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[Illustration: CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF 'CHAMBERS'S
INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,' 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.

NO. 307. NEW SERIES.      SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1849.      PRICE 1½_d._]




TRACINGS OF THE NORTH OF EUROPE.

ELSINORE--GOTTENBURG.


I left Copenhagen for Elsinore on the last day of June, with two
companions, in a _char-a-banc_; a rough but not inconvenient kind of
carriage drawn by two horses. We took the route by Fredericksborg
(different from the Fredericksberg already mentioned), in order to
visit that most distinguished of all the Danish palaces. The king
was living in it at the time; but this was understood to present
no difficulty. The life of Frederick VII. is remarkably modest and
unobtrusive. Allowing his ministers to govern according to the best of
their judgment, he is content to live in the manner almost of a private
gentleman. It was stated that at this time, when half the sovereigns
of Europe were in the agonies of a revolutionary crisis, the attention
of the Danish monarch was chiefly engrossed by some ancient sepulchral
tumuli found in his neighbourhood. So great is his disrelish of royal
state and parade, that he can only with difficulty be induced to come
occasionally to town to give audiences and attend reviews. Yet Denmark
is a year old in a constitution which grants something approaching to
universal suffrage. Very probably the Sleswig-Holstein war is what
has secured this internal peace. Uniting in this external object, the
people have escaped as yet the danger of falling together by the ears
about progress and reaction. So for once a democratic movement has not
been attended by a crop of folly and outrage.

The country passed over in our drive is composed of the tame
undulations usual in the chalk formation, varied only by a few lakes
and some fine woods. We snatched an interval required for resting the
horses to see the queen-dowager's palace at Lundby, which we found
to be a plain building situated amongst some pleasant groves, but in
no way remarkable, except that the domain was open at all points to
any one who chose to leave the high road by which it is skirted. We
walked over the grounds, and penetrated into the garden, asking no
leave, and meeting no resistance or challenge--a proof not so much,
I apprehend, of any special liberality in the royal possessor, as of
great harmlessness in the people; for certainly without _that_, no such
indulgence could be extended. The inferiority of the place in point of
trimness to similar places in England, and the meagre show of plants in
the garden, were remarkable. That fastidious mowing, and paring, and
cleaning, which is continually going on round a country residence in
England, is unknown in the north of Europe.

All along our way to Fredericksborg I observed heaps of granite and
gneiss boulders, ready to be broken up for the repair of the roads.
They were to me an interesting set of objects, as being my first
introduction to the grand Drift Formation of the north. To most
readers it will be enough for the present to say that they are masses
of stone belonging to the granitic and gneissic countries of northern
Sweden and Finland, which have been carried southward, probably for the
most part by icebergs floating in the sea by which this region was once
overspread. They are found imbedded in the clayey and gravelly covering
of the country, or encumbering its surface; and now the farmers are
allowed something for carting them to the roadsides, that they may be
pounded down by the disciples of Macadam. The kirb-stones, which form
the only approach to a pavement in Copenhagen are from the same source.
I examined many of the wayside heaps, as well as those presented in
gravel-pits, and found a few with traces of striation, denoting their
having undergone rubbing in the transport; but these were rare objects.
The cultivated land seems now pretty well cleared of them; but they
still abound in forest ground. The sand of the aforesaid gravel-pits
is in many places stratified, marking the deposition by water; but I
nowhere could detect shells.

At length the pinnacles of Fredericksborg began to appear over the dull
landscape, and we speedily found ourselves seated in the village inn at
a very tolerable dinner. When this was concluded, we sauntered to the
palace, which we found to be a huge brick edifice of the Elizabethan
style, forming three sides of a square, with detached masses and
courtyards, the whole closely surrounded by water. It is one of the
many memorials of the magnificence of the fourth Christian, but was
built on the site of a former palace; and amongst the few traces of
the original left, is a small island covered with shrubbery. The
shrubbery had been planted by Frederick II., the father of Christian,
in commemoration of the son having been born on the spot; and under
a feeling with which we can all sympathise, the reforming king left
this shrubbery untouched. It is said that the new palace took fifteen
years in building. Here, again, one wonders that so small a state
could at that time furnish funds for the erection of such sumptuous
edifices. The unchecked authority exercised by its princes is the only
explanation of the mystery. They seem to have regarded palace-building
as a legitimate amusement for their leisure hours, and to have been
under no sort of scruple as to the sufferings of their people in
furnishing the requisite funds. A Danish king, in the last century,
told his young queen, in a fit of gallantry, that if she should kill
a deer in the chase, he would build a palace on the spot. Such, I am
told, was the actual origin of one of the numerous palaces which now
adorn the country. To find ourselves now in this gray, old-fashioned
château, and be told that the king lived in it, seeing as we did no
trace of any state or pageantry whatever, and scarcely any mark of the
place being inhabited at all, raised some curious speculations in our
minds as to the change of the relations of monarch and subject since
the days of Christian IV.

The grand sight of Fredericksborg is the royal chapel, forming the
lower floor of one side of the square. It is a superb specimen of
that mixture of Grecian and Gothic which prevailed at the end of the
sixteenth century; no grandeur of plan, but infinite ornament of
detail, gilt reliefs (especially on the ceiling), carvings, and fine
inlaid woodwork. The pulpit has pillars of silver, and the altar-piece
glows with golden images and sculptures. 'The Swedes,' says Feldborg,
'took away twelve apostles in silver, leaving the figure of Christ,
which was formed of the same metal, to preach the Gospel at home, as
they wickedly expressed themselves, but declaring that his apostles
should do so abroad.' The screened recess for the royal family still
contains a range of chairs with wrought seats, which must be coeval
with the chapel, as they contain Christian's initials. There is even
still the same charity-box at the door, into which this grand old
prince must have popped his donations as he passed to worship; for
it, too, bears his initials. The coronations of the Danish kings take
place here, and this has led to an unfortunate modernisation being
effected at one end of the chapel for the accommodation of the throne,
with seats for the knights of the Order of the Elephant. In every
other particular it is preserved exactly as it was in the days of
the founder. I may remark that the shields of the living Elephantine
knights adorn the gallery. When they die, these symbols of their glory
are removed to a clean, well-kept crypt beneath one of the angles of
the palace, where the whole series for the last two centuries may be
seen. This is at once a curious historical study and a touching lecture
on the transitoriness of all human grandeur.

Over the chapel, and therefore occupying the same area, is the
Banqueting-Hall, certainly a most magnificent apartment, being no less
than 150 feet long, and of proportionate breadth, though generally
thought to be a little deficient in height. This large room is
beautifully paved with diced marble, and is covered all over with gilt
and painted ornaments, particularly in the ceiling, while each space
of wall between two windows contains a portrait of some monarch which
had been presented to the Danish sovereigns. The ceiling alone, which
is said to have been the work of twenty-six carvers for seven years,
might detain a curious visitor for a day, since there is scarcely a
familiar animal, or a trade, or art, which is not represented in it. In
one compartment you may study the business of _Distillatio_; in another
that of _Impressio Librorum_, and so forth. One sees in this and
similar places many valuable memorials of the things of a former age,
which he cannot but regret to leave after only a hasty and superficial
inspection. I am convinced that a painstaking and leisurely person, who
could take accurate drawings of such objects, would, in the course of a
few years' rambles over Europe, acquire the means of producing almost
a complete resuscitation of our mediæval ancestors in their dresses,
habits, and all other external circumstances.

When we had satisfied our curiosity with the Fredericksborg palace,
we returned to the inn, and speedily resumed our _char-a-banc_, but
with fresh horses. I observed with some surprise that the driver, in
passing out of the town, deemed himself at liberty to take a short
cut through the half-ruinous gateways and rain-bleached courts of the
palace, notwithstanding the presence of royalty within the mansion. We
found some fine woods extending from the palace in this direction, and
peopled with deer. A short drive brought us to another palace, called
Fredensberg, more modern than the last, and with some pretensions to
notice. But we were too much satiated with such sights to care for an
inspection of Fredensberg, and we therefore passed on to Elsinore,
where we arrived betimes in the evening.

An Englishman usually approaches this town with his mind full of
Shakspeare and Hamlet, and an eager expectation to see places hallowed
by association with the name of him of the inky cloak: supply naturally
follows demand, and hence it is not surprising to find that a place
called 'Hamlet's Garden' has been 'got up' in the neighbourhood, and
established as the scene of the murder of the royal Dane. Not being
disposed to have much faith in the reality of a northern prince of
the fourth century before the Christian era, I entered Elsinore with
comparatively sober feelings. It is a very ordinary-looking mercantile
town of 8000 inhabitants (yet the fourth in Denmark), situated on a
low plain beside that Sound which has originally given it consequence.
Not much less than a hundred vessels of all flags lay in the calm
sea in front, waiting for wind, or till they should pay their dues
to the king of Denmark. It is admitted that L.150,000 per annum are
thus extorted under favour of the cannon of Cronberg Castle, which
raises its huge form near by, like the beggar in 'Gil Blas,' whom the
reader may remember described as having his gun presented on a pair of
cross-sticks to enforce a demand neither less nor more justifiable.
It is certainly surprising that a system so little different from the
predatory practices of the Rhenish barons of the fourteenth century
should still be found in vigour. I am afraid that my only true
English associations with the place referred to things at which the
Shakspearian enthusiast will scoff--to wit, James VI. dating during
his honeymoon from Cronberg, 'quhair we are drinking and driving ower
in the auld maner,' and his descendant, Queen Matilda, here sighing
over the lost peace which was never more to be hers.[1] The mind is
sometimes strangely perverse and wayward, and I often find myself
interested in things for reasons sufficiently trivial. For instance,
while passing through the fosses and walls which surround this hardy
fortress, and while my companions were probably lost in admiration
of its stately proportions, I could not help recalling a passage in
Spottiswoode the historian, where, speaking of James's winter in this
castle, he mentions with complacency there being no such thing as a
quarrel between the Scotch and the Danes all the time, a circumstance
the more wonderful, says he, 'since it is hard for men in drink, _at
which they were continually kept_, long to agree.' After all, Cronberg
is only a great quadrangular palace in the centre of a set of ordinary
fortifications. The casemates in the walls are usually, however, a
subject of curiosity, in consequence of a legend thus related by a
native writer:--'For many ages the din of arms was now and then heard
in the vaults beneath the Castle of Cronberg. None knew the cause, and
there was not in all the land a man bold enough to descend into the
vaults. At last a slave who had forfeited his life was told that his
crime should be forgiven if he could bring intelligence of what he
found in the vaults. He went down, and came to a large iron door, which
opened of itself when he knocked. He found himself in a deep vault. In
the centre of the ceiling hung a lamp which was nearly burnt out; and
below stood a huge stone-table, round which some steel-clad warriors
sat, resting their heads on their arms, which they had laid crossways.
He who sat at the head of the table then rose up: it was Holger the
Dane [a hero of the fabulous age]. But when he raised his head from the
arms, the stone-table burst right in twain, for his beard had grown
through it. "Give me thy hand," said he to the slave. The slave durst
not give him the hand, but put forth an iron bar, which Holger indented
with his fingers. At last he let go his hold, muttering, "It is well!
I am glad there are yet men in Denmark."'[2] What is curious, there is
a similar traditionary story in Scotland, referring to a person called
the last of the Pechs;[3] and, if I am not mistaken, the Irish have
the same legend, varied only as to the person and the locality.

Behind the town, at the base of an ancient sea-bank, lies a plain
modern house called Marienlyst (Mary's Delight), which was built for
the residence of the late Frederick VI. when crown-prince, and which is
surrounded by a garden and pleasure-grounds open at all times to the
people of Elsinore. English strangers are taken hither to see 'Hamlet's
Garden'--the very scene of that foul murder which the mad-seeming
prince studied to avenge; also to muse over a cicerone-made _Hamlet's
grave_. I took a ramble here, to enjoy the physical beauties of the
place, which are considerable, and to obtain a view of some celebrity
from a platform above the house, where we command a long reach of the
Sound and of the opposite coast of Sweden. A less hackneyed subject of
curiosity is the geological character of the bank behind Marienlyst.
It is a terrace of clayey sand extending for miles along the coast,
at one uniform height in the fore part of about ninety-six feet above
the waters of the Sound, the front descending at the usual angle of a
talus of loose matter (38 degrees), to the low plain on which the town
is situated. This bank has already attracted the attention of native
geologists as a marine formation, the top being understood to have once
been the beach of the sea, which had subsequently rolled on the low
plain, cutting and carrying away matter from the bank rising above,
so as to leave the talus which we now see. What struck me, however,
with the greatest interest, was the perfect resemblance of the ground,
in all its features and relations, to ancient sea-banks and terraces
in Britain, even to the elevation of the terrace above the mean level
of the sea--a point from which the Baltic, it will be recollected,
scarcely departs.

