busy hum of the school was changed to whispering and smirking, and the rows of sly, mischievous faces were turned round from their desks; until the bald-headed master struck the table with his cane, and gave an angry shout, that sounded to us like the thunder of Jove. What a sinking of the heart was that with which we found ourselves first left alone in the miJst of its btisy, heartless murmur, while the class round the mas- ters chair were droning out their lesson, inter- rupted now and then by ominous reproofs, thwaks, and whines ! We sat thinkin ~, as we had nt done before, of home, the rooms, and the places we played in ; father, mother, sisters face, the very servants, and the dog in his kennel, were twice as dear to us since the morning. Then, when we did get out, half an hour before the rest, how we did scamper homeward along the long road in the evening light, enjoying the air and the freedom, till we came, by the dusk, through the thick fir woods, and saw the house over the bill quietly standincr amongst its trees, with the church belfry and the smoke of the farm beside them. There were two ways we could go and come by ; one a shorter cut, half a fiot-path and half a sheep-track, over the high uplands, through plashy bog to the firm brown moor, where you caine all at once on the long blue smoke of Thomas the Rhymers village, even whilst you were looking at the black and the green hills of Cowdenknowes, the forked peak of Ejldon, the nook where Melrose lies, and the solitary tower of Smailbolm on a dis- tant rising ground. On that path there was a little clear, cool well under a bank, almost the only place where we could quench our thirst, com- ing home of a hot summers afternoon. Over the mossy pasture slopes above it grew the finest mushrooms, more plentifully than I have ever seen that rare fungus since ; the sheep lay with their lambs among the gray stones; the shepherd boy stretched on his plaid, with his dog sitting erect beside him, looked to us, as we passed, the very happiest soul alive. Over the ridge of the hill wound an endless fir plantation, where the rabbits went out and in, the blackbirds whistled, the cushat cooed high up in its nest, and the pine- cones were strewed numberless on the withered spikes. Many a time, loitering to school by the edge of it, and through the green larchwood, with our bags on our backs, did we look into it, sorely tempted to remain. And at length, one wet day, the last you would have expected us to choose, we made it tip together to play truant; got drenched amongst the long grass half as a pretext, took off our wet clothes, and hung them up inside under the tall dry stems ; danced about almost naked, ate our bannocks and boiled eggs, and rubbed sticks one on another in the vain attempt to kindle a fire. Unhappily for us, that very day the plotighman had beon at the post-office in the vil- lage, and had called for us at school. When we came gravely home at the usual hour, we were 121 122 SCHOOLBOY DAYS. received with ill-boding signs, ~vent to bed ~vell whipped, and next morning had to convey with us, like Rosencrantz and Goilderstern, or Bellerophon of old, the missive of our own doom. This, as soon as he read it, the master, with a pedantically jocose grin, designated Argive Epistles ; and while he held the tawse prepared in his hand for our behoof, pleasantly inquired if any boy of the senior class could name the exact personage in classical history who was most celebrated for this sort of letter-carrying. A dozen of them, fully entering into his enjoyment, guessed as many dif- ferent characters of antiquity; the abominable old pedagogue, with unwonted good-nature, setting them right~, and illustrating the fact with a Latin quotation from Ovid ; we all the time standing in bodily fear before him, and I for my part calculat- ing the probable number of times I should have to hold out my palm. I remember an amusing scene, which occurred while we were at this country school, with a little boy of seven or eight, the son of a clergyman in the place, at whose house we sometimes stayed. He was a curious little fellow, as grave and se- rious as an old mart, but quite possessed by the usual love of his age, fairy-books, and especially tales of giants. Giants to him were the great features of these; you would have thought there ~vas nothing else real in the world, and that everything besides existed for their sake, to set them off as it were ; a giant, in his idea, was the very perfection of all that was human. From the parlor of the manse we could hear him in his own bedroom, as he sat reading Jack the Giant- Killer aloud, in a clear sonorous voice, with the solemnity of a chapter in the Bible : And Jack went on, and came to a house where the giant he had heard of was sitting at the door eating his supper; and so on. Of a Sunday, by way of change, it was the Pilgrims Progress, where Giant Despair and Doubting Castle were the prime passages; the scenes of the prisoners in his dun- geon, and of the giants conversation in bed with his wife, were dwelt upon with indescribable zest; the monster being all the while evidently regarded with favor, as a kind of injured hero, rather than otherwise. When the little boy came first to school, he was put in the youngest form; he did not seem at all troubled or bewildered, however, by the new scene of confusion, but sat pondering over his book in his accustomed grave manner, looking about him now and then as if he saw nothing extraordinary. His intelligence soon made him a favorite with the master, who was a good-natured man after all, and seemed amused by the cool familiarity in which he addressed him. One day, soon after little Browns coming, his class was called up to read their lesson, and he appeared at the head of it. A boy who was reading came to the word c/ta, nfl, and was stopped to tell the meaning. You B You B You B said the master, to one after another. You, Gr~me Brown, what is the meaning of chagrin? Gr~me looked down for a moment, and up at the ceiling. Give an example, said the master. Grmeme Brown opened out immediately, as if quite at home, and in a solemn, measured sort of tone If one giant saw a man in a garden, and caught hold of him, and was going to eat him; and if another giant was, looking over the wall, and came and took the man away, then the first giant would feel c/man rin. All the other boys laughed at this illustration. Quite right, said the master ; but what in the world, bt)y, made you think of giants, eh B The boy stared up in his face with far greater astonishment. Mr. Gow ! exclaimed he as solemnly as before, in a sort of reproving tone, did you never read Jack the Giant-Killer? No, said Mr. Gow, almost taken aback, and, as Gr~me thought, naturally ashamed at having to confess his ignorance. Well, Mr. Gow, continued he, Ive lent it to a boy, but I 11 lend it to you whenever he s done. Why, the boy s mad ! ejaculated the school- master, unable to restrain his laughter perfect- ly mad! Go out to play, and dont let me hear you talking of such nonsense again! Ha ! ha! ha ! giants indeed ! said he, laughing to himself every now and then, but so taken with the idea, that it kept him in good humor for the rest of the afternoon; and he made the Latin classes read several passages in Ovid and Virgil, that showed it not to have been one unknown to the ancients. Gra?mne Brown is now a man, and although, I dare- say, he has found several giants to contend with in life, yet he would no doubt laugh as heartily if he remembered this incident, that first cast dis- credit on his childish studies and associations. We used, after all, sincerely to detest that school, in which ~ve sequestered rustics from the other side of the hills never got rightly acclimated. There was a local, feudal sort of feeling between the two districts, lingering, as I fancy, from the old Border days, when the Elliots, the Armstrongs, and the Scotts used to hold those ruined towers and fortalices, that here and there appeared amongst the trees by the bank of a stream. The boys of the village persecuted us, the only two strangers; they would have known us by our dif- ferent tone of voice ; and after school hours, we were only glad to get away into the long solitary road. By the hill footpath there were various little perils at times which we wished to avoid a dangerous bull in one field we had to pass through, unless we crept along the other side of the hedge, over swamps and ditches. At the back of a farm-house on our way there was a ferocious dog, very often loose; and the farmer himself had marked us for depredations on his peas, beans, and turnips; while, on the other hand, there was a band of rough, rode elder boys that crossed every morning from a line of houses with a windmill in sight of the high-road, and would infallibly commence hostilities against us if SCHOOLBOY DAYS. we came in contact out of the masters reach. In the evening, however, we generally preferred this course to the more solitary one, heset as that was with objects of dread, real and imaginary. At that hour we got off in time to escape our un- friendly schoolfellows; and till we got to the dark fir plantation, where the gypsies were encamped with their fire and their carts, had little else to do but contrive amusement for the way. That peaceful interval ~vas th.e space into which were compressed must of our boyish freedom, our un- recorded dialogue, our speculations on the world and fairyland. Countless were the devices then resorted to; when the ripe hips and haws were & n the hedgerows, each would choose his side, and stake his lottery against that of the other, as if the whole extent of nature were bounded by that variegated fringe, and this were quite our own. Then, when the country came in sight from a rising ground, we had a game of puzzles with the objects around us; one of us hy turns fixed his mind secretly on something within view, from the stones at our feet to the distant tree up against the sky, while the other had a certain number of guesses allowed to find it out. On a knoll by the side of that road, too, there was an old thatched cottage, with an immense upright block of stone at the end of it. The place was called Standing Stone, and there was a popular rhyme attached, which used regularly to afford us matter for the most serious inquiry, ~vhether superstitious, myth- ological, or historical ; shedding also a myste- rious interest on the house itself and its inhabi- tants. The doggerel couplet involved a favorite quirk with the vulgar of most rural districts, though, somehow or other, it always seemed to have In this case an unusually imposing effect When Stannin Stane hears the cock craw, It wheels about and faces Gordon Law.* One day we had just come in sight of Standing Stone, I remember, when the most awful thun- der storm I had ever witnessed on land broke out upon us. The lightning glanced behind the black uplands in the distance till you would have thought Smailholm Tower leapt from the blast of a furnace, and in again ; then all of a sudden the fierce flash of it blazed out all around us, as if the whole earth and air were annihilated in light, while we stood first blinded and then deafened. One time it ran up the very middle of the sky like a ragged split from there to the horizon, a keen flare striking down far away on the edge, where it seemed going to melt everything up ; the thunder crashed at once over our heads, rattling a way round till I actually conceived, in my boyish be- wilderment, that the day of judgment was come. The rain fell in white sheets, and we sat below the hedge under a joint-stock umbrella, which our mother and aunt made it the mornings victory, whenever they were up, to force upon us, and which it was with us as solemn a duty, if possible, * Law, a frequent Scotch name for hill. to leave in the lobby. All the time Standing Stone, with its huge Cyclopean remnantraised, as some said, by the Picts, and according to oth- ers, by no mortal strengthhad been right before us ; sometimes appearing to creep nearer, as it grew of a ghastly leaden darkness; sometimes far off in a dreary, desolate plash of rain, like arrows driving across it from over the clouds. When the lightning was dazzling down behind it, and the loud thunder rolled along, and it was heaved up again with its black shape as silent as death, it made me think of those who were to rise perhaps next minute ; it had the look of the only grave in the world, with a tombstone at its head, and we the only living. Drenched we were to the skin, yet could nt think of going up to ask shelter. When the rain was almost over, however, and we were lagging past, as cold and stiff as need be, a man came out of the door behind to look at the weather. He no sooner observed us and our con- dition than he called us in. We were heartily welcomed by the goodwife, sat at a blazing peat fire surrounded by children, dined on potatoes and milk, and instead of going forward to school, spent several holiday hours there, or catching trout in the swollen burn. The terrible thunder-storm of course was in my responsible hands a ground of justification sufficiently expatiated on, so that we received sympathy rather than reproof for our ab- errations this time. Oh, parents are so often de- luded, pour, good, simple people, because they seem to forget so how their minds ran when they were children themselves A man should carry youth in his heart to know the way of teaching, punishing, or praising a boy. We were very fond of telling stories in those days, chiefly on our way from school, or when we had gone early to bed. The latter is the place for an imagination A sort of serene throne it is, from which you overlook the kingdoms of faery, of adventure-life, and of dream-land. We used to fall asleep with the words of a history on the lips of one and in anothers ear; drawling out lunger and longer, and slower and slower, until the hero that went on, and on, and on, finally vanished in solemn silence or a most picturesque snore. Sunday night was a great occasion with our blan- ket narratives, only we piously substituted then, for the adventures of Jack and his innumerable brothers, accounts of Noahs ark, Jonah in the whales belly, and Abraham the patriarch. But, corning home from school, we made it a regular and necessary business ; I, as the elder and more learned, would commence the vastest un.dertakings in the romantic line that ever were planned. Dumas or the Wandering Jew was nothing to me ; I set off, without scruple, by endowing the insignificant parents with a family of children, whose dissatisfaction with their paternal roof was by no means extraordinary, as u.n human labor could have supported themand all for the end- less prospect of relating the haps, misehances, and achievements that befell them in the endeavor to push their fortunes, and to meet again out of 123 124 as many different roads. From Mairs Introduc- question in succession, reserving me for the last; tion and Ca~sars campaigns it was but a sudden step, only passing the carpenters shop at the end of the village, into the thread of these curious biographies, taken up where left off the previous evening. I think I see my little sol.emn-faced brother, with his large black eyes, looking up and listening as to an oracle of fiction, which was re- plenished as well from the utmost abandonment of capricious inspiration as from anything that occurred to ourselves. How he laughed at recognizing, through this conventional garb of Hop o my Thumb and Jack of the Beau-Stalk, a famil- iar incident! and how he was perplexed, and came out with the crudest simplicities of childhood when called upon himself for a story in turn! If I could just hear myself for one minute now babbling these foolish tales in the language they were phrased in, what would I give of the present lucubration which would be truest to the heart and spirit of the time never more to be! Enough, however, of such mere green~~ inno- cence of school-going; those days, all their joys, their boisterousn.ess, and their mischief, were milk and water to the times we entered on shortly after, on the removal of the household to a town seventy miles off. Before, we were only half school-boys; there was an idillic quietness and a fairy-like ro- mance in our circumstan.ces and our natures, be- tween us and the hum of wooden forms, the drawl- ing out of tasks. Every day there was a journey, with the school beyond for an appendage; harvest- time, weather, and accident came in; it was at home, with the farmers children shouting through the stackyard, the cow-herding of a Saturday, the game among th.e trees, the circle round the parlor fire, that we found our attractions. The grammar- school of S was quite another matter. We were in it heart and soul; our companions and amusements were there; there was life, strife, the whirl and impetus of real combined boyishness, with all its tricks, plots, hostilities, and friendships; actually even emulation in the professed object of learning. The day we were introduced, as be- fore, with our laughable green bags, still more country-like than formerly, I recollect well the hitherto unfelt pride with which I surmounted all these disadvantages, by rising place after place to the head of the second class, where I had stood up at the foot. It was the signal, indeed, of a super- ciliously hostile attitude on the part of my more aspiring classmates; bnt ever after, amidst all the reckless wildness of out-door habits, there was a pleasure quite as chatacteristic to me in the strug- gle to keep the position I had ~von. The approving eye of the master was on me, a first impression which on his part never wore off, in spite of the separate function he was perpetually called on to exercise, of chastisement for practical misbehavior. It is amusing to me at this day to remember, and somewhat affecting too, how the doctor was divided between his technical satisfaction in my Latin and Greek, and his disapproval of my irreg- ular pranks. The old gentleman would put the and I recollect few things that went more to my heart in those days than his disappointed expecta- tion when I could not answer. He would turn me at once down to the foot, and delight in excit- ing my ardor to climb up again, by sundry little vexatious and obstacles. The junction of the three higher classes every afternoon for Mairs Intro- duction or Carsons Appendix was a drawn battle-field, eliciting all the cleverness and quick- ness, more than the solid substratum, of every one. Boy after boy, who could correct a word of the reader, would call it out, or trap, as it was en- titled in school slaucr; I, on the other hand, was slow in my intellectual movements, however tena- cious ; down I often went to near the foot, and it was absolutely fearful to glance up the long row of boys between. The doctor would watch me from the corner of his eve; and I could have cried when the Dutch clock on the wall pointed at four, settling our places till next morning. I, for my part, seldom looked over a lesson at home except on such occasions; but well primed from diction- ary and grammarAinsworth and Ruddiman did I return. He knew when there was business in my face. In general, my trust was in chance inspirations and happy guesses from actual prac- tice; a thorough grounding from my father, in old times of home tuition, gave me the advantage I had. The doctor would look up from his desk and see me busy with a knife at mine, or chewing paper to throw at the ceiling, with agonized figures thereto suspended ; he would steal quietly round e the corner of the class he was hearing, and the first I knew of him then was a sharp cut from his leathern many-fingered thong. Considerable, by the by, was the smart of that said pair of lawse, wielded by no inexperienced arm, when the unhappy cul- prit, returning too late from the ten minutes in- terval, haJ been making snow-balls. There was a certain number of strokes which an accustomed palm like my own could endure with comparative impunity; but the doctor had learnt what that limit was, and also could calculate the preparatory effect of wet snow. You would nt have expected the possessor of a dozen languages and dabbler in twenty, to be so knowing as he was in the office of a boatswains mate. But a good soullearned, indolent, and absent, when out of schoolwas the doctor; with his eternal Oxford-gray coat, his large shoes, his protruded under lip, and the lines of philology on his face; the many-bladed pen- knife, with which he delighted to cut the specks off a new volume ; methinks I have him before me now, silently pointing with his fingers closed in the book to one perplexed boy after another! He was so kind as always to entertain the fixed notion of my being a genius, and having an apt- ness for Greek; so blessings be on him and his memory! I really dont well know how to explain that spirit of mischief which possessed rue then, and which was a byword in the town. It was, as I can only call it, the awkwardness of one intending SCHOOLBOY DAYS. SCHOOLBOY DAYS. 125 to do something fine, as well as the heedless aban- donment to any object that turned up. Now and then I used to wonder at myself, and have a half suspicion it was done for a mask. In reality, if you had seen me amongst the rest, you would have said, There is a stupid, quiet fellow trying to look lively, or else a sentimental character drawing the house and trees. But, at all events what old womans teapot have I not broken with a stone down the chimney What mother has not re- ceived her child with his head bruised by my shinty club? And what owner of an orchard has not had reason, on my account, to inquire after his best apples? Nevertheless, after I had gone to writing and arithmetic, and came back only for an hours reading of Homer, the first figure I saw was usually that of my formerly shy brother in the act or passion of receiving a series from the doc- tors instrument, he being then too hardened for the helpers minor thong. Ah, C , the worthy pedagogue would say to me, half reproach- fully, you were bad, but your brother is ten times worse Fights in those days of course made up a great part of our existen~e, what with their preliminaries, their substance, and consequences. My first reg- ular one was with a schoolfellow of my own age and size, and the quarrel arose more not of the will of our companions than our own. We were conducted in procession at the interval to a place behind school, the classic Valley and Ladies Rock of his poetry who used to be writing in the neighborhood of our former village seminary. My opponent, apparently ready for the onset, was yet pushed upon rue by his seconds, or else I dare say the first blow might never have been given as for my part, I had then no particular taste for my own blood, and was trembling like an aspen, not so much from fear, as nervousness. The other seem- ed to think the whole matter turned upon the onset, and hit right and left upon my head and shoulders, without receiving a return from me, until my nose was hlceding and one eye swelled. Well done, XV ! shouted his friends; and Well done, o ! cried mine, when I, all at once, utterly devoid of science, rushed at my antagonist, who had paused under the idea of my being done al- ready. Now, XV ! said one spectator Now, C ! said another, in quick alterna- tiori, as the contest thickened, and I showed an effect from my inj~~ries contrary to what was ex- pected. Stick up, W ! exclaimed one side eagerly, as the latter went stumbling back from a blow on the forehead, and as I followed up my ad- vaotage. Stick up, man! hung up his other eye ! W , however, was soft at bottom, heavy in his motions, and rather less persevering than myself, fiercely as he had come on ; he flagged, vacillated, struck wide, and after twenty minutes stout engagement, suddenly put his hands to his face and burst into tears. I confess I scarce- ly knew whether I had triumphed or not, though I felt I could go on for half an hour more, so furi- ous had the blood mode me, along with the dull swelled sensation of my half-closed eye They were leading W away, when the well-known form of the doctor appeared in the distance, and all was a scene of tumultuous flight. I got home, rubbed my face with lard, and was contriving how to avoid presenting myself at dinner, when my late antagonist, his countenance thoroughly disfigured, and still crying, appeared at the door, led by his uncle. Ihey came to accuse me of the crime of beating the said James, and for which I do believe my own personal state would not have secured me against a paternal drubbing, had the affair reached my father in its purity. In his view all fighting of this kind was heinous; in the present state of things, however, I am afraid it is necessaryto which it would no doubt have been rejoined that a good whipping is still more so. To the demands of the angry uncle, my mother, who had to be let into the transaction, opposed the undeniable answer of my wounded countenance, shining with grease; and my father, good easy man, was put off with the hazy idea .of an unfortunate accident, running against a wall, or the like. Thanks to the recipe of hogs lard, I appeared next morning in my place at school, although with a prismatic halo round one eye; whereas the lucky James contrived to make a couple of holidays out of his condition. Not a few other battles had I to go through for the assertion of my place; but in all, merely by stubborn determination never to be beat, and a sort of blind perseverance, did I come off victorious, so as in the end not to require any inure. The most difficult part of it was to get free of annoyance from the idle hi ckguard boys beyond the pale, who would take every opportunity of tyrannizing over us when caught alone. Fair-play was by no means one of their rules, and it was only by dint of standing up boldly that any of us could enjoy the privileges of the town. Without a few suc- cessful encounters, one would have been obliged to sneak round the corners of the streets, or to con- fine his peregrinations to the garden ; whereas,. after that, you were vecognized with respect as one of the initiated, and could join pleasantly even ~vith them in a game at buttons. In our town, ho~vever, proceedings were fine- qtrently conducted on a more extensive scale. A l)itter rivalry existed between particular schools alliances were formed, and drawn battles appointed between them, somewhat similar to those in ihe cultivated little republics of Greece. Ours roigh~ have been compared to the polished Athens; that of the writing-master, or Pati& s, which was made up of grown lads, agricultural, commercial, and burghal, resembled cloddish B~otia, and its friendship was alternately gained by contending parties, so as to decide the balance. Onr unmit- igated and much-dreaded foes were the boys of Frasers, a neighboring school, resorted to by all sorts and sizes, from hospital, lane, and coun- try, and swarming with numbers. This was the Sparta of our land of war and letters, whose (livid- ed states no Amphictyonic council or Olympic games tended to soften, unless for some huger 126 SCHOOLBOY DAYS. mischief. Frasers had all the Laceda~monian happened to kn.o~v, and got home safe. Such contempt for learning, eloquence, and poetry, ex- were the haps and varieties of our schoolboy life, cept when some rude Tyrtteus shouted the war-cry when it was in its glory. in vulgar rhyme. They were terrible in the Yet if there were school-day strifes and mis- strength of blackguardism, and had one or two chiefs, there were also school-boy companionships dirty heroes whom there were few to meet single- and friendships. Sentiment, indeed, was as ab- handed. The battle was often fought in the street, horrent tu that age as sermons; but it was, after or round the walls of the old Gothic churches at all, the very time of a full, unhesitating, unthink- the top. When we were engaged in thick mel~e, ing love. Sneaking kindnesses there were now btones flying, and sticks at work, a detachment and then, by the way, towards girls one would no would come pouring out of some narrow close, to more have dared to speak to than with an empress; take the grammar-school in rear. Then was it but this was a free instinctive affection for some sad to the lover of his comrnonwc~rlth; Athenians compeer, to whom it attached you, you knew not fled, or were captured; Spartans, that did not arid cared not why. Again and again was this kno~v qui from quod, shouted paeans of tri- felt by me, and once or twice with an inxpressible urnph. If, again, it was tire sudden cry of Paties force, that sense of being drawn to another unlike is coming ! then the day was probably our own. yourself, which never occurs in after years. On Up from the back lane they deployed in tumultuous each occasion, by the by, the individual had some array. The dull Thebans, who were yet able to sister or female relative in whom the same features respect Attic culture, generally threw their force were only modified by the difference of sex, and u.n our side, and many a stubborn champion of ig- towards whom the same emotion seemed to flit norance and blackguardism was pummelled to his through me now and then, more distant and unde- hearts content. One campaign I remember that fined, like the nameless identity in their eyes and lasted several days. All the tactics of generalship, faces. The love of David to Jonathan, that passed ambuscade, and military contrivance were put in the love of woman, was for the brother of her action. Genius as well as courage was called whom he had sought so earnestly; and methinks forth ; when, having snatched a hasty dinner in it was nothing but a regard that could only h.ave the interval, the whol.e grammar-school sallied transcended love during the youth and school-days forth at four oclock, to arm themselves with sticks of the world ; for the friendships of Greeks also and stones. The Valley was a scene of con- were more pure and abiding than their marriages. fusion. A dense line drawn up on either side; On the part of my boyish friends there was no missiles flying hot and heavy between ; until an equal fondness; it was a solitary yearning with attempt was made by the towns officers, with sig- which I would lie on the grass behind the house nal defeat, to disperse us. On the last day it had of my companion, and wait till his leisure or ca- fallen to a sort of guerilla warfare, and it would price allo~ved him to join me. The associations, have been the utmost peril to venture along the the imaginative force, and the fanciful longings, edge of the Back Walk trees without good sup- were only being gathered then, which, at a future port. In the evening, must of our party had gone epoch (if character, would turn it fully upon some home; but the Ladies Rock was held, fort- fair countenance more remote from my own nature. xvise, by a band of Frasers. I had collected But the world was waiting for us, and could with me a small detachment, which was augment- not be put off much longer; the very discipline of ad by a few friendly blackguards, as we called boyhood was silently preparing each of us for life, them, who were bound to no system, and could be to which those pranks and forceful energies, like purchased by reward. Imi a moment of foolhardi- the leaps and strides of a bather running down the ness I led them full speed up the ascent, amidst a sand, brought one plunging in, till he got sudden- shower of stones. We gave a wild shout, gained ly beyond his depth, and must strike out to swim. the top, and flourishing our huge cabbage-stocks, So it was with myself; the wild spirit of mischief ( kail-runts,) drove our opponents down on the spent itself in bolder and bolder follies, that had other side. A whole host of small fry, however, already begun to include something of real emotion. were lodged at hand behind the wall of the town Romance and sentiment contended with tire need churchyard, and kept up a heavy fire on our ex- fur action; of all spheres in the world fur these, posed situation, which it was impossible to bear. the ocean had most fully seized upon my imagina- All at once my followers deserted me, broke up, tion; and, by common consent of friends and foes, and disappeared; while I fled for bare life, pursued no other element but the sea was fit for such a by half-a-dozen deterfrmined foes, who owed me an pest to civilized society. So to sea I went; that old grudge. Down through the trees to the foot of step was to me the great one from boyhood into the hill, along the park, and across th.e fields, did the stern affairs of life. It seems to me as if a like I run on for absolutely a mile and a half, in the ocean in memory now rolls, with its foreign lands, hope of distancing roy enemies. At length I its storms and difficulties, between my schoolboy dropped down from sheer exhaustion, was seized days and now. It makes all beyond it affecting; unresistingly, and, silent for want of breath and I never see the little boy too late for school, with hope, was led up in triumph towards the head-quar- his bag and