On the evening of the 1st July I departed from Elsinore in the Gyller
steamer, which makes regular weekly voyages between Copenhagen and
Christiania, calling at Elsinore and Gottenburg to receive and set
down passengers. The accommodations in the vessel are sufficiently
comfortable; but the weather proving rough, my actual experiences were
anything but agreeable, more particularly as I was here, for the first
time, exposed to a near association with one of the most odious habits
of the northern nations. I do not like to speak too plainly on such a
subject; but it is remarkable, even as a physiological fact, how much
salivation goes on amongst some nations as compared with the generality
of mankind; and the fact of a neighbour on this occasion effecting a
vociferous discharge from his throat about every minute during all
the time I was awake, was scarcely less curious than his carelessness
about what came of the discharge was disgusting. Early in the morning
I came on deck to see the low rocky coasts of Sweden looming through
the thick rain and haze. On getting into the arm of the sea which leads
up to Gottenburg, I was enabled to observe the rounding of the surface
of the whole of the rocks along the shore, and gazed with admiration
on a phenomenon, the explanation of which has proved so puzzling. Even
here the perfect independence of the effect on any connection with
the sea as a cause was apparent, for the smoothed surfaces everywhere
descended unbroken below the waves. For a long time nothing was to
be seen on land but a tract of undulating rocky ground devoid of all
asperities; but at length we began to obtain glimpses of an extensive
swampy plain, where the sea terminated in the embouchure of a copious
river--the Götha (pronounced _Yutta_) Elv. Here we found seated the
thriving mercantile town of Gottenburg. We landed in heavy rain, amidst
which we had to make our way on foot to the Götha Kellare (pronounced
_Chellara_), the best inn in the place, but one strikingly beneath the
character of the town. The whole affair was a most dismal initiation
into Sweden; but it was soon made up to me by the welcome which I
experienced from a kindhearted schoolfellow and friend settled in the
neighbourhood.

Under more agreeable circumstances next day, I became aware that
Gottenburg is a regularly-built town of about 30,000 inhabitants,
containing a remarkable proportion of good private houses--much
permeated by canals, which are crossed by rather hard-favoured
stone-bridges--exhibiting on the inland side some beautiful environs,
throughout which are scattered many handsome mansions belonging to the
most eminent merchants. Gottenburg contains several British mercantile
houses, and is very much an English town, unless that my own countrymen
may be said more particularly to take the lead in its society.
Iron-founding and machine-making, cotton-spinning, sailcloth-making,
and sugar-refining, are the chief branches of industry, all of them
conducted under the protection of prohibitory duties, the Swedes
being willing to buy these articles at high prices from Englishmen
who will consent to make them in Sweden, rather than purchase them
cheaply in England. Accordingly, several of the Gottenburg firms are
understood to be realising incomes in striking disproportion to those
common among the natives; one, for instance, having cleared so much
as L.50,000 in a year; though here, it must be remarked, the result
was helped by a patent. These settlers are probably compensating in
some degree for their monopolies by the impulse which they give to the
indigenous population, noted in all time for the slowness of their
movements, and their dislike to adopt new fashions and methods. There
is a good, moreover, to be gained from commixtures of the people of two
countries, in as far as it tends, by making them acquainted with each
other, to extinguish mutual prejudice. As might be expected, some of
the manufactures thus forced into prominence in Sweden are conducted
under considerable disadvantages as compared with those of England.
For example, a cotton manufacturer in Sweden cannot get a supply of
his materials equably over the year, all communications being shut
up during the seven months of winter. The consequent necessity of
laying up a stock to serve through the winter, entailing a greater
outlay of capital, is so much against him. On the other hand, he may
save in the wages of his labourers. These trades are in the meanwhile
prosperous; but I have a strong sense of the precariousness of any
prosperity depending on protection, and believe that it would be well
for the protégés to consider that the self-sacrificing whim of their
Swedish customers may some day give way to an admission of the rational
principle--that the cheapest market is, in all circumstances, the best.

At the time of my visit to Gottenburg, one of the leading matters
of local interest was the erection of an Exchange upon an unusually
handsome scale. I had an opportunity of inspecting the building, when
it was all but finished, on my return from the north, and I must say
that I have rarely seen any edifice presenting a more elegant interior.
There are, besides the Exchange-room on the street-floor, a ball-room
and supper-room, also the apartments required for a restaurant and
coffeehouse up stairs; and the whole are decorated in a style of taste
far beyond any similar place in England that I am acquainted with.
The outlay, I was told, would be L.60,000 sterling; a remarkable sum
to be given for such a purpose in so small a town. Verily, I thought,
if some of my friends, who speak of Sweden as little better than the
Frozen Regions, were to be transported into the midst of the fairy
palace here erected in one of its second-rate towns, their ideas about
these northern countries could not fail to undergo a change. They
might turn, it is true, to the hotel, and remark with some bitterness,
derived from their own experiences, that Gottenburg, while going a
century ahead in an Exchange, was lingering two centuries behind in its
accommodations for strangers. I had afterwards some pleasure in looking
over the Chalmers School, an institution founded by a Scotch gentleman
of that name in order to give young men an education in the mechanical
and physical sciences. It is a large establishment, conducted in a
most efficient manner, and attended by abundance of pupils. Here,
again, Gottenburg is ahead of many other places of greater pretensions.
Mr Keiller's iron-foundry, where 170 people are employed, and where
everything seemed in the best order, occupied an hour agreeably.
Another was well devoted to Messrs Carnegie and Company's porter
brewery at Klippen, a suburb of Gottenburg. The favourite beverage of
London is here produced of excellent quality; and I was informed that
it is extensively used in Sweden, though it might be more so but for a
liquor more recently introduced--Bavarian beer--which is much better
adapted to the means of the generality of the people. I likewise paid a
visit to Messrs Gibson and Son's establishment at Jönsered, a few miles
from town, where, in a charming rural situation, iron-founding and
sailcloth-making are conducted on a large scale, the whole population
concerned being about 700. The entire arrangements seemed admirable,
but none more so than the general fact of the near and constant
association of the people with beautiful natural scenes, in which they
could, at their leisure hours, rove without restraint. When a factory
can be conducted in such local circumstances, the noted drawbacks
usually attending huge agglomerations of labour in a great measure
vanish; and one can only wish that so were they all.

I had now to consider with some friends by what means I should
prosecute my designed tour of Sweden and Norway, and much was the
cogitation and discussion on this subject before a plan could be
determined on. Driving one's self, with as little baggage as possible,
in a light carriage called a _carriole_, peculiar to the country, was
what my friends advised. Clever, pleasant Mr Enkstrom, the English
consul, who entered into the arrangements as if they had been a duty of
his post, could not imagine anything better. But I could not see how a
middle-aged person, who had never driven a carriage in his life, was to
get along with any comfort over the rough roads and through the vast
spaces of this northern land, exposed to all weathers, and destitute
of all knowledge of the language of the people by whose aid alone
could he stir even a step. I therefore expressed my willingness to be
somewhat obliging to myself in the way of expense; and it was finally
settled that I should have a four-wheeled and hooded carriage for two
horses, together with a servant to drive and act as my interpreter
or _tolkan_. The former was speedily obtained at a sum equivalent to
1s. 8d. English a day--a plain, old, barkened, battered machine as
ever met my eyes, yet warranted to be of great strength, as had been
often shown in Norwegian tours heretofore. As to a tolkan, the case
was more difficult. The man whom all regarded as the _facile princeps_
of his class, by name Jacob Carlblom, was absent under an engagement.
So were some others. At length a person named Quist was heard of, and
brought under examination. He proved to be a fine-looking, robust man
of about five-and-thirty, who had been a dragoon in the Swedish army,
but was now usually employed about a wine-merchant's establishment.
Little English did the honest fellow know, and he had never been far
into Norway; yet, all things considered, he seemed far from ineligible.
An amiable, simple character shone in his face, and he riveted the
favourable opinion which this excited amongst us all by the interest
he expressed about the welfare of his wife, and the stipulation he
seemed resolved to make that a portion of his wages should be paid to
her weekly during his absence. I therefore engaged Quist; nor was there
ever occasion to regret doing so, for he justified every favourable
anticipation. It was now, then, determined that I should set out on my
travels at an early hour next morning, taking the road to Christiania,
which is distant 215 English miles from Gottenburg. It was thought that
I might reach that city in little more than three days, provided that
_forebud_ notices were sent on before to warn the station-house keepers
to have horses in each instance ready for me. This is a custom peculiar
to the north, where the rarity of travellers teaches that it is more
economical to force horses from the farmers when they are wanted,
than to have them kept by innkeepers for regular service. There is,
therefore, a government regulation compelling the farmers to be ready,
when called upon, to furnish horses at a certain rate of remuneration;
and equally enforcing that the innkeepers shall, on receipt of warning,
or when directly called on by travellers, have horses at their doors
within two hours. It is a tyrannical system, to which I never could
reconcile myself; but no one is heard complaining of it. On the present
occasion, one of my friends procured for me a quantity of blank
schedules, and, extending a few, sent them off by post along the road
which I was to traverse next day, each being addressed to a special
innkeeper. Thus we accomplished the purpose at a comparatively trifling
expense. Had the post not been available, it would have been necessary
to send a special messenger at a cost equal to half that incurred for
the horses themselves.

    R. C.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The sad story of Queen Matilda, who was sister to our George III.,
is related in full detail in an interesting book recently published,
'Memoirs of Sir Robert Murray Keith,' 2 vols.

[2] Thiele's Collection of Popular Danish Traditions.

[3] See Popular Rhymes of Scotland, third edition, p. 229.




RECOLLECTIONS OF A POLICE OFFICER.

X. Y. Z.


The following advertisement appeared in several of the London journals
in the year 1832:--'If Owen Lloyd, a native of Wales, and who, it
is believed, resided for many years in London as clerk in a large
mercantile establishment, will forward his present address to X. Y. Z.,
Post-Office, St Martin's-le-Grand, to be left till called for, he will
hear of something greatly to his advantage.'

My attention had been attracted to this notice by its very frequent
appearance in the journal which I was chiefly in the habit of reading,
and, from professional habits of thinking, I had set it down in my own
mind as a _trap_ for some offender against the principles of _meum_
and _tuum_, whose presence in a criminal court was very earnestly
desired. I was confirmed in this conjecture by observing that, in
despair of Owen Lloyd's voluntary disclosure of his retreat, a reward
of fifty guineas, payable by a respectable solicitor of Lothbury, was
ultimately offered to any person who would furnish X. Y. Z. with the
missing man's address. 'An old bird,' I mentally exclaimed on perusing
this paragraph, 'and not to be caught with chaff; that is evident.'
Still more to excite my curiosity, and at the same time bring the
matter within the scope of my own particular functions, I found, on
taking up the 'Police Gazette,' a reward of thirty guineas offered
for the _apprehension_ of Owen Lloyd, whose person and manners were
minutely described. 'The pursuit grows hot,' thought I, throwing down
the paper, and hastening to attend a summons just brought me from the
superintendent; 'and if Owen Lloyd is still within the four seas, his
chance of escape seems but a poor one.'

On waiting on the superintendent, I was directed to put myself in
immediate personal communication with a Mr Smith, the head of an
eminent wholesale house in the City.

'In the City!'

'Yes; but your business with Mr Smith is relative to the extensive
robbery at his West-end residence a week or two ago. The necessary
warrants for the apprehension of the suspected parties have been, I
understand, obtained, and on your return will, together with some
necessary memoranda, be placed in your hands.'

I at once proceeded to my destination, and on my arrival, was
immediately ushered into a dingy backroom, where I was desired to wait
till Mr Smith, who was just then busily engaged, could speak to me.
Casting my eyes over a table, near which the clerk had placed me a
chair, I perceived a newspaper and the 'Police Gazette,' in both of
which the advertisements for the discovery of Owen Lloyd were strongly
underlined. 'Oh, ho,' thought I; 'Mr Smith, then, is the X. Y. Z. who
is so extremely anxious to renew his acquaintance with Mr Owen Lloyd;
and I am the honoured individual selected to bring about the desired
interview. Well, it is in my new vocation--one which can scarcely be
dispensed with, it seems, in this busy, scheming life of ours.'

Mr Smith did not keep me waiting long. He seemed a hard, shrewd,
business man, whose still wiry frame, brisk, active gait and manner,
and clear, decisive eye, indicated--though the snows of more than sixty
winters had passed over his head--a yet vigorous life, of which the
morning and the noon had been spent in the successful pursuit of wealth
and its accompaniment--social consideration and influence.

'You have, I suppose, read the advertisements marked on these papers?'

'I have, and of course conclude that you, sir, are X. Y. Z.'

'Of course conclusions,' rejoined Mr Smith with a quite perceptible
sneer, 'are usually very silly ones: in this instance especially so.
My name, you ought to be aware, is Smith: X. Y. Z., whoever he may
be, I expect in a few minutes. In just seventeen minutes,' added the
exact man of business; 'for I, by letter, appointed him to meet me
here at one o'clock precisely. My motive in seeking an interview with
him, it is proper I should tell you, is the probability that he, like
myself, is a sufferer by Owen Lloyd, and may not therefore object to
defray a fair share of the cost likely to be incurred in unkennelling
the delinquent, and prosecuting him to conviction; or, which would be
far better, he may be in possession of information that will enable us
to obtain completely the clue I already almost grasp. But we must be
cautious: X. Y. Z. _may_ be a relative or friend of Lloyd's, and in
that case, to possess him of our plans would answer no purpose but to
afford him an opportunity of baffling them. Thus much premised, I had
better at once proceed to read over to you a few particulars I have
jotted down, which, you will perceive, throw light and colour over the
suspicions I have been within these few days compelled to entertain.
You are doubtless acquainted with the full particulars of the robbery
at my residence, Brook Street, last Thursday fortnight?'

'Yes; especially the report of the officers, that the crime must have
been committed by persons familiar with the premises and the general
habits of the family.'

'Precisely. Now, have you your memorandum-book ready?'

'Quite so.'

'You had better write with ink,' said Mr Smith, pushing an inkstand and
pens towards me. 'Important memoranda should never, where there is a
possibility of avoiding it, be written in pencil. Friction, thumbing,
use of any kind, often partially obliterates them, creating endless
confusion and mistakes. Are you ready?'

'Perfectly.'

'Owen Lloyd, a native of Wales, and, it was understood, descended
from a highly-respectable family there. About five feet eight; but I
need not describe his person over again. Many years with us, first as
junior, then as head clerk; during which his conduct, as regards the
firm, was exemplary. A man of yielding, irresolute mind--if indeed
a person can be said to really possess a mind at all who is always
changing it for some other person's--incapable of saying "No" to
embarrassing, impoverishing requests--one, in short, Mr Waters, of that
numerous class of individuals whom fools say are nobody's enemies but
their own, as if that were possible'----

'I understand; but I really do not see how this bears upon'----

'The mission you are directed to undertake? I think it does, as you
will presently see. Three years ago, Owen Lloyd having involved
himself, in consequence of the serious defect of character I have
indicated, in large liabilities for pretended friends, left our
employment; and to avoid a jail, fled, no one could discover whither.
Edward Jones, also a native of the principality, whose description, as
well as that of his wife, you will receive from the superintendent, was
discharged about seven years since from our service for misconduct,
and went, we understood, to America. He always appeared to possess
great influence over the mind of his considerably younger countryman
Lloyd. Jones and his wife were seen three evenings since by one of
our clerks near Temple Bar. I am of opinion, Mr Waters,' continued Mr
Smith, removing his spectacles, and closing the note-book, from which
he had been reading, 'that it is only the first step in crime, or
criminal imprudence, which feeble-minded men especially long hesitate
or boggle at; and I now more than suspect that, pressed by poverty, and
very possibly yielding to the persuasions and example of Jones--who, by
the way, was as well acquainted with the premises in Brook Street as
his fellow-clerk--the once honest, ductile Owen Lloyd, is now a common
thief and burglar.'

'Indeed!'

'Yes. A more minute search led to the discovery, the day before
yesterday, of a pocket-book behind some book-shelves in the library.
As no property had been taken from that room--though the lock of a
large iron chest, containing coins and medals, had been evidently
tampered with--the search there was not at first very rigorous. That
pocket-book--here it is--belonged, I know, to Owen Lloyd when in our
service. See, here are his initials stamped on the cover.'

'Might he not have inadvertently left it there when with you?'

'You will scarcely think so after reading the date of the five-pound
note of the Hampshire County Bank, which you will find within the inner
lining.'

'The date is 1831.'

'Exactly. I have also strong reason for believing that Owen Lloyd is
now, or has been lately, residing in some part of Hampshire.'

'That is important.'

'This letter,' continued Mr Smith; and then pausing for a brief space
in some embarrassment, he added--'The commissioner informed me, Mr
Waters, that you were a person upon whose good sense and _discretion_,
as well as sagacity and courage, every confidence might be placed. I
therefore feel less difficulty than I otherwise should in admitting you
a little behind the family screen, and entering with you upon matters
one would not willingly have bruited in the public ear.'

I bowed, and he presently proceeded.

'Owen Lloyd, I should tell you, is married to a very amiable, superior
sort of woman, and has one child, a daughter named Caroline, an
elegant, gentle-mannered, beautiful girl I admit, to whom my wife
was much attached, and she was consequently a frequent visitor in
Brook Street. This I always felt was very imprudent; and the result
was, that my son Arthur Smith--only about two years her senior; she
was just turned of seventeen when her father was compelled to fly
from his creditors--formed a silly, boyish attachment for her. They
have since, I gather from this letter, which I found yesterday in
Arthur's dressing-room, carried on, at long intervals, a clandestine
correspondence, waiting for the advent of more propitious times--which,
being interpreted,' added Mr Smith with a sardonic sneer, 'means of
course my death and burial.'

'You are in possession, then, if Miss Caroline Lloyd is living with her
father, of his precise place of abode?'

'Not exactly. The correspondence is, it seems, carried on without the
knowledge of Owen Lloyd; and the girl states in answer, it should seem,
to Arthur's inquiries, that her father would never forgive her if,
under present circumstances, she disclosed his place of residence--_we_
can now very well understand that--and she intreats Arthur not to
persist, at least for the present, in his attempts to discover her.
My son, you must understand, is now of age, and so far as fortune is
concerned, is, thanks to a legacy from an aunt on his mother's side,
independent of me.'

'What post-mark does the letter bear?'

'Charing-Cross. Miss Lloyd states that it will be posted in London by a
friend; that friend being, I nothing doubt, her father's confederate,
Jones. But to us the most important part of the epistle is the
following line:--"My father met with a sad accident in the forest some
time ago, but is now quite recovered." The words _in the forest_ have,
you see, been written over, but not so entirely as to prevent their
being, with a little trouble, traced. Now, coupling this expression
with the Hampshire bank-note, I am of opinion that Lloyd is concealed
somewhere in the New Forest.'

'A shrewd guess, at all events.'

'You now perceive what weighty motives I have to bring this man to
justice. The property carried off I care little comparatively about;
but the intercourse between the girl and my son must at any cost be
terminated'----

He was interrupted by a clerk, who entered to say that Mr William
Lloyd, the gentleman who had advertised as 'X. Y. Z.,' desired to
speak to him. Mr Smith directed Mr Lloyd to be shown in; and then,
snatching up the 'Police Gazette,' and thrusting it into one of the
table-drawers, said in a low voice, but marked emphasis, 'A relative,
no doubt, by the name: be silent, and be watchful.'

A minute afterwards Mr Lloyd was ushered into the room. He was a thin,
emaciated, and apparently sorrow-stricken man, on the wintry side of
middle age, but of mild, courteous, gentlemanly speech and manners.
He was evidently nervous and agitated, and after a word or two of
customary salutation, said hastily, 'I gather from this note, sir, that
you can afford me tidings of my long-lost brother Owen: where is he?'
He looked eagerly round the apartment, gazed with curious earnestness
in my face, and then again turned with tremulous anxiety to Mr Smith.
'Is he dead? Pray do not keep me in suspense.'

'Sit down, sir,' said Mr Smith, pointing to a chair. 'Your brother,
Owen Lloyd, was for many years a clerk in this establishment'----

'_Was--was!_' interrupted Mr Lloyd with greatly-increased agitation:
'not now, then--he has left you?'

'For upwards of three years. A few days ago--pray do not interrupt
me--I obtained intelligence of him, which, with such assistance as you
may possibly be able to afford, will perhaps suffice to enable this
gentleman'--pointing to me--'to discover his present residence.'

I could not stand the look which Mr Lloyd fixed upon me, and turned
hastily away to gaze out of the window, as if attracted by the noise
of a squabble between two draymen, which fortunately broke out at the
moment in the narrow, choked-up street.

'For what purpose, sir, are you instituting this eager search after my
brother? It cannot be that---- No, no--he has left you, you say, more
than three years: besides, the bare supposition is as wicked as absurd.'

'The truth is, Mr Lloyd,' rejoined Mr Smith after a few moments'
reflection, 'there is great danger that my son may disadvantageously
connect himself with your--with your brother's family--may, in fact,
marry his daughter Caroline. Now I could easily convince Owen'----

'Caroline!' interjected Mr Lloyd with a tremulous accent, and his dim
eyes suffused with tears--'Caroline!--ay, truly _her_ daughter would be
named Caroline.' An instant after, he added, drawing himself up with an
air of pride and some sternness: 'Caroline Lloyd, sir, is a person who,
by birth, and, I doubt not, character and attainments, is a fitting
match for the son of the proudest merchant of this proud city.'

'Very likely,' rejoined Mr Smith dryly; 'but you must excuse me for
saying that, as regards _my_ son, it is one which I will at any cost
prevent.'

'How am I to know,' observed Mr Lloyd, whose glance of pride had
quickly passed away, 'that you are dealing fairly and candidly with me
in the matter?'

In reply to this home-thrust, Mr Smith placed the letter addressed by
Miss Lloyd to his son in the hands of the questioner, at the same time
explaining how he had obtained it.

Mr Lloyd's hands trembled, and his tears fell fast over the letter
as he hurriedly perused it. It seemed by his broken, involuntary
ejaculations, that old thoughts and memories were deeply stirred
within him. 'Poor girl!--so young, so gentle, and so sorely tried!
Her mother's very turn of thought and phrase. Owen, too, artless,
honourable, just as he was ever, except when the dupe of knaves and
villains.'

He seemed buried in thought for some time after the perusal of the
letter; and Mr Smith, whose cue it was to avoid exciting suspicion
by too great eagerness of speech, was growing fidgetty. At length,
suddenly looking up, he said in a dejected tone, 'If this is all you
have ascertained, we seem as far off as ever. I can afford you no help.'

'I am not sure of that,' replied Mr Smith. 'Let us look calmly at
the matter. Your brother is evidently not living in London, and that
accounts for your advertisements not being answered.'

'Truly.'

'If you look at the letter attentively, you will perceive that three
important words, "in the forest," have been partially erased.'

'Yes, it is indeed so; but what'----

'Now, is there no particular locality in the country to which your
brother would be likely to betake himself in preference to another?
Gentlemen of fancy and sentiment,' added Mr Smith, 'usually fall back,
I have heard, upon some favourite haunt of early days when pressed by
adversity.'

'It is natural they should,' replied Mr Lloyd, heedless of the sneer.
'I have felt that longing for old haunts and old faces in intensest
force, even when I was what the world calls prospering in strange
lands; and how much more---- But no; he would not return to Wales--to
Caermarthen--to be looked down upon by those amongst whom our family
for so many generations stood equal with the highest. Besides, I have
personally sought him there--in vain.'

'But his wife--_she_ is not a native of the principality?'

'No. Ah! I remember. The forest! It must be so! Caroline Heyworth, whom
we first met in the Isle of Wight, is a native of Beaulieu, a village
in the New Forest, Hampshire. A small, very small property there,
bequeathed by an uncle, belonged to her, and perhaps has not been
disposed of. How came I not to think of this before? I will set out at
once--and yet pressing business requires my stay here for a day or two.'

'This gentleman, Mr Waters, can proceed to Beaulieu immediately.'

'That must do then. You will call on me, Mr Waters--here is my
address--before you leave town. Thank you. And God bless you, sir,' he
added, suddenly seizing Mr Smith's hand, 'for the light you have thrown
upon this wearying, and, I feared, hopeless search. You need not be
so anxious, sir, to send a special messenger to release your son from
his promise of marriage to my niece. None of us, be assured, will be
desirous of forcing her upon a reluctant family.' He then bowed, and
withdrew.

'Mr Waters,' said Mr Smith with a good deal of sternness, as soon as we
were alone, 'I expect that no sentimental crotchet will prevent your
doing your duty in this matter?'

'What right,' I answered with some heat, 'have you, sir, to make such
an insinuation?'

'Because I perceived, by your manner, that you disapproved my
questioning Mr Lloyd as to the likeliest mode of securing his brother.'

'My manner but interpreted my thoughts: still, sir, I know what belongs
to my duty, and shall perform it.'

'Enough: I have nothing more to say.'

I drew on my gloves, took up my hat, and was leaving the room, when Mr
Smith exclaimed, 'Stay one moment, Mr Waters: you see that my great
object is to break off the connection between my son and Miss Lloyd?'

'I do.'

'I am not anxious, you will remember, to press the prosecution _if,
by a frank written confession of his guilt_, Owen Lloyd places an
insuperable bar between his child and mine. You understand?'

'Perfectly. But permit me to observe, that the _duty_ you just now
hinted I might hesitate to perform, will not permit me to be a party to
any such transaction. Good-day.'

I waited on Mr William Lloyd soon afterwards, and listened with
painful interest to the brief history which he, with childlike
simplicity, narrated of his own and brother's fortunes. It was a sad,
oft-told tale. They had been early left orphans; and deprived of
judicious guidance, had run--William more especially--a wild career
of dissipation, till _all_ was gone. Just before the crash came,
they had both fallen in love with the same woman, Caroline Heyworth,
who had preferred the meeker, more gentle-hearted Owen, to his elder
brother. They parted in anger. William obtained a situation as bailiff
and overseer of an estate in Jamaica, where, by many years of toil,
good fortune, and economy, he at length ruined his health and restored
his fortunes; and was now returned to die rich in his native country;
and, as he had till an hour before feared, unlamented and untended
save by hirelings. I promised to write immediately I had seen his
brother; and with a sorrowful heart took leave of the vainly-rejoicing,
prematurely-aged man.