slate, opening the door in just fore- ters. In this nice emergency, to my extreme joy, boding, while the loud hum of voices is let out and I was rescued by a journeyman printer whom I shut in again, but I feel what an impassable chasm A MONSTER UNVEILED. is between him and me. Once I called at our old grammar-school to pay the doctor a visit of respect; the wellknown class, all strange faces, read their lesson before me; I remembered the occasional visitors, former scholars in coat and hat, that used in our own day to do the same. One of the most touching dreams I ever had, too, was one in which, with the vividest reality, I was once more driving the wooden ball before me with my club along the Valley ; a throng of tningling and active figures were pursuing and meeting me ; while one in particular, with his well- known tasseled cap, stood swinging his weapon in the midst. Another moment, and the whole scene was gone; I awoke with tears under my closed eyelids, and for a tnoment could almost think I felt the palpable vision relapse into that longing ache at heart from which imagination had shaped it. Farewell, oh time which we so often wish foolish- ly to renew, when it is now only that we enjoy it! But fare thee sweetly and well for those whom, year after year, it is enfolding ! What is it that we more wisely deplore, or more often, than that we laid not up in it richer treasures for the futtire, and did not prize, at least as much as our sport, the sacred discipline, the healthful nourishment, of school! From chambers Journal. A MONSTER UNVEILED. POOR thing! I do feel for her. Though she is a person I never saw, yet hers seems a case of~ such oppression on the one hand, and such patient suffering on the other, that one can- not but Oh, I daresay youll see her in the morning, for she often steals out then, when the wretch, I suppose, is in bed But what could have induced a girl to tie her- self to such a man Well, I dont know; the old story, I sup- posefalse appearances ; for no girl in her senses could have married a man with his habits, if she had known of them beforehand. There is some- times a kind of infatuation about women, I allow, which seems to blind them to the real character of the man they are in love with ; but in this case I dont think she could have knowff how he conducted himself, or she certainly would have paused in time. Oh, the wretch, I have no tience with him ! This little dialogue took place in one of those neat, bright, clean-windowed, gauzy-curtained houses, which form so many pretty districts with- in a walking distance of~the mighty heart of the great metropolis, and between two ladies, the one the mistress of the said nice-looking cottage villa, and the other her guest, a country matron who had just arrived on a visit to her town friend; and the object of the commiseration of both was the occupant of a larger and handsomer villa exactly opposite, but apparently the abode of great wretch- edness. The following morning Mrs. Braybrooke and her guest Mrs. Clayton were at the window of the parlor, which commanded a full view of the dwelling of the unhappy Mrs. Williams, when the door quietly opened and was as quietly closed again by the lady herself. There she is, poor soul, cried Mrs. Bray- brooke; only look how carefully and noiselessly she draws the gate after her. She seems always afraid that the slightest noise she may make even in the street may wake the fellow, who is now, I daresay, sleeping off the effects of last nights dissipation. Mrs. Clayton, with all the genial warmth of a truly womanly heart, looked over, and followed with her eyes as far as the street allowed, this quiet-looking, broken-spirited wife, investing the whole figure, from the neatly-trimmed straw-bon- net to the tips of the bright little boots, with a most intense and mysterious sympathy ; then fix- ing her anxious, interested gaze on the opposite house, she said, And how do they live? How do people under such circumstances pass the day It is a thing I cannot comprehend; for were Clay- ton to act in such a way, I am sure I could nt endure it a week. It does seetn scarcely intelligible, answered Mrs. Braybrooke; but Ill tell you how they appear to do. She gets up and has her breakfast by herselffor, withotit any wish to pry, we cart see straight through their house from front to hack. About this time she often comes out, I suppose, to pay a visit or two in the neighbor- hood, or lerhaps to call ott her tradespeople ; and you will see her by and by return, looking up, as she approaches, at the bedroom window ; and if the blind be drawn up, she rushes in, thitiking, I daresay, to herself, How angry he will be if he cotnes down and finds that I am not there to give him his breakfast ! Sometimes he has his break- fast at twelveat oneat two ; and I have seen hue sitting down to it when she was having her dirmuer. And when does lie have his dinner? Oh, his dinner; I daresay that is a different sort of thing frotn herspoor woman ! He dines, I suppose, at a club, or with his boon companions, or anywhere, in fact, but at home. And when does he come home then gener- ally ? At all hours. We hear him open the little gate with his key at three, four, and five in the morning. Indeed, our milkman told Smisan that he has seen him sneaking in, pale, haggard, and worn out with his horrid vigils, at the hour de- cent people are seated at breakfast. I wonder if she waits tip for him ~ Oh no, for we see the light of her solitary candle in her room always as we are going to bed ; and you mnay be sure my heart bleeds for herpoor solitary thing! I don t know, indeed, that I was ever so interested about any stranger as I am about this young creature. 127 A MONSTER UNVEILED. Dear, dear! it is terrible ! si~hed the sym- pathizing Mrs. Clayton. But does any one visit them? Have they friends, do you think? I dont think he can have many friends, the heartless fellow; hut there are a great many peo- ple callingstylish people tooin carriages ; and there is he, the wretch, often with his half-slept look, smiling and handing the ladies out, as if he were the most exemplary husband in the world. Has she children? I hope she has, as they would console her in his long absences. No, even that comfort Is denied her; she has no one to cheer her; her own thoughts must be her companions at such times. But perhaps it is a blessing ; for what kind of father could such a man make? Oh, I should like to know her; and yet I dread any acquaintance with her husband Braybrooke, you know, would nt know such a man. My dear Mary, you have made me quite mel- ancholy let us go out. You know I have moch to see, and many people to call upon ; and here we are losing the best part of the day in some- thing not much removed from scandal. The ladies of course set out, saw all the loves of bonnets in Regent street; all the sacrifices that were being voluntarily offered up in Oxford street; bought a great many things for less than half the original cost ; made calls; laughed and chatted away a pleasant, exciting day for the country lady, who, happily for herself, forgot in the hustle the drooping, crestfallen bird who was fretting itself away in its pretty cage in Road. The next day a lady, a friend of Mrs. Clayton, who had been out when she had left her card the day before, called, and after chatting for some time, turned to Mrs. Braybrooke, and compliment- ing her on the situation of the house, I find, she said, you are a near neighbor of a dear friend of mine, Mrs. Williams. Mrs. Williams ! exclaimed both her hear- ers, pale with excitement and curiosity ; Mrs. Williams ! Oh how very singular that you should know her, poor miserable creature! Oh, slo tell us about Poormiserable ! What can you mean? You mistake ; my Mrs. Williams is the happiest little woman in London ! Oh, it cannot be the same,~ said Mrs. Bray- brooke. I mean our opposite neighbor in 1kw- thorn Villa ; I thought it could ft be Hawthorn Villa the very house. You surely cannot have seen her, or her husband, who Oh the dreadful, wretched, gambling fellow ! interrupted Mrs. Braybrooke. I would nt kno~v such a man He ! in her turn interrupted her friend Mrs. Eccleshall. He a ganibler ! 11e is the most exemplary young man in Londona pattern of every domestic virtuekind, gentle, amiable, and passionately fond of his young wife ! My dear Mrs. Eccleshall, how can yoo say all this of a man whose conduct is the common talk of the neighborhood ; a man lost to every sense of shame, I should suppose; who comes home to his desolate wife at all hours ; whose only ostensible means of living is gambling or something equally disreputable ; who You have been most grievously misled, again interposed Mrs. Eccleshall. Who can have so grossly slandered my excellent friend XVilliamns? He cannot help his late hotirs, poor fellow. That may safely be called his misfor- tuite, but not his fault ! and the good lady warmed as she spoke, till she had to untie her bonnet and fan her glowing face with her handkerchief. His misfortune ? murmured Mrs. Braybrooke. How can that be called a misfortttne which a man can help any (lay he pleases ? But he cannot help it, poor soul! He would be too happy to spend his evenings at home with his dear little wife, but you know his business begins when other peoples is over. Then what, in Heavens name, is his busi tlC5s ? ~ Why, did ~t you know? He s the EDITOU of a MORNING NEWSPAPER ! SPEAKING-TRUMPETAt the meeting of the not be used, but a more musical sound be produced. British Association, Mr. Whishaw exhibited the He then amused the auditors by causing the end of Telakouphanon, or speaking-trumpet; and in doing the tube; which was of the length of one hunmlred so, said that speaking tubes of gutta percha were feet. to be inserted into the mouthpiece of a flute quite new, as were also the means of callirlg atten- held in a persons hand, regulated the notes, and tion by them of the person at a distance, which was placing his OWli mouth at the other end of the tube, accomplished by the insertion of a whistle, which, God save the Queen was played at a distance being blown, sounded at the other end quite shrilly. (If one hundred feet from the person giving the flute Attention having been thus obtained, you remove breath. Turning to the Bishop of St. Davids, he the whistle, and by pimply whispering, t.he voice said that in the event of a clergyman having three would be conveyed quite audibly for at least a dis- livings, he might, by the aid of three of these tubes, lance of three quarters (if a mile, and a conversation preach the same sermon in three different churches kept up. It must be obvious how (iseful these tel- at the satne time. Mr. Whishaw also exhibited egraphs must become in large manufactories; and the gutta. percha submarine rope or telegraph, which indeed in private houses they might quite supersede consisted of a tube perforated with a series of small the use of hells, as they were so very cheap, and tubes, for the conveyance of telegraphic wires; and by branch pipes could be conveyed to different which, for the purpose of ~)reventing its being acted rooms; and, indeed, if there were no electric tele- upon by sea-water or marine insects, was banded graphs, they might, l)y a person being stationed at or braided round by a small rope, and its being per- the end of each tube of three quarters of a mile or fectly air-tight would render it quite impervious to a mile, be made most speedily to convey intelligence the atmosphere.Newspapcr paragraph. to any distance. In orivate I; ~es the whieth teed 128 DOING AND DREAMING. From Chambers Journal. DOING AND DREAMING. IN our multifarious correspondence there is a class of letters capable of more extended application than the writers imagine. These letters are con- fidential communications, generally from young men discontented with their position in life, and anxious for advice as to how they may contrive to emerge into circumstances better adapted to their tastes and genius. Almost all of theni state frankly the reason why they have been induced in this emergency to address themselves to the Journal ; and that reason is, that it is the Journal which has touched with unwonted light the sleeping images of things, which has stirred up their ideas from the bottom, and imparted a restlessness to their mind.s that seeks to relieve itself in some new course of action. Such, however, is not declared to be the effect of the mere expansion of mind brought about through the agency of literature; it refers more particularly to the authentic pictures we delight to give of the successful struggles of murit, and the rise of lofty and heroical spirits into power and fame, in spite of the adverse circum- stances of fortune. Musing on these histories, warmed into generous enthusiasm, and stirred with emulative ardor, our inexperienced readers mis- take the vague and romantic yearnin~s of youth for the throes of genius, and fancy that all they want to arrive at distinction is to be set upon the path. Now, we are not opposed to a moderate indul- gence of the imagination ; we think, on the contrary, that it tends to good. The inner life of a man is as important as his outer life; and the former, like the latter, must have its moments of unbending and recreation. Our dreams of fame may give birth, when the proper circumstances arrive, to action calculated to assist in realizing them; and in the mean time t.hey serve at odd moments to reline as well as amuse, and to float the free spirit above the cares and vulgarities of life. But the danger is, that this may go too far; that the dreamer may con- ceive a distaste or contempt for his ordinary avoca- tions ; and that, in fancying future greatness, he may neglect the sources of present comfort and respectabilitv.41t is therefore worth while to con- sider whether the vague aspirations alluded to afford any evidence of our being really superior to our present employment, and calculated to shine in another. What has been the course of those remarkable persons who have risen from poMerty and obscurity to be the cynosures of the world? Did their minds wander about in search of suitable employment? Did they feel an indistinct consciousness that they could do something, if they only knew what it was? Did they ask their way of the passers-by to the temple of fame or fortune? No such thing. They did their appointed work not only without aid and without a question, but in defiance of remonstrance and oppo- sition. If mechanists, they converted into magical rods the humblest tools of the humblest trades; if philosophers, the phenomena of nature was as open to them in a hovel as in a palace; if poets, they poured forth their golden songs from the garret or the plough tail They lisped in numbersfor 1/ic numbers came. It would seem, in fact, that vagueness and uncer- tainty arc indications of a want of power, and that the very circumstance of a man~s asking for advice, shows his inability to act upon it. ccxLtv. LIViNG AGE. VOL. XX. 9 Let us look into literature for an illustration of what we mean. The profession is thronged by individuals who have no chance, and never had a chance, of success. I{ow does this conic about? Through dreaming. They mistook sympathy of taste for sympathy of talent, the power to admire for the power to create, and plunged madly into a business for which they were prepared by no study, and qualified by no natural gifts. The history of persons destined to succeed in literature, is different. Their first efforts come from them, as it were, un- awares. Doubtfully, timidly, they cast their bread upon the waters, ignorant of the process it will undergo, and incredulous of the form in which it will return to them. But it does return; and in a form which makes their heart beat arid their eyes dazzleMoney! They care not for money abstractedly; but in this case it gives them as- surance that the coinage of their brain bears a distinct value in the estimation of their fellow-men. God bless that first guinea! No after-fortune can compare with it. The most intellectual of us all may sink gradually into the peddling, shop-keeping propensities of social men; but in the midst of the very basest vulgarities of life, we return proudly and some tearfullyto the recollections of our first guinea! Literature, as Sir Walter Scott has observed, should be used as a staff, not as a crutch. Re- markably few are able to make it the sole means of a respectable livelihood. At the very least, rio rational person would embark in literature as a profession without having previously ascertained whether he had the power to live by it. With definite and manly plans we have of course no fault to findlet such be formed and receive due exami- nation; but what we allude to is that unsettled, cloudy state of the mind which unfits us for the present, without having any influence upon the future. This state of the mind is more common and more fatal in youth than is usually supposed and it is not the less so from its being induced by a mere mistake, which confounds the capability of doing with the habit of dreaming. Again, we find, from the history (if men who have risen from obscurity to eminence, that although they may be, in the common hibrase, the archi- tect of their own fortunes, they are not the con- trivers of those circumstances which have placed them in the way of fortune. While apparently preparing for what is to come, they are in reality merely following the bent of their own inclinations, till they are sucked, either gradually or suddenly, as it may happen, into the current of events. This is another lesson for dreamers. Thinros should be allowed to come about naturally. There should be a patient submission to circumstances; but let the best be made of them, arid the rest will follow. If young persons have a consciousness of any taste or talent of a desirable kind, let them cultivate it quietly till the proper opportunity comes, and they find that they can trust to it for their advancement in the world. A remarkable instance may here be mentioned of the sort of fatality which governs the struggling genius. There was once a village lad whose name was Nicholas, and whose dream was Rome. This was no idle dream with him, for he had painted from his childhood. He would paint he could not help it; and at Paris, to which he found his way, that he might look at better pictures than he could see at home, he copied some engrav- ings from Raphael, which gave a still firmer bent to his genius. A gentleman who admired the arts 129 NATURAL LAW OF CLEANLINESS. took him with him to Poiton, from which he re- turned moneyless, painting his way as he went along, to Paris. He became unwell, and went home to his native placethe village of Andeli on the Seineand dreamed of Rome as he lay on his sick-bed. When he got better, he actually set out for Rome, and painted his way as far as Florence; but not a step could he get beyond that, and he returned, almost in despair, to Paris. Here, at length, he accidentally found a patron, who encou~ aged him to turn his face once more towards Italy; and in 1624 he did arrive at Rome. The result is thus told ; here Nicholas lived for a long time, miserably pour, but supremely happy; starv- ing his body, and banqueting his mind. He fell in with a sculptor called Franois Flamand, whose circumstances were similar to his own, and these two lived and labored in a corner together, sur- rounded by the dreams and monuments of genius, and stealing out every now and then to sell their works for any pittance that ignorance would bid or avarice afford. But the pictures of Nicholas at length began to attract attention; and the humble artist was drawn from his solitude. This change of fortune went on; for although poverty or envy may retard the rise of genius for a time, when once risen, any attempt to repress it, however powerful, is like opposing a tempest with a fan. Every tongue was now busy with the new painters name; every eye was fixed upon his face or his works; all Rome ~vas shaken with his fame. This was soon told at Paris; and he who on former occasions had travelled thither a lonely, friendless, half-starving youth, was led to the capital of France in triumph, and overwhelmed by Cardinal Richelien and the king with honors and distinctions. After the ministers death, he returned to Home, and died there in the seventy-first year of his age, leav- ing the illustrious name of Nicholas Poussiu a rich, a glorious legacy to his country. It occasionally happens that the present business of our clients is of a nature ~vhich they think be- neath their merits, and obstructive of their aspira- tions. In a state of incipient rebellion against their present employment, they long to be something else. A young draper, heart-sick of the counter, asks our advicea teacher in a country school is dying to be a man of letters. We have no patience with these dreamers. Why will they not let things take their course Earnest all the time in their respective cailings, there can be no objection to their looking out for opportunities of advancement. For our part we should like as well as anybody to better our condition; and indeed, sometimes, when we see public affairs going wrong, we have a wonderful notion of a seat in the cabinet! But after all, as there must be a variety of employments, and peo- ple to fill them, the best way to mana~e is for each of us to deserve promotion, and hold fast by what we have got till we get something better. It is not the employment that makes us respectable, but our conduct in it. A foo~nan on the stage, whose sole business is to deliver a message, has not avery dignified occupation.; but nevertheless we expect him to get through it with intelligence and pro- priety; and if he fails to do so, from any notion that the part is beneath him, he becomes at once an object of indignation or contempt. This foot- man may be the author of the piece, or he may be capable of writing a better one; but the fact has nothing to do with his personation of the character, which is his actual share of the performance. And this brings us to a point at which our homily may conclude. The supposed capabilities of a man for another employment should never have the effect (if making him despise or neglect his present one, however humble it may 1)0. If it is worth our while to do a thing at all, it is surely worth our while to do it well. If there be any false shame on the subject, it ought to be banished by the reflec- tion, that there are vast numbers of men of worth and talent superior to outs, laboring, and laboring cheerfully, at still meaner employments. Besides, it should ever be borne in mind that, even in com- paratively obscure situations in life, there may be, and is, the greatest earthly happiness. By a due culture of the faculties, by refining the sentiments, a common blacksmith may enjoy a satisfaction of mind equal to that of the greatest man in the parish. One who values genius merely as a means of ad- vancement in the world, cannot know or feel what genius is. Yet on this false estimate are based a great proportion of the dreams which disturb the existence and fritter away the energies of youth. It is not spiritual, but temporal glory for ~vhich the common visionary pants; it is not the souls of men he desires to take captive, but merely their pockets; the paradise which opens t; his minds eye, beyond the counter, is composed of fine houses, gay dress- es, and luxurious meals. The meanness of such aspirations enables us to say, without compunction, that he who indulges them no more possesses the intellectual capabilities he fancies, than lie is likely to enjoy the substantial rewards of industry and perseverance. NATURAL LAW OF CLEANLINESS. IN these days of universal wash-house, bath, and scouring propensities, it may be amusing, as well as interesting to learn what has been long since taught in the kingdom of nature by the silent but impressive method of example. In endeavoring to illustrate our subject, we shall not enter into its minute details, but seek to glean the general truth from a variety of facts cursorily mentioned. Bejuning even with inanimate nature, we find the lesson of cleanliness on her first page. Who that surveys tIme most ordinary landscape, unfitted perhaps to inspire the poet or awaken the imagination of the romancist, can poet to any stain upon its smiling face, if the defiling contact of man be not manifest? The fresh raiment of the fields, the hard features of the rocks, the stream descend- ing in clear, sparkling, laughing, tumbling ~vaters, or stealing in slower measure through the plain; the spotless aspect of the driven snow, the smooth- laid surface of the sandy shore, the deep pellucid waters of the great oceanthese are all clean. There is no spot of filth to be seen in them, except when the purificatory process is actually going on. Then the heavens assume what we might perhaps consider a filthy aspectthe sky becomes clothed with sackcloth, the hills disappear in murky fogs, the mountain stream comes down in floods of mud, hurling along heaps of degraded materials; the sea casts up its mire and dirt, and at these times the law appears suspended; but, on the con- trary, this is the very process itself by which the general result is obtained. In a little while all this seeming disorder ends, and the landscape only looks cleaner than ever when it is over. A vast practi- cal benefit results from a chain of circumstances apparently so trifling as the gathering and discharg- ing of a rain-cloud. All the impurities which a state of change necessarily entails, are thus ro 130 NATURAL LAW OF CLEANLiNESS. moved; not only is the face of the earth renewed, and the crowding vegetation which luxuriates upon its fertile bosom reinvigorated, but it is also washed (lean, exposed afresh to atmospheric influences, while the gatherings of previous weeks are all swept down and deposited out of sight beneath the surface of the blue wave. Water thus appears the principal restorative of beauty to natures counte- nance; hut it is no doubt aided materially by winds, which scatter into the air the dust and other extra- neous particles, which might and do collect upon the face of all natural objects. We have a series of beautiful illustrations of the same attention to cleanliness of appearance in the vegetable kingdom, which, though in accordance with received usage, we class them under inanimate nature, we conceive to have a just claim to a dif- ferent position. The provisions for cleanliness, however, are principally of the passive order. At first sight, one would he inclined to believe it almost impossible that a blade of grass, in immedi- ate proximity as it is to a filthy soil, could be kept clean; the dirty splashings of a shower, or the (lown-pressing influence of a breeze, would suffice to take all the beauty out of an artificial grass-blade. How different the result! Pick a handful of the tender herb from the worst field, the very slushiest meadow, and it is found clean, fresh, shining, with- out a spot of dirt or any such thing, so that it looks as though it had but just left the hands of the Great Artificer. This result is principally due to the lustrous coat of silex with which the blade is pro- vided, and the polished, glittering surface of which denies attachment to a spot of dirt. Grass, how- ever, is by no means the only class of plants fur- nished with a similar provision, a glazed surface, evidently intended principally for this end. While meditating upon this subject, we have been much struck with a thought probably new in its applica- tion. Before our study stands a beautiful ever- green ; here are leaves which were new just a year ago; clouds of dust have enveloped every artificial object exposed during the same period; but the leaves of this holly are as glossy and clean as though the creation of last week. Let the reader extend this remark, and remember how large a number of evergreen plants are apparently specially provided with highly-varnished surfaces for this very purpose, that the leaves, being peculiarly liable to become dirty, by reason of their long dura- tion, may effectually resist the polluting influenceof time. It is not forgotten that other ends tnay be in vie~v also; but it is a well-known fact to the naturalist, that in the works of creation many effects are produced by a very limited number of causes. That this cleanliness of aspect is, however, due to something more than a nice disposition of surface, will appear when we reflect upon the utter impos- sibility of keeping any artificial substance, however highly polished, in a similar condition of cleanli- ness when exposed to similar dirt-disposing causes. Look at our window-panes, for instance: here is a surface that should resist filth, if that were all that is necessary; but a little time elapses, and while the ever-green leaves are ever fresh and shining, the reflected pane has become clouded with dirt. This effect is doubtless attributable to the cutane- ous transpiration which is constantly taking place, and which loosens the attachment of dirt, so that the next shower washes all away, and the leaf is as glistening as ever. The velvety clothing of other plants contributes likewise to the same end; for dust will not, and water cannot, adhere to such a surface. Our beautiful and delicate companions the flowers are also furnished with a wax-like structure, by which means they are able t~o cast off the accidental pollutions of the ambient air. This effect is materially assisted by the position of the parts of the vegetable creature, such as the gener- ally dependent curve of the leaf, the drooping of flowers; and at the period of their death, the dead portions drop, hy a natural process, from the stem, fall to the earth, and are speedily hidden from view in the soil, from which, in a little while, they come not to be distinguished. Doubtless, also, the soher brown color of the mould, as well as the generally subdued tone of every natural landscape, adds much to the clean and unsoiled aspect of the whole, by, as it is commonly called, hiding the unavoid- able dirt. The opposite effect would have resulted had the ordinary colors of earth been similar to its extraordinary ones: what, for example, would have been the uncomfortable-looking condition of things if the earth had been bright red, or yellow, or blue, in its ordinary tones~ Things, however, have been differently ordered ; and while we survey all nature, we may fully join in the expressions of Dr. Macculloch, and say that it presents that uni- versal look of cleanliness and neatness, which is as striking as if there was a hand perpetually employed in no other office, preserving an order which we cannot maintain in our possessions without constant labor. Few minds will be found, we believe, which will resist the evidence here adduced to the existence of a law of cleanliness in creation; but if we turn to the animal kingdom, the testimony becomes quite conclusive. Many precautions against dirt in this, as in the other divisions of nature, are passive. No one that looks upon the glittering corselet of a cock- roach, inhabiting, as it does, the dusty cracks and craunmes of our kitchen floors all night, and spotless as it is, can deny the conclusion, that there is an admirable proviso against filth in this insect. And the same may be said of the metallic-coated family of beetles, whose burnished backs repel alike the minutest speck of dirt or the heaviest pelterings of a summer shower; and the wing-covers of thes6 beautiful insects are, without doubt, ~vhile they are the shields, also the dirt-repellers of the delicate, gauze-like wings so artfully filded up beneath them. Again, in the same division of zoology, consider the do~vn and hair-clothed insects; or those that are cased in the loveliest array of scales, as the butterflies; nothing defiling will stick here, and the unsoiled aspect of every such insect sufficiently testifies the perfection of the arrangement. The glossy surface of the hair of animals is a similar provision for a similar end; and the facility with which it repels water, man often recognizes, and applies to his own purposes for coats, aprons, hats, or caps. We probably judge rightly in supposing that the active demonstrations of cleanliness are the most interesting, and are likely to be the most impres- sive. Time several mneans by which this is accom- plished, supply us with the order in which we shall mention them. These are combing, brushing, lick- ing and washing, four divisions to which nearly all may, we think, be reduced. One of the common- est and most curious examples of combing, for the purposes of cleanliness, may be observed by closely ~vatching a common garden spider. These insects are particularly exposed to dirt; the dust of the air, particles of their webs, or defilement from their prey, become entangled in time hairs of their legs, 131 132 NATURAL LAW OF CLEANL1N~SS. md would probably both materially add to the dis- Who that has watched the ludicrous care with comfort and to the disability of the insect for its which this insect attends to its personal appearance, active life, were they not removed. The wants of has not been reminded of human actions? When the creature have not been forgotten, and its mouth wc rcmember our own manceuvres with the clothes 15 furnished with serratures like the teeth of a brush, and compare them with those of the fly dust- comb. The insect puts its leg into its mouth, and ing his jacket, the action has all the oddity of a gradually draws it through these teeth, so as en- caricature. How carefully he sweeps down the tirely to comb off every particle of dust and dirt, wings, and then his eyes and head, as if he were which it then collects into a pellet, and carefully on the very point of presentin0 himself at court, or tosses away! In order that this operation may be to the considerations of some fair friend The thoroughly done, and no part of the leg escape, a microscope reveals his instrument. It consists of little curved hook is added, which bends down over two rounded combs placed at the bottom of the foot, the edge of the comb, rendering the escape of any and consisting of two or three rows of teeth, some- part of the leg impossible. When this self-cleaning what like a currycomb; and this contrivance per- operation is perfect, the insect with fresh strength fectly removes all extraneous matters, so that the betakes itself to its occupation. This curious fact cleanly insect flies off a complete beau, if lustre and appears long to have been unnoticed, and was first absence of dirt would constitute one. discovered by Mr. Rennie, who mentions it in an Brushirt~ is the next division. The bee gives interesting paper published at the Royal Institution, us a good example in point. This unwearied in- The bird well known as the fern-owl, or night-jar, sect, in her perpetual search for honey, has to has an instrument on purpose to effect this object, penetrate many flowers which abound in pollen or a real comb. One of its claws differs from all the farinathe light delicate powder produced by the rest in length, and in the remarkable fact of its anthers of flowers. When she comes home, she being serrated or toothed like a comb ; and such is looks quite an altered character, all dusty as she is the intention of the contrivance. It was long mis- with yellow pollen, so that she could scarcely be taken for an instrument with which to wound its recognixed as the modest brown insect which the prey. Other naturalists perceiving its resemblance morning saw depart from the hive. The principal to a comb, and considering the whiskers of the cause of this is the hairyne~s of her body, the pol- hird, conceived that it was intended to comb the len particles sticking fast in the pile. The insect birds whiskers. But against this ingenious hy- stops, and raising her hind-legs, which are set with pothesis it must unfortunately be mentioned, that thick hairs, she brushes every particle clean off; some of the species possess the comb without the but as the pollen is valuable, she does not throw it whiskers, in which case its function must be, on away; on the contrary, she, kneads it into little that supposition, unnecessary. The celebrated masses called bee-bread, and then enters the hive, Alexander Wilson, the ornithologist of America, having stowed it away in certain little pockets d.ecided the question by finding in the Whip-poor- behind. Many spiders are provided with brushes will, a bird belonging to the same group, and the of closeset hairs, which effect the same purpose inner edge of one of the claws of which is also and the foot-cushions of the cat must be considered pectinated, portions of down adherioc, to the teeth. as instruments of similar intention. We arc often He therefore very rationally concludes that this in- presented with examples of licking as an operation strurnent is most probably employed as a comb of this kind. The cat takes incessant pleasure in to rid the plumage of the head of vermin, this being it, and is very particular about her children too, the principal, and almost the only, part so infested whom she licks continually when they are young. in all birds. In another portion of that splendid Other animals have similar propensities, and hence work, he mentions that the night-heron, or qua- arose the popular myth about the bear licking her bird, possesses also a pectinated or comb-like cubs into shape, when she was, in fact, only giving claw, which has frnm thirty-five to forty teeth, and them a maternal purification. Insects are equally is used for a similar purpose to that in the last ease fond of it, and repeatedly lick one another. By mentioned. the same means they free their eggs or pup~ from Under the head of co ing, we are doubtless to dirt. Every one must also have witnessed, again include what is called the preening, or, more and again, the scrupulous care with which many correctly perhaps, time pruning of birds. Probably no animals wash themselves. Birds are very fond of creatures are more attentive to personal neatness this practice, and perform the operation with a skill than the generality of birds, and this they princi- which evidently manifests that the instinct is heaven- pally effect by embracing their feathers with the taught. To get a mind-drawn picture of this feat, beak, then drawing the beak to the extremity, by let the reader think of the manomuvres of a duck at which means all dirt and soil are speedily removed, a pond, or the more stately performance of a swan In this healthy exercise it has been well said they in a stream. have been commanded to delight, for while it One of the most curious illustrations our subject is a sanitary act, it is also one which seems to afford admits of was discovered by the talented entomolo- them great gratification. Were it not that this gist before-mentioned. It is a special apparatus for beautiful part of creatioa is always thus employed, cleaning a very peculiar insect. At the bottom of what filthy objects would many become who have a hole near an old tree Mr. Rennie found a curious to seek their food in mud or in the earth! But, grub, which he had never seen before. Taking it as IDrayton has said, they are always home, with a few small snails found in the sante Pruniiig their painted breasts; place, and watching the creature, he found it em- ployed in a very anomalous manner. Its tail was and thus, under the most disadvantageous circum~ turned up, and bent over its back, and every now stances, the lustre of the bird of paradise, or the and then removed again. For some time the object snowy purity of the swan, is never to be seen of the creature in this occupation was a complete dimmed by dust or defiled by mud. Still, under mystery. At length the tail was examined, and the division combing, we may mention the most the most singular apparatus was there found. In familiar example of all, the common blow-fly, shape it was somewhat like a shaving brush: nfl- LADY FREEMASON.VOICE OF THE TENd. 13S dcv the microscope it was found to consist of a double row of white cartilaginous rays, which were retractile at the will of the creature, like the horns of a snail. In the interspace was a funnel-shaped pocket, which turned out to be a sort of little dust- hole. Now this was its manner of operation: the tail was bent up over the back, and applied to any part of the insects body; the creature then caused the rays to retract, so as to make the whole act some- what like a boys sucker, thus drawing off every particle of dust and dirt from its glossy skin. This doue, they were stored up in the little pocket until it was quite full, and then the insect, by a vermic- ular motion of the same instrument, caused the collected mktters to be expelled in the form of a little pellet, which it was careful to deposit out of the way. Not only are animals commanded by the author of their being to pay this regard to their personal cleanliness, but the homes of many among them are patterns of neatness and order. How often may we be amused at the diligence of the spider in keeping her net clear of the smallest particle of dirt! what lines will she not cut away and lay down again to secure this end! What a miracle of skill and neatness is a birds nest, and how assiduously the parent birds remove every impurity from it! Even the proverbial filth-lovers, swine, are uncom- monly l)articular in their homes; for it is well know that no creature is so anxious to have a clean and comfortable bed. And very probably the dirt- encasing gambols of these animals are to be ex- cused on the score of an irritating cutaneous afflic- tion, or are intended to resist the stings of insects. Let us hope, as we close this short article, that the lessons it is calculated to convey will not be forgot- teu. Let our poorer classes take just shame to themselves to be alone in their filth. While every domestic animal teaches wisdom, and while all creation exhibits the same pervading principle, will they be content to run the risk of opposing a plain precept of nature Theirs is not all the blame, when we remember that even statesmen are only just alive to this oldest of all truths, coeval with the very institution of the present scheme. When it has been our lot to visit dirty habitations, and when we remembered the wide-spread lesson taught us in creation, often have Hebers words risen to recollection with a sigh, reminding us that to pick a brick from the wall with her scissors and witnessed the ceremony through the two firsr steps. Curiosity satisfied, fear at once took pos- session of her mind. There was no mode of escape except through the very room where the conclud- ing part of the second step was still being solem- nized, and that being at the far end, and the room a very large one, she had resolution sufficient t attempt her escape that way; and with light bu~ trembling step glided along unobserved, laid her hand on the handle of the door, and gently opening it, before her stood, to her dismay, a grim and sur- ly tyler with his long sword unsheathed. A shriek that pierced through the apartment alarmed the members of the lodge, who, all rushing to the door, and finding that Miss St. Leger had been in the room during the ceremony, in the first paroxysm of their rage, her death was resolved on, but from the moving supplication of her younger brother. her life was saved, on condition of her going through the whole of the solemn ceremony she had unlawfully witnessed. This she consented to, and they conducted the beautiful and terrified young lady through those trials which are sometimes more than enough for masculine resolution, lit- tle thinking they were taking into the bosom of their craft a member that would afterwards reflect a lustre on the annals of masonry. The lady was cousin to General Anthony St. Leger, governor of St. Lucia, who instituted the interesting race and the celebrated Doncaster St. Leger stakes. Miss St. Leger married Richard Aldworth, Esq., of Newmarket. Whenever a benefit was given at the theatres in Dublin or Cork for the Masonic Female Orphan Asylum, she walked at the head of the freemasons with her apron and other insignia of freemasonry, and sat in the front row of the stage box. The house was always crowded on those occasions. Her portrait is in the lodge-room of almost every lodge in IrelandLimerick Citron- icle. VOICE OF THE TENcHIn the spring of 18~3 I received from a friend a brace of very fine tench just taken from the water. They were deposited by the cook in a dish, and placed upon a very high shelf in the larder, a room situated between the dining parlor and cooking kitchen. Ott the fol- lowing midnight, whilst writing in the dining-room, to which I had removed in consequence of the Only man is vile. extitiction of the fire in the library, my attention _________________________ was suddenly excited by a deep, hollow, protracted groan, such as might be supposed to proceed from A LAnv FEEEMA5ON.The Hon. Elizabeth St. a large animal in extreme distress. It was twice Leger was the only female ever initiated into the or thrice repeated; and all my efforts to discover ancient mystery of freemasonry. How she ob- the source of the alarming sound were ineffectual. tamed this honor we shall lay before our readers. At length my ear was startled by a loud splash, Lord Doneraile, Miss St Le~ers father, a very succeeded by a groan more deep and long-contiutted zealous mason, held a warrant, and occasionally than those which I had previously heard, and cvi- opened Lodge at Donerail House, his 50fl s and dently proceeding from the larder. Ittspection of some tnttmate frtends asststtng, and tt ts satd that that room at once explained the mystery. One of never were the masonic duties more rigidly per- the fishes had sprung down from the shelf on the formed than by them. Previous to the initiation stone floor, and thieve lay with mouth open, and of a gentleman to the fist steps of masonry, Miss pectoral and ventral fins extended, and uttering the St. Leger, who was a young girl, happened to be sounds by which my midnight labors had been so in an apartment adjoining the room generally used uttexpectedly interrupted. Next day both fishes as a lodge-room. This room at the time was un- were cooked for dinner; and such is the tenacity dergoing some alteration; amongst other things, of life in the tench, that although thirty hours had the wall was considerably reduced in one part. then elapsed since their removal from their native The young lady having heard the voices of the element, both fishes, after having undergone the freemasons, and prompted by the curiosity natural processes of scaling and evisceration, sprang vigor- to all to see this mystery, so long and so secretly ously rum the put of Itot water witen consigned locked up from public view, she had tite courage to it by the cookDr. AShirley Palmer. BERNARD PALISSY. From Chambers Journal. BERNARD PALISSY. THIS ingenious man began life as a poor boy, and his earliest recollections were those of turning a potters wheel. From turning a wheel he was promoted to the making of pottery. His native village was Saintes, in France; and he lived about three hundred years ago. At that period the art of making earthenware was in a rude state in France, but enamelling was much advanced ; and young Palissy thought he would try to find out how the finish of enamelling could be applied to pottery. First he set about instructing himself in read- ing, and every spare moment he devoted to study. But when he had improved himself in these re- spects, he was greatly at a loss for money. This, however, he earned by his trade, and by drawing plans, for which he had a taste. This money -was spent in experiments. While still a very young man, and without any proper means of supporting a family, he married. This was worse than an imprudence ; he did not only himself, but others, a serious harm. In the midst of great difficulties he carried on his experiments; and these absorbed the means which should have maintained his fami ly. The slightest improvement he succeeded in making in the process was sufficient to inspire him with the hope that he was at last about to reach the goal ; and this hope nerved him to fresh en- durance. In vain did he endeavor to inspire oth- ers with similar confidence. Every day bitter complaints burst from his wife, and frequently did his children join in their mothers supplications, and with tearful eyes and clasped hands implore of him to resume his former occupation, and give them bread. Palissy met the reproachesand pray- ers of his wife, and the tears of his children, with inflexible resolve and the most imperturbable com- posure, apparently as insensible as the earth which he was moulding. But was he really thus indif- ferent? No; there were moments when despair was at his heart! Nevertheless, we quote his own words, the hope that I cherished made me ~vork on with so manly a courage, that often I forced a laugh when I was inwardly sad enough. Derided, treated as a madman, suspected of be- ing now a coiner and now a sorcerer, he was proof against all. At length a new combination made him believe himself on the very point of succeed- ing, when a potter engaged in his service sudden- ly demanded his discharge and his wages. Palis- sy, having neither money nor credit, was obliged to sacrifice part of his Wardrobe to pay him; then, impatient of the interruption, returned to his fur- nace, which he had constructed in his cellarre- turned to it to find that it wanted fresh fuel, of which his stock was exhausted. What was to be done Upon the baking of this new essay his last hope depends. He rushes out to the gar- den, tears away the trelliswork, breaks it up, and the furnace is again heated. But the heat is not to the proper degree of intensity, and in despera tion Palissy throws into the furnace his furniture, the doors, the windows, nay, even the flooring of his house. Vain are the tears, the entreaties of his family ; wood is wanting for the furnace, and everything combustible that he can lay hold of is remorselessly sacrificed. But now one prolonged cry of joy echoes through the cellar ; and when the wife of Palissy, startled by the unwonted sound, hastens to her husband, she finds him standing, as if in a stupor, with his eyes fixed on the brilliant colors of a vase which he held in both hands. Success had crowned his efforts. Rapidly now did his circumstances change. His success, so dearly bought as it had been, was followed by still greater advances in the art, and he was now at the head of his profession. Wealth flowed in, and his fame spread far and wide. He had several patrons at court, amongst whom was the Constable de Moutmorency, who employed him to execute for him some rustic pieces, as they were called, consisting of figures of animals in earthenware. He resided at the Tuileries, opposite the Seine, and was surnamed Bernard of the Tuileries. Nor was he content with the fame of a mere artist, but turned his at- tention to almost every branch of natural history and philosophy, and is said by Fontenelle to have made as much proficiency as genius without learn- mo could make. He was the first person who formed a collection of specimens of natural his- tory, and gave lectures upon them, to which the public were admitted on payment of half-a-crown, which he engaged to return fourfold should any- thing he taught be proved false. He wrote sev- eral treatises on a variety of topics, full of original and striking thought. He was the first who taught the true theory of springs, and who ven- tured to assert that fossil-shells were real sea- shells deposited by the waters of the ocean. He also was the first to perceive and recommend the use of marl and lime in agriculture. His ardor and strength of character were not less conspicu- ous in his attachment to the religion he professed. He was a Protestant, and became exposed to per- secution during the time of the League. in 1584 he was apprehended and committed to the Bastile. The weak King Henry III., who rather favored him, having told him that if he did not abjure his religion for the prevailing one, ho should be con- strained to leave him in the hands of his enemies, the intrepid Palissy replied, Your majesty has often condescended to say that you pity me ; for my part I pity you for uttering the unkingly words, I shall be constrained ; but I tell you, in more royal language, that neither the Guises, nor your whole people, nor yourself, s~hall constrain me, a poor potter, to deny my conscience. Thus was the same zeal and indomitable firm- ness which marked his career as an artist carried by Palissy into his devotedness to his higher in- terests as a Christian. Of his religion and his trade he was wont to say, I have no other prop- erty than heaven and earth. He died in the Bastile in 1589, at the age of ninety 134 VIA DOLOROSALI1Th~RIA. From the Journal of Commerce. VIA DOLOROSA. WE attended the funeral of an aged citizen on a cold Sunday afternoon, not long since. His re- mains were conveyed to Greenwood Cemetery, to await the resurrection in company with thousands of our dead, who already sleep, or who soon will sleep, in that hallowed ground. It is well called hallowed ground ; for to us no place is more sanctified than that where the links of the broken chain lie, from which the freed soul has gone to rest. It was a bitter day. The win(l from across the water was chilling and cutting, and the close car- riage hardly sufficed to protect us from its severity. As we passed through the streets, we noticed that sombre air of the windows and houses which an unpleasant autumn day always causes, and the faces of people in the streets were pinched and gloomy. Men drew their cloaks around them, and hurried along the pavements, only looking up for an instant as the hearse passed, and shuddering yet more coldly at the coldest view which earth affords. A singular interest is visible in every mans mind, when he sees the procession which follows a fellow-man to burial ; and it is by no means wonderful that it should be so. Yet it is remark- able that a birth, which is the commencement of an immortality, should be regarded with less in- terest than a death, which is but a change in the course of immortality. The carriages had not left Atlantic street, in Brooklyn, before we began to meet a novel class of persons. Novel, we mean to say, as a class; for mourners are plenty enough in the world, and we meet the garb of some hourly. But it is not often that one meets with a continual flow of car- riages, all of which contain weepers, returning from the graves of friends. The road from Atlantic street to the entrance of Greenwood is emphati cally a via dolorosa. We met first a carriage with closed windows, which went swiftly by our own, but not so swiftly as to prevent our seeing in it a lady with face buried in her hands. She was alone, perhaps a widow returning from a well- beloved grave, or a mother from a childs sleeping- place. Scarcely had her carriage passed, when we met two others in which appeared to be a whole family, and following these an empty hearse, and another and another after it, and so on, until we had met five hearses, and carriages more than we could count, bearing mourners. Some had returned from the burial that day, others had been fo visit graves, with that beautiful affection which leads us to lin- ger around such spots, as if there the souls of the departed also lingered, with somewhat of love mayhap for the dust which once imprisoned them. The train in which we were moved but slowly, for it was of great length, and in it were many on foot who followed their friend to the gates of the cemetery. Other trains of less length passed us swiftly. Three hearses with accompanying carriages passed us thus. In one we saw the coffins of two children, as the wind lifted up the hearse curtains and swept coldly over them. Is a carriage which followed another, we recognized the face of a man who had lost a son the Friday previous, as we knew by the obituary notice in the. paper. As we approached the cemetery, we looked back and saw still more of these solemn processions com- ing across the plain at the head of Gowanus Bay, and as we entered the avenues, we saw here and there, among the leafless trees, groups standing with heads uncovered, around open vaults or uncovered graves. It was like entering a vast temple in which men of all creeds assembled to do homage to the instinctive idea of immortality, (for that idea is at the foundation of our care for the dead,) as we entered the forest arches of the holy ground. Gods acre there is rich with treasures for the day of awaking. As we passed the gateway, the sun, fast setting across the bay, broke from the clouds, and a flood of glorious light bathed the hills and trees and gilded the gleaming monuments; but as we stood at the foot of the grave on a high hill overlooking the cities and the water, the sun went down, and a cold blast swept the dead leaves along into the grave, with the man who had faded like a leaf in autumn, and whose sun, as that sun, had gone down in the evening of a long and tempestuous day. Any one who will take an afternoon ride to Greenwood, will no longer wonder that a city like this can afford business to stores which sell nothing but mourning. LIBERIA. [WE are glad to see that England assumes a favorable attitude towards the new republic; which offers her a probable result in the suppression of the slave-trade.I Wz stop the press to announce the following highly important and gratifying intelligence, of the action of the British government in reference to the republic of Liberia, and its president, Gen- eral Roberts. If there was any sincerity in tIme professions of lively interest for Liberia, uttered a few years ago by the government at Washington, no time will be lost in following the politic exam- ple of Great Britain, by a frank recognition of the new republic and a treaty of commerce with it. A proffer by the British government of money for the purchase of the territory intervening between Sierra Leone and Liberia, is in many aspects a most important one. It is a practical acknowledgment of the wisdom of our colonization course, and may he regarded as the beginning of a new line of policy, to be pursued for the extinc- tion of the slave-trade, and the civilization of the interior tribes of Western Africa. Colonization herald. London, November 24th, 1849. E. CREssoN, ESQ. My Dear FriendYou will learn with as much pleastire as I communicate it to you, that President Roberts, having succeeded in procuring the recogni- tion of the sovereignty and independence of the re 135 136 ~CHtTMAN PROGRESS.7 public of Liberia, has entered into and completed a treaty of amity and commerce on terms of perfect reciprocity with the British government: This im- portant document has been signed, sealed, and de- livered; and the president having completed, in the most satisfactory and successful manner, all that he desired, is now about returning home in a sloop-of- war, specially offered to him by the British govern- ment to convey him and family to Monrovia. He sails on the 2d December. Thus has been com- pleted the most important mission that could be, for the welfare and prosperity of the infant repub- lic. President Roberts has manifested great tal- ents, as well as good sense, judgment, and discre- tion, in all that he has done since he has been in Europe; and he has been eminently successful, not only in this country but also in France, whose gov- ernment, you are aware, acknowled~ed the infant republic without any delay after a formal applica- tion was made for it by Mr. Roberts. But I have still excellent news to communicate to you. Lord Palmerston and the whole government being ex- ceedingly desirous of putting down the accursed slave-trade, having conferred with the president on the best means of accomplishing it, have (almost) agreed to furnish President Roberts with 2,000 to purchase all the territory lying between the boundaries of Sierra Leone and Liberia, where the slave-trade is carried on extensively; and the pres- ident pledges himself that the slave-trade shall be forever abolished from the whole line of coast from the furthest extremity of Liberia (east and south) to the confines of the British colony of Sierra Le- one. What a most important acquisition to the cause of humanity President Roberts was to call upon the Bishop of London to-day by special request of his lord- ship, who wants to introduce missionary efforts in- to Africa, through the republic of Liberia. I told the president that the bishop is so rich, so power- ful, and altogether so great ~ man, that he must let nothing interfere with his going to see him. The president is to dine with Chevalier Bunsen this evening. This gentleman is the ambassador of Prussia, and representative of the German empire. I hope good to Liberia may he the result. Mr. Roberts does good wherever he goes; lie is so ex- cellent a man that he xvins golden opinions from all men. I do not know a man fur whom I have more respect; fortunate is the new republic in having such a chief magistrate. Yours, most faithfully, G. RALSTON. HUMAN PRoGREss, THE PRoVIOENcE JOURNAL, ANO THE CHRONOTYPE The Providence Journal, after a months preparation, defends itself with ex- cellent generalship against our Providence corres- pondents charge that it is one of the greatest obstacles in the way of human ptogress, in that city. Our cotemporarys wit being almost as great as its wickedness, we cannot forbear quoting a paragraph or two from its defence. It will be perceived that it has soaped its nose to the utmost lubricity before entering the lists, so that there is no chance for a rejoinder on our part.Clirono- type. We have gone, not always editorially, we admit how is it possible that one small head should carry all these things ?~but through what the New York Herald would call our unrivalled corps of voluntary correspondents, for all sorts of reforms, upon all sorts of subjects, for everything that ends in ism or ology or pcthy. We went for homeopathy, hydropathy, and one other pathy, the name of which we have unfortunately forgotten; and this very day, we publish an article upon isopathy, which is later and of course better still, and which seems very reasonable and natural like. The principle of cure is the application to the dis- eased organ of a similar organ of a healthy person. Think what a remedy for sore lips! Of course a patient would be allowed to select his own physi- cian. On this subject of isopathy, we regret to say that our friend of the New London Chronicle, an exceedingly irreveremit man, and a disbeliever in many of the most important discoveries in human progress, is wholly incredulous. We comruend him to the correspondent of the Chronotype. He descrvcs all that has been said of us upon the sub- ject. But to go on with our own merits; we were among the first to give in our adhesion to animal magnetism, and we went the full length of pathet- ism and another ism in the same connection. We puffed La Roy Sunderlands lectures, and we strongly recommended a course of lectures on Fon- rierism, illustrated by an immense picture right over the desk of the lecturer. We reviewed An- drew Jackson Davis book in four communications, of such orthodoxy that our excellent friend, Pro- fessor Bush, sent for all the numbers, and they were copied, at length, into those papers which are generally regarded as the accredited organs of the unseen world. It is not long since we published a mesmeric prescription for the treatment of cholera, and we faithfully placed before our readers the whole story of an awful murder in Massachusetts, detected by means of animal magnetism. We have not yet expressed our indignation at the jury in Worcester which recently refused to convict a man of the same crime on the testimony of a very remarkable dream. We have not enumerated half our services to human progress, all of which, we think, should entitle us to a first class office, if the party of human progress should ever get into power. If indeed there be any principle or pro- cess, any idea or suggestion or vision of transcen- dental philosophy that has escaped our notice, just trot it out, and it shall have a fair chance in our columns. But after all this, we will not endure to have it thrown in our teeth, that we are enemies of human progress ; it is shameful and slanderous ingratitude, amid we look to the Chronotype, by its sense of justice, to retract the charge of its corres- pondent. The same letter accuses us of speaking in a flippant manner of the Free Soilers and of the Chronotype. We will not deny that we have, from time to time, indul,,ed in some rather plain remarks touchimig the Free Soilers, and especially the Van Buren branch thereof, but we have never been so indiscreet as to attack the Chronotype not ~ve. That paper has a way of striking back again much more agreeable to the lookers on than to the subject of the operation, and we have always endeavored to keep on the sunny side of it. We have always said that it was the boldest, spiciest, sauciest, most readable and thoroughly provoking paper that could be imagined, and we have always advised our readers to buy it and read it, and laugh over it, and to take especial care not to be led ~away by the heresies in which it abounds. CORRESPONDENCE. 