I arrived at Southampton by the night-coach--the railway was but just
begun, I remember--and was informed that the best mode of reaching
Beaulieu--Bewley, they pronounced it--was by crossing the Southampton
river to the village of Hythe, which was but a few miles distance from
Beaulieu. As soon as I had breakfasted, I hastened to the quay, and was
soon speeding across the tranquil waters in one of the sharp-stemmed
wherries which plied constantly between the shores. My attention was
soon arrested by two figures in the stern of the boat, a man and woman.
A slight examination of their features sufficed to convince me that
they were Jones and his wife. They evidently entertained no suspicion
of pursuit; and as I heard them tell the boatmen they were going on to
_Bewley_, I determined for the present not to disturb their fancied
security. It was fortunate I did so. As soon as we had landed, they
passed into a mean-looking dwelling, which, from some nets, and a boat
under repair, in a small yard in front of it, I concluded to be a
fisherman's. As no vehicle could be readily procured, I determined on
walking on, and easily reached Beaulieu, which is charmingly situated
just within the skirts of the New Forest, about twelve o'clock. After
partaking of a slight repast at the principal inn of the place--I
forget its name; but it was, I remember, within a stone's-throw of the
celebrated Beaulieu Abbey ruins--I easily contrived, by a few careless,
indirect questions, to elicit all the information I required of the
loquacious waiting-maid. Mr Lloyd, who seemed to bear an excellent
character, lived, I was informed, at a cottage about half a mile
distant from the inn, and chiefly supported himself as a measurer
of timber--beech and ash: a small stock--the oak was reserved for
government purposes--he usually kept on hand. Miss Caroline, the girl
said, did beautiful fancy-work; and a group of flowers painted by her,
as natural as life, was framed and glazed in the bar, if I would like
to see it. Upon the right track sure enough! Mr Lloyd, there could be
no longer a doubt, had unconsciously betrayed his unfortunate, guilty
brother into the hands of justice, and I, an agent of the iron law,
was already upon the threshold of his hiding-place! I felt no pleasure
at the success of the scheme. To have bravely and honestly stood up
against an adverse fate for so many years, only to fall into crime just
as fortune had grown weary of persecuting him, and a long-estranged
brother had returned to raise him and his to their former position in
society, was melancholy indeed! And the young woman too, whose letter
breathed so pure, so gentle, so patient a spirit!--it would not bear
thinking about--and I resolutely strove to look upon the affair as one
of everyday routine. It would not, do, however; and I was about to quit
the room in no very enviable frame of mind, when my boat companions, Mr
and Mrs Jones, entered, and seated themselves at one of the tables. The
apartment was rather a large one, and as I was seated in the corner of
a box at some distance from the entrance, they did not at first observe
me; and several words caught my ear which awakened a strong desire to
hear more. That I might do so, I instantly adopted a very common, but
not the less often very successful device. As soon as the new-comers
perceived me, their whispered colloquy stopped abruptly; and after a
minute or so, the man said, looking hard at me, 'Good-day, sir; you
have had rather a long walk?' and he glanced at my dusty boots.

'Sir,' I replied, enclosing my left ear with my hand in the manner of a
natural ear-trumpet, 'did you speak?'

'A dusty walk,' he rejoined in a voice that might have been heard in a
hurricane or across Fleet Street.

'One o'clock!' I replied, pulling out my watch. 'No: it wants a quarter
yet.'

'Deaf as the Monument,' said Jones to his companion. 'All right.'

The suspended dialogue was but partially resumed.

'Do you think,' said the woman, after the lapse of about five
minutes--'do you think Owen and his family will go with us? I hope not.'

'Not he: I only asked him just for the say-so of the thing. He is too
chicken-hearted for that, or for anything else that requires pluck.'

Finishing the spirits and water they had ordered, they soon afterwards
went out. I followed.

As soon as we had gone about a hundred paces from the house, I said,
'Pray can you tell me which is Mr Lloyd the beech-merchant's house?'

'Yes,' replied the man, taking hold of my arm, and hallooing into my
ear with a power sufficient to really deafen one for life: 'we are
going there to dine.'

I nodded comprehension, and on we journeyed. We were met at the door
by Owen Lloyd himself--a man in whose countenance guilelessness, even
to simplicity, seemed stamped by nature's own true hand. So much,
thought I, for the reliance to be placed on physiognomy! 'I have
brought you a customer,' said Mr Jones; 'but he is as deaf as a stone.'
I was courteously invited in by signs; and with much hallooing and
shouting, it was finally settled that, after dinner, I should look
over Mr Lloyd's stock of wood. Dinner had just been placed on the
table by Mrs Lloyd and her daughter. A still very comely, interesting
woman was Mrs Lloyd, though time and sorrow had long since set their
unmistakeable seals upon her. Her daughter was, I thought, one of the
most charming, graceful young women I had ever seen, spite of the tinge
of sadness which dwelt upon her sweet face, deepening its interest
if it somewhat diminished its beauty. My heart ached to think of the
misery the announcement of my errand must presently bring on such
gentle beings--innocent, I felt confident, even of the knowledge of the
crime that had been committed. I dreaded to begin--not, Heaven knows,
from any fear of the men, who, compared with me, were poor, feeble
creatures, and I could easily have mastered half-a-dozen such; but the
females--that young girl especially--how encounter _their_ despair? I
mutely declined dinner, but accepted a glass of ale, and sat down till
I could muster sufficient resolution for the performance of my task;
for I felt this was an opportunity of quietly effecting the capture of
both the suspected criminals which _must_ not be neglected.

Dinner was just over when Mrs Lloyd said, 'Oh, Mr Jones, have you seen
anything of my husband's pocket-book? It was on a shelf in the room
where you slept--not the last time, but when you were here about three
weeks ago. We can find it nowhere; and I thought you might possibly
have taken it by mistake.'

'A black, common-looking thing?' said Jones.

'Yes.'

'I _did_ take it by mistake. I found it in one of my parcels, and put
it in my pocket, intending of course to return it when I came back;
but I remember, when wanting to open a lock of which I had lost the
key, taking it out to see if it contained a pencil-case which I thought
might answer the purpose; and finding none, tossing it away in a pet, I
could not afterwards find it.'

'Then it is lost?'

'Yes; but what of that? There was nothing in it.'

'You are mistaken,' rejoined Owen; 'there was a five-pound country note
in it, and the loss will---- What is the matter, friend?'

I had sprung upon my feet with uncontrollable emotion: Mr Lloyd's
observation recalled me to myself, and I sat down again, muttering
something about a sudden pain in the side.

'Oh, if that's the case,' said Jones, 'I'll make it up willingly. I am
pretty rich, you know, just now.'

'We shall be much obliged to you,' said Mrs Lloyd; 'its loss would be a
sad blow to us.'

'How came you to send those heavy boxes here, Jones?' said Owen Lloyd.
'Would it not have been better to have sent them direct to Portsmouth,
where the vessel calls?'

'I had not quite made up my mind to return to America then; and I knew
they would be safer here than anywhere else.'

'When do you mean to take them away? We are so badly off for room, that
they terribly hamper us.'

'This evening, about nine o'clock. I have hired a smack at Hythe to
take us, bag and baggage, down the river to meet the liner which calls
off Portsmouth to-morrow. I wish we could persuade you to go with us.'

'Thank you, Jones,' replied Owen in a dejected tone. 'I have very
little to hope for here; still my heart clings to the old country.'

I had heard enough; and hastily rising, intimated a wish to look at the
timber at once. Mr Lloyd immediately rose, and Jones and his wife left
the cottage to return to Hythe at the same time that we did. I marked
a few pieces of timber, and promising to send for them in the morning,
hastened away.

A mountain seemed removed from off my breast: I felt as if I had
achieved a great personal deliverance. Truly a wonderful interposition
of Providence, I thought, that has so signally averted the fatal
consequences likely to have resulted from the thoughtless imprudence
of Owen Lloyd, in allowing his house to be made, however innocently, a
receptacle for stolen goods, at the solicitations, too, of a man whose
character he knew to be none of the purest. He had had a narrow escape,
and might with perfect truth exclaim--

    'There's a Divinity that shapes our ends,
    Rough-hew them how we will.'

The warrants of which I was the bearer the London police authorities
had taken care to get indorsed by a magistrate of the county of
Hampshire, who happened to be in London, so that I found no difficulty
in arranging effectually for the capture and safe custody of Jones and
his assistants when he came to fetch his booty.

I had just returned to the Beaulieu inn, after completing my
arrangements, when a carriage drove furiously up to the door, and who
should, to my utter astonishment, alight, but Mr William Lloyd, and
Messrs Smith, father and son. I hastened out, and briefly enjoining
caution and silence, begged them to step with me into a private room.
The agitation of Mr Lloyd and of Mr Arthur Smith was extreme, but
Mr Smith appeared cold and impassive as ever. I soon ascertained
that Arthur Smith, by his mother's assistance, I suspect, had early
penetrated his father's schemes and secrets, and had, in consequence,
caused Mr William Lloyd to be watched home, with whom, immediately
after I had left, he had a long conference. Later in the evening an
_éclaircissement_ with the father took place; and after a long and
stormy discussion, it was resolved that all three should the next
morning post down to Beaulieu, and act as circumstances might suggest.
My story was soon told. It was received of course with unbounded joy
by the brother and the lover; and even through the father's apparent
indifference I could perceive that his refusal to participate in the
general joy would not be of long duration. The large fortune which Mr
William Lloyd intimated his intention to bestow upon his niece was a
new and softening element in the affair.

Mr Smith, senior, ordered his dinner; and Mr Lloyd and Arthur
Smith--but why need I attempt to relate what _they_ did? I only know
that when, a long time afterwards, I ventured to look in at Mr Owen
Lloyd's cottage, all the five inmates--brother, uncle, lover, niece,
and wife--were talking, laughing, weeping, smiling, like distracted
creatures, and seemed utterly incapable of reasonable discourse. An
hour after that, as I stood screened by a belt of forest-trees in
wait for Mr Jones and company, I noticed, as they all strolled past
me in the clear moonlight, that the tears, the agitation had passed
away, leaving only smiles and grateful joy on the glad faces so lately
clouded by anxiety and sorrow. A mighty change in so brief a space!

Mr Jones arrived with his cart and helpers in due time. A man who
sometimes assisted in the timber-yard was deputed, with an apology for
the absence of Mr Lloyd, to deliver the goods. The boxes, full of plate
and other valuables, were soon hoisted in, and the cart moved off. I
let it proceed about a mile, and then, with the help I had placed in
readiness, easily secured the astounded burglar and his assistants; and
early the next morning Jones was on his road to London. He was tried at
the ensuing Old-Bailey sessions, convicted, and transported for life;
and the discretion I had exercised in not executing the warrant against
Owen Lloyd was decidedly approved of by the authorities.

It was about two months after my first interview with Mr Smith that,
on returning home one evening, my wife placed before me a piece of
bride-cake, and two beautifully-engraved cards united with white satin
ribbon, bearing the names of Sir and Mrs Arthur Smith. I was more
gratified by this little act of courtesy for Emily's sake, as those who
have temporarily fallen from a certain position in society will easily
understand, than I should have been by the costliest present. The
service I had rendered was purely accidental: it has nevertheless been
always kindly remembered by all parties whom it so critically served.




RUINS.


Everything is mutable, everything is perishable around us. The forms of
nature and the works of art alike crumble away; and amid the gigantic
forms that surround it, the soul of man is alone immortal. Knowledge
itself ebbs and flows like the changing sea, and art has become extinct
in regions where it earliest flourished. Kingdoms that once gave law to
the nations, figure no more in the world's history, leaving nothing but
a name, and Ruins.

Most of the ruins of the ancient world are remarkable as monuments
of a political element now happily extinct. They are emblems of that
despotic rule which, in the early history of mankind, was well-nigh
universal; which delighted in rearing immense structures, like the
Pyramids, of little utility, but requiring an enormous expenditure of
labour; and contrasted with the capriciousness and violence of which,
the most arbitrary of modern governments is liberty itself. But such
ruins not only teach us to be grateful to Heaven for the blessings of
political freedom, but reveal to us glimpses of a past which, but for
them, would remain veiled in obscurity. By a right use of them we
discover, more or less perfectly, the history and the customs of races
long dead. Buried Herculaneum, once more given back to the sunbeams,
reveals to us the domestic life of ancient Rome; the hieroglyphics of
Egypt, the paintings and sculptures of Nineveh, tell us stories of
their kings, and show us symbols of their splendour. What geology is
to us in relation to the early earth, such are ruins in regard to its
human habitants: they are their history in stone.

There is a peculiar grandeur and impressiveness in the ruins which date
from the era of the old universal monarchies. So many centuries have
rolled away since then, conquest and desolation have so often swept
over their territories, and tyranny so decimated their inhabitants,
that among them Decay assumes a grander form than elsewhere in the
world. It is not single edifices dilapidated that meet our view, but
whole cities desolate--whole cities so crumbled into dust, that the
very sites of some of the greatest of ancient capitals have slipped
from the world's memory. Egypt, Greece, Persia, the Assyrian realm,
are great names, once filling earth with their glory, now all but
obliterated from the roll of nations. We enter the regions where
once sat those old Queens of the East, and look for some reflection
of former greatness still lingering on the brows of the inhabitants.
We look in vain. Cities are mean; poverty is everywhere; man is
degraded, nature half desolate, and the testimony of our senses makes
us sceptical as to the truth of history. But search yet further, and
lo! silent and inanimate witnesses for the dead rise around. Amid
the solitude and the desert, pillar and obelisk, palace and temple,
cities immense even in their ruins, mark how the barren sands were
once a garden, and the solitude was peopled by busy myriads. Those
shattered colonnades, those fallen capitals and mutilated statues,
once rose above the dwellings of Hundred-gated Thebes; those mounds
of rubbish, now shunned even by the wild Bedouin, cover the wondrous
relics of Nineveh; those silent mountains that look down on the lone,
ruin-covered plain of Merdusht, once echoed back the shouts of royal
Persepolis. Ruins are the voice of past ages chiding the present for
its degeneracy. They are like sea-ware on the shore at low water,
marking how high the tide of civilisation once rose.