137 Paris, December 13, 1848. C 0 LEE S P 0 N P EN C E. second article is M. Chevaliers eleventh Study of [Our correspondents letter of 10th December, which is the Constitution on the United States, and treats of the sident in its principal details. alluded to in the fol1owin~, has not come to hand. We election of pre are very sorry to lose anything he writes.] I His historical survey, is ample; his account of the party-conventions accurate and admonitory ; he could wish them to he measurably imitated in France; he blames the French moderates for not having or- ganized themselves separately with a candidate of their own ; he admires the American uniform adoption of men recommended by positive national services and tried intellectual faculties ; he con- demns the preference of military worthies to em- inent statesmen ; but here, he does not rightly or thoroughly comprehend the influences, circum- stances, considerations, under which that preference has been practised in three only out of twelve dcc- Itons. Several of tile Paris journals contain biographical sketches of General Taylor; in one of them he is sent to India to fight, we may presume the Sibks of Lahore; the text is curious: In 1810 he mar- ried, and immediately thereafter troubles broke out in India. Lieutenant Taylor manifested so much intrepidity in quelling theisi, that, in 1812, he was promoted to the rank of captain, and nominated commander of Fort Harrison. According to an- other of these articles, a grand national convention is to meet at Washington in February next, to proclaim his election. Our French paragraphists are not particularly struck with the capacity of the negro-race to main- tain republican institutions, as it is exemplified in PROFESSOR CHEVALIER has given us, in tile Journal des D~bats of the 11th and 12th instant long articles on American politics. He expounds the several parties in the recellt elections favorably, on the whole, to our institutions and national char- acter. The Americans, he observes, have good practical sense, and when abstract principles seem to clash with their experience, it is their custom to keep those principles under the bushel until they be enlightened by new facts. He ascribes to the formation of the free soil party greater importance than it is likely to retain. Expedients, when they once fail, soon cease to be operative. Chevalier thinks that our slave-holding states may be in dalI- ger, ~vhen it shall be proved, by the results of abolition in the West Indies, that the negro can be free and yet so work that production will not be affected by his emancipation. Hitherto, the con- trary appears. The professor adds We are not in the number of those who predict an early rup- ture of the American Union from the conflict be- tween the slave-holding and non-slave-holding states. Nothing warrants this anticipation. It is like the old story of the downfall of the British power from national bankruptcy, constantly and confidently foretold for a century, and nevertheless becoming every day less probable. The American people, in their dissensions, possess the rare and meritorious wisdom of abstaining watchfully from extreme measures. The utility of the onion fer everybodyits most prolific, universal utilityis present to all minds. Disputants grow hot and a~igry ; the agitation of parties rises high; but, sooner or later, all is settled by one of those com- promises which appertain to the essence of repre- sentative government. Thus, the constitutional right of the slave states to exclusive coiltrol of their internal economy, will, in the end, be re- spected, and slavery be left to recede from region to region, under the impulse of new circumstances, such as are begetting a change in Maryland and Delaware. It is, however, undeniable that the slavery question is thorny and embarrassing ; pru- dence and firmness are necessary in a president; the choice of General Taylor seems fortunate on this head; soundness of judgment and moderation of spirit are evidenced in his whole life. The professor draws fine portraits of both the president and vice-president elect. ,He concludes his first article by a brief exposition of the marvellous progress of the United States, in population, agri- culture, and manufactures, and of their magnificent enterprises and prospects Happy land, flourish- ing republic! such are the fruits reaped where the laws are held sacredwhere public intelligence and opinion have authority sufficient to restrain, witllin legal bounds, turbulent minorities and hot- headed leaders, to be found in all countries. The the monopoly of the products of the soil and of all traffic, internal and external, by the government of Hayti. The black manthe true ebonyin the delegation of the Antilles, who sits in the centre of tile Montagnards in the Assembly, was the ser- vant of a white general resident in this capital. An intimate acquaintance of the master told me, a few days ago, that the representative had not resigned his domestic post, whether from personal attachment or prudential motives; he would deserve credit for either. A gentleman of New Orleans, on a visit to Paris, relates to me that, about a fortnight since, while seated in a side-box of the first tiers of tile grand opera, he distinguished a colored family in time one immediately opposite; by his opera-glass he discovered that the head of it, whom he recog- nized, distinguished him, and was about to comne round to him by the lobby. A feeling natural to a southern American induced him to prefer that the interview should not be in the box which he occupied. He met the visitor in the lobby; tile latter grasped his hand, and reminded him that he ilad been his tailor at New Orleans. I retired, he added, with a good property: we are well- settled here; that s my box, once a week; we shall be happy to see you at our apartments. My epistle of the 10th inst. was sealed at one oclock, for the early post-hour. At that period the shop-keepers had closed and barred their doors and windows, and sallied forth with their families to mingle with the ubiquitous throng. Before three, the promenaders, in the fashionable division of the COItRESPONDENC E. garden of the Tuileries, could not have been less than ten thousand, of whom well-dressed ladies and beautiful children formed the great majority. The verdure of the parterres remains unimpaired Bplendid camelias are exposed in the open air. This day (13th) the temperature is still mild and genial. Though the masses on the boulevards and on the principal places manifested high excitement, and the precincts of the stations, where the votes were received, bore a menacing aspect, no absolute riots occurred. Between eight and ten in the evening, the rich moon-light and the blaze of the gas-lights, exhibiting the crowds for miles in a more picturesque ~vay, impressed a double vivacity and beauty on the scene. A very interesting company assembled in my saloon, by ten ; they had passed through the various throngs, without the least molestation, and with no fear of the return home; and they seemed to have caught additional spirits and good-humor from the animation of the streets. Later, indeed, a few gentle charges of cavalry dis- persed unruly or too noisy multitudes near the Portes St. Martin and St. Denis. On Monday, the atmosphere was equally bright and balmy; the polls were thronged; cries of Vive Napoleon! and Down with Cavaignac! sounded at every corner, and on the open spaces. A cart filled with Ca- vaignac tickets fell into the hands of a phalanx of gamins, who made a bonfire of the contents, on the Boulevard Montmartre ; nothing else happened to set the Republican Guard and the Gardiens de & irete~ in quick motion. Through both days, bodies of unarmed soldiers were met in every direction, repairing, with sub- alterns or captains at their head, to deposit their suifrages in the urns. The garrison being reck- oned at fifty thousand, you may imagine that the exercise of universal franchise heightened the as- pect of the difibsed array of military force for the maintenance of order. All the staffs ~vere in readiness at their respective head-quarters; aide- de-camps trotted in every section; reconnoissances were made from the station of the commander-in- chief of the national guards, as if a foreign enemy had entered the faubourgs; the posts of the guards were materially increased; all the soldiery and garde mobile, not on their way to vote, stood equipped and provided for battle. Cavaignac had become more odious to the faubourgs by his honest decla- ration in the Assembly, that he saw in the bar- ricades, not a police-affair, but a case of battle of downright war; and that if Charles the Tenth and Louis Philippe had taken the same view in time, the issues of the insurrections of July, 1830, and February, 1848~, would have been different. He has been burnt in effigy at Lyons, where the Red Republic is, proportionably, even stronger than in this capital. Yesterday, considerable bodies of horse and foot escorted the urns, in the translation of them from the sections to the offices of the mayors. In the morning, the severe decree of the National Assem- bly, passed last summer, against attroupements, or large gatherings of the people, was posted at every corner, by order of the prefect of police, with the announcement that he was determined to enforce it with the utmost strictness and vigilance. All is calm this forenoon; but as the returns from the city and environs, and a number of the provinces, leave no doubt of the complete triumph of Louis Napo- leon, it may be difficult to prevent loyal manifes- tations to-night. The journals devoted to him ex- ult without mercy ; the revolutionary and socialist leaders and clubs, that could not reclaim their bands from the wild cry of Napoleon, vent their chagrin in the bitterest contempt for universal suffrage, and the ignorance and stupidity of the clodhoppers in the provinces. Their votes should have no valid character, says the journal La R~publique; and an- other oracle exclaims Oh, the miserable sheep- masses, (troupe moutonni~re,) who let the emperor go to St. Helena, and now adore his insignificant nephew; who make revolutions one day, to undo them on another! A third finds consolation in the idea that the people will not spare the oppres- sors and traitors the third time, to be duped and enslaved again as they were on the first and second victories over the monarchy. It is conceded on all hands that the nephew of his uncle must have obtained an absolute majori- ty; by which singular though not inexplicable consummation the National Assembly will be re- lieved from the dangerous necessity of a choice between Napoleon and Cavaignac. The prince will better know by whom, than for what, he is chosen; never was a human being carried to the pinnacle in any country, large or small, by so great a variety and contrariety of motives and designs, and by so many adherents utterly unacquainted with the qualities, principles or purposes of their elect. You shall have, early, my explanation in full, of the phenomena; you may read in the l~on- don Times, of the 11th inst., an excellent prelim- inary article. A very considerable sum must have been expended by Louis and the Bonaparte corn- bination, in this business. An eminent banker mentioned to me, the day before yesterday, that acceptances of the prince, for large amounts, had been offered to him on the exchange. The spoils will raise the credit of his signature. Public stocks have advanced, owing to his vast presumed majority, ~vhich will give him the benefit of incontestable universal suffrage, to the force of whichconstitutional, popular, and militaryall the factions must yield for a time. The majority of the National Assembly, being wedded or pledged to republicanism, have multiplied tokens of their intention to remain as a check on him and the monarchical veterans whom he may call to his councils ; but political and personal steadfastness is not the characteristic trait of Frenchmen; prone- ness to worship the rising sun is rather inure remarkable; he may detach a portion of time majori- ty; the policy and effort of himself, and his imme- diate supporters of every connection, except the republican and radical, will be to get rid of this Assembly as soon as possible. The club of rep- resentatives, ex-deputies of the Rue de Poitiers, 138 CORRESPONDENCE. began to manmuvre and vote to that end, as soon as they saw their influence on the floor forfeited hy their proscription of Cavaignac. There is a gen- eral impression that the Napoleonian victory, if as enormous as described, tolls the knell of the Assembly, or portends a death-struggle between that body and Louis and the monarchical cabals. The sitting of yesterday afternoon had a new char- acter and temper. A representative, who studied appearances, has just informed me that there was no longer the same eagerness to salute Ca- Vaignac or approach the treasury-bench. The general kept his seat, throughout the proceedings, with an air of stern equanimity; one of the ques- tions debatedthat of waiting or not for the votes from Algeria before proclaiming the new presi- dentinduced remarks on the nature of the elec- tion which might have ruffled his spirit. Some of the Napoleonist journals have no mercy on the vanquished. Let me translate a specimen or two of their gibes. The poor Assembly! they are decidedly done over; at the sitting, yesterday, the report circulated that Louis Napoleon will be four or five millions strong out of seven millions at least of suifrages given ; the poor ministers, how crest- fallen on their seats, on which they sat upright a few days ago, and on whichhappily for France they will not sit beyond next week! Mon- seigneur Fayet, that patriotic Bishop of Orleans, who devoted himself to the Cavaignac clique, left the house along with the discomfited general; he must have gone to administer the last sacraments to him; this was natural; he stood by him from the beginning of his long agony. The executive chief took pains to inform the country, that he, like his regicide father, was a good Catholic; he wishes to die as becomes one ; light lie the earth on him. Requiescat in pace. Amen! La Presse, the chief and most efficient engine of Louis, rallies the republicans in the same vein. Yesterdays sit- ting may be styled the sitting of long faces; we should have laughed, perhaps, if Monsieur Mar- rast had not occupied his chair of speaker. But, one must have sucked a tigress of Hircania not to have been moved at the sight of his deep affliction. Truly, Monsieur Marrast, your chagrin is exces- sive; we comprehend how cruel it is to see all the dreams of fancy, the visions of sumptuous palaces and enchanting festivals, vanish thus in twenty- four hours. But who knowsall is not lost perhaps; his republican highness does not lack per- spicuity, adroitness, and pliability; and, as for transitions and transformations, the republicans have sufficiently proved that they are a match for the must renowned harlequins and jugglers. Mon- sieur Marrast must not wail and despond too soon yesterday, it was evident that he had fever; we never before saw him consume so enormous a quantity of eau sucr~e. We left the house in keen distress for him ; with the hope, indeed, that a calm night and the poppies of Morpheus would re- store to us our amiable speaker, less broken and discouraged. I think it well to enclose for you extracts from the comments on the election, of the Notional, organ of the Cavaignac party; of La Reforme, of the democrats; the Union, chief legitimist journaland of Proudhon, the Ajax of socialism. They illustrate the state of affairs. The special organ of the Mountain and of Ledru- Rollin, confesses its surprise and sorrow at the result of the elections in Paris, and would renounce all hope of the infatuated milljon, if it did not feel unbounded confidence in the infallibility of princi- ples. The workmen, to punish Cavaignac, have thrown themselves into the arms of a man whose sole agency will be the resuscitation of the impe- rial despotism. They have been false to their duty and their interests. Paris, December 14, 1848. Louis NAPOLEON gains by the returns received last night and this morning from the provinces. The Journal des D~bats supposes that his 1)011 will at least quimintuple that of Cavaignac. We have the entire vote of Paris and the precinctsin round numbersa hundred and seventy-two thou- sand for the prince; for Cavaignac eighty-seven thousand, about forty thousand for the candidates of the mountain and the socialists; scarcely more than five thousand for Lamartine. The peasantry of the interior marched to the polls with their Na- poleon-tickets at the end of cleft-sticks, and drums beating; in many districts, when asked about their choice, they answered We do not mean to vote for a republican ; we have had enough of the re- public. Well, then, they were told, if yoti do not want the republic, vote for Bonaparte. Yesterday, I asked the worthy tailor whom I have employed for many years, and who is an officer in the national guards, how he had voted. For Napoleon, to be sure. When he perceived that I was not edified, he added, Possibly it was stupid on my part ; but, in truth, I could no longer bear with this cursed republic. Such was the feeling of the bourgeois in general. There are strange things in a different sense. Viscount dArlincourts pamphlet, for the Duke of Bourdeaux, which is outrageously legitimist, has been indefinitely reprinted, owing to the demand in town and country; the price is reduced to ten cents; the author has recently been acquitted on a jury-trial for its contents, which abundantly warranted the indietnuent. The porter of the ho- tel in which I reside is an old soldier; his wife rules the roast reigns and governs. To my question whether he had voted, she answered Certainly. And for whom? I wrote his ticketHenry V., King of France. Since 1830, the surviving officers of the Imperial Guard have met, at a banquet, on the 15th inst.; and the vet- erans at the Hotel des Invalides have celebrated, on the same day, th~ translation of the emperors re- mains. These commemorations are renounced for to-morrow, in consequence of the discovery of a project in the fauhourgs to undertake a grand pa- rade to that edifice, with a flag surmounted by an eagle and the cry of Vice lEmpereur! It was 139 140 CORRESPONDENCE. my persuasion, the day after the immense concourse with the acquiescence, if not the cordial approval, in the vicinity of the legislative hall, when Louis of the greater part of the country. Alarm was was expected to enter for the first time, as a rep- everywhere rife, for all propertyall security. resentative, that if he had appeared and encouraged It was believed that Cavaignac, earnestly sup- the same cry, he would have been at once master ported by a large, compact majority of the repre- in the capital; and the provinces might have quick- sentatives, was ahie and resolved to contend against ly ratified the nomination. The elections have not anarchy and rapine. He, however, if solicitous belied that persuasion or notion. No provincial or willing to be at the head of the nation, still riots are as yet reported. Immediate meetings .would not consent to an irregular or precarious are invited of the Society of the Democratic arrangement. M. Lafayette pleasantly remarked Friends of the Constitution, and of the central com- that his adherence seemed to bring ill-luck ; all mittees of the revolutionary and socialist factions, the ministries he had adopted were short-lived. Yesterday, the police forcibly closed one of the The Journal des D~bats, of this morning, gives the largest clubs; judges and juries continue to treat names of several personages who it believes have very roughly the editors of the anarchical journals accepted places in Louis Napoleons cabinet. Odi- and the orators of the clubs. Ion Barrot and Leon Faucher are of the number. Mr. George Lafayette has just quitted my study If composed as is announced, the ministry will be having, with his usual goodness, brought me three less qualified than the present. Even Bugeaud, tickets of admission to the National Assembly, for who has just arrived, ~vould not be superior to distinguished American officers now in Paris. Lamorici~re in the war-department; and equals of Our conversation turned, of course, on the elec- Dufaure and Vivien in their spheres can scarcely tions. His characteristic, fond trust in the cause be found. Dufaure is, on the whole, in and out of republicanism is not shaken ; though he ac- of the Assembly, the ablest, and certainly not the knowledges that there is a serious checkan least honest, of the civilians and administrators. awkward retrogression. He thinks that there has When Napoleons remains were brought to been less of mere hero-worship in the votes of the France, with divine honors, I might almost say interior than is commonly supposed. Socialism with such flourish of trumpets and imposing rites, had prepared the minds of multitudes for any that every man, woman and child was inflamed change which might act on the rich, and all capi- and infatuated anew, it struck me that Louis Phil- talists, for the benefit of the poor; and the emis- ippe and M. Thiers, who soon afterwards disputed saries of Napoleonism announced the transfer of with each other the credit of the solemn and gor- all taxes from the backs of the latter, and the dis- geous translation, and the two chambers that pro- tribution of immense treasures to be collected at longed its prestige by debates and votes about home and abroad. A portion of the clergy and altars and mausoleum, would one day rue their most of the legitimist proprietors flattered or in- instrumentality. The name and the image were dulged their delusions, counting on the effects of most before every man from the year 1797; you their certain disappointment, in favor of the true must have travelled over France, as I have done, in candidate, Henry V. Increased taxation had, every direction, to comprehend how mementos, in doubtless, rendered the peasantry more or less the forms of pictures, busts, inscriptions, almanacs, hostile to the republic, which could never be in- narratives, songs, local honors, are multi.plied and gratiated with the twenty-four millions, unless diffused ; not a private or public edifice in which they were relieved ; and this could be done only his name and image do not predom~inate. Thirty- by a war on all capital other than their own, or three years have elapsed since his reign; his om- by predatory hostilities abroad, to the very outfit niverous and iron despotism is forgotten ; his vet- of which the treasury was inadequate. Louis erans and all the retired soldiery spread in the Napoleon, and M. Thiers, who will either prompt rural districts have constantly turned the national or head his ministry, cannot satisfy the promises spirit, so enamored of war and glory, to the and expectations that belong, more or less, to this homage which makes nearly the business of their new revolution; genuine republicanism will come lives. All the public ills experienced since have round again, and prove wiser and more fortunate. been referred to the rulers of the several periods. Had the election of president been undertaken as The republicans constantly promoted the rustic soon as possible after the four days of June, Ca- superstition by exalting his conquests and foreign vaignac would have triumphed, policy, and ministering, through the splendors of In this opinion of M. Lafayette, I cannot con- his reign, to the national prepossessions and pro- cur readily; but it was my conception, that the pensities. Beranger, the poet, is a principled, general mistook his own interests and those of the earnest republican ; yet his tributes of verse to republican party, when he deterred the majority the conqueror and the empire, and their wars and of the Assembly from postponing the election until hostslyrical master-pieces, of which the unex- after they had framed the organic lawsan inde- ampled popularity and circulation were produced terminate or lengthy term, which left open the by the subject as well the geniushave materi- chapter of accidents on his side, and during which ally contributed to the very result which he prob- the effervescence of Napoleonism might have sub- ably laments from the bottom of his soul. The sided. In July, the Assembly would have ap- palace of the Elysee-Bourbon, in the Faubourg pointed him president ad interim for two years, St. Honor6, has been selected by the Assembly CORRESPONDENCE. 141 for the residence of the president of the republic. Napoleon was particularly fond of this beautiful structure, and occnpied it during the hundred days. Lonis-Lucien, brother of the Prince of Canino, has been elected to the Assembly in Corsica. As I have heretofore mentioned, the most formida- ble and growing party, after all, is that of anarchi- cal and levelling socialism. Proudhon writes, in his Journal of the 12th inst. The lottery is drawn ; we have raised pure socialism to the rank and substance of a political party socialism is no longer such and such a sect; it is an antagonist power in th.e state, in the modern system ; the prol~tairs, of cities and fields, may at one juncture by sudden and peculiar impulsevote for a Napoleona name, a shadow ; hut they continue to imbibe and relish our doctrines, which accord with all their passions and real or imaginary griefs. We shall prevail. The peasantry in some departments, when about to vote for Bonaparte, observed, If, in six months he does not do our business for us, so much the worse for him; we shall shake him off as we have done ~vith the others. All the present ministers are quitting the public hotels which they occupied. It is stated, in the last and best advices from Italy, that the pope will soon be reinstated at Rome, stronger and wiser than before. The legations, comprising the vast majority of his subjects, declare for him, and even Rome is re-revolutionized. The National says Universal suffrage has now spoken, and every- thing leads to the opinion that M Louis Bonaparte will have a considerable majority. The result is contrary to our wishes, hut it will not inspire us with anger, and, above all, it will not cause us to despair of the future. We supported with all our power, the candidateship which responded best to our ideas, which appeared to offer to the country the most certain and most complete guarantees of order and stability. If the majority declares against us, we shall respect its decision, and the man whom it may have invested with the functions of first magistrate, shall not be, in our eyes, anything else than the legal representative of the French people, charged to act in its name, as the National Assembly is charged to deliberate and to determine. We feared that the success of M. Louis Bonaparte would expose us to civil disorder and disturbances; we still fear so. The majority, which at present supports him, is composed of elements the most various, or, to speak more correctly, the most hos- tii.e. Peasants, who are strangers to all political discussions, Socialists of every color, Bonapartists, Orleanists, Legitimists, have not been inspired ap- parently by the same thought, have not been guided by the same sentiment, have not served the same interest. United during the contest, they ~vill neces- sarily dispute the fruits of the victory; all these opposite parties who had disguised themselves for the moment under a common livery, will not delay throwing off the mask, and redutering the lists, more active, more ardent, more irreconcilable than they have ever been. God preserve our country from this terrible trial If the result shows our pre-visions to be erroneous, we shall rejoice from the bottom of our hearts. If it should confirm them, if the old parties ~gain rai e their colors, our part is clearly traced; our standard is the constitution, the symbol of our political faith, the expression of the wishes, the wants, and the interests of demo- cratic France. We will defend it with energy against all parties, and God aiding, we will main- tam it. It follows from this, that as long as the power which issues from universal suffrage shall execute faithfully and sincerely the constitu- tion, in virtue of which it exists, it will be respect- able in our sight, and we shall see in it the consequence of the principle which we have pro- claimed. It is not, in fact, under the republican r6gime as it is under the monarchical one. Un- der the latter, the principle personified in a man supports itself or falls with it; in the republican order the men pass and the l)rinciple remamus, so robust and full of life, that it resists even the embraces of those who take it in their arms to suffocate it. We shall, therefore, observe the new power with attention, even with distrustwe have a right to do sobut without hostility. If it for- wards the interests of the country, we will believe that it forwards ours; if it compromises the inter- ests of the country, we will resolutely oppose it, with constitutional arms alone; we will not quit the bounds of legality, unless it leave them first, and then we will do so only to follow it, and to defend against aggressors the principle to which it owes its success. The Presse says The republicans de la Veille, so intolerant, so haughty, so exclusive, may mnasure by this great defeat the popularity they enjoy. They are beat- en, though they have had in their hands all the active forces of the state. They are beaten, in spite of the support lent them at Paris and in other ~reat towns by an important fraction of the moder- ate party. Without this last supply, which is considerable, and upon which it certainly could not reckon under any other circumstances, their minori- ty would have been still more decided. The lesson is severe, but it must be confessed it is well merited. A country cannot submit to be thwarted, humiliated, and treated with indignity as it has been doing for the last ten months by their acts and by their per- sons. We read in the Union Before the electoral trial be brought to its end, let us once more st. te the signification of the polit- ical movement, which has carried towards Louis Napolean, victorious or not, so great a mass of the popular suffrages. We have already declared it; this movement is nothing else hut a protest against the policy which prevailed from the day after the revolution of February. We do n.ot intend to ex- aggerate the importance of this kind of reaction we should, on the contrary, be disposed perhaps to extenuate its extent, for the violence of the flux and reflex of opinion does not suit our tastes ; but we affirm a palpable fact, from which we shall draw a few deductions. A principal one is, that the authors of the policy of February have evi- dently done violence to the feeling of the nation. France thirsts, it is true, after liberty, equality, and fraternity, hut it also thirsts after dignity, truth, and security. What was done in 18481 All the bases of order were shaken; an act of revolution against a false m.onarchy was turned into a dog- matic system against all society; not only were all passions, and all feelings of rage let loose on CORItESPONDENCE. France, but also, all kinds of folly and falsehood. The people were fed with Utopian schemes; labor was destroyed under pretext of organization; all the relations amongst men were hroken; the poor were armed against the rich, dreadful angers were lit up; envy was excited; the poor were made to believe that they were about to recast the conditions of lifethat they were to be freed from sufferings and privationsand that, in fine, idleness, vice, and sloth, were about to hold themselves at ease, and enjoy the same advantages as labor, virtue, and activity: all that declared under the general name of democracy, and written down nearly in full letters in the constitution and the laws. It must be declared that this improvised policy was deci- dedly opposed to the profound wishes of the French nation. Such is, as we have said, the signification of the candidateship of Louis Napoleon. Louis Napoleon, in fact, could not express anything more, as his person was unknown, his genius doubtful; there was not in France a Bonapartist party; imperialism was only a reminiscence; but the name of Napoleon was popular, and that name signified precisely the contrary of the things realized under the regime of February. It is only in that way that can be explained the movement which induced the people to support that candidateship; that fact explains the past, and will explain the future. The Reforrne says Our duty is to incline before the result of the bal- lot, before the effect of ardent passions excited by grievances and hopes of a very different nature. But our distrust remains, and it is without much hope in the new government that we shall wait to see it at work. Not that we distrust its intentions; every government desires to last, to have strength and authority. That of the future president will resemble in that respect all which went before it? Will it know how to comprehend in what lies the verital)le force? Will it know how to disengage itself from all the persons, all the prejudices, all the dynastic intrigues, with which it is about to be compassed? Between the two great parties which divide France will it choose that of the revolution? It is at least allowable to doubt it. For that there will be required a surety of view and a firmness of resolution to which the men whom France has seen in power for 50 years has not accustomed us. In such a situation, the attitude of the friends of the revolution ought to be a neutrality reserved and distrustful towards the new power, which is about to rise, but without any rancorous hostility or any party determined on. Our part is to await the de- velopment of the intentions and forces of our ene- mies, and to prepare ourselves by a sustained vig- ilance, by frequent communications, by the pacific and active propagation of the doctrines of the revo- lution, for the events in which we may be called on to interfere. Much is expected from our impru- dence; let us be calm, as well as firm; let us be inaccessible to provobations, and the reactionary policy will fall of itself before the public contempt. M. Proudhon has a long and obscure article in the Peuple, which he concludes as follows France has now pronounced, and Louis Napoleon has received such a majority that at this moment he is the head of the government. Universal suffra~e has chosen him president of the republic; we have reason to say that the hand of God has shown itself in this election. A few days back it was feared that the National Assembly would be called on to choose the president, and to pronounce against the relative majority in favor of its own sympathies; that danger no longer exists; the majority will be so ituposing that the character will have only to en- re0, ister the will of the country. Already there has taken place in the Assembly a movement, which has escaped no ones notice. The persons who used to surround the ministerial benches are falling off, the majority is taking another direction ; an African breeze had bent it in one direction, a breeze from the north now bends it in another; the will of uni- versal suffrage will be respected. The votes al- ready known in Paris give Louis Bonaparte an immense majority. The most of the socialist work- men who were to vote for Raspail or Ledro-Rollin voted for Napoleon through pure horror of the name of Cavaignac. The people, following its sen- timents, in place of reasoning, lent their support to the other party. It ha~ given us the secret of pop- ularityto excite hatred or love opportunely is in France the whole system of politics. Thus, the question, simple as it was, has become complex. With Cavainnac, the capital found itself as Louis Philippe with Guizot, undefended; in less than four years we should have had the better of it. On the contrary, with Louis Bonaparte elected, we are thrown back to the regions of the unknown, we re- turn to the Fr-ink kings raised on the shields of their men-at-arms. Certainly we were consistent when, in inviting our friends to group themselves round the name of Raspail, we offered up our prayers in sheer despair of success for Cavaignac. But it must be admitted, if reason was for us, success is far from responding to our effi)rts. On one side, the popular masses, urged back by the monarchical instinct towards imperial fetichism, mingle together under the colors of Napoleon, and we do no longer know on whom or on what we can still reckon; on the other, capital, by the judges of Cavaignac, strikes us in our existence; liberty of speaking is refused to us at the court of assizes, imprisonment and fine are pronounced against us; and, in addi- tion to all that, there remains for us calumny. Be- cause we wanted to force fate a little for a long time, still will it be said of us that we are the cour- tiers of Napoleon, the creatures of Cavaignac. 0 crudulous mortals! 0 populations always chil~- dren! 0 (lernagogues always calumnious! From the Paris journat Revolution Democratique. Can it be supposed that the position of the nephew of the great man will be very easy and tranquill His majority is composed of heterogeneous elements, ready to become enemies the day after the victory. The lenitimists will return to their idol, and will employ all the means in their power to pull down the puppet which they contributed to raise and fix upon the parade shield of the day. The partisans of the regency will not relinquish their preference. unless the new president dispenses largely amongst them the favors and places at his disposal. Now, it is very evident that this unfortunate Bonaparte will find it impossible to hold firm against the shower of his own promises by which he will be assailed; three quarters, at least, of the engage- ments contracted in the interest of his election can- not be satisfied. lie will, therefore, have against him, without reckoning the legitimists and the regentists, all those whose hopes have been disap- pointed. And the people who, in their ardent love and ad- miration of a name, think to find in Bonaparte th. 142 EASTMANS POEMS. reduction of taxes and the resumption of work and hy its energy, which attributes the failure of the employment, will they be long in discovering the republic to its moderation, which broods over the (leception? Can it be supposed that they will re- sanguinary traditions of 94, and which threatens to main faithful to the delusion which urges them on solve these difficulties after its own terrible fashion, to-day in favor of the heir of Napoleon, when they by proscription and death. In short, whilst the will see their condition by no means improved? principal guarantees of social order are suspended, Evidently not. Besides, we must consider, that shaken or divided, the ancient and malignant pha- amongst the workmen who have voted for Bona- laux of the French revolution, in all its terrors is parte, there are many xvho have only voted in ha- compact, desperate, and resolved. Whatever the tred of Cavaignac, and under the persuasion that government of France may be, there lies its great- the success of their candidate would shortly lead to est and most immediate danger; and in its resist- the downfall of the imperial conspiracy. ance to those enemies of maukind it will command What will then remain for Bonaparte? The the complete support of the friends of order in all support of the peasantry in the provincesa sup- countries. The most fatal blow to General Cavaig- port devoid of moral and intellectual authority and nac was the mere suspicion that he had been im- real force. And they, the peasants, will they for- plicated in the imprudeut proposal to confer na- give the continuation of the taxes which ruins them. tional rewards on those assassins and plunderers and the necessary unwillingness to deliver them ~vho were the heroes and martyrs of the modern from the usury which impoverishes them. Now, Jacobins. But under all these vicissitudes that if we look to the democratic socialist party, we be- party of anarchy subsists; and crc long we shall hold a compact, intelligent body, full of confidence, probably learn that another desperate attempt has full of faith and devotion in the future success of been made to recover the influence which it lost in their cause, and also impressed with the necessity June, and which this election seems likely to place of union. Moreover, the foreign and floancial af- altogether beyond its reach, unless it can he recov-. fairs of the country will throw great impediments ered, where it arose, on the barricades of Paris. in Bonapartes way; also, the evil designs of his ___________ ________ friends of to-day, who will be his adversaries of the morrowin fine, he will he obliged to submit to the fatal influence of his counsellors and advisers, Thiers & CoHow will he ever be able to main- tain his ground against so many causes of weak- ness? The sorry arid pitiful hero of Smrasbourg and of Boulo~ne will not assuredly be able to ac- complish what Napoleon, with all his glory, power and transcendent genius, could not accomplish what the restoration, supported by all the monar- chies of Europe and the sympathies of the aristocracy oould not achieve; what Louis Philippe, with all his machiavelian skill and craft, could not effect. In future, no individual will be able to stop this progressive impulsion, whose march propels the people onward to happiness and an improved condi- tion by liberty and equality. From the London Ttmes. FRENCH ELECTIONS. THE principle of the election is unquestionably monarchical, and the struggle which is just ended lay between the doctrines or the symbols of mon- archy and republicanism; but if that abstract point be determined, at least by a majority of votes, the personal claims of the various pretenders are as di- ainetrically opposed to each other as ever, and the partisans of the Bonapartes, of Henry V., and the Orleans dynasty are destined to wage among them- selves a protracted and uncertain contest. For a time the great question of republic or no republic may swallow up all others; but the decision which condemns the existing institutions and lead- ers of the state calls into existence a host of pre- tenders and an array of fierce passions. Every- thing is possible, if the republic be impossible; and in the depths of the great cities and centres of population it must not be forgotten that a party cx- ~sts, formidable in its numbers, and more formidable From the Booton Post. Poems by CHARLES G. EASTMAN. Montpelier: Eastman & Danforth. THIS prettily printed volume comes in a busy time, when messages, and congresses, and steam- ers, and other little matters, have constlmed all newspaper space, and have put us a week behind- hand. Nothing but stern necessity could excuse our not giving a first-rate notice to some of the sweetest ~)oetry ever written in this country. Some of Mr. Eastmans productions are as well known as hoilsehold words. The Picture and The Paupers Burial, in particular, have been repeatedly copied into almost all the newspapers in America. And there are many other poems which will he heartily welcomed by the reader as old acquaintance, albeit he may not know them as well by name as the others we have mentioned. The beneral characteristics of verse before us are smoothness, delicacy, simplicity and directness. It has unpretending originality of thought and treat- ment, adorned with considerable fancy. And it is pleasant, in these days of vagary, to sce a writer of Eastmans ability and reputation holding fast to the old and true landmarks of art and taste. His fun, pathos, delicacy, sincerity and patriotism, are those of reality, intelligibly con- ceived and simply expressed. Some of Ilis songs have the genuine smack of the olden time. Mary of the Glen, Lily, Bring me a cup, and Tue Blind Be~gar, are, perhaps, the best things in the book, with the exception of The Picture, which is to us as beautiful a poem in its way as anything ever produced. Thank the stars, Eastman is no follower of anybody but nature, no imitator of Jenny~on, Longfellow or any other of the hi~h mightinesses in the present fashionable school of poetry. 14~ CONTENTS OF No. 244. Christian Rernembrcrtcer, Newspaper Paragraph, Chambers Jonrnul, a C C 1. Daubeny on Volcanoes, - - 97 2. Manual Dexterity in Manufactures, - - - 118 3. The Waxen Head, - - - 119 4. Schoolboy Days, - - - 121 5. A Monster Unveiled, - - - 127 6. Doing and Dreaming, - - - 129 CC 7. Natural Law of Cleanliness, a - - - 130 8. Bernard Palissy, C~ - - 134 9. Via Doloroso, Journal of 6o,nmerce, - - - 135 10. Liberia, Colonization Herald, - - - 135 11. Human Progress, Chranatype, - - - - 136 12. Enropean Correspondence Of the Living A0e, - - - 137 Sn oa~ AaTIcLEs. Speaking Trumpet, 128. A Lady Freemason Voice of the Tench, 133.French Elections Poems, by C. G. Eastman, 143. ~RosPEcTUs.Trtis work is conducted in tne spirit a ~ittells Museum of Foreign Literature, (which wa~ favor- ably received by the public for twenty years,) but as it is twice as large, and appears so often, we not only give spirit and freshness to it by many things which were ex- cluded by a months delay, but while thus extending our scope arid gathering a greater and more attractive variety, are able. so to irscrease the solid and substantial part of our literary, historical, and political harvest, as fully to satisfy the wants of the American reader. 1he elaborate and stately Essays of the Edinburgh, Quarterly, and other Reviews; and Blackwoods noble criticisms on Poetry, his keen political Commentaries, highly wrought Tales, and vivid descriptions of rtrral and mountain Scenery; and the contributions to Literniure, History, arid Common Life, by the sagacious Spectator, the sparkling Examiner, the judicious Athenausns, the busy and industrious Literary Gazette, the sensible and comprehensive Britannia, the sober and respectable Chris- tian Observer; these are intermixed with the Military and Naval reminiscences of toe United Service, nod with the best articles of the Dublin University, New Monthly, Frasers, Tails, Ainsworths, Hoods, and Sporting Mag- azines, and of Chambers admirable Journal. We do not consider it beneath our dignity to borrow wit and wisdom from Punch; and, when we think it good enough, make use of the thunder of The Times. We shall increase our variety by importations from the continent of Europe, and from the new growth of the British colonies. The steamship has brought Europe, Asia, and Africa, into our neighborhood ; and will greatly omultiply our con- nections, as Merchants, Travellers, and Politicians, with all parts of the world; so that much more than ever it now becomes every intelligent American to be nntorm~r of the condition and conirges of foreign countries. And this not only because ol their nearer connection with onr- selves, but because the nations seem to be hastening, through a rnpid process of change, to some new state ol things, which tire merely political prophet cannot compute or loresee. Geo~raphical Discoveries, the progress of Colonization, (which is extending over the whole world,) and Voyages and Travels, will be favorite matter for our selections and, in general, we shall systematically and very ull~ acquaint our readers with the great department of Foreign affairs, without entirely neglecting our owi,. While we aspire to make the Living Age desirable to all ~vho wish to keep themselves inforored of the rnspid progress of the movementto Statesmen, Divines, Law~ y ers, and Physiciansto men of business and men of leisureit is still a stronger object to make it attractive and useful to their Wives and Children. We believe that we can thus do some good in our day and generation; and Isope to make the work indispensahle in every well-in- formed family. We say indispensable, because in this day of cheap literature it is not possible to guard against the influx of what is had in taste and vicious in morals, in any other way than try furnishing a sufficient supply of a healthy ciraYncter. The mental and moral appetite must be gratilied. We hope that, by winisowing the wheat from the chaff, try providing abundant!y for the imriaginasion, and try a lar,,e collection of Biography, Voyages arid Iravels, History, and more solid matter, we may produce a work which shall be popular, while at the same time it will aspire to raise the standard of public taste. Tsans.The Livrsse ACE l5 published every Satur- day, by E. LiTTELL & Co., corner of Tremont and Brons- field sts., Boston; Price t2~ cents a number, or six dollars a year in advance. Remittances for any period will Ire thankfully received and promptly attended to. ~j- To insure regularity in mailing the work, orders should be addressed to the o./jice qfpieblication, as above. 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Monthly parts.For such as prefer it in that form, the Living Age is put up in monthly pads, containing four on five weekly numbers. In this shape it shows to great advantage in comparison with other works, containing in each part double the matter of army of the quarterlies. But we recommend the ~veekly numbers, as fresher and fuller of life. Postage on tIne monthly parts is about 14 cents. The volursies are published quarterly, each volume containing as much matter as a quarterly review gives in eighteen months. WAanmntseTo,m, 27 DEc., 1845. OF all the Periodical Journals devoted to literature mind science which abound ins Europe and in this commiry, this has appeared to me to be the most useful. It comitains indeed the exposition only of the current literature of the Eni r~ir Iarrgrs~e, hut this by its immense exteirt arid comprehension includes a portraiture of the human mind in the mmtm,nt exp:ursionm of the present are. J. t4. ADAMS,

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The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 245 Littell's living age Every Saturday; a journal of choice reading Eclectic magazine The Living age co. inc. etc. New York etc. January 27, 1849 0020 245
The Living age ... / Volume 20, Issue 245 145-192

LITTELLS LIVING AGENo. 245.27 JANUARY, 1849. From the English Review. The Protestant Reformation in France; or, The History of the Hugonots, by the Author of Fath- er Darcy, Ernilia Wyndham, Old IlTens Tales, 4~e. 2 vols. Bentley. 1847. The History of the Popes n the Sixteenth and Sev- enteenth Centuries, by LEOPOLD RANKE. Trans- lated from the German by WALTER KEATING KELLY, Esq., B. A., of Trinity College, Dublin. 1 vol. Whittker & Co. Tit sixteenth century may be considered as the opening of modern improvement in religion, government, and civilization ; three hundred years ago, the greLt states of the world presented a very different picture from what we see at present; but the seed sown by the invention of printing, and the diffusion of knowledge, was even then begin- ning to show itself as a vigorous plant, from which future centuries were to reap the maturer fruits. Our object in considering the works before us, is to examine the state of religion in France at the period, and from a short view of the prominent characters, to inquire into the reasons why France rejected those truths, which England and other nations eagerly received. During the middle and end of the sixteenth century, the two greatest countries of the world were governed by womenEngland by Queen Elizabeth, and France by Catherine de Medicis; their reigns commenced about the same period, if we date Catherines accession from the death of her husband Henry II. in 1559, and consider her as the real ruler of the kingdom during the lives of her unfortunate sons, Francis II., Charles IX., and Henry III. The history before us includes only the reigns of tile two former of these princes, from 1559 to 1574, a period when events were crowded into a space almost incredibly small ; a violent persecution, three civil wars, several sieges, murders of the chiefs on both sides, and the toas- sacre of St. Bartholomew, succeeded each other with frightful rapidity. France became the arena on which the worlds great contending parties tried their strength ; liberty of conscience struggled for existence against papal tyranny and the super- stition of ages, and the Hugonots, after severe trials and several victories, were at last driven from the field. In examining the characters presented to our view, the first which deserves our attention is Catherine herself; with as much ambition as Eliz- abeth, and with the same desire of personal au- thority, she fell far short of her great contemporary in the art of acquiring and retaining power. Eliza- beth had a certain object; she was determined to advance the reformation, and to improve England, and by both these means to increase her own power ; she chose her instruments judiciously, ccXLv LIVING AGE. JOt. XX. 10 and as long as her ministers served her purpose, she never betrayed them or consulted their oppo- nents. Catherine, however, was exactly the re- verse ; she had no fixed principle, and no definite object; divide and govern was her motto ; she was like the man in the Gospel, out of whom the evil spirit was departed, empty, swept and gar- nished, and so, ever ready for the occupancy of any power of evil, who should seize upon the first possession. Her love of pleasure was unbounded; she invented side-saddles, to enable her to accom- pany her husband in hunting ; she delighted in tournaments, processions, masquerades, and all the gayeties of a dissipated court. her young ladies, about two hundred in number, called the queens daughters, added much to the splendor of her train, and were a special object of her care; she attended to their education, chastised them if they displeased her, and was extremely strict in repress- ing scandalous conversation or writings. She con- sidered herself a warrior as xvell as a queen; she attended several sieges, and loved to see a battle when the English reinforcements were allowed to enter Rouen, she got into a violent passion, and swore at the French officers, saying, that had she been in command it should not have happened; and that she had the courage, if not the strength, of a man. Though a good French woman, (says Brant~me,) she discouraged duelling. (Brant6me has written largely on duels, and is one of the best authorities on the subject.) For, he adds, when one of my cousins challenged an officer, she sent him to the Bastile ; and suspecting that I was engaged as his second, she sent for me and. reprimanded me severely, saying, that whatever excuse might be made for the folly of a young man, there was none for me, as being older I ought to have been wiser. But with all her physical cour- age, she was evidently deficient in moral courage; and for her cruelty she had not even the pretext of religious enthusiasm; after the battle of Dreux, when the Hugonots were supposed to have gained a victory, her only remark was, Then for the future we must say our prayers in French. The predominant party was of course Roman Catholic; these, represented by the Constable de Moutmorenci, the Duke of Guise, and the Mar6- chal de St. Andr6, who are known as the trium- virate, held possession of Paris and the kings person. As Catherine disliked all authority ex- cept her own, she feared and hated these nobles to check their power she eucouraged the Hugo- nots, at the head of whom were Anthony, King of Navarre, the father of lIenry IV., his brother the Prince of Cond6, and the Admiral Coligny. These generally seetned Catherines favorites, ex- cept when they were in arms against the king 146 THE HISTORY OF THE HLTGONOTS. yet this was the party afterwards massacred by her orders. in order, therefore, to gain a true view of the times, we must consider Catherine as vacillating in her intentions, the creature of those around her, always wishing to advance her own power, but never hesitating to take the advice of the most depraved religionist who should promise her her object, even by the most unworthy means. ]Iaet us recollect that the Roman Catholic Church had not been idle in its opposition to Luther; a vast and irresponsible power had now been cre- ated, ready to espouse the cause of Rome, and bound to advance the spiritual empire of the church by every art, whether lawful or unlawful. Ignatius Loyola had received the sanction of the pope for the incorporation of the Jesuits in 1543. Now the secret influence of their crafty policy, in which the end sanctifies the means, and all things expedient are considered lawful, had already be- gun to exert its influence upon the councils of nations. The Cardinal of Lorraine, brother to the Duke of Guise, had returned from the Council of Trent with a full determination to uphold catholi- cism ; the duke was the first warrior of his day, and though so ignorant that he swore a New Testament could be worth nothing because it was only a year printed, and our Lord died 1500 years ago, yet, as he said himself, he understood the trade of chopping off heads, and that was enough to give him the greatest influence in a barbarous age. With these men, the near relations of Francis II. and his beautiful bride, (the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots,) nothing ~vas more easy than to obtain the ascendant over a weak-minded and deli- cate boy of thirteen. Francis had obtained his legal majority at that age when some children are almost too young for a public school. The dukes habits of business were such, that he seldom corn- manded his officers to do what could be done by himself; he was in the habit of examining the enemys fortifications with his own eyes, attending to the most minute details, and then sitting up during the whole night to write his own despatch- es; one of his officers inquiring for him at the siege of Thornville, was told that he was writing; he replied by cursing his writings, and added, What a pity he was not brought up to be a clerk ! Well, Montluc, said the duke, over- hearing him, do you think I am the right stuff to make a clerk l and then, coming out of his tent, he gave his orders with his customary de- cision and authority. He was killed by Poltrot, an assassin, at the siege of Orleans, in 1563. While the Duke of 9uise was the popes tempo- ral agent, his brother the cardinal was no less useful in spiritual matters; like his brother, he had great talents for business, and was besides an excellent courtier and a fluent speaker. He spared no expense to have the earliest intelligence from all parts of Christendom; and thus, by his paid agents, he enacted the part which Eug~ne Sue attributes to the superior of the Jesuits; he organ- iced a sort of spiritual police, who could inform bim of the secret intentions, as well as the actions of men and of course, as a cardinal, he was bound to wield this power in the service of the pope. Though learned, eloquent, and polite, the cardinal was essentially vicious; he was a perse- cuting bigot, without the excuse of religious zeal. A Roman Catholic writer tells us, that he used his religion chiefly as a means to build up his greatness; he often spoke highly of the confession of Augsburg, and at times almost preached it to please the Germans ; his own party accused him of extreme haughtiness in prosperity; and when he once spoke more graciously than usual to some of the young ladies of the court, one of them replied, flippantly enough, but with some truth, Pray, Monsieur le Cardinal, what reverse of fortune has befallen you that you condescend to speak to us The cardinal, though outwardly a strict mem- ber of the Church of Rome, was equally anxious for the independence of the French Church. At the Council of Trent (says Rankd) he demanded the cup for the laity, the administration of the sacraments in the vulgar tongue, the accompani- ment of the mass with instruction and preaching, and permission to sing psalms in French in full congregation ; besides, in conjunction with the other French bishops, he maintained the authority of a council as above the pope. In these matters, however, he was overruled ; the Spaniards did not concur in his demands, and the Italian bish- ops gave the pope an overwhelming preponder- ance. Lorraine seems to have considered himself bound by the decision of the council, and was all his life a most unrelenting persecutor. Two years before, he had revived a confession of faith which had been used in the reign of Francis I.; he in- duced the king to issue an order that any person who should refuse to sign it should be deprived of all offices, and burnt alive without further trial. He also added a declaration, that all persons who should sign the confession should solemnly engage to pursue all recusants as public criminals, with- out regard to their nearest relations. The chan- cellor was bound to require the signature of the officers of state; the bishops were to present it to the inferior clergy; the curds were obliged to carry it from house to house ; and the queens were enjoined to require the signatures of their respective households. This scheme the cardinal called his rat-trap. Supported by his rank, his connections, his brothers authority, and his own secret intelligence, we can easily imagine how dangerous an opponent the cardinal must have lieen to the Hugonots, and how powerful a rivalry he must have presented to the views and ambition of Catherine de Medicis. The colleagues of the Duke of Guise in the triumvirate were Mousmorenci, generally known as the Constable, and the Mar6chal St. Andr& The former, like the duke, was a warrior, with little idea of religion. He was scrupulously exact in saying his prayers; but, like those of William of Deloraine, they seem to have partaken of the nature of a border foray. His soldiers used to say, The Lord deliver us from the pater-nosters of TIlE HISTORY OF THE HUGONOTS. 147 Monsieur le Conn6table ! He would turn about between his beads, and say, Hang such a one for disobedience ! Burn three villages on yon- der bill ! Let another be run through the pikes ! He was inferior to the Duke of Guise in talent; but by a gravity of manner, and a cer- tain degree of reserve, he could often, like Sol- omons fool, pass for a wise man by holding his tongue. He was killed at the age of seventy- nine, at the battle of St. Denys, where he commanded the kings army; after several successful charges, bis squadron of cavalry was routed by the Prince de Condo, and having received several wounds, he was retiring from the field, when a Scottish ad- venturer, Robert Stewart, levelled his piece, and Montmorenci exclaimed, I am the constable ! Therefore, said Stewart, I present you with this. Though severely wounded, the courageous old man dashed the broken hilt of his sword into the face of his adversary with so much force that he broke several of his teeth, and felled him to the ground. The constables wound proved mortal; a priest was sent for, but the old man told him not to molest him, as it would be a vile and unworthy thing if he had lived for nearly eighty years with- out learning to die for half an hour. This anec- dote proves that zeal for a cause, loyalty to a king, and the desire of military glory, were bis ruling principles, rather than any preference of his own religion above Protestantism, or any mistaken zeal in thinking that be was doing God service by the extirpation of heresy. The constable and the Duke of Guise had long been jealous of each other; each thought himself entitled to be prime minister, and each looked up- on the other as a dangerous rival. After the death of Francis II., the Mar6chal de St. Andr6 under- took to reconcile these differences, and seems to have been admitted to tbe triumvirate as a sort of mediator between the two contending parties. At Easter, 1561, the constable and the duke, by St. Andres advice, partook together of the sacrament, and dined at the same table. St. Andr6 did not long survive his union with these great men, as he was killed the next year at the battle of Dreux; be seems to have had a presentiment of his ap- proaching end on the morning of the battl~, he came to the tent of the Duke of Guise, much de- jected, and seeing the dukes confessor going out, be said, that the duke was much happier than himself in having heard mass that day, as a prep- aration for what might occur. He hated Cath- erine de Medicis, and said, on one occasion, that the best thing he could do for France would be to throw her into the sea itt a sack ; and he might probably have fulfilled his purpose, had it not been for the opposition of the Duke of Guise. The Chancellor de LH3pital was the man of the highest principle and most liberal views among the Roman Catholic party. Braut~me calls him the Cato of his age, and compares him with Sir Thomas More. He upheld the divine right of than any of his fellow ministers; but the sentiments of a single individual, however noble and erilight- ened, were easily overborne by a host of persecut- ing courtiers; and the pope offered Charles 100,000 crowns of church property, if he would only confine the chancellor within four walls. De LH3pital was suspected of being a Hugonot at heart, though he never showed any tendency to their doctrines; and some of the Romanists were heard to say, The Lord deliver us from the chan- cellors mass! At the head of all these various powers, Charles IX. found himself the nominal King of France, at the age of eleven years, ~vith the expectation of obtaining his legal majority at thirteen. Few princes received a worse education in childhood and few kings have ever been called upon to rule a more corrupt court even in the prime of man- hood. His early education was entrusted to Dii Perron, from whom, among other accomplish- ments, he learned to swear outrageously ; not like a gentleman, says Brant6me, who occasion- ally lets fall an oath, btit like a eatchpole, when he seizes his victim. To this habit of profane swearing we may attribute the disregard of solemn engagements, and the tendency to break his faith, which characterized the life of Charles. He was less dissipated and more inclined to manly amuse- ments than might have been expected from his circumstances ; but his temper was violent, and he was easily led by his mother and her associates; he ought to be considered rather as the instrument of a party, than their leader; and as he only lived to the age of twenty-five, we cannot suppose that his au- thority was much felt, or that he is the person really responsible for the atrocities committed in his name. While the destinies of France seemed to fluctu- ate between the two contending parties, a foreigner appeared upon the scene, who was the real mover of the greatest enormities, and the evil genius of Catherine ; we mean the Dtmke of Alva. Till long after the death of Francis II., the queen seemed undecided between two opinions; she appeared to balance Cond6 