When we consider the remote period at which such edifices were
constructed, we are at first surprised by two qualities which they
exhibit, sometimes united, sometimes apart--magnitude and beauty.
Magnitude always exerts a great influence on the senses; and without
seeking to explain how such an effect is produced, it is evident from
history that an admiration of the colossal is especially characteristic
of the human mind in the early stages of its development. Accordingly,
and perhaps also from a recollection of gigantic works before the
Flood, the first undertaking of the united race of Postdiluvians
was the vastly-imagined Tower of Babel. The first family of man in
Europe--the Pelasgi--mute and inglorious in everything else, have
left samples of an enormous architecture, whose ruins to this day
exist under the title of Cyclopean. This peculiarity is not confined
to the shores of the Mediterranean. In the remote East, and in the
long undiscovered regions of the West, in Ceylon and in Mexico, the
aboriginal races have left their sole memorials in similar masses of
masonry. With them size seems to have been everything; it was magnitude
which then fascinated the imagination. Even when men are well advanced
in civilisation, the same spirit is perceptible among them, and a love
of exaggeration, the frequent use of hyperbole, characterises the early
literature of all nations.

From the exquisite beauty of much of the architecture, poetry, and
sculpture that have come down to us from antiquity, the singular fact
is apparent, that the fine arts reached perfection at a time when
those conducive to the material comforts were still in infancy. In
those days the race of man was yet young; and youth in the species,
as in the individual, is the season of the Beautiful. It was a lively
love and susceptibility to the charms of nature that peopled the woods
and waters, the sunny skies and the sparkling sea, with deities in
sympathy with man--that saw in the rainbow a messenger from heaven
to earth, and in the thunder of the tempest the wrath of the Most
High. The vague ever excites interest; and the mysterious phenomena
of nature contributed to fix their attention on her aspects, and
consequently on her beauties. Cœlum and Terra, heaven and earth--in
one word, Nature was the great goddess of paganism. She was the great
parent of their Pantheon--from her all other gods drew birth; they were
personifications of her powers, and, till the days of the Greeks, it
was under forms of her that they were worshipped. This susceptibility
to beauty in nature was the parent of the beautiful in art. In stone,
in bronze, on the canvas, they strove to reproduce the perfection of
form that they beheld in select nature--to attain the same harmony of
parts--and thus to awaken in the beholder corresponding emotions of
pleasure. Thus art, in different countries, varied with the aspects of
nature. The monotonous vastness and horizontal lines of the scenery
of Egypt, find a counterpart in the heavy and monotonous grandeur of
its temples; and the unhandsome features of its inhabitants, in the
half-Negro faces of its gods. In Greece, on the other hand, the variety
in its architecture corresponds with the varied aspects of the country;
and its exquisite sculpture is but a reflection of the noble lineaments
of the people. The showy prettiness of Chinese decoration is typical of
the Flowery Realm; and from the exuberance of animal life in Central
Asia, springs the profusion of animal forms in the sculpture and
architecture of India, Persia, and Assyria.

External circumstances also then fostered genius in architecture.
Splendour was the glory of the kings of those days--partly from taste,
but not less so from necessity. The moral faculties of their subjects
were too weak to be alone regarded: their senses had to be appealed to.
As, during the Heroic Age, the king distinguished himself from his army
by his valour in the field, so, during peace, he had to distinguish
himself from his subjects by his magnificence. The royal mansion,
constructed of enduring granite or shining marble, represented the
visibility of power; and the people felt that they could as soon shake
the globe as overturn the lord of so much might: hence the palaces of
Persia. Religion, too, availed herself of like means of impressing the
unspiritual mind of the people; while superstition imagined that the
gods were pleased by the splendour of the temples reared for their
worship. Hence the stupendous temples of Luxor and Carnac, with their
huge ornamented propylæ, and far-stretching avenues of pillars and
sphinxes--and the countless other sacred structures of Egypt, whose
very ruins have all but perished: hence, too, the rock-temples of
Ellora and Elephanta, where the labour of the worshippers has hollowed
out of the mountain rock a mansion for their deity, and has sculptured
its sides with groups from Hindoo mythology. Even in the New World
traces of a similar spirit are to be found; and doubtless the vast
ruins recently discovered in Yucatan were designed to magnify the
worship of the great sun-god of the ancient Indians.

The noblest source from which architecture can proceed was
pre-eminently exhibited in the republics of Greece. The exalted race
that peopled that favoured land had passed the stage of intellectual
development in which magnitude is the chief object of admiration;
and among them the great object of desire was beauty, and their
chief characteristic was the love of the beautiful. Among them
Despotism was not seen building palaces to exhibit its own glory; it
was a people gratifying an elevating passion, and, while doing so,
voluntarily adding majesty to the state. Simple and unostentatious
in their private dwellings, they lavished genius and splendour in
the construction of their public buildings; for the state was but a
concentration of themselves, and in its glory they felt they were
all partakers. Nevertheless they desired beauty more for itself than
for its concomitant splendour; and even in religion they were less
worshippers of heaven than adorers of the beautiful. It is the loftiest
of delights to say to the beautiful--'I am thy Maker!' and when
kneeling before the matchless statues of their gods, the Greeks rather
gloried in them as divine creations of their genius, than humbled
themselves before them as emblems of their deities. Favoured by blood
and climate, by the character of their country, and the advent to its
shores of all the knowledge of the old East--the Greeks had a noble
career before them; and well did they fulfil their destiny. Genius and
power have long departed from the descendants of that lordly race; but
mankind still flock to the Hellenic strand to gaze on the divine relics
of the past. The sun of Greece has long set--but the land is still
radiant with her ruins.

Egypt--that land of silence and mystery--as if to compensate for its
total deficiency of written records, has left the greatest number of
ruins. From the mouth of the Nile to above the Cataracts, relics of
former magnificence stretch away to the borders of the Desert; and even
amid the now sandy wastes we stumble at times upon a ruin lordly even
in its decay. It tells us the oft-told tale of the triumph of Time. We
gaze on the ruin, and see in it a broken purpose--and the strain of our
meditations is sad. We think of the mighty monarch its founder--proud
of his power, and eager to use it; yet conscious of his evanescence,
and resolved to triumph over decay ere it triumphed over him--dreading
the forgetfulness of human hearts, and resolving to commit his glory
to things less noble, but less perishable than they, and to make the
silent marble eloquent with his praise. Those porphyry blocks have
come from the far-off Nubian mountains, and earth must have groaned
for leagues beneath their weight; the carving of those friezes, and
the sculpture of those statues, must have been the labour of years.
Alas for the captive and the slave! Hundreds have toiled and sunk on
the plain around us--till the royal pile became a cenotaph to slaves.
That vase-shaped capital, half imbedded in the sand, has been soiled
with the sweat, perhaps dabbled with the blood, of poor goaded beings;
and the sound of the lash and the groan of the victim have echoed
in halls where splendour and gaiety were thenceforth to dwell. But
long centuries have passed since then; and now indignation does not
break the calm of melancholy with which we gaze on the broken emblems
of departed power. The structure which was to exhibit the glory and
resources of a monarch lies shattered and crumbling in fragments; and
the lotos-leaf, which everywhere appears on the ruins, is an emblem of
the oblivion that shrouds the name of the founder.

But many a ruin that still 'enchants the world' awakens other
reflections than on the fall of power. It may be a concentrated history
of its architect--it may be the embodiment of the long dream that
made up his life. From the inspired moment when first its ideal form
filled his mental eye, in fancy we see it haunting his reveries like
the memory of a beautiful dream. In sorrow it has come like an angel
to gladden his lonely hours; and though adversity crush his spirit,
he still clings like a lover to the dream of the soul. At length the
object of his life is accomplished; and the edifice, awful in its
vastness, yet enchanting in its beauty, stands in the light of day
complete. To behold beauty in mental vision is a joy--but to place it
before the eyes of men, and see them bow in admiration and love, and
to know that it will live in their memories and hearts, elevating and
gladdening, and begetting fair shapes kindred to its own--this is joy
and triumph. The object which thousands are praising, and which will
be the delight and glory of future ages, is his child--it is a part
of himself. And yet now it has perished: the hand of man or of Time
has struck it to earth. It is a broken idol--and we half feel the
anguish at its fall which death has long ago spared its worshipper.
The joy, the inspiration of a lifetime--the creature and yet the idol
of genius--lies shattered on the sand; and the wild palm-tree rises
green and graceful above its remains. In this we behold the moral of
ruins--it is Nature triumphing over Art.




A GOVERNESS'S RECOLLECTIONS OF IRELAND.


A number of years ago, when I was somewhat less fastidious in entering
into an engagement than I have latterly become, I was induced to go to
Ireland, to take charge of four young ladies in a gentleman's family.
It was going a terribly long way from home, and that was an unpleasant
circumstance to contemplate; but everybody told me that I should be so
very kindly treated, that I did not long hesitate; and so accordingly
behold me, in the first place, crossing the sea in a steamer to Dublin,
and afterwards driving southwards inside the mail-coach, my spirits
wonderfully up with the novelty of the scenery, and the beautiful
weather, which seemed to welcome me to 'the first gem of the ocean.'

I do not wish to tell the name of the town to which I was bound,
and need only say that it was a seaport, with some pretty environs,
embellished with gentlemen's seats and pleasure-grounds. In one of
these seats, a large and handsome mansion, surrounded by a park, and
approached by an 'elegant' avenue, I was to take up my residence. 'A
very pleasant affair I expect this is going to be,' said I to myself,
as I was driven up to the door of the hall in a jaunting-car, which had
been in attendance for me at the coach-office. 'Nice, kind people, for
having been so considerate--and what a good-looking establishment--as
aristocratic as anybody could wish!'

The Tolmies, as I shall call the family--of course using a fictitious
appellation--were really a most agreeable set of people. The head of
the house was much superior in station and character to a squireen. He
possessed considerable property, had been in parliament, and was a man
of respectable acquirements, with exceedingly accomplished manners. His
lady had been a reigning beauty in her youth, and was still a person of
fine appearance, though she seemed to have retired in a great measure
from the world of fashion. She dressed highly, and occupied herself a
good deal in doing nothing. With regard to her daughters, who were to
be my pupils, they were obliging, light-hearted, and pretty. I liked
them at first sight; nor did subsequent experience make any sensible
alteration on this feeling.

The range of my duties was soon arranged. French, music, and drawing
were to be the principal lessons; and to work we set in the best
possible spirits. I must say, however, that a chill began to creep over
me when I had time to look about me. Inside and outside the mansion
there was a curious mixture of the genteel with the shabby. There
seemed to be no exact perception of what was due to comfort, not to
speak of respectability. Several panes of glass were broken, and not
one of them was restored during my stay. Sometimes they were open, the
holes admitting rain and wind, and sometimes they were stopped with
anything that could be readily laid hold of. The glazier was always to
be sent for; but this proved only a figure of speech.

My own room contrasted unpleasantly with, what till this time, I had
been in the custom of thinking indispensable. On the night after my
arrival I wished to fasten the door of my room, but found that it had
no lock, and I was obliged to keep it shut by means of a piece of
furniture. This did not more disconcert me than the discovery next
morning that the room had no bell. I wanted a little hot water; but
how was I to make myself heard? In vain I called from the top of the
staircase; nobody came. At length I recollected that there was a bell
at the hall door; so, throwing on a cloak, I descended to the lower
regions, and tolled the entrance-bell. Great was the commotion at so
unusual a sound at this early hour, and servants were soon on the spot
wondering at the summons. The required hot water was brought to me in a
broken china jug.

A day or two afterwards, on going into my apartment, I was not a
little astonished at observing that the house-maid had been using my
toilet-apparatus, and was, at the very moment of my entrance, wiping
her face with my only towel.

'Judy,' said I, 'that is taking too much liberty, I must say. Go fetch
to me a clean towel at anyrate.'

'A clane towel, did you say, miss? Why, this one is not a bit the worse
o' me; for, you see, I washed my face afore I touched it.'

'I don't care,' I replied; 'I must have a fresh one, so be so good as
to bring it.'

'Sure!' exclaimed Judy, 'how can I do that, when there is only one for
each of us?'

'Do you mean to tell me that there is only one towel for each room in
the house?'

'Indeed I do, miss, and plenty; for we always washes them on Saturday
night, and dries them too; and in that way everybody has a clane one on
Sunday.'

Finding from one of the young ladies that this was really the case, I
could say no more on the subject. The next three days I dried my face
with one of my cambric handkerchiefs.

If the stock of linen was rather scanty, it was not more so than
the bed furniture and some other articles usually considered to be
essential to comfort. For each bed in the house but one blanket could
be produced, no matter how cold was the weather; and I certainly should
have perished, if I had not taken the precaution of heaping my cloak
and other articles on my bed every night on retiring to rest. How my
young ladies managed I could not tell. Though well provided with frocks
and other outside attire, they were desperately ill off for those
articles which form the understratum of female apparel. Yet they were
unconscious of their deficiencies, and as happy and gay as if they had
possessed a draper's whole establishment.