against Guise, and Bexa against Lorraine; both circumstances, in an evil hour for France, brotight her under the influence of the dark, designing, treacherous, and bloodthirsty Spaniard, who seemed, like some brilliant but poisonons ser- pent, to fascinate his victim to the destruction of her principles and the perversion of her conscience. Elizabeth, the daughter of Catherine, had been en- gaged to Don Carlos of Spain, but had afterwards married his father, Philip IJ. The court of France, with Catherine at its head, visited the court of Spain at Bayonne, in the month of June, 1565. Here was a grand opportunity for the dis- play of all the pomp and splendor in which Cath- erine so much deli0hted. The queen travelled from town to town, accompanied by forty or fifty of her young ladies, mounted on beautiful lmaquen~es with splendid trappings. To imagine these scenes, says Brant6me, one must have seen this lovely kings, in its strongest sense, yet made more ad- I troop, one more richly and bravely attired than vances towards toleration and liberty of conscience I another, shining in those magnificent assemblies, THE HISTORY OF THE HTJGONOTS. like stars in the clear azure of heaven; for the queen expected them to appear in full dress, though she herself was attired as a widow, and in silk of the gravest colors; still she was elegant and enchanting, ever appearing the queen of all; she rode with extreme grace, the ladies following with plumes floating in the air, so that Virgil, when he describes Queen iDido going to the chase, has never imagined anything comparable to Queen Catherine and her attendants. This graphic writer minutely describes the beauties of the court, but gives the highest praise to Margaret of Valois, the future queen of Henry IV. The brilliant cavalcade arrived at Bayonne, and was entertained by Elizabeth and the Duke of Alva. The King of Spain was absent, but Alva attended, ostensibly for the purpose of presenting the order of the Golden Fleece to Charles IX., but really with the intention of establishing a secret influence over the mind of Catherine, and with the determination to induce her to renew in France the persecutions of the late reign, and to imitate the cruelty which Philip had countenanced in England, and which he himself afterwards devised and executed in his san- guinary persecution of the Protestants of Holland. The connection of Philip with England has already too well fixed his history in our minds; his object was to exterminate heresy by fire and sword, and to extinguish political and religious liberty in his own dominions and in the rest of the world. Alva was an agent singularly well qualified to carry out the designs of his master; he ~vas barbarously cruel, but cold and dispassionate, not the less dan- ~erous because alike incapable of tenderness or rage ; he seized his victim like some vast machine, and crushed him to pieces with the certainty and coldness of a complicated series of wheels and pul- leys, breaking his limbs with remorseless power, and insensible to his cries and indifferent to hisre- sistance. Living in an age of dissimulation, the Duke of Alva was certainly not a hypocrite ; he openly avowed his belief that no toleration ought to be extended to those who should dissent from the religion of the king; he stated his determina- lion to spare neither age nor sex, and, like some political economists, coolly argued on his right to exterminate as if he were demonstrating an abstract proposition, quite distinct from human rights or the sufferings of mankind. In the midst of feasts, tournaments, processions, dancing parties, and il- luminations, the wily Spaniard managed to spend a certain portion of every night in the apartments of the Queen of Spain. Thither Catherine used to repair to meet him? through a private gallery; and while the rest of the gay party of courtiers were sleeping after the fatigues of a day of pleas- ure, the queen and the duke were consulting upon the best method of governing France. The wily Spaniard laid it down as a principle that two re- ligions cannot co~xist in the same state; that no prirtee could do a more pernicious thing as regarded himself than to permit his people to live according to their consciences; that there are as many re- ~igiorts in the world as there are caprices in the human mind; and that to give them free license is only to open a door to confttsion and treason that religious controversy is only another name for popular insurrection ; and that all indulgence only increases the disorder. The queen, it appears, was averse to sanguinary measures ; she was de- sirous of restoring her subjects to the bosom of the church, but wished to doit by fair means. She spoke of the strength of the principles of the Hti- gonots, admitted the inconvenience of conflicting opinions, but declared her intention of reaching her object by a circuitous route; she said the port was distant and the sea difficult of navigation, she must therefore be satisfied not to steer a straight course; that it is safer to weaken the opposing power by de- grees, than to attempt to stifle a flame too suddenly, as it may then burst out into a violent conflagration. These sentiments it was Alvas business to com- bat. He had received absolution for making war upon the pope, and was of course anxious to givo a compensation for his late sins. The pope had recommended a repetition of the Sicilian vespers, and while the queen was cautious, Alva pressed her to proceed boldly and make away with the chiefs; he said, in the hearing of henry IV., (then a child of eleven years old,) that one salmon was well wortlt a hundred frogs. It seems, then, from the best contemporary authority, which is quoted at large by our author, that the plan of a general massacre was now considered advisable if opportunity should offer; that Alva persuaded the queen, contrary to her better judgment, that de- struction of heretics was both lawful and politic; and that while she herself might have been con- tented with indirect persecution, double taxation, legal restraint, and the occasional execution of a troublesome leader on feigned pretexts, nothing less than final extirpation was sufficient to satisfy the agent of the pope. The young king was not exempt from the temp- tations of the Dtike of Alva; he seems at this meet- ing to have been familiarized with notions from which in his better moments he must have shrunk with horror. The Queen of Navarre, the most zealous Hugonot of her day, perceived the change in Charles during the return of the expedition. It is hard to ascertain that any definite plan was ar- ranged for the destruction of the Hugonots; the massacre of St. Bartholomew must have arisen out of circumstances; but this much seems clear, that the Duke of Alva prepared the minds of Catherine and Charles to betray and murder the most inno- cent portion of their subjects, as soon as a conve- nient opportunity should offer; and having thus broken down the barrier of conscience in the rulers of France, he himself.repaired to Holland, where his fierce persecution of the Protestants has handed down his name to us as one of the most cruel and unrelenting agents of the Church of Rome. Let us now consider the party opposed to the court, the Hugonots, and their leaders. Here we may easily trace one of the great causes of the fail- ure of the cause of Protestantism in France. The whole history presents us with a narrative of a 148 149 THE HISTORY OF THE HUGONOTS. political scheme rather than a religious movement. We believe true religion was never yet propagated by the sword. The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, though they are mighty. God has appointed a way in which his cause is to be ad- vanced, and that way he will bless, and no other. The Hugonots certainly fought for liberty; they only drew the sword when they were attacked; hut there seems a sad want of religious zeal even among those in whom we ought the most to expect it. The reformation in England was strictly reli- gious; Cranmer, Latimer, Ridley, Hall, Davenant, and a host of writers and preachers, laid hold first on the intellects and then on the feelings of the nation. John Knox, like Luther, ~vas a zealot of the most ardent class, sometimes intemperate, hut always sincere. We look in vain for such men among the French Hugonots. Religionby the word we mean a conscientious desire of serving God according to his willhas always been the prime moving cause of every great change in Eng- land. Oliver Cromwell was a zealot; if he was not, his party thought him so, and followed his orders because they felt anxiety in the same cause. James II. lost his crown because he interfered with the religion of England, represented by the seven bishops. Radicals, chartists, and various disturb- ers, have in all periods endeavored to overturn our institutions; but the strength of the people has always been attached to Protestantism and the established church, because they consider them the proper means of serving God. Nothing, therefore, has ever shaken the throne of England but a reli- gious movement, and to be religious a movement must depend upon its leaders; we may fairly form a conjecture as to the character of any class of men from the persons whom they obey, and whom they put forward as their spokesmen when liberty and life are at stake. here, as in the present day, France presents a strong contrast with England; there seems a strange want of all religion among the people, the power of God seems to be forgotten, his name is never mentioned, and last Easter Sun- day was fixed for a general election. We regret that even among the martyrs of the sixteenth cen- tury, there is a great deficiency in evangelical prin- ciples and virtue. Let us consider the character of some of the leading Hugonots. The first, in point of rank, as first prince of the blood, is Anthony of Navarre. His wife, Jeanne DA.lbret, tvas well fitted, as far as a woman can be, to take the lead in a religious war. Her letters all express zeal for God, and devotion to the cause of P rotestantism; and to her early care may be traced the formation of the character of her cele-- brated son, Henry IV As long, however, as her husband lived, her powers seem to have been shackled, and her influence lost. minds, did more to ruin France than all the loftier errors of the rest united ; so true is it, that states and families may perish as surely, through the timidity, meanness, and want of spirit in their leaders, as through the greatest excesses of ill- directed energyVol. i., p. 81. After lending his name to the Hugonot party, and supporting them by his .ri~ht to approach and advise the king as first prince of the blood, he al-. lowed himself to be drawn into a league with their enemies ; and, in 1562, he is found united with the cardinal and the Duke of Guise, the most powerful and the most insidious of the ene- mies of his party. His wife remonstrated, bu~ he only answered her by sending her home to Navarre, and placing his son under the care of a Roman Catholic. Shortly after, new troubles broke out, and we find the King of Navarre on the side of the Duke of Guise. At the siege of Rouen, in the same year, he was mortally wound- ed, but though he suffered great pain, he was not at first considered in a dangerous state. His amusements at this time were dances, which he gave in his bed-chamber to the young people of the camp; and his mistress, La Belle Rouet, was seated by his side. He continued to boast of all he was to do, and talked much of the riches and, beauty of Sardinia. When the town was taken, he insisted on being carried through it in a litter, which inflamed his wound, and caused serious ap- prehensions of danger. The terrors of conscience now succeeded to the levity of his former occupa- tions, but he does not seem to have known whether he were a Protestant or a Roman Catholic. He began to examine his past life, and, like Cardinal Wolsey, regretted, when too late, that he had sacrificed his religion to the aggrandizement of his kingdom. When his brother, the Prince do Cond6, sent to inquire for him, he returned an an- swer, that, if his life were spared, he should make the establishment of reform his great object. His last hours were spent in the miserable re- morse of a troubled conscience he was attended by two physicians of opposite persuasions ; and a contemporary writer describes him as receiving extreme unction from a priest, and listening to portions of the Book of Job, to which his atten- tion was drawn by a Protestant minister. He seems altogether to have been one of the most contemptible of men; in private his propensity for thieving was so great, that his attendants were obliged to empty his pockets after he was asleep, and restore the plunder of the day to its lawful owners. We turn with pleasure from the contemplation of a character like the King of Navarre, to that of his younger brother, Louis Bourbon, Prince of Cond6. In him were united several of the noble traits which constitute the hero of the worlds ad- Anthony (says our author) is a striking instance miration :a skilful warrior, a generous adver of the evils which arise, when second-rate ability combined with weakness of moral principle and in1 sary, the admiration of the ladies at the court, stability of temper, is elevated to influential situa- the most scientific knight in the tournament, and tions. The vacillations of his selfish fears and the champion of the cause of civil and religious calculations, aided by jealousy, that demon of weak liberty. Who is there that does not admire the 150 THE HISTORY OF THE HUGONOTS. When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To bring repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom, isto die. condnct of the valiant, the liberal, and the accom- the page perceived that his mistress had breathed plished prince? But here, unfortunately, we her last. must stop; we look in vain for the high principle of sound religion, which shines in private aS well as in public, and is ready to sacrifice all personal gratification in the service of God. Cond6 fought in the cause of the Gospel, but he did so rather as a crusader than as a Christian he valued his life little, for he was a truly brave soldier ; but his own pleasures were the rock on which he split ; the temptations of a dissipated court were more dangerous weapons than the swords of his opponents ; and he who could conquer in the field, or take a hostile city, was yet unahle to rule his own spirit, and was foiled in the conflict with his own ill-regulated passions. Catherine, ever ~vatch- ful of her advantage, was too wise to overlook the weak point of the prince, and 500fl set snares for him, which he was unable to escape. Among the daughters of the queen, were two young la- dies of the name of Limenil; to the elder of these, who was distinguished for her fine figure, her taste in dress, her beauty, and her wit, the queen confided the task of gaining the affections of the prince. The husiness was but too easy, for the victim was willing, and, like Samson, only too ready to hetray his dearest secrets to his treacherous charmer. Catherine obtained her ob- ject, and learned the intentions of the Hugonots; but La Belle Limenil discovered too late that she had~ventured on dangerous ground ; that she had been tampering not only with the affections of Cond6, but with her own; and what she had con- sidered as a gay frolic, ended in a melancholy real- ty; she had fallen deeply in love with the knight she had intended to hetray, and she now found herself deserted in her turn, like some unfaithful damsel of romance. The widow of the Mar6chal de St. Andr6 had also set her affections upon the Prince de Cond~ ; she bestowed upon him the most valuable gifts ; among others, the splendid palace of St. Valery, which her husband had built; but Cond6, equally unfaithful to his religion and his knighthood, received the gifts, but deserted the giver. The tragedy, however, does not end here ; the beginning of sin is like the letting out of water ; his excellent wife, ~vho had long shut her eyes to his irregularities, died shortly after, the victim of abused affections; and the Demoiselle de Limeuil found herself pointed at by a censo- rious court, not because she had been guilty of any irregularity, but because she had been fool enough to be caught in her own snare. Her health began to sink, and she retired from the eyes of the world ; she was passionately fond of music, and, on one occasion, she desired her page to play her a melancholy air, where tout est perdu is the burden of the song. When this had been once or twice repcated, she called on him to play it over again, with increased emphasis, until she should desire him to leave off; he did so for some minutes, and she seemed to join in the chorus, hut suddenly her voice ceased, and, on looking round, A man influenced by true religion may fall once and again, but had the character of Cond6 been such as the leader of a religious movement ought to possess, no woman of Catherines discernment would have conceived such a scheme, and the first advances in executing it would have been repelled with scorn. Again we meet with Cond6 under circum- stances where religious principle is tried to the uttermostthe near prospect of death. By the treachery of Francis II., he and his brother An- thony were seixed, and, after a mock trial, were left under sentence of death on a vague charge of treason. The Cardinal of Lorraine was most anxious to have Cond6 executed at once, but his connection with the royal family was pleaded in his behalf, and the vacillating spirit of Catherine was anxious to he free from his influence, but afraid of the power of his rivals: under such un- certainty we might expect some traits of religious feeling; hut the contemporary accounts give us little on the subject. The death of Francis changed the whole face of affairs, and one of Cond~s attendants, who went to communicate the intelligence to him, found him quietly playing at cards with the officer who guarded him; and be- ing afraid to tell him directly, made signs that he had something to communicate. The prince let fall a card, and stooping to pick it up, his at- tendant whispered in his ear, Our friend is done up. The prince finished his game without alter- ing a feature. Much, however, as we must re- gret the want of religious feeling in the prince, we must remember the difference between those times and the present, and make every allowance for the differences of education and the darkness of t.he age. Cond6 was sincere in his attachment to Protestantism, and never wavered in its cause. Sometimes at the head of a victorious army; sometimes a prisoner in the tent of his rival, and meeting him with the courtesy of an old and val- ued friend ; sometimes flying from a superior force, unable to pay his mercenaries, and with equal reason to fear his own troops and the royal army, he displays a degree of heroism which we seldom meet with, except in romance. The Al- cibiades of modern history, fond of pleasure, but faithful to his cause, anxious on the subject of re- ligion, but sometimes inclined to superstition, err- ing in many instances, hut beloved by all around him, his character and adventures give an opening for the historian which modern events seldom THE HISTORY OF THE HIJGONOTS. 151 afford, and we can assure our readers that our author has not neglected the opportunity. We extract a passage from his history. Cond6, who regarded a battle as inevitable, wished to halt and prepare to meet the enemy; hut the admiral, judging, from the excessive reserve that had already been shown, that this movement was intended as a demonstration only, was for pro- ceeding without delay. His advice prevailed, and the dawn of the 19th found the Hugonot army still upon their march. I will relate, says Beza, two things that occurred, which seemed as if sent from God as presages of what was approach- ing; and that I can attest for true, having seen the one with my own eyes, and heard the other with my own ears. The first is that. the prince, cross- ing a little river at Maintenon, (he passed the Main- tenon on the 17th,) where some of the lower orders had assembled to see him go byan aged woman flung herself into the river, which was deep, (the rivukt having been trampled in by the passing of the cavalry,) laid hold of his boot, and said, Go on, prince, you will suffer much, but Cod will be with you. To which he added, Mother, pray for me,~ and went on. The other was, that in the evening, the prince being in bed, and talking with some who had remained in his chamber, held the following dis- course to a minister who had been there, and was reading prayers, (probably Beza himself.) We shall have a hattle to-morrow, said he, or I am much deceived, in spite of what the admiral says. I know one ought not to attend to dreams, and yet I will tell you what I dreamed last night. It was that it seemed to me that I had given battle three times, one after the other; finally obtaining the victoryand that I saw our three enemies dead; but that I also had received my death-wound. So, having ordered their bodies to be laid one upon the other, and I upon the top of all, I there rendered up my soul to God. The minister answered, as usually a sensible man would answer in such cases, that such visions were not to be regarded. Yet strange to say, (adds Beza,) the dream seemed con- firmed by the result. The next day the Mar6chal de St. Andrd was killed, then the Duke of Guise, then the constable, and finally, after the third en- gagement, the prince himself. Reformation, vol. ., p. 400. Again, in 1568, when Lorraine and Alva had first persuaded the Hugonots to lay down their arms, and then proclaimed the decrees of the Council of Trent, Condt~ had retired to his country seat. In the mean time, strange reports had been spread that no Prot.estant ~vould be alive against the vin- tage ; that Charles must either exterminate them, or retire to a monastery; that to keep faith with heretics is a weakness, and to murder them a ser- vice accel)table to God. Several of the adherents of Condd had been slain,some as if by the kings order, some by popular violence. The clubs of Paris had begun to show their power and had de- clared for the pope ; and the first movement was made for the formation of the celebrated ligue. Cond6 naturally began to fear for his personal safety, and while consulting with Coligny on the proper course to be adnpted, Colignys son-in-law arrived, bearing friendly letters from the king, btit advising his relations not to trust the royal prom- ises. The same evening a mysterious note was intercepted, containing these ominous words: The stag is in the toils! the hunt is ready ! and at the dead of night an unknown cavalier gal- loped by the castle, sounding his hunting-born and crying, ~ great stag has broken cover at Noyers. Cond6 acted on these warnings, and es- caped with his brothers family and his own, closely pursued by the kings troops. He crossed the Loire at a ford not commonly known, the prince holding his infant in his arms. Though the river was generally too deep for crossing, yet on this occasion there was no difficulty in passing the ford, until Cond~ and his troop of about 150 per- sons had landed in safety. Immediately, how- ever, as if by a special interposition of Providence, the stream rose above its usual height, foaming and rushing with a sudden torrent, so that the pursuers, who crowded rapidly upon the further bank, saw that they were too late, and their ex- pected prey had escaped from their hands. Cond6 was killed at the battle of Jarnac, after he had surrendered as a prisoner of war; he is supposed to have owed his death to the treachery of the Duke of Anjou, afterwards Henry III. The man of the highest sense of religion, in our acceptation of the word, was the Admiral of France, Gaspard de Coligny. To his influence may be attributed the strictness and sobriety which usually characterized the Protestant army. Games of chance were strictly forbidden ; swear- ing and plundering were severely punished; and the forms of religion steadily observed. I fear, said Coligny to one who complimented him on these subjects, that it will not last longa young hermit is an old devil : the French in- fantry will soon become tired of their virtue, and put the cross into the fire. his predictions were only too true, as the event proved. Coligriy him- self combined the characters of a soldier and a reformer more than any of his contemporaries. Brantdme compares him with the Duke of Guise. He says they were diamonds of the first water, on the superior excellence of which it would be impossible to decide. They had been intimate friends in youth, wearing the sa~ne dresses, taking the same side in the tournaments, joining in the same mischievous pranks, and encouraging each other in extravagant follies. Coligny, however, SOOD grew tired of youthful excesses; he seems to have understood the principle Nec lusisse pudet, sed non incidere ludum, for as a man we never find him drawn into the excesses ofj the court, or imitating his friend Con- d6 in the pursuit of pleasure. His rules for the conduct of his soldiers were adopted even by his enemies; and he was the first who raised the character of a French army, and placed it above the level of a horde of barbarous invaders, whose chief object was plunder, without respect even to their own allies. He attempted to procure for France a just system of representative govern- ment; and he is said, by his influence during the 152 THE HISTORY OF THE HUGONOTS. civil wars, to have preserved the lives and proper- I exterminate all recusants. Some of the more ties of more than a million of persons. His wife, moderate party did not expect to be able to bind Charlotte de Laval, ~vas devoted to the Protestant the opinions of others; these only said that out- cause. She established in his family a system ward conformity to established usage should be of propriety seldom witnessed in the households sufficient; and that no inquiry should be made as of the great. We have a minute tlescription of to religious sentiments, provided only the people Colignys household, the regularity of his hours, should attend mass and confession. The Hugo- his family prayers, and his instruction of his de- nuts themselves never expected equal privileges pendents; but he seems to have stood almost with the dominant party; all they asked was, leave alone few in that age could appreciate his virtues; to have their own churches, and administer the and though his influence over the Prince de Condd sacraments; and they even proposed that they was exerted for g(Jod, yet he was but one among should pay double taxes as a test of their sincerity. a multitude, and his salutary influence was often These reasonable demands were frequently prom- overborne by the evils incident to a civil war. ised, but the promises were broken as soon as the This great man survived the other leaders of his Hugonots had laid down their arms. party, and was the first victim of the massacre of Persecution, burning heretics by legal warrant, St. Bartholomew. were as common as in England during the reign Another reason why intelligence and Protes- of Bloody Mary; but France went a Jep further tantism made little progress was the ignorance of than England, and often murdered the recusants the times. We do not speak so much of the without the shadow or pretence of law. We great body of the people, as of those who may be can scarcely imagine, even from the worst por- supposed to have received the best education. tions of the history of England, that a nobleman When the Duke of Guise was wounded by an of high rank, like the Duke of Guise, should set assassin, during the siege of Orleans, the surgeons @ut on a progress to his country seat, and sud4enly at first augored favorably of his recovery, but they massacre a whole congregation of men, women, evidently killed him by their noskilful treatment and children, while on his journey. Yet this first, they widened and cauterized with a hot silver took place at Vassy, on Sunday morning, the first instrument, to destroy the effects of the poison of March, 1562. The duke declared that it was which they imagined to be in the powder and done against his will, and in consequence of an bullets. They were astonished to find that the insult offered by the Hugonots to some of his bullet had made a larger hole at its exit than at followers; but whatever be the cause, the melan- its entrance, and therefore agreed to open the choly effects were undeniable. The massacre of wound again in order to look for it, though the Vassy was the signal for similar excesses through- age of the moon pointed out the day as unfavor- out the kingdom; priests were seen pointing out able. They then, with their fingers, examined their victims to the soldiers, lest any should es- both sides of the wound, and found all safe and cape; and though the duke asked pardon on his sound: not satisfied with the progress which death-bed for being the cause of so much blood- nature was making, they made another opening shed, yet, Brant3me tells us, that while he solemn- across the wound, and passed a piece of linen ly denied having done it intentionally, he at the through it, by way of a seton, to keep it open; same time made liht of the matter. It was and though this was on the fourth day of the asserted by the Hugonots, in their petition to the moon, the duke was better though his fever in- king, that 3000 lives had been lost at Vassy, and creased. Some of his friends wanted him to try by the excesses which followed. the effect of enchantmentswe confess we should The Duke of Guise was not the only royalist have preferred them to Ihe treatment of his sur- who made light of human life : Montluc, one of geonsbut the duke refused them as unlawfdl the kings generals, coolly tells us, that there means, and declared that he should prefer death is no such thing as a prisoner in a civil ~var: I to the prospect of life by remedies forbidden by therefore hung up the carrions as soon as I took God. When we consider the ignorance of one them: everybody knew where I passed, as the learned profession, and recollect that it had become trees were everywhere hung with my colors. At a proverb to say, As ignorant as a priest, we Monsegur, I took eighty or a hundred soldiers, cannot much wonder at the darkness of the people; and went round the walls and made them leap and we cannot feel much surprised that they should down ; they were dead before they came to the be led into excesses 4y time advice of a cruel bottom. At Pamiers, forty women were killed nobility and an ambitious priesthood, at once, which made me very angry, as soldiers Great allowance must be made for the differ- ought not to kill women ; hut several bad boys ences of the age from ours; and we must remem- came in my way, who served to fill up the wells her that until the works of John Locke, toleration, in the castle. A letter is still extant from Pope in our sense of the word, was never understood. Pius IV. to this noble and well-beloved son of the Uniformity of opinion was the grand object; the church, congratulating him on the gifts of Heaven, Council of Trent met for the purpose of settling commending him for his virtuous and honorable what men ought to believe, with the full expec- deeds, and assuring him of the eternal favor of tation of being able to persuade them that it was God whose cause he had so triumphantly de- their duty to do so, and a full determination to I fended. TEE HISTORY OF THE IItJGONOTS. Reprisals are the natural consequence of oppres- sion; and the Hugonots, though slow to take up arms, were well skilled in their use; and in one single instance were equally cruel with their op- ponents. The Baron DAdrets was the only Protestant who imitated the barbarity of his ene- mies after plunderin~ several convents, and laying waste the country around, he took the tower of Maugiron; and, by way of amusement after din- ner, he compelled the garrison to leap from the battlements. One of his victims ran forward three times to the fatal leap, but paused upon the brink. The baron reproached him with cowardice ; but the man replied, My lord, brave as you are, I will give you ten trials. For this answer the baron spared his life. With these characters and facts before us, we are led to th~ painful conclusion, that there was little religion on either side; but we cannot forget that we have no acts and monuments of the martyrs of France. The historians seem to have thought little of the feelings which prompted men to sacrifice their lives for conscience sake ; and we certainly miss honest John Fox and his wri- tings: perhaps had such a man been found to record the sentiments and virtues of the Hugonot martyrs, they might have been considered equal to some of his English heroes Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona Multi; sed omnes illacrymahiles Urrrentur, ignotique longa Nocte, carent qnia vate sacro. Kings were supposed to be absolute, but woe