The family had no lack of servants. There was a coachman, butler,
lady's-maid, and several house and kitchen-maids. I never clearly
understood the number of these female domestics. On the two or three
occasions that I entered the kitchen, there were always some women
sitting round the fire engaged in solemn conclave. One was pretty sure
to be smoking a black stumpy pipe, while the others were warming their
hands, and talking on some important piece of business. Such, I fancy,
were the hangers-on of the family. They would go an errand at a pinch,
or do any other odd job when required, for which, of course, they
enjoyed the loose hospitality of the Tolmies--'a true Irish family,
always kind to the poor; God bless them!'

One morning at breakfast Mr Tolmie kindly suggested that the young
ladies and I should have a holiday. 'There is to be some boat-racing
to-day down at the town,' said he, 'and you will all go and see it. My
brother, the colonel, will be there, and pay you all proper attentions.
So just take the car, and make a day of it. But don't forget the large
umbrella; for you may perhaps have a shower before you reach home
again.'

The offer was thankfully accepted, and we went off in the car, Reilly
the coachman driving us, and not forgetting the umbrella. We spent a
very pleasant day; and the colonel, to do him justice, proved a most
valuable cavalier. However, when the period for our return arrived,
there was no Reilly to be found. After a world of searching, the
faithless driver was discovered, not in the best balanced condition.
That, however, is nothing to an Irishman, who can drive as well drunk
as sober; so we got away in the car, not more than an hour behind our
time. When we had proceeded several miles on our way homewards, we
discovered that the large umbrella was gone.

'Reilly,' said I, 'where is the umbrella?' Reilly answered not a
word, but drove on furiously. I could not get him to speak; and as my
questions only caused him to drive with more frantic speed, I was fain
to desist. When we reached the hall, we communicated the loss to Mr
Tolmie, who did not express any anger on the occasion. 'Be quite easy
about the umbrella, my dears,' said he, 'for it will be quite safe.
Reilly has only pledged it for whisky, and we shall soon recover it.'
Next morning Reilly received an advance on his wages; and the whole day
was spent by him in bringing back the umbrella.

I mention this trifling circumstance only to show the want of exact
management both in master and man. Everything was done in a loose sort
of way, as if it were a matter of indifference how matters went. After
a windy night, we were sure to see the ground around the house littered
with lime and broken slates; but I never saw the damages repaired.
'Everything would do well enough, thank God!' Such was the consoling
philosophy of these curious people. As long as the house hung together,
and an outward appearance of gentility was maintained, there was little
regard for substantials. Often we had very poor fare; but there was a
tolerable show of plate; and if clean glasses were sometimes wanting,
there were at least not bad wines, for those who liked to partake of
these liquors.

I walked daily in the grounds with my young charges; and occasionally,
to amuse ourselves, we visited the cottages of the humbler class
of persons on the property. Mr Tolmie, who had been in England,
where he admired the houses of the peasantry, was rather anxious to
introduce the practice of keeping neatly-whitewashed cottages, and
he gave strict orders accordingly. His injunctions in this respect
were pretty generally obeyed; but unfortunately the whitewashing
was all on the outside. While the exterior was white and smart, the
interior--all within the doorway--was black, damp, and dirty. One of
the cleanest-looking cottages was the lodge at the gate, inhabited by
Larry the forester and his wife. In driving into the grounds, you would
have said, 'There is a comfortable little dwelling--it speaks well
for the proprietor.' Had you entered the cottage, how your feelings
of gratification would have been dispelled! The truth was, that the
interior possessed scarcely any furniture. The bed was a parcel of
straw, hemmed in by a deal on the floor; the whole cooking apparatus
was an iron pot; and a bottle, one or two pieces of earthenware, three
wooden stools, and a deal-table, maybe said to make up the entire list
of household articles. Breakfast, dinner, and supper consisted of a
pot of potatoes emptied on the table. Dishes at meals were out of the
question, and so were knives, forks, or spoons.

Well, this family of husband and wife was one morning augmented by the
arrival of a baby, for which, as I learned in the course of the day,
little or no preparation in the way of apparel had been made, and the
little stranger was accordingly clothed with such scraps of dress as
the young ladies and I could gather together at a short notice--all
which was declared to do beautifully, 'thank God.' The second or third
morning afterwards, dreadful news was brought respecting baby: it
had been attacked by a rat in the night-time, and very much bitten
about the forehead. But the 'ugly thief' had been scared away before
he actually killed the infant, which was considered a 'lucky escape,
thank God for it.' In spite of this untoward disaster, the child throve
apace; and with never a shirt to its back, grew up as healthy, and
plump, and happy as any of its unsophisticated ancestors.

The gleam of joy which the arrival of baby had given to Larry's cottage
was destined to be of short duration. Larry, poor man, had been for
some time suffering under what he called a 'bad cowld,' but which I
apprehended was a bronchial affection, aggravated by want of medical
care. At all events, from bad to worse, and when nobody was expecting
such a melancholy event, Larry died. His wife did not discover her
misfortune till she found in the middle of the night that her husband
was lifeless, or in a swoon. Franticly, as we afterwards learned, she
drew the body from the bed, laid it before the expiring embers of the
fire--possibly with the view of catching a little warmth--and then went
to alarm the neighbours. The first female acquaintance who arrived
in the cottage was Alley Doyle. All was pitch-dark, and as Alley was
hastening through the apartment to the bed where she supposed the dead
or dying man lay, she stumbled, and fell over the corpse; and before
she could recover herself, others tumbled in, and increased the heap
on the floor. The yelling and struggling which ensued I leave to the
imagination of the reader! Not till lights were brought was the full
extent of the catastrophe learned in all its grotesque horrors.

When it was discovered that Larry was dead beyond recall, his body was
laid out on the top of the table; candles were placed according to
custom; and forms being brought in, all sat down, and began a regular
course of wailing, which lasted till the morning; and even then the
uproar did not subside. On looking into the cottage in the forenoon,
I was surprised to see, in broad daylight, four candles burning
within, and all the shutters closed. The air of the house was hot and
stifling from the number of breaths. Around the apartment sat the
mourners, muffled up in blue-cloth cloaks; and nothing was heard but
one monotonous chant, again and again repeated--'Sure he is not dead;
for if I thought he was dead, I would go distracted now!' By this time
Larry was in his coffin; but still on the table, and his face uncovered.

This miserable scene, so characteristic of Irish habits and feelings,
continued till next day at twelve o'clock, when, by Mr Tolmie's orders,
a hearse and cars were at the gate to carry the body of the deceased
to the grave. Being anxious to witness the departure, but not wishing
to intrude, I stood at a respectful distance from the cottage. This
was likely, however, to prove rather a tiresome affair. One o'clock
came--two o'clock came--and yet the funeral did not lift or move off.
The lid of the coffin stood at the door, as if it were going to be a
fixture. Astonished at the delay, I ventured forward to ask the reason.
Nobody could tell, although hundreds of people were waiting.

'Where is the undertaker?' I inquired.

'There is none,' was the reply.

'Then who has charge of the funeral?' I again inquired of a person who
seemed to be chief mourner.

'Nobody,' said he.

'In that case,' I observed, 'I think it would be proper for you and
the others to get the lid put on the coffin, and go away as soon as
possible; for it is getting late, and there is a long way to go.'

'Ah, miss,' said the man, as if clinging to the semblance of authority,
'I wish _you_ would give the orders, and we would all do your bidding,
and be thankful.'

Thus encouraged to take the upper hand, I requested some of the
bystanders to follow me into the cottage, to fix down the lid on the
coffin, and bear it to the hearse. All was done according to my orders;
but such a scene I shall never forget--the widow dismally wailing when
she saw the coffin borne off; the candles, with their long unsnuffed
wicks, melting in their sockets from the heat; and the haggard faces of
the mourners, worn out with their vigils. At my request all left the
cottage; and in five minutes the mournful procession moved off.

It is customary in Ireland for women to accompany funerals to the
grave; but on this occasion I endeavoured to dissuade the poor widow,
exhausted by hunger, grief, and watching, from going in the procession.
At this impious proposal I was beset by two viragos, who brandished
their fists in my face, and dared me to prevent a woman from looking
after her husband's corpse. I said that I had no objection to her
going, further than that she was evidently unfit for the journey,
and had not a farthing to buy any refreshment by the way. This
announcement had a wonderfully cooling effect. The vixens ceased their
remonstrances; and when the very discouraging intelligence of 'no
money--no drink' spread through the miscellaneous groups who were now
on the move, all gradually slunk away; and Larry's corpse was left to
the charge of the kitchen-maid, the stable-boy, and the gardener and
his sister.

I was thankful that even these few members of the procession proceeded
to do their duty; and having seen the last of them, went home to the
mansion, thinking of course that Larry would encounter no further
difficulty in getting below the ground. Delusive hope! I did not know
Ireland. Next morning I learned, that when the hearse arrived at the
burying-ground, it was all at once discovered that that very important
particular, a grave, had been unaccountably forgotten. The party looked
about and about, but no grave or apology for a grave could they cast
eyes on; and, worse and worse, there was no shovel of any description
wherewith a restingplace for the unfortunate Larry could be dug. So
off the gardener trotted to borrow the necessary implements; and these
being fortunately procured at a farmhouse not more than three miles
off, a grave was at length prepared; and the coffin was entombed just
about midnight, all right and comfortably, 'thank God!'

I did not remain long in Ireland after this event. All the family were
as kind as they possibly could be. But there were deficiencies in the
_ménage_ which the utmost stretch of politeness could not compensate.
The rude disorder which prevailed was disheartening; and as my health
began to leave me along with my spirits, I longed for _home_. I am now
in that dear home, which no temptation, I trust, will ever again induce
me to leave.




'L'ACADIE.'


'L'Acadie, or Seven Years' Explorations in British America, by Sir
James E. Alexander,'[4] is one of the latest published books of travel,
and differs so much from other works of its class, that it comes
before us with the effect of novelty. Sir James is a soldier, was
on active service in the country he describes; and to military men,
therefore, his volumes will be more acceptable than to the reading
world generally. At the same time there is much pleasant, off-hand
observation on matters of social concern; and the author's account
of his proceedings while surveying for a military road through New
Brunswick is in a high degree amusing and instructive.

We should be glad to think that officers of Sir James Alexander's
standing partook of the sentiments we everywhere see expressed in
the work respecting temperance and rational economy. Wherever it can
be done appropriately, he gives a smart rap to smoking, drinking,
and similar follies. At a public dinner he attended at New York,
plates of cigars were handed round during the toasts, and almost all
helped themselves to one; whereupon he observes--'One gentleman said
he always smoked twenty-five cigars a day, and often forty. It is
really astonishing that men of intelligence and education will cloud
their senses, and ruin their constitutions, with this absurd habit,
originating in youth in the desire to appear manly.'

We have a long disquisition on desertions in Canada, the close
neighbourhood of the United States offering a ready refuge to men who
are disposed to break their allegiance. The monotony of garrison life
and drunkenness are described as the principal causes of disgust with
the service; and Sir James recommends employment, and the encouragement
of temperance societies in regiments, as means for assuaging the evil.
According to his account, deserters are not esteemed, and seldom do
any good within the American territory. Many men, however, are either
drowned in attempting to swim across to the States, or are captured.
'The drowned bodies of deserters have been seen circling about for
weeks in the Devil's Whirlpool below Niagara.' An amusing story is told
of the capture of a deserter:--'He left Amherstburg to swim across
at night to the opposite shore. He managed to give "a wide berth"
to Bois-blanc Island, on which there was a guard, and he breasted
the stream gallantly; but getting among some other islands, he got
confused; and instead of keeping the stream always running against
his right shoulder, he got it on his left, and actually relanded on
the British shore in the morning, thinking it was the American. A
woman coming down for water was naturally a good deal surprised at
the appearance of a man issuing, like Leander, from the flood close
behind her, and exclaiming to her, "Hurrah! here we are on the land of
liberty!" "What do you mean?" she asked. "In the States, to be sure,"
he answered. The woman immediately saw the true state of the case, and
saying "Follow me," he found himself in the guard-room.'

In various parts of Canada bodies of Scotch are settled in clusters, or
at least at no great distance from each other; and according to ancient
habit, they endeavour to maintain some of their national customs. At
one place Sir James had an opportunity during winter of engaging in the
game of 'curling.' Instead of stones, however, which would have cracked
with the frost, masses of iron of 56 to 80 lbs. weight, of the shape of
curling-stones, were used. On St Andrew's Day he attended the dinner
given by the Scotchmen at Kingston; and here he made the acquaintance
of the chief of the MacNabs, who some years ago removed to Canada with
318 of his clan. The locality they selected was on the Upper Ottawa, in
a romantic and agreeable situation near Lake Chats. Strange, to find
a colony of the ancient Gael perpetuating the language and manners of
their ancestors in the recesses of a Canadian forest! At the dinner
in question, 'the MacNab was distinguished by a very fine appearance,
stout and stalwart, and he carried himself like the head of a clan. His
manners, too, were particularly courtier-like, as he had seen much good
society abroad; and he was, above all, a warm-hearted man, and a true
friend. He usually dressed in a blue coat and trousers, with a whole
acre of MacNab tartan for a waistcoat--at great dinners he wore a full
suit of his tartan. On the jacket were large silver buttons, which his
ancestors wore in the "rising" in 1745.'