to the land where the king is a child and the princes eat in the morning ; he who could secure the person of the king and get his signature to his warrants, bad the power of life and death in his hands ; the court was bent on pleasure; excite- ment was the grand object, and Catherines motto was Keep the ball rolling. The parliament was a mere court for the registry of royal edicts; and the only influence they ever exerted was to reject some of the proclamations in favor of tolera- tion, which Charles IX. had been induced to grat it. The interest of the reigns of Francis and Charles is fully sustained up to the final catastrophe of 1572. It is only fair to the author to allow the history to speak for itself, and we wish we had room to extract the whole chapter; our limits, however, will only admit of a short portion. Queen Margaret (the hride of Henry IV.) will supply a picture of what was passing in the queens private circle, during this terrible evening. I knew nothing of all this, says she; I saw every one in agitation. The Hugonots in despair at the wound (Coligny had been wounded some days before;) the Guises, having been threatened that justice would be had for it, whispering in each others ears. I xvas suspected by the Hugonots of being a Catholic, by the Catholics as being married to the King of Navarre; so that no one told me anything until the evening, when, being at the toilet of the queen toy mother, and sitting near my sister of Lorraine, who I saw was very sorrowful, the queen my mother saw me, and told me to go to bed. As I made my courtesy, my sister took me by the arm, andstopping me began to weep, saying, Sister, do not go. This frightened me excessively, which the queen perceived, and calling very angrily to my sister. forbade her to tell me anything. My sis- ter said it was too shocking to send me to be sac- rificed in that manner; for doubtless if anything were discovered, imrtiediate revenge would be had upon me. The queen answered, unless it were the will of Cod, no harm could happen to me; but, be that as it might, I must go, lest they should suspect something. They continued to dispute, but I could not hear their words. At length she told me very roughly to go to bed, and my sister bursting into teats bade me good night, not daring to say more. As for me, I went away shivering and trembling, unable to imagine what was to be feared. As soon as I was in niy closet, I began to pray God that he would be pleased to protect and guard me, not knowing from whom or a~ainst what. The king, my husband, who was already in bed, called to me; I came and found the bed surrounded by about thirty or forty Hugonot gentlemen, whom I scarcely knew, being 50 lately married. All night they did nothing but talk of the admirals accident; and resolve that in the mornincr they would demand justice of the king on M. de Guise, and failing him, (ho it for themselves. I, who had my sisters tears still upon my heart, could not sleep, and so the night passed. At the point of day the king rose, saying he would go and play tennis till Charles awoke ; resolving then to demand justice. He quitted the room, his gentlemen with him; I begged the nurse to shut the door, and fell asleep. It was midnight that Catherine, fearing the reso- lution of her son might still fail, came down to the kings apartment, to watch over him till the too- meut for execution should arrive. She found there the Duke dAnjou, the Duke de Nevers, IDe Ritz, and Biraque, who were all uniting their efforts to encourage Charles and maintain him in his resolu- tion ; but their words were vain. As the moment approached, horror took possession of the king; cold damps stood upon his brow, and a troubled fever agitated his frame. The queen endeavored to arouse him by every means in her power, en- deavoring, by arts she too well understood, to irri- tate once more his fiercer passions, and silence the remorseful and relenting feehin ~. s of naturestriving with her usual wicked sophistry to color crime by a pretence of justice and necessity. She asked him (says DAubignd) whether it were not best at once to tear corrupted members from the bosom of the Church, the blessed spouse of our Lord; and re- peated, after a celebrated Italian divine, that abomi- nable sentiment, so often and so easily perverted, That in their case mercy was cruelty, and cruelty was mercy. She again represented the critical nature of his affairs, and how bitterly he would repent if he suf- fered the present opportunity to escape him; thus striving to stifle that cry of outraged conscience ~vhich, in spite of all her efforts, would make itself heard in the bosom of her wretched son. At last she succeeded in dragging the fatal order from his lips. The moment it was obtained she was impa- tient to begin. It wanted an hour and a half of day-break, when the pppointed signal was to be given upon the tocsin of tIme Hall of Justice. But the interval appeared too long for her fears; and as the distance to the Palais de Justice was considera- ble, she commanded the tocsin of St. Germain de 1~3 154 THE HISTORY OF THE HIJGONOTS. lAuxerrois, which is close upon the Louvre, to be sounded in its place, and the dreadful alarum to be given without loss of time. This order being issued, a pause of perfect si- lence ensuedarid then those three guilty creatures, the queen and her two miserable sons, crept to a small closet over the gate of the Louvre, and open- ing a window, looked uneasily out into the night. But all was silent as the grave. Suddenly a pistol shot was heard. I know not from whence, says the Duke of Anjou, for it is his account which I am following,) nor if it wounded any one; but this I know, that the shot struck us all three in such a manner that it paralyzed our sense and judg- ment. Seized at once with terror and apprehension at the idea of those great disorders about to be com- mitted, we sent down a gentleman in much haste to tell the Duke of Guise to proceed no further against the admiral, which would have prevented all that followed. But the order came too late. Guise was already gone. It was still dark, for the morning had not yet dawned, when through the awful stillness of that fearful night the tocsin of St. Germains was heard sounding. Through streets lighted by flambeaux, which now appeared in every window, and through crowds of people gathering on every side, the Dukes of Guise and Nevers, with the Chevalier dAngoul~me, and their suite, made their way to the hotel of the admiral, with whose murder the general slaughter was to begin. Coligny, reposing in peace on the good faith of his master, was quietly resting in his bed ; and having dismissed Guerchi and Teligny, who lin- gered long after the rest of the Hugonot gentlemen had retired, was attended only by Cornaton and Labonne, two of his g~n~lemen, Yolet his squire, Mulin his religious minister, his German inter- preter, and Ambrose Pard, who was still in the house. His ordinary domestic servants were, how- ever, in waiting in the ante-chamber. Outside the street-door of his hotel, Cosseins, (his enemy, and a creature of Catherine, sent ostensiby for his pro- tection,) with fifty arquebusiers, was posted, and within were five Swiss guards belonging to the Kiiig of Navarre. As soon as the Duke of Guise, followed by his company, appeared, Cosseins knocked at the outer door which opened into the hall where the Swiss were placed, and saying one was come from the king who wanted to speak to the admiral, demanded admittance. Sonic persons who were in waiting, upon this went up to Labonne who kept the keys, and who came down into the court, and hearing the voice of Cosseins, uiidid the lock immediately. But at the nioment that the door opened the unfortunate geiitleman fell covered with blood, poignarded by Cosseins, as he rushed in followed by his arqtiebusiers. The Swiss guards prepared to defend themselves; but when they saw the tumult headed by the very man who had stood guard before the door, they lost courage, and re- treating behind another which led to the stairs, shut and bolted it, but tl~e arquebosiers fired through it, and one of the Swiss guards fell. The noise below awakened Cornaton, who springing up ran down to inquire the cause of this disturbance. I-fe found the hall filled with soldiers, with Cosseins crying out to open the inner door in the kings name. Seeing no means to escape, he resolved at least to defend the house as long as he could, and began barricading the door with boxes, benchesr and anything that caine to hand. This done, he ran up to the admiral. He found him already risen, and in his dressing gown, standing leaning against the wall and engaged in prayer. Still unsuspicious of the real truth, and itnagining the populace,headed by the Guises, were endeavoring to force the house, he relied upon Cosseins for protection. Merlin, who lay in the sanie chamber, had risen with him on the first alarm. Cornaton entering in the greatest terror, Cohigny asked what all this noise was about? My lord, said Cornaton, it is God who calls youthe hall is carried; we have no means of resistance. The eyes of Coligny were suddenly opened, and he be- gan to understand the treachery of the king; but the terrible conviction could not shake his com- posure; he preserved his usual calmness, and said, I have long been prepared to die; but for you, all of you, save yourselves if it be possible; you can be of no assistance to me. I recommend my soul to the mercy of God. Upon this, those who were in the room, all except one faithful servant, Nicholas Moss, his German interpreter, ran u~ to the gar- rets, and finding a window in the roof, endeavored to escape over the tops of the neighboring houses; but they were fired at from below and the most part killed, Merlin and Cornaton with two others only surviving. In the mean time, Cosseins having broken the inner door, sent in some Swiss of the Duke of Anjons guard (known by their uniform black, white, and green;) these passed the Swiss upon the stairs without molesting them, but Cos- seins rushii~g in after, armed in his cuirass, and with his naked sword in his hand, followed by his arque- busiers, massacred them all, and then hurrying up stairs forced open the door of the admirals room. Besme, a page of the Duke of Guise, a man of Picardy, named Sarlaboux, and a few others, rushed in. They found Coligny seated in an arm chair, regarding them with the composed and resolute air of one who had nothing to fear. Besme rushed forward with his sword raised in his hand, crying omit, Are you the admiral? I am, replied Coligny, looking calnihy at the sword. Young man, you ought to respect my grey hairs and in- firniitiesyet you cannot shorten my life. For answer Besme drove his sword to thehilt in the admirals bosom ; then he struck him over the head and across the facethe other assassins fell upon him, and covered with wounds, he sooii lay man- gled and dead at their feet. DAubignd adds, that at the first blow Cohigny cried out, If it had been but at the hands of a man of honor, and not from this varlet ! The above circumstances were related afterwards by Attin Sarlaboux, who has been mentioned as one of the niurderers, but who was so struck with the intrepidity displayed by this great captain, that he could never afterwards speak of the scene but in terms of admiration, saying, he had never seen a man meet death with such constancy and firm- ness. The Duke of Guise, and the rest who had penetrated into the court, stood under the window of the admirals chamber, Guise crying out, Bes-. me, have you done? It is over, answered he from above; the Chevalier dAngoul~me called out, Here is Guise will not believe it, unless he sees it with his own eyes. Throw him out of the window. Then Besme and Sarlaboux, with some difficulty, lifted up the gashed and bleedin,, hody, and flung it down; the face being so covered with blood that it could not be recognized. The Duke de Guise stood down, and wiping it with his hand- kerchief, this man (whom Hume has not hesitated to call as magnanimous as his father) cried out, I know him ; and giving a kick to the poor dead TIlE HISTORY OF TIlE HIJGONOTS. body of him whom living every man in France had feared, Lie there, said he, poisonous serpent, thou shalt shed thy venom no more. The head was afterwards severed from the body and carried to the queen with a large sack full of papers found in pillaging the house. The poor miserable trunk was exposed to all the insults which the terrific violence of an infuriated and fanatical mob can lav- ish upon the objects of its detestation. Mutilated, half-burned, dragged through the dirt and mire, kicked, beaten, and trampled on by the very chil- dren in the street, it was lastly hung by the heels upon a common gibbet at Montfaucon. Such was the fate of that honest patriot and true Christian, Gaspard de Coligny. The murder completed, the Duke of Guise sal- lied forth from the gate, followed by all the rest, crying out, Courage, soldiers! we have begun well ; now for the others. For the king! It is the will of the king; the kings express command ! At that moment, the tocsin of the palace of justice began to sound, and then a loud and terrible cry arose, Down with the Hugonots ! and the rnas- sacre in all its horrors began. Dreadful was the scene that ensued. The air resounded with the most hideous noises; the loud huzzas of the assailants as they rushed to the slaughter; the cries and screams of the murdered; the crashing of breaking doors and windows; the streets streaming with blood ; men, women, and children flying in all directions, pursued by the sol- diers and by the populace, who were encouraged to every species of cruelty by their dreadful chiefs Guise, Nevers, Montpensier, and Tavannes, who, hurrying up and down the streets, cried out, Kill! Kill! Blood-letting is good in August! By com- mand of the king! Kill! Kill! Oh, Hugonot! oh, Hugonot! The massacre within the Louvre had already commenced. Some scuffling had early taken place between the guards posted in the courts and neigh- boring streets and the Protestant gentlemen return- ing to their quarters, and the general slaughter of all within the palace speedily followed. I had slept but an hour, continues Margaret, when I was startled by the cries of one striking with hands and knees against the door, and calling loudly, Navarre, Navarre. My nurse ran to it iind opened it, when a gentleman called M. Tejan rushed in, having a sword wound in his elbow, and one from a halbert in his arm, and pursued by four archers; he threw himself upon the bed, from which I sprang, and he after me, catching me in his bloody arms, both of us screaming with terror. At last, by Gods help, M. de Nancay canie in, who, finding me in that situation, could not kelp laughing. He scolded the archers for their indiscretion, and having ordered them out of the room, he granted me the life of the poor man, whom I hid in my cab- inet till lie was cured. While I was changing my night-dress, which was covered with blood, M. de Nancay told me what was going on, assuring me that the king my 1iusband~ was in the kings own apartments, and that he was safe; and throwing a cloak over me, he led me to the chamber of my sis- ter De Lorraine, where I arrived more dead than alive. As I entered the ante-chamber, the doors of which were all open, a gentleman, named According to different historians, from 70,000 to Bourse, flying from the archers who were pursuing 100 000 perished at this time; and Pope Greg- him, received a blow from a halbert and fell dead at my feet. I swooned in the arms of M. de Nancay, ory XIII. ordered thanksgivings for the vic- who thought the same blow had struck both at ~ of the faithful; and a medal was struck to once, and was carried into my sisters room; soon afterwards two gentlemen, M. de Miossons, and DArmagnac, valet to my husband the king, came to entreat me to save their lives; I went and threw myself at the feet of the king and queen, and at last my petition was granted. The above gentlemen were almost the only ones who escaped of the numbers that night within the palace. Flying from room to room, the murderers butchered the Calvinist nobility, gentry and ser- vants, without mercy or distinction ; dragging them from their beds, and flinging their bodies out of the windows. Others, attempting to escape, were pushed into the courts between files of the guards, who struck them down with their halberts as they passed. The stair-cases and galleries were slip- pery with blood and defiled with the mangled bod- ies; and vast heaps of the dead were accumulated under the kings windows, who from time to time came to look out upon this horrid spectacle. As a proof of the barbarous insensibility of those disso- lute, yet beautiful and accomplished women, who formed the chief attraction of Catherines court, it must be related that numbers of them might be seen examining the dead bodies of their acquaint- ances, and amusing themselves with ridiculous re- marks upon the miserable remains.Reforrnation, vol. ii., p. 363. All efforts to stop the slaughter were useless. The demon of popular insurrection is easily sum- moned in aid of political measures , but the power which has conjured is ineffectual to allay it; that hideous population, which exists in the narrow streets and obscure quarters of Paris, and with the characteristic and still existing features of ~vhich some late French writers have made us but too well acquainted; that population grovelling in ob- scure vice and misery till some fearful revolution summons it into action; and which has taken such a tremendous part in every one of those convul- sions with which that city has been visited, was now thoroughly aroused, and had taken the matter into their own hands. In spite of every effort, which was at last in sincerity made by the citizens, soldiers, and superior classes, to restrain them, they raged through the streets and continued their bar- barous slaughters. Seven long days was Paris one scene of pillage, outrage, and cruelty, which would have disgraced a horde of the wildest savages. Brutality was bred of brutality, cruelty grew from cruelty. Four mon- stersTanchou, Pezon, Croiset, and Perierstood for three days in turn at a gate near the river, and taking all that could be found, poignarded them and flung theni into the water with every sort of outrage. Men might be seen stabbing little infants while the innocents smiled in their faces and played with their beards. Even children might be seen slaughtering children younger than themselves. Pierre Ramus, a man of learning, is torn out of his study, thrown out of the window, and his body, all broken and mangled, is dragged along in the mire by the younger scholars, incited to it by his rival, named Charpentier. Lambin, a royal lecturer, and a bigoted Catholic, dies of horror at the sight. vol. ii., p. 373. MICIIELL S RUINS OF MANY LANDS. commemorate the event, with the head of the pope on one side, and a representation of the massacre on the reverse. We have thus endeavored to give a short sketch of the characters which influenced an im- portant crisis in history ; we recommend our read- ers, however, to judge for themselves. The hook suggests many subjects for reflection, and gives many hints for the present time. There is still fierce confusion and civil war, and the foundations of the earth are out of course, and there is still the secret power of Romanism endeavoring to shape all changes to its own purpose, and employ- ing every agent to fulfil the will of the church, and bring all men into subjection to the spiritual power. The pope is shaken as a temporal prince, but as a spiritual power he is the same as ever. The individual pope, like an individual monarch, is often but a uame, while the power resides in the body of his satellites, and is dis- persed throughout the world, with every Roman Catholic priest as its sworn agent. Alva and Lor- raine were only doing the work of the church, and assisting her spiritual authority, when they led Catherine and Charles to believe that the extirpa- tion of heresy was lawful and expedient ; and we believe there are thousands at this moment in the British islands who would use the secular arm to carry out their own ends, if the power of the state were once in their possession. Rankes Lives of the Popes in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, is a work of great research and gives most valuable historical infor- mation. The notes are full, and contain long quotations from contemporary authorities ; but the Reformation in France will be read as a book of amusement; and while the author, by long refer- ences to contemporary writers, increases our infor- mation, and gives us an opportunity to acquire more by consulting the authorities, the style of the narrative is animated and the characters well- sustained. History is improving it is true, but private life and individual character have an inter- est beyond historical detail, and our author has happily combined both. We only hope that the promise in the advertisement may be realized, and that we may soon have a continuation of the his- tory through the reign of Henry IV. to the Rev- ocation of the edict of Nantes. From Chambers Journal. MICHELLS RUINS OF MANY LANDS. WE are the more flsposed to devote a column to this work, that we think the author has hardly received justice from our contemporaries, if the general tone of the poem had been lower, and only risen occasionally into comparative excel- lence, it would have met with more success. The reader would have been more struck with its merits, and all sorts of prognostications would have been hazarded as to the destinies of a writer ex- hibitiug so much capability. As it is, it sets out in a comparativelybut only a comparatively high tone, from which it neither rises nor falls; and therefore is it branded with the stigma of me- diocritya stigma far more fatal in authorship than utter condemnation. But the poem is in reality as much above mediocrity as it is beneath the highest excellence; and the fact of such a flight being equably sustained throughout several thousand verses is indicative of no common power. rhere is here not even the hinted story of Childe Harold. The new Pilgrim floats in imag- inati()n through time and space, looking down upon the footsteps of lost races and the fragments of crumbled empires. Babylon, Nineveb, Egypt, the rock-temples, the cities of ancient America, the ruins of Greece, Italy, Arabia, Syriaall pass in review before him. If the authors mind were philosophical instead of merely sensuous, there would here be the materials for a great poem; but, incapable of the loftiest flights either of thought or of the rouse, he has produced only a series of agreeable pictures. This, however, is no inconsiderable achievement in the present state of the art ; and Mr. Michells work, besides, al- though deficient in grand and large views, is, owing to the subject, always suggestive. It ex- cites a thirst for knowledge even in the most ignorant ; while with the better informed it awak- ens those lofty and lonely associations that remain buried in their bosoms beneath the vi~lgar cares of the world. To show the bent of the authors mind, we give the following recollections called up by a certain spot in Mesopotamia T was here the Hebrew, halting on the plain, Drew up by Harans gate his camel train; The sands, long years, have whelmed that citys pride, But still bursts forth the fountains limpid tide; Yes, by this well perchance Rebecca stood, Her evening task to draw the crystal flood Vision of beauty! fancy sees her now, Her downcast eyes, and half-veiled modest brow, Her louse-twined girdle, and her robes of white, Her long locks tinged by sunsets golden light. The Hebrew craves his boon, and frona the brink Of that bright well she gives his camels drink; Then as he clasps the bracelets on her hands, With wondering look she views those sparkling bands, Listens, and smiles to hear the old man speak, While timid blushes flutter oer her cheek. Maid of a simple heart and untaught age! Whom toys could charm, and rudest tasks engage, Ah! little dreamt she then from her would spring A mighty people, prophet, sage, and king! 11cr memory treasured in each age and clime, Her gentle name to perish but with time! From this beautiful picture he hastens through the desert, and then lingers for a while among the ancient halls of Nineveli, till scared away by the flames which rise from the funeral pile of Sar- danapalus Not sated vet above the ruins rise The exulting flames, and dart into the skies; 156 MICUELL S RUINS OF MANY LANDS. Red through the night that fearful pillar glows, And ghastly radiance oer the city throws; The heavens seemed blood, and Tigris winding wave Gleams the same crimson hue by mount and cave. Quivers the light across the desert sands, Where the lone pilgrim, wildly wondering, stands, Thinking that far-off blaze some meteor driven By demon hands along the verge of heaven; The pard, approaching human haunts for prey, Starts as he looks~ and howling, scours away; Een on far Irans hills those beams are seen, Where bends the Magian, musing, but serene, Deeming in light so grand dread Ormuzd nigh, His star-gemmed mantle blazing down the sky. As a contrast we may give the following bit of sunset Calm sinks the sun oer Edoms blighted hills, And the whole air a pulseless silence fills; The round red orb hath reached the horizons brim, Shootino its crimson flames ere all he dim; Across the broad sands gleams the living fire, Quivering, like hope, around each rocky spire. These glories change, as lower sinks the sphere, And still each moment lovelier tints appear; Saffron and amber flood the gorgeous west, Fairy-like towers in hues Elysian drest; Now shafts of pallid gold are upward cast, But all to softened purple yield at last. As a companion to this, we append a moonlight scene Slow rise~ evenings moon; the silvery shower Lights, while it softens porch and ruined tower; The huge sphinx-forms that line the desert way, The giant sculptures sleep beneath the ray; The quivering beams, so softly, purely shed, Rest like a crown of pearls on Memnons head. Een Gornons funeral rocks beyond the Nile, With all their hoary tombs, appear to smile. By tower and column flows the ancient stream, On each small wave the stars reflected gleam. SilenceDeaths sisterround her watch doth keep, Save when the night-winds faintly moan and creep, Or woo, with whispers, yonder lonely palm, That droops, like some sad spirit, mid the calm, Mourning oer Thebes, as in her shroud she lies, No more to rule, or ope her lovely eyes. After sunset and moonlight,weoffermorning as a better sketch than either The morn awakes; along each granite height That l)nunds the east soft streams the rosy light. More distant still, the Red Sea glows and smiles Through all his coral racks, and leafy isles. The acacia, shadowed by the loftier palm, Begins to drop its odor-breathing balm; The lotus-flower, which all the night had kept Her soft leaves closed, w~merein some sylphid slept, Woke by the beam, unfolds her bosom fair, And freedom gives time sky-born slumberer there. The humming-bird flits round the blossomed bower, Shaking his plumes, himself a flying flower. The giant ostrich leaves his cave of rest, And seeks the trackless desert of the west: The fierce hyena, ever fond of gloom, Flies to his hauntsome ancient rock-cut tomb. Far in the desert sounds the camels bell, Where Arabs quit their tents beside the well; And early monks, where Coptic convents crown The steep hills brow, on flowery vales look down, Drink the soft breeze, and scan heavens depth of blue, Nor sigh to join a world they never knew. Such pictures are to be found almost in every page, and in them lies the charm of the poem. We cannot afford, however, more than one other extract; but that of itself would justify the quali- fied praise we have bestowed upon Mr. Michell. The scene is in Mexico, at the place where a chapel dedicated to the Virgin has succeeded a temple of the God of the Air Man, ages, creeds, have melted from those plains; Now oer the giant structure quiet reigns. Spring decks its mouldering sides with many a flower, That woos the bee at mornings dewy hour. Where frowned the Toltecs god, the Virgin now Sheds her meek smile, and Christian votaries bow; While sadly sweet, the circling yew-trees wave, And crosses deck the ancient Pagans grave. Ave Maria ! evenings balmy breeze Wafts the soft prayer, like music, through the trees; Mid golden clouds, his curtained couch of sleep, The sun oerhangs the vast Pacific deep, Gilds the fair isles that tropic glories bear, And charms to rest each storm-fiend brooding there. Ave Maria! mountain, plain, and shore, Hear the loud gong, the crowds mad shout no more; Soft as an angels sigh, the hells low sound Steals from yon tower, and floats in whispers round. Day smiles in death, and throws a crimson streak, Like Beautys blush, along each snowy peak; Een Orizabas fires ascend on high, The lurid flames turn roses in the sky, Mild are the rites, and gentle is the creed, Thus doomed red Molochs worship to succeed; Eves purple charm, the music of the hour, Pommr on the soul their soft dissolving power, Melt the full heart, and waft the thoughts above, On wings of warm devotion, hope, and love. The pamphlet from which these extracts are taken forms only a portion of the poem, which is to be completed in three nmonthly parts; and we may notice it as a circumstance immdicative of the great change which has taI~en place in the cost of literature, that the price of the part before us, containing one hundred well-filled pages of such poetry as we have quoted, interspersed with a few notes, is only one shilling. CmiARmvv.It is an old saying that charity be- gins at home but this is no reason that it should not go abroad; a man should live with the world as a citizen of the ~vorld; he may have a preference for the particular quarter or square, or even alley, in which, be lives, but he should have a generous feeling for the welfare of the whole. & umberland. I 5r SIGISMUND FATELLO. From Blackwoods Magazine. SIGISMUND FATELLO. CHAPTER 1.THE OPERA. IT was a November night of the year 184. For a week past, the play-bills upon the convenient but unsightly posts that disfigure the boulevards, had announced for that evening, in conspicuous capitals, the first performance of a new opera by a popular composer. Although the season of winter gayeties had scarcely begun, and country- houses and bathing-places retained a portion of the fashionable population of Paris, yet a string of elegant carriages, more or less coroneted, extended down the Rue Lepelletier, and deposited a distin- guished audience at the door of the Acad(mie de Musique. The curtain fell upon the first act; and a triple round of applause, of which a little was attributable to the merits of the opera, and a good deal to the parchment palms of a well-drilled claque, proclaimed the composers triumph and the operas success, when two men, entering the house at opposite sides, met near its centre, exchanged a familiar greeting, and seated themselves in con- tiguous stalls. Both belonged to the class which the lower orders of Parisians figuratively designate as gauts jaunes; the said lower orders conscien- tiously believing primrose gloves to be a covering as inseparable from a dandys fingers as the natural epidermis. The younger of these two men, the Viscount Arthur de Mellay, was a most unexcep- tionable specimen of those lions dor6s who, in modern French society, have replaced the merveil- leuce, the rou~s, and raftin~s of former days. Sleek of face and red of lip, with confident eye and trim mustache, his getting up was evidently the re- sult of deep reflection on the part of the most tasteful of tailors and scrupulous of valets. From his varnished boot-heel to the topmost wave of his glossy and luxuriant clievelurc, the severest critic of the mode would in vain have sought an imper- fection. Born, bred, and polished in the genial atmosphere of the noble faubourg, he was a credit to his club, the admiration of the vulgar, the pet of a circle of exclusive and aristocratic dames, whose approving verdict is fashionable fame. His neigh- bor in the stalls, some years older than himself, was scarcely less correct in externals, although bearing his leonine honors much more carelessly. Like Arthur, he was a very handsome man, but his pale face and fair mustache contrasted with the florid cheek and dark hair of his companion. The Austrian Baron Ernest Von Steinfeld had acquired, by long and frequent residences in Paris, rights to Parisian naturalization. He had first visited the French capital in a diplomatic capacity, and, after abandoning that career, had spent a part of every year there as regularly as any native ,4abitu# of the club Grammont, the Chantilly race-course, and the Bois de Boulogne. Although a German and a baron, he was neither coarse, nor stupid, nor smoky. He did not carry a tobacco-pipe in his pocket, or get muddled at dinner, or spit upon the floor, or participate in any other of the nastinesses common to the majority of his tribe. A nobleman in Austria, he would have been accounted a gen- tleman, and a highly bred one, in any country in the world. He was of old family, had been much about courts, held a military rank, possessed a castle and fine estate in the Tyrol, mortgaged to the very last zwanziger of their value, was somewhat blase and troubled with the spleen, and considerably in debt, both in Vienna and Paris. He had arrived in the latter capital but a fortnight previously, after nearly a years absence, had established himself in a small but elegant house in a fashionable quarter, and as he still rode fine horses, dressed and dined well, played high and paid punctually, nobody sus- pected how near he was to the end of his cash and credit; and that he had sacrificed the last remnant of his disposable property to provide ammunition for another campaign in Parisa campaign likely to be final, unless a wealthy heiress, a prize in the lottery, or an unexpected legacy, came in the nick of time to repair his shattered fortunes. The second act of the opera was over. The applause, again renewed, had again subsided, and the hum of conversation replaced the crash of the noisy orchestra, the warbling of Duprez, and the passionate declamation of Madame Stolz. The house was very full; the boxes were crowded with elegantly dressed women, a few of them really pretty, a good many appearing so by the grace of gas, rouge, and costume. The curtain was no sooner down than de Mellay, compelled by the despotism of the pit to silence during the perform- ance, dashed off at a colloquial canter, scattering, for his companions benefit, a shower of criticisms, and scandal, for which he found abundant subjects amongst his acquaintances in the theatre, and to which the baron listened with the curled lip and faint smile of one for whose palled palate caviar no longer has flavor, scarcely vouchsafing an occasion- al monosyllable or brief sentence when Arthurs gossip seemed to require reply. His eyes wan- dered round the house, their vision aided by the double glasses of one of those tremendous opera- telescopes by whose magnifying powers, it is said, the incipient wrinkle and the borrowed tint are in- fallably detected, and the very tricot of Taglioni is converted into a cobweb. Presently he touched the arm of Arthur, who had just commenced an animated ocular flirtation with a blue-eyed belle in a stage-box. The baron called his attention to a box on the opposite side of the theatre. There is a curious group, he said. Oh, yes, replied de Mellay, carelessly, level- ling his glass for a moment in the direction pointed out. The Fatellos. And he resumed his mute correspondence with the dame of the azure eyes. Steinfeld remained for a short space silent, with the thoughtful, puzzled air of a man who suspects he has forgotten something he ought to remem- ber; but his efforts of memory were all in vain, and he again interrupted Arthurs agreeable occu- pation. Whom did you say! he inquired; indicat. 158 SIGISMTJND FATELLO. ing, by a glance rather than by a movement, the group that had riveted his attention. The Fatellos, replied de Mellay, with a sort of surprise. But, pshaw! I forget. You were at Venice last carnival, and they have not been twelve months at Paris. You have still to learn the affecting romance of Sigismund and Catalina: how the red knight from Franconie did carry off the Paynims daughterhis weapons adapted to the centurybank-notes and bright doubloons, in lieu of couched lance and trenchant blade. Why, when they arrived, all Paris talked of them for three days, arid might have talked longer, had not Admiral Joinville brought over from Barbary two uncommonly large baboons, which diverted the public attention. They call them beauty and the beastthe Fatellos, I mean, not the baboons. The persons who had attracted Steinfelds no- tice, and elicited this uncomplimentary tirade from the volatile viscount, occupied one of the best boxes in the theatre. In front were two ladies, likely to be the more remarked from the contrast their ap- pearance offered with the Parisian style of beauty. Their jet-black hair, large almond-shaped eyes, arid complexion of a rich glowing olive, betrayed their southern origin. Behind them sat a man of five- and-thirty or forty; .a tall, high-shouldered, un- gainly figure, with a profusion of reddish hair, and a set of Calmuck features of repulsive ugliness. His face was of an unhealthy paleness, excepting about the nose and cheekbones, which were blotched and heated ; and the harsh and obstinate expres- sion of his physiognomy was ill redeemed by the remarkably quick and penetrating glance of his small keen gray eyes. Do you mean to say yonder ungainly boor is the husband of one of those two beautiful women, who look as if they had stepped out of a legend of the Alhambra, or of the vintage-piece by Leopold Robert ~ Certainlyh usband of one, brother-in-law of the other. But I will tell you the whole story. Sigis mund Fatello is one of those men born with a peculiar genius for money-getting, who, if de- posited at the antipodes without a shoe to their foot, or a son in their pocket, would end by be- coming millionnaires. Although little heard of in good society till a year ago, he has long been well known on the Bourse, and in foreign capitals, as a bold financier and successful speculator. Two years ago he had occasion to go to the south of Spain, to visit mines offered by the Spanish nov- eminent as security for the loan of two or three of his millions. Amongst other places he visited Seville, an(l was there intrrmduced to Don Geronimo Gomez Garcia Gonfalon, (and a dozen other names besides,) a queer old hidalgo, descended from Bo- abdil of the Bloody Crescent, or some such Moor- ish potentate. The don dwelt in the shadow of the Giralda, and possessed two daughters reputed fair ;you see them therejudge for yourself. With one of these Fatello fell desperately in love, and asked her in marriage. The lady, who had no wish to abandon her native land for the society 1~9 of so ugly and unpleasant a helpmate, demurred. But the suitor was urgent and the papa peremp- tory. Old Boabdil had an immense opinion of Fatello, was dazzled by his wealth and financial reputation, and insisted on his daughters mar- rying him, vowing that he himself was poor as a poet, and that if she refused she should go to a nunnery. After the usual amount of tears, threats, and promises, the marriage took place. The de- scendant of the Saracen made an excellent bargain for his child. Fatello, infatuated by his passion, would have agreed to any conditions, and made immense settlements on the beautiful Catalina. His father-in-law, like an old semi-African hunks as he was, pleaded poverty, hard times, forced contribu- tions, and so forth, as excuses for giving his daughter no other portion than a few rather re- markable diamonds, and some antiquated plate dating from the kings of Granada, and better suited for a Moorish museum than a Christian sideboard. Fatello, whose dealings with the Spanish government had given him no very ex- alted idea of the opulence of Spanish subjects, cared not for the old boys maravedis, and credited his plea of poverty. A few weeks afterwards, Fatello and his wife being still in Seville, Boabdil retired for his usual siesta, but not reappearing at at the usual hour, a servant went to awaken him, and found him purple with apoplexy. The un- fortunate Saracen never spoke again. The next day he was buried, (they lose no time in those warm latitudes;) and behold, when the will was opened, he had left upwards of three millions of reals to his disconsolate daughtersabout four hundred thousand francs to each of them. When the decencies had been observed in the way of niourning, and Fatello had finished his affairs, he brought his wife and her sister to Paris, took a magnificent hotel in the Fanbourg St. I{onor~, and gave Lucullian dinners, and entertainments such as are read of in the Arabian Nights, but rarely seen in the nineteenth century. And were his fates well attended l Not quite immediately. At first everybody asked who this Mr. Fatello was, and nobody could tell. All sorts of queer stories were got up about him. Some said he was a Polish Jew, formerly well known in Prague, and who had comnienced his fortune by attending horse-fairs. Othersmis- led by his name, which has an odd Italian sound swore he was a Lormibard, continuing the financial and speculative traditions of his race. He himself claims to be of a good Alsatian family; and I be- lieve the truth is, that his father was a small pro- prietor in a northern department, who sent his son to Paris, as a boy, to seek his fortune, which, by virtue of industry and arithmetic, he has been lucky enough to find. But people got tired of asking who, and changed the interrogation to what. This was much more easily answered The sig- nature of Sigismund Fatello is worth millions upon every exchange in Europe, was the prompt reply. You know our good Parisians, or rather, you know the world in general. If John Law, or Dr. Faus SIGISMUND FATELLO. tus, returned upon earth, with wealth proceeding from the devil or a swindle, and gave banquets and oalls, their rooms would not be long empty. No more were those of Fatello, against whom, how- ever, nothing improper was ever substantiated, ex- cept a want of ancestorsa venial offence in these days, to be charged against a milliunnaire! With a citizen king, arid Jews in the chamber, or upon argent is the truest blazonry, my word for it.,, By their assistance, then, he has got into good society ? said Steinfeld. Into almost the best. He has not made much progress beyond the Seine; but on this side the water, he is everywhere in good odor. They make much of him at the Tuileries and in diplo- matic circles; and in the Chauss6e dAntin, amongst the aristocracy of finance, his money gives him right to a high place. And if he plays the Amphitryon this winter, in the style he did the last, there is no saying whether some of our stiff-necked countesses of the vicille roche may not relent, and honor his halls with their transcefrdental presence. His entertainments of all kinds are quite super- lative; and if he be a plebeian and a brute, his wife and sister, on the other hand, are graceful as gazelles, and date from the deluge. He is an ug- ly-looking monster, certainly, added the handsome viscount; but fortune has atoned for natures stinginess. A man may forget his resemblance to a chimpanzee, when he has millions in his strong box, one of the finest houses, and best filled stables, and prettiest wives in Pariswhen he possesses strength and health, and has every prospect of living long to enjoy the goods the gods have showered upon him. XYrong in the last particularquite wrong, my dear viscount, said a bland and unctuous voice behind de Mellay. The young men turned and found themselves face to face with a comely middle-aged personage, whose snug costume of professional black was relieved by a red ribbon in the button-hole, and who, gliding into the stall in their rear, whilst they were engrossed with their conversation, had overheard its latter sentences. Ha! doctor, exclaimed the viscount, you here, and eaves-dropping! How am I wrong, most sapient arid debonair of Galens ? Dr. Pilori was a physician in high practice, and of a class nut uncommon in Parisat once a man of pleasure and a votary of science. With a fair share of talent and an inordinate one of self-con- ceit, he had pushed himself forward in his profes- sion, applying himself, in conformity with the Parisian rage for sp~cialit~s, particularly to one class of complaint. The lungs were the organ he had taken under his special protection ; his word was law in all cases of pulmonary disease. He was physician to an hospital, member of the Le- gion of Honor, and of innumerable learned soci- eties; his portrait graced the shop-windows of xr~edical booksellers, whilst his works, on maladies of the lungs, occupied a prominent place on their shelves. His patiens were numerous and hie feca large. So far the man of science. The man of pleasuse occupied a gorgeous apartment in the vicinity of the Madeleine; gave smart and frequent soir6es, (as one means of increasing his connec- tion,) where singers of the first water gave their notes in payment of his advice. He was frequent- ly at the operaoccasionally at the Cafe de Paris, lived on bad terms with his wife, and on good ones with a ballet-dancer, and ~vas in request as an at- tendant at duels amongst the young dandies of the clubs, with most of whom he was on a footing of familiarity amounting almost to intimacy. How am I wrong, doctor ? repeated de Mel- lay. In your prediction of Fatellos longevity. Of course it is of him you speak B Of no other. What ails him? He is dying of consumption, gravely re- plied Pilori. The viscount laughed incredulously, and even Steinfeld could not restrain a smile, so little ap- pearance was there of a consumptive habit in the robust frame, and coarse, rough physiognomy of the financier. Laugh if you please, young gentlemen, said the doctor. It is no laughing matter for Mon- sieur Fatello, I can tell you. His life is not worth a years purchase. You have been prescribing for him then, doc- tor? said Arthur, maliciously. I have, said tire physician, suffering the hit to pass unnoticed. No longer ago than yester- day he consulted me for a trifling indisposition, and, in studying his idiosyncrasy, I detected the graver disease. What do you think he called me in for? I ought not to tell these things, but the joke is too good to keep. He was annoyed about the blotches on his faceanxious for a clear com- plexion. In what strange places vanity finds a corner! Poor fellow! he little thinks how soon the worms will be at work upon his cuticle. You did not tell him, then B said de Mellay, still doubtful of the doctors sincerity, and with a sort of shudder at his dissecting-room style. What was the use? The seeds of decay are too deeply set to be eradicated by the resources of art. Although to a non-medical eye he presents little appearance of pulmonary derangement, the malady has already taken firm hold. Probably it is hereditary. It advances slowly but surely, and will not be turned aside. The forms of that ter- rible disease are many and various, from the pul- moniafulminante of Spain, and the galloping con- sumption of our island neighbors, to those more tedious varieties whose ravages extend over years, to kill as surely at last. But I do not tell you that I shall not inform M. Fatello of his condition. It is our dirty to strive to the last, even when we have no hope hut in a miracle. I shall see him to-morrow and break the matter to him. And send him to Italy or Madeira, I suppose, said Steinfeld, with an appearance of greater in- terest than he had previously talten in the etruver- men. iGO SIGISMTJND FATELLO. What forl As well let him die in Paris, where he will at least have all the alleviations the resources of art and high civilization can afford. But enough of the subject. And you, young gen- tlemen, say nothing of what I have told you, or you will damage my reputation for discretion. The rise of the curtain put a period to the con- versation, and, before the act was over, a box- keeper delivered a letter to Dr. Pilori, who, after reading it, rose with a certain air of importance and solicitude, and hurried out of the theatrehis sortie provoking a smile amongst some of the habitual frequenters of the stalls, who were accustomed to see this manceuvre repeated with a frequency that gave it the air of an advertisement. The opera over, Steinfeld and de Mellay left the house to- gether, and, whilst driving along the boulevard, the sentence of death pronounced so positively by Pilori upon Fatello, was the subject of their con- versation. The viscount was incredulous, took it for a hoax, and would have amused the club by its repetition, and by a burlesque of Piloris dogmatical and pompous tone, had not Steinfeld urged him to he silent on the subject, lest he should injure the indiscreet physician. Arthur promised to say nothing about it., and soon forgot the whole affair in the excitement of a 1~ouil1otte-table. Steinfeld, equally reserved, neither forgot the doctors prophe- cy, nor doubted the conviction that dictated it. De Mellays gossip about the Fatellos had doubtless excited his curiosity, and given him a wish to know themfor, two days afterwards, his elegant coup~ drove into the court of their hotel, and a dandified secretary of legation presented, in due form, the Baron Ernest Von Steinfeld to the wealthy finan- cier and his handsome wife and sister. by the dozen, and a prince or two of the reigning family. Under ordinary circumstances, Madame de ~t might have hesitated to bring together so heterogeneous an assemblageto have mingled in the same saloons all these conflicting vanities, opinions, and prejudices; but the character of her entertainment removed the inconveniences of such confrontation. It was no ordiiiary ball or common- place route of which the palatial mansion of the countess was upon this occasion to be the scene. She had conceived the bold idea of resuscitating, upon a large scale, an amusement which in Paris has long since degenerated into vulgar license and drunken saturnalia. Her entertainment was to be a masquerade, to which no one was to come with uncovered face or in ordinaU costume. A mask and a disguise were as essential to obtaiu entrance, as was the ticket of admission sent to each individual invited, and which was to be de- livered up at the door, accompanied by the hold- ders engraved visiting card. This precaution was to guard against the recurrence of an unpleas- ant incident that had occurred two years previous- ly at a minor entertainment of similar character, when two ingenious professors of legerdemain, better known to the police than to the master of the house, fotind their way into the ball-room under the convenient covering of dominos, and de- parted, before their presence was discovered, car- rying with them a varied assortment of watches, purses, and jewellery. The night of the much talked-of fete had ar- rived; the tailors, milliners, and embroiderers, who, for a month past, had slaved in the service of the invited, had brought home the results of their labors;. the fashionable hair-dressers had had a hard days worksome hundreds of wreaths and nosegays, which in June would have been beauti- ful, and in January seemed miraculous, and whose THREE months had elapsed, and Paris was in aggregate cost was a comfortable years income, full carnival. Since the beginning of the year, had been composed by the tasteful fingers of the the town had been kept in a state of unusual ex- Parisian flower-girls. The hour was at hand, citement by the anticipation of a ball, for which and many a fair bosom palpitated with pleasurable the rich and fashionable Countess de M had anticipations. The hotel of the rich Fatello, as issued invitations to her immense circle of friends the successful speculator was usually called, had and acquaintances. The position of the countess its share of the hostle of preparation ; but at last, who, herself the daughter of an illustrious knotty questions of costume were satisfactorilj house, and reckoning amongst her ancestors and settled, and the ladies committed themselves to the their alliances more than one sovereign prince and hands of their tire-women. In his library sat constable of France, had married a man enriched Sigismund Fatello, opening a pile of notes and and ennobled by Napoleongave her pectihiar fa- letters that had accumulated there since afternoon. cilities for collecting around her all that was dis- Some he had read and put carefully aside; to tinguished and fashionable in Paris, and for others he scarcely vouchs~fed a glance; whilst a blending the various coteries into which political third class were placed apart for perusal at greater differences, as much as pride of descent on the leisure. At last, he opened one by whose con- one hand, and pride of purse on the other, split the tents he was strangely moved, for, on reading hitther circles of Parisian society. Her invitations them, he started and turned pale, as if stung by included stiff-necked legitimists from the doll but an adder. Passing his hand over his eyes, as dignified streets of St. Germains faubonrg, noble though to clear his vision, he stood up and placed as a La Tremonille or a Moutmorency, and still the paper in the very strongest glare of the power- sulking against the monarchy of the 7th August; ful Carcel lamp illuminating the room. A second wealthy parvenus from the Chauss~e dAntin, mu- time he read, and his agitation visibly increased. itary nobles of imperial fabrication, Russian prin- Its cause was a small note, containing but four ces, English lords, Spanish grandees, diplomatists lines, written in a feigned hand. It was an anony ccxLv. LiVING AGE. VOL. xx. 11 CHAPTER 11.TilE MASQUERADE. 161 162 SIGISMUND FATELLO. moos letter, striking him in his most vulnerable point. Again and again he perused it, striving to recognize the handwriting, or conjecture the author. All his efibrts were in vain. Once, inspired by his good genius, he crushed the treacherous paper in his hand, and approached the fire-place to destroy it in the flames. But, as lie drew near the logs that glowed and crackled on the hearth, his pace became slower and slower, untily he finally stood still, smoothed the crumpled paper, and once more devoured its contents. Then he ~valked several times up and down the apartment, with a hurried step. The three months that had elapsed since Arthur de Mellay and Baron Steinfeld had met in the stalls at the opera, had not passed over the head of Fatello without producing a certain change in his appearance. lie was thinner and paler, his eyes were more sunken, and a dark line was pencilled beneath them. The change, however, was not such as an indifferent person would notice; it might proceed from many causesfrom mental labor, uneasiness, or grief, as well as from bodily diseasethe idea of ~vhich latter was unlikely to enter the head of a careless observer of his inas- sive frame and features, aiid of the general appear- auce of great muscular strength, still remarkable in the ill-favored financier. Now, however, he was unusually pale and haggard. The letter he still held in his hand had worked upon him like a malevolent charm, hollowing his cheek and wrink- sing his brow. For nearly half an hour he con- tin ued his monotonous walk, alternately slackening and accelerating his pace. At times he would come to a momentary halt, with the absent air of one absorbed in working out a puzzling problem. At last he opened a secretaire, touched a spring which made a secret drawer fly open, l)laced in this drawer the letter that had so greatly distorbed him, closed the desk, and, lighting a taper, took the direction of his wifes sitting-room, in the op- posite wing of the hotel. Madame Fatello and Mademoiselle Sebastiana Gonfalon were eq nipped for the ball and in readi- ness to depart. Between the two sisters, in whose ages there was a difference of two years, so strong a resemblance existed that they frequently were taken for twins. Exactly of the same stature, they had the same large dark eyes, abundant hair, and brown tint of skin, and the same mouth, not very small, but beautiful in form, and adorned tvith teeth of dazzliiig whiteness. Both had the grace and fascination for which their countrywomen are renowned. The chief difference between them was an expression. Catalina was the more serious of the two; her gravity sometimes verged upon sullenness, and this was especially observable since she had been compelled to a marriage repugnant to her feelings, but which she had lacked energy and courage to resist. Her father would have found it a far less easy task to force Sebastiana to a union opposed to her inclinations. As high- spirited as her sister was irresolute, Mademoiselle Gonfalon was one of those persons whose obsti nacy is increased by every attempt at coercion. Laughing and lively, amidst all her gay coquetries there still was a decision iii her classically mould- ed chin and slightly conipressed lip, and a some- thing clandestine but resolute in her eye, which a physiognomist would have interpreted as denoting a degree of intelhicence and a passionate strength of character denied by nature to her feebler sister. Upon this eveiiing, however, it might have been thought the two young women had exchanged characters. Sebastiana, in general all smiles and sprightliness, was thoughtful and pre6ecupied, al- most anxious ; whilst the listless and melancholy Catalina had an unusual appearance of gayety and animatii)n. Her cheek was flushed, her eyes were brilliant, and she looked repeatedly at a jewelled bijon-watch, as though she would fain have advaiiced the hour at which she could with propriety make her entrance into Madame de M s saloons. The door opened and Fatello came in. By a powerful exertion of that self-command which he possessed in no ordinary degree, he had banished from his countenance nearly every trace of re- cent agitation. lie was perhaps a shade paler than usual, but his brow was unclouded, sod his uncouth countenance was lighted up by the moat agreeable smile it could assume. So, ladies, lie sahh, with a liveliness that sat but clumsily upon him; you are armed for con- quest. Accept my compliments on the excellent taste of your costumes. They are really charm- inc. If you are detected, it will hardly h)e by your dress. Those loose robes and that couveniemit cowl are the best possible disguises.~~ All the better !~ cried Sebastiana. Noth- in., like the dear black domino, under which you can be impertinent as you like, with scarce a pos- sibility of discovery. There will be fifty such dresses as ours in the room. No doubt of it, replied her brother-in-law, thoughtfully. And his piercing green-gray eye scanned the dominos that shrouded the graceful figures of his wife and her sister. They were plain black satin ; but the art of the maker had contrived to impart elegance to the costume which, of all others, generally possesses it the least. The two dresses were exactly alike, except that Catalinas was tied at the wrists Ph lilac ribbons, whilst nothing broke tIme uniform black miess of her sisters garb. Black gloves and masks, and two bouquets of choice exotics, thin masterpieces of the celebrated houqueti~me of the Madcleiime boulevard, completed the ladies equip- ment. I am sorry, said Fatello, to deny myself the pleasure of accompanying you to the countess fete; but I am behindhand with my correspondence, and have received important letters, which I must answer by the mornings post. My ni~ht, a part of it at lea. t, will be passed at the desk instead of in the ball-room. Therp was nothing in this announcement to ex- cite surprise; the tone and manner in which it SIGISMTJND FATELLO. 163 was made were perfectly natural ; but, neverthe- less, Sebastiana Gonfalon darted a keen, quick glance at her brother-in-law, as though seeking in his words a double meaning or disguised purpose. Madame Fatello showed neither surprise nor dis- appointment, hut, approaching a table, she took from a costly basket of gold filagree, overflowing with cards and invitations, an envelope containing three tickets for the masquerade. Selecting two of them, she threw the third into the basket, and again looked at her watch. At that moment the door opened. and her carriage was announced. Come. Sebastiana, said Madame Fatello, im- patiently. Good-night, M. Fatello. And, with a slight bow to her husband, she passed into the ante-room. Good-night, Sigismund, said Sebastiana. Change your mind and follow us. Impossible, said Fatello, with the samesmil- ing countenance as before. Sebastiana followed her sister. Fatello lingered a few moments in the drawing-room, and then re- turne(l to his study. As he entered it, he heard the roll of the carriage-wheels driving out of the court. The masquerade given by the Countess de M was that kind of magnificent and extraordinary en- tertainment which forms the evqnt of the year in which it occurs; which is long held up as a pat- tern to gala-givers, and as marking a red-letter epoch in the annals of fashion and pleasure. Noth- ing was spared to make it in all respects perfect. An entire floor of the countess vast mansion had been cleared, for the occasion, of all superfluous furniture; three splendid saloons were appropriated to dancing; two others, equally spacious, to re- freshments. in these, the appetites of the guests had been richly catered for. One was the coffee- house, the other the restaurant. In the former, on a multitude of small marble tables, a regiment of attentive waiters served ices and sherbets, wine and chocolate, coffee and liqueurs. In the latter, tables were laid for supper, and upon each of them lay a printed bill of fare, where the hungry made their selection from a list of the most delicate dishes, whose appearance followed the order with a celer- ity that would have done honor to the best-appointed hotel in Paris. A long, wide gallery, and some smaller rooms, were used as a promenade, where the company freely circulated. In a music-hall, a strono party of professional singers kept up an tin- ceasing concert for the entertainment of all comers; and in a chamber fitted ttp as a tent, an Italian jug- gler, with peaked beard, and in antique costume of black velvet, performed tricks of extraordinary novelty and ingenuity. Every part and corner of this ma,.,nificent suite of apartments was lirrhted a giorno, draped with colored silks and muslins, and enlivened by a profusion of tall mirrors, multiply- ing tenfold the fantastical figures of the ritaskers and the flame of the countless Iwugies. Many hun- dreds of porcelain vases, containing the choicest plants, forced prematurely into flower, and all re- markable for brilliancy of color or fragrance ef perfume, lined the broad corridors and the recesses of the windows, which latter were further filled by admirably executed transparencies, forming a series of views from the Italian lakes. The whole resem- bled a scene from fairy-land, oran enchanted palace, raised by the wand of some benevolent gnome for the delectation of the sons and daughters of mor- tality. If the entertainment was of unparalleled magnificence, the appearance of the guests did it no discredit. Tasto~ful and ingeniously devised costumes crowded the apartments; history and romance had been ransacked for characters; the most costly materials bad been lavishly employed in the composition of dresses for that one nights diversion. All was glitter of jewels, wave of plumes, and rustle of rich brocades. In diamonds alone, an emperors ransom was displayed; and more than one fair masker bore upon her neck and arms, and graceful head, the annual reventie of half-a-dozen German princes. As Sebastiana had predicted, there was a con- siderable sprinkling of dominos amongst the motley throng; and as usual, of those who had selected that dress, more favorable to concealtuent and in- trigue than to display of personal graces or costly ornaments, at least one half had preferred black to any other color. These latter seemed the subject of the particular attention of one of their number, who, soon after twelve oclock, made his appear- ance in the ball-room. Impatience to share in the much-talked-of fete, had rendered the invited punc- tual ; by that hour nearly all had arrived, and in such numbers that the rooms, though so large and numerous, were crowded at least as much as was convenient and consistent with circulation. Hence the black domino was frequently impeded in the rapid movements he commenced whenever one of his own speciesthat is to say, a domino of the same colorcaught his eye, movements which had for their object to meet or overtake the person of garb similar to his own. On such occasions, so great was his impatience, that in a public ball-room he would surely have incurred a quarrel by the somewhat too vigorous use he made of his elbows. But Madame de M s well-bred guests merely shrugged their shoulders, and wondered who the manant could be who thus imported into their 6lite society the unceremonious usages of an opera-house masquerade. The black domino heeded not their mute wonderment, nor cared for the unfavorable impression he might leave upon the ribs and the minds of those he jostled. lie was evidently look- ing for somebody, and however discouraging the task of seeking one particular black domino in a crowded masquerade, where there were two or three score of them, he persevered, in spite of re- peated disappointmente. At last it seemed as if success had rexarded his constancy. With the suddenness and certainty of a well-broken pointer, he caine to a dead stop at sight of a black satin domino leaning on the arm of an eleoant Hun~arian hussar. To the steps of this couple he thencefor- ward attached himself. Whithersoever they went, lie followed, k