Another anecdote of a different kind informs us that the commercial
genius of the New World has found in _rattlesnakes_ an object of
regular traffic:--'My respectable old friend, T. M'Connell the trapper,
told me that he was in the habit of visiting Niagara for the purpose
of killing the rattlesnakes for the sake of their fat, and that he
has sometimes killed three hundred in a season, and thus:--He watched
beside a ledge of rocks where their holes were, and stood behind a
tree, club in hand, and with his legs cased in sheepskins with the
wool on, to guard against bites. The snakes would come out cautiously
to seek on account of food or to sun themselves, fearing to go far for
their enemies, the pigs. The trapper would then rush forward and lay
about him with his club; those which escaped to their holes he seized
by the tail; and if they turned round and bit him in the hand, he
would spit some snake-root (which he kept chewing in his mouth) on the
wound: it frothed up, and danger would cease. The dead snakes were then
roasted, hung up by the tail over a slow fire, and their fat collected,
taking care there was no blood in it. The fat would sell for twelve
dollars a bottle, and was considered of great value by the country
people in cases of rheumatism and stiff joints.'

The survey of the great military road through the interior from
Halifax, which was projected by government in 1844, formed a suitable
opportunity for Sir James employing his skill in engineering; and he
was accordingly engaged on a section of the undertaking. The road was
designed to extend upwards of five hundred miles in length. Beginning
at Halifax, it crossed Nova Scotia by Truro and Amherst; having arrived
in New Brunswick, it pursued a pretty straight line by Boiestown and
Lake Madawaska to the south bank of the St Lawrence, whence it went
onward to Quebec. The main object of the line was to favour the transit
of troops to Canada; but practically it would open new and vast regions
for settlement, and greatly advance the prosperity of the colonies,
New Brunswick in particular. Already a travelled road existed for a
hundred miles or more at each end, and therefore the only trouble lay
with the central divisions. The exploration of the portion from near
Frederickton to Boiestown was assigned to Sir James Alexander; and
his party was to consist of one officer, one assistant surveyor, one
Indian guide, and eight attendants, woodmen, or lumberers. The duty
was of a very serious kind. It was to hew a track of six clear feet
through the trees and brush, so as to permit the use of the measuring
chain and compass with sights; and this being done, axemen were to
follow and blaze the trees, by cutting a slice of bark off each tree
along the proposed line. When it is considered that the line was to
perforate woods which had never been traversed by civilised man; that
for months the party would not see a town or village, if, indeed,
any human habitation; and that provisions and all other articles
required to be carried on men's backs--for no beast of burthen could
travel such entangled wildernesses--the difficulties will seem
almost insurmountable. Yet even all this was found to be as nothing
in comparison with that most fearful of all torments--the plague of
insects. That a gentleman accustomed to ordinary refinements should
have volunteered such an exploration, is only another proof of the
sturdy heroism of the English soldier, who fears nothing in the cause
of duty, or which can redound to the glory of his country.

Instead of tents, which would have been cumbersome, the party took
three sheets of ticking, which, unrolling at night, they stretched on
poles to windward, the poles being cut on the spot; and under lee of
this shelter, and wrapped in blankets, they lay down to rest. There
was no undressing or shaving except on Sunday, when, no work being
done, the day was spent in religious exercises and general recreation.
The fare was simple, chiefly salt pork, tea, and biscuits, and little
cooking was necessary. The expedition started from the end of the line
next Nova Scotia, so as to explore northwards to Boiestown; their
departure being on the 28th of May, while yet the snow was not quite
thawed and gone. Starting from their lairs at five in the morning after
the first bivouac, all were speedily at their assigned duties. Sir
James went ahead, axe on shoulder, and with a compass and haversack,
exploring with the Indian André, and indicating the line of march.
With intervals for meals, all went merrily on till five P. M., when
the party camped for the night. 'The anxious inquirer may ask how
many miles we got over in a day, suggesting "eight or ten?" and will
doubtless be surprised to hear that a mile and a-quarter a day (though
sometimes double that was accomplished), cut through the bush, was
considered a fair day's work, and yet we were regularly at it from
morning till night.'

The heat was usually about 60 degrees in the morning; at noon 75
degrees; and at sunset 65 degrees. This range of temperature would
have been very pleasant in an open airy country; but in the stagnation
of the woods the closeness was sometimes terrible to bear. Then came
the savage accompaniments--'the minute black fly, the constant summer
torment; the mosquito, with intolerable singing, the prelude of its
sharp probe; the sand-fly, with its hot sting; the horse-fly, which
seems to take the bit out of the flesh; and the large moose, or
speckled-winged fly. The party were never,' adds Sir James, 'free from
flies of some kind or other; and I have seen the five different kinds
just enumerated "doing their worst" at the same time in our flesh, and
the black pests digging into it, and elevating their hinder end like
ducks searching below the surface of a pond.' To avert the attacks of
these winged pests, all the members of the expedition wore gauze veils,
tucked in carefully round the face and neck; but with this and all
other precautions--such as constantly carrying a burning green stick,
so as to raise a smoke--proved of comparatively small account. To vary
the entertainment, a bear or wolf occasionally looked in upon the camp;
but no accident was suffered from their visitations.

The country through which the line was tracked is generally level, of a
good soil, and requires only to be cleared to be fit for the settlement
of a large population. Several small rivers were forded by the party;
and at different places picturesque falls made their appearance. One of
the largest rivers reached was the Gaspereau on the 10th of July, which
it was not easy to cross with loads. Shortly after this, they entered
on the scene of the great Miramichi fire of 1825, a conflagration
of the pine-forests over many hundred square miles of country, and
which is understood to have burnt to death five hundred people. The
blackened stumps of the magnificent trees which were destroyed still
remain on the ground, interweaved with a new vegetation, differing, as
usual, from that which preceded it. After chaining about ninety miles,
and when nearly knocked up with fatigue and privations, the party of
explorers came in sight of the limit of their measurements. Here they
got well housed, and their hunger was satisfied with the wholesome
country fare in Mackay's Inn at Boiestown, on the Miramichi.

It is much matter for regret that the engineering explorations of Sir
James Alexander and others on this proposed road should have ended in
nothing being done. At an expense of L.60,000, the road, it is said,
might have been made; and made it probably would have been, but for the
freak of making a railway instead. This new project, started during
the railway mania of 1845, and which would have cost that universal
paymaster, Great Britain, not more than three or four millions of
money(!), did not go on, which need not to be regretted; but it turned
attention from the only practicable thing--a good common road; and till
this day the road remains a desideratum.

After the pains we have taken to draw attention to the work of Sir
James Alexander, it need scarcely be said that we recommend it for
perusal. In conclusion, we may be allowed to express a hope that the
author, the most competent man for the task perhaps in the Queen's
dominions, will do something towards rousing public attention to the
vast natural capabilities of New Brunswick--a colony almost at the
door, and that might be readily made to receive the whole overplus
population of the British islands. To effect such a grand social move
as this would not be unworthy of the greatest minds of the age.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] London: Colburn. 2 vols. with Plates. 1849.




THE TAXES ON KNOWLEDGE.


An association, as we learn, has sprung up in London with the view of
procuring the abolition of all taxes on knowledge--meaning by that
phrase the Excise duty on paper, the tax on foreign books, the duty on
advertisements, and the penny stamp on newspapers; the whole of which
yield a return to the Exchequer of L.1,266,733; but deducting certain
expenses to which the government is put, the aggregate clear revenue is
calculated to be about L.1,056,000.

We have been requested to give such aid as may be in our power to
facilitate the objects of the Anti-tax-on-Knowledge Association,
having, as is pretty correctly inferred, no small interest in seeing at
least one department of the exaction--the duty on paper--swept away.
So frequently, however, have we petitioned parliament on this subject,
and with so little practical avail, that we have made up our minds to
petition no more. If the public desire to get cheap newspapers, cheap
literary journals, and cheap advertisements, they must say so, and
take on themselves the trouble of agitating accordingly. This they
have never yet done. They seem to have imagined that the question is
one exclusively between publishers and papermakers and the government;
whereas, in point of fact, it is as much a public question as that of
the late taxes on food, and should be dealt with on the same broad
considerations. We are, indeed, not quite sure that publishers,
papermakers, and other tradesmen intimately concerned in the question
are, _as a body_, favourable to the removal of the stamp, the Excise,
and other taxes on their wares. Generally speaking, only a few of the
more enterprising, and the least disposed to maintain a monopoly, have
ever petitioned for the abolition of these taxes. This will seem
curious, yet it can be accounted for. A papermaker, to pay the duty
on the goods he manufactures, must have a large command of capital;
comparatively few can muster this capital; hence few can enter the
trade. London wholesale stationers, who, by advancing capital to the
papermakers, acquire a species of thraldom over them, are, according
to all accounts, by no means desirous to see the duties abolished; for
if they were abolished, their money-lending and thirlage powers would
be gone. So is it with the great monopolists of the newspaper press.
As things stand, few can compete with them. But remove the existing
imposts, and let anybody print a newspaper who likes, and hundreds of
competitors in town and country would enter the field. There can be no
doubt whatever that the stamp and advertisement-duty, particularly the
latter, would long since have been removed but for the want of zeal
shown by the London newspaper press. If these, however, be mistaken
opinions, let us now see the metropolitan stationers and newspaper
proprietors petition vigorously for the removal of the taxes that have
been named.

But on the public the great burthen of the agitation must necessarily
fall. Never would the legislature have abolished the taxes on
bread from the mere complaints of the corn importers; nor will the
taxes on knowledge be removed till the tax-payers show something
like earnestness in pressing their demands. The modern practice of
statesmanship is, to have no mind of its own: it has substituted
agitation for intelligence, and only responds to clamour. The public
surely can have no difficulty in making a noise! Let it do battle in
this cause--cry out lustily--and we shall cheerfully help it. If it
wont, why, then, we rather believe the matter must be let alone.

Who will dare to avow that the prize is not worthy of the contest? We
do not apprehend that, by any process of cheapening, the newspaper
press of Great Britain would ever sink to that pitch of foulness that
seems to prevail in America. The tastes and habits of the people
are against it; the law, strongly administered, is against it. The
only change we would expect by the removal of the stamp-duty, and
the substitution of, say, a penny postage, would be the rise of
news-sheets in every town in the kingdom. And why not? Why, in these
days of electric telegraph, should not every place have its own paper,
unburthened with a stamp? Or why should the people of London, who do
not post their newspapers, be obliged to pay for stamps which they
never use? As to the advertisement-duty--an exaction of 1s. 6d. on
every business announcement--its continuance is a scandal to common
sense; and the removal of that alone would give an immense impetus to
all branches of trade. The taxes which press on our own peculiar sheet
we say nothing about, having already in many ways pointed out their
effect in lessening the power of the printing-machine, and limiting the
sphere of its public usefulness.




DR ARNOTT ON VENTILATION AS A PREVENTIVE OF DISEASE.


Dr Neil Arnott has addressed a letter on this subject to the 'Times'
newspaper. Any expression of opinion by him on such a subject, and more
particularly with reference to the prevailing epidemics, must be deemed
of so much importance, that we are anxious, as far as in our power, to
keep it before the world. He commences by assuming, what will readily
be granted, that fresh air for breathing is one of the essentials to
life, and that the respiration of air poisoned by impure matter is
highly detrimental to health, insomuch that it will sometimes produce
the immediate destruction of life. The air acquires impurities from
two sources in chief--solid and liquid filth, and the human breath.
Persons exposed to these agencies in open places, as the manufacturers
of manure in Paris, will suffer little. It is chiefly when the
poison is caught and retained under cover, as in close rooms, that it
becomes notedly active, its power, however, being always chiefly shown
upon those whose tone of health has been reduced by intemperance, by
improper food or drink, by great fatigue and anxiety, and, above all,
by a habitual want of fresh air.

Dr Arnott regards ventilation not only as a ready means of rendering
harmless the breath of the inmates of houses, as well as those living
in hospitals and other crowded places, but as a good interim-substitute
for a more perfect kind of draining than that which exists. 'To
illustrate,' he says, 'the efficacy of ventilation, or dilution with
fresh air, in rendering quite harmless any aërial poison, I may adduce
the explanation given in a report of mine on fevers, furnished at the
request of the Poor-Law Commissioners in 1840, of the fact, that the
malaria or infection of marsh fevers, such as occur in the Pontine
marshes near Rome, and of all the deadly tropical fevers, affects
persons almost only in the night. Yet the malaria or poison from
decomposing organic matters which causes these fevers is formed during
the day, under the influence of the hot sun, still more abundantly
than during the colder night; but in the day the direct beams of the
sun warm the surface of the earth so intensely, that any air touching
that surface is similarly heated, and rises away like a fire balloon,
carrying up with it of course, and much diluting, all poisonous
malaria formed there. During the night, on the contrary, the surface
of the earth, no longer receiving the sun's rays, soon radiates away
its heat, so that a thermometer lying on the ground is found to be
several degrees colder than one hanging in the air a few feet above.
The poison formed near the ground, therefore, at night, instead of
being heated and lifted, and quickly dissipated, as during the day,
is rendered cold, and comparatively dense, and lies on the earth a
concentrated mass, which it may be death to inspire. Hence the value in
such situations of sleeping apartments near the top of a house, or of
apartments below, which shut out the night air, and are large enough to
contain a sufficient supply of the purer day air for the persons using
them at night, and of mechanical means of taking down pure air from
above the house to be a supply during the night. At a certain height
above the surface of the earth, the atmosphere being nearly of equal
purity all the earth over, a man rising in a balloon, or obtaining air
for his house from a certain elevation, might be considered to have
changed his country, any peculiarity of the atmosphere below, owing
to the great dilution effected before it reached the height, becoming
absolutely insensible.

'Now, in regard to the dilution of aërial poisons in houses by
ventilation, I have to explain that every chimney in a house is what
is called a sucking or drawing air-pump, of a certain force, and
can easily be rendered a valuable ventilating-pump. A chimney is a
pump--first, by reason of the suction or approach to a vacuum made at
the open top of any tube across which the wind blows directly; and,
secondly, because the flue is usually occupied, even when there is no
fire, by air somewhat warmer than the external air, and has therefore,
even in a calm day, what is called a chimney-draught proportioned to
the difference. In England, therefore, of old, when the chimney breast
was always made higher than the heads of persons sitting or sleeping
in rooms, a room with an open chimney was tolerably well ventilated
in the lower part, where the inmates breathed. The modern fashion,
however, of very low grates and low chimney openings, has changed the
case completely; for such openings can draw air only from the bottom of
the rooms, where generally the coolest, the last entered, and therefore
the purest air, is found; while the hotter air of the breath, of
lights, of warm food, and often of subterranean drains, &c., rises and
stagnates near the ceilings, and gradually corrupts there. Such heated,
impure air, no more tends downwards again to escape or dive under the
chimneypiece, than oil in an inverted bottle, immersed in water, will
dive down through the water to escape by the bottle's mouth; and such a
bottle, or other vessel containing oil, and so placed in water with its
open mouth downwards, even if left in a running stream, would retain
the oil for any length of time. If, however, an opening be made into
a chimney flue through the wall near the ceiling of the room, then
will all the hot impure air of the room as certainly pass away by that
opening as oil from the inverted bottle would instantly all escape
upwards through a small opening made near the elevated bottom of the
bottle. A top window-sash, lowered a little, instead of serving, as
many people believe it does, like such an opening into the chimney
flue, becomes generally, in obedience to the chimney draught, merely
an inlet of cold air, which first falls as a cascade to the floor, and
then glides towards the chimney, and gradually passes away by this,
leaving the hotter impure air of the room nearly untouched.

'For years past I have recommended the adoption of such ventilating
chimney openings as above described, and I devised a balanced metallic
valve, to prevent, during the use of fires, the escape of smoke to
the room. The advantages of these openings and valves were soon so
manifest, that the referees appointed under the Building Act added
a clause to their bill, allowing the introduction of the valves,
and directing how they were to be placed, and they are now in very
extensive use. A good illustration of the subject was afforded in
St James's parish, where some quarters are densely inhabited by the
families of Irish labourers. These localities formerly sent an enormous
number of sick to the neighbouring dispensary. Mr Toynbee, the able
medical chief of that dispensary, came to consult me respecting the
ventilation of such places, and on my recommendation had openings
made into the chimney flues of the rooms near the ceilings, by
removing a single brick, and placing there a piece of wire gauze
with a light curtain flap hanging against the inside, to prevent the
issue of smoke in gusty weather. The decided effect produced at once
on the feelings of the inmates was so remarkable, that there was an
extensive demand for the new appliance, and, as a consequence of its
adoption, Mr Toynbee had soon to report, in evidence given before the
Health of Towns Commission, and in other published documents, both an
extraordinary reduction of the number of sick applying for relief, and
of the severity of diseases occurring. Wide experience elsewhere has
since obtained similar results. Most of the hospitals and poor-houses
in the kingdom now have these chimney-valves; and most of the medical
men, and others who have published of late on sanitary matters, have
strongly commended them. Had the present Board of Health possessed the
power, and deemed the means expedient, the chimney openings might, as a
prevention of cholera, almost in one day, and at the expense of about
a shilling for a poor man's room, have been established over the whole
kingdom.

'Mr Simpson, the registrar of deaths for St Giles's parish, an
experienced practitioner, whose judgment I value much, related to me
lately that he had been called to visit a house in one of the crowded
courts, to register the death of an inmate from cholera. He found five
other persons living in the room, which was most close and offensive.
He advised the immediate removal of all to other lodgings. A second
died before the removal took place, and soon after, in the poor-house
and elsewhere, three others died who had breathed the foul air of that
room. Mr Simpson expressed to me his belief that if there had been the
opening described above into the chimney near the ceiling, this horrid
history would not have been to tell. I believe so too, and I believe
that there have been in London lately very many similar cases.

'The chimney-valves are part of a set of means devised by me for
ventilation under all circumstances. My report on the ventilation of
ships, sent at the request of the Board of Health, has been published
in the Board's late Report on Quarantine, with testimony furnished to
the Admiralty as to its utility in a convict ship with 500 prisoners.
My observations on the ventilation of hospitals are also in the hands
of the Board, but not yet published. All the new means have been freely
offered to the public, but persons desiring to use them should be
careful to employ competent makers.'

Having seen Dr Arnott's ventilators in operation in London and
elsewhere, we can venture to recommend them as a simple and very
inexpensive machinery for ventilating rooms with fires. The process
is indeed generally known, and would be more extensively applied if
people knew where to procure the ventilators. We have had many letters
of inquiry on this subject, and could only refer parties to 'any
respectable ironmongers.' But unfortunately, as it appears, there are
hundreds of respectable ironmongers who never heard of the article
in question, and our recommendation goes pretty much for nothing.
Curious how a little practical difficulty will mar a great project!
We trust that the worthy doctor will try to let it be known where his
ventilators are to be had in town and country.




AN OLD-FASHIONED DITTY.


    I've tried in much bewilderment to find
      Under which phase of loveliness in thee
    I love thee best; but oh, my wandering mind
      Hovers o'er many sweets, as doth a bee,
      And all I feel is contradictory.

    I love to see thee gay, because thy smile
      Is sweeter than the sweetest thing I know;
    And then thy limpid eyes are all the while
      Sparkling and dancing, and thy fair cheeks glow
      With such a sunset lustre, that e'en so
        I love to see thee gay.

    I love to see thee sad, for then thy face
      Expresseth an angelic misery;
    Thy tears are shed with such a gentle grace,
      Thy words fall soft, yet sweet as words can be,
      That though 'tis selfish, I confess, in me,
        I love to see thee sad.

    I love to hear thee speak, because thy voice
      Than music's self is yet more musical,
    Its tones make every living thing rejoice;
      And I, when on mine ear those accents fall,
      In sooth I do believe that most of all
        I love to hear thee speak.

    Yet no! I love thee mute; for oh, thine eyes
      Express so much, thou hast no need of speech!
    And there's a language that in silence lies,
      When two full hearts look fondness each to each,
      Love's language that I fain to thee would teach,
        And so I love thee mute.

    Thus I have come to the conclusion sweet,
      Nothing thou dost can less than perfect be;
    All beauties and all virtues in thee meet;
      Yet one thing more I'd fain behold in thee--
      A little love, a little love for me.

    MARIAN.




DEER.


The deer is the most acute animal we possess, and adopts the most
sagacious plans for the preservation of its life. When it lies,
satisfied that the wind will convey to it an intimation of the approach
of its pursuer, it gazes in another direction. If there are any wild
birds, such as curlews or ravens, in its vicinity, it keeps its eye
intently fixed on them, convinced that they will give it a timely
alarm. It selects its cover with the greatest caution, and invariably
chooses an eminence from which it can have a view around. It recognises
individuals, and permits the shepherds to approach it. The stags at
Tornapress will suffer the boy to go within twenty yards of them, but
if I attempt to encroach upon them they are off at once. A poor man who
carries peats in a creel on his back here, may go 'cheek-for-jowl' with
them: I put on his pannier the other day, and attempted to advance, and
immediately they sprung away like antelopes. An eminent deer-stalker
told me the other day of a plan one of his keeper's adopted to kill
a very wary stag. This animal had been known for years, and occupied
part of a plain from which it could perceive the smallest object at
the distance of a mile. The keeper cut a thick bush, which he carried
before him as he crept, and commenced stalking at eight in the morning;
but so gradually did he move forward, that it was five P.M. before he
stood in triumph with his foot on the breast of the antlered king. 'I
never felt so much for an inferior creature,' said the gentleman, 'as
I did for this deer. When I came up it was panting life away, with its
large blue eyes firmly fixed on its slayer. You would have thought,
sir, that it was accusing itself of simplicity in having been so easily
betrayed.'--_Inverness Courier._




IVORY.


At the quarterly meeting of the Geological and Polytechnic Society of
the West Riding of Yorkshire, held in the Guildhall in Doncaster, on
Wednesday last, Earl Fitzwilliam in the chair, Mr Dalton of Sheffield
read a paper on 'ivory as an article of manufacture.' The value of
the annual consumption in Sheffield was about L.30,000, and about 500
persons were employed in working it up for trade. The number of tusks
to make up the weight consumed in Sheffield, about 180 tons, was
45,000. According to this, the number of elephants killed every year
was 22,500; but supposing that some tusks were cast, and some animals
died, it might be fairly estimated that 18,000 were killed for the
purpose.--_Yorkshire Gazette._




CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE.


The new and improved edition of this work, which has been in course of
publication during the last two years, is now completed. In its entire
form it consists of two volumes royal 8vo., price 16_s._ in cloth
boards.

The following is the list of subjects of which the work is composed;
each subject being generally confined to a single number. Price of each
number 1½_d._ The work is largely illustrated with wood-engravings:--

No.  1. Astronomy.
     2. Geology.
     3. Meteorology.
     4. Physical Geography.
     5. Vegetable Physiology.
   6-7. Systematic Botany.
     8. Animal Physiology--The Human Body.
  9-12. Zoology.
    13. Natural Philosophy.
    14. Mechanics--Machinery.
    15. Hydrostatics--Hydraulics--Pneumatics.
    16. Optics--Acoustics.
    17. Electricity--Galvanism--Magnetism--Electro-Magnetism.
    18. Chronology--Horology.
    19. Chemistry.
    20. Chemistry applied to the Arts.
    21. Fictile Manufactures.
    22. Textile Manufactures.
    23. Mining--Minerals.
    24. Metals--Metallurgy.
    25. The Steam-Engine.
    26. Inland Conveyance.
    27. Maritime Conveyance.
    28. Architecture.
    29. Heating--Lighting--Ventilation.
    30. Supply of Water--Baths--Sewers.
    31. Agriculture.
    32. Culture of Waste Lands--Spade Husbandry.
    33. The Kitchen Garden.
    34. The Flower Garden.
    35. The Fruit Garden.
    36. Arboriculture.
    37. The Horse.
    38. Cattle--Dairy Husbandry.
    39. The Sheep--Goat--Alpaca.
    40. Pigs--Rabbits--Poultry--Cage-Birds.
    41. The Honey-Bee.
    42. The Dog--Field-Sports.
    43. Angling.
    44. Sea-Fisheries.
    45. Preservation of Health.
    46. Food--Beverages.
    47. Preparation of Food--Cookery.
    48. Medicine--Surgery.
    49. Clothing--Costume.
    50. Index, and Glossary of Terms for Vol. 1.
    51. Physical History of Man--Ethnology.
    52. Language.
    53. Constitution of Society--Government.
    54. History and Nature of Laws.
    55. History of Ancient Nations.
    56. History of Greece.
    57. History of Rome.
    58. History of the Middle Ages.
 59-61. History of Great Britain and Ireland.
    62. Constitution & Resources of the British Empire.
    63. Europe.
    64. England and Wales.
    65. Scotland.
    66. Ireland.
    67. Asia--East Indies.
    68. Africa--Oceania.
    69. North America.
    70. South America--West Indies.
    71. The Human Mind.
    72. Phrenology.
    73. Logic.
    74. Natural Theology--Ethics.
    75. History of the Bible--Christianity.
    76. Pagan and Mohammedan Religions.
    77. Superstitions.
    78. Key to the Calendar.
    79. The Private Duties of Life.
    80. Public and Social Duties of Life.
    81. Political Economy.
    82. Commerce--Money--Banks.
    83. Population--Poor-Laws--Life-Assurance.
    84. Social Economics of the Industrious Orders.
    85. Popular Statistics.
    86. Education.
    87. English Grammar.
    88. Arithmetic--Algebra.
    89. Geometry.
    90. Drawing--Painting--Sculpture.
    91. Gymnastics--Out-of-Door Recreations.
    92. In-Door Amusements.
    93. Archæology.
    94. Rhetoric and Belles Lettres.
    95. Printing.
    96. Engraving--Lithography--Photography.
 97-98. Music--Musical Instruments.
    99. Household Hints.
   100. Index, and Glossary of Terms for Vol. 2.

Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh; and may be had from all
Booksellers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, High Street, Edinburgh. Also sold by
    D. CHAMBERS, 20 Argyle Street, Glasgow; W. S. ORR, 147 Strand,
    London; and J. M'GLASHAN, 21 D'Olier Street, Dublin.--Printed
    by W. & R. CHAMBERS, Edinburgh.






End of Project Gutenberg's Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No.307, by Various