CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

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

 NO. 430. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, MARCH 27, 1852. PRICE 1-1/2_d. _

PRONOUNCERS. 

Do you not find, in almost every company, one who pronouncesdecisively upon every matter which comes in question? His voice isloud and firm, his eye bold and confident, and his whole manneroracular. No cold hesitations as to points of fact ever tease him. Little time does he require to make up his mind on any speculativesubject. He is all _yes_ or all _no_ at once and without appeal. Opposite opinions he treats with, at the best, a sublime pity, meantto be graceful, but, in reality, galling. He is often a goose; but, behe what he may, it is ten to one that he carries off the majority ofthe company in the mere sweep of his gown. They are led by him for thetime, fascinated by the energy of his pronunciations. They may allrecover from him afterwards--some after one day, some after two, andparticularly weak men after, perhaps, a week. At the moment, however, the pronouncer has vast influence, and, if immediate action can bedetermined on, it is very likely that he drags his victims into somecommittal of themselves, from which subsequent escape may not be veryeasy. 

While pronouncing is thus the prominent quality of a few, it is moreor less the vice of nearly all. Men feel that they have an inherentright to their opinion, and to the promulgation of it, and are notvery apt to reflect that there is another question--as to whethertheir opinion be worth delivering; whether it has been formed upon agood basis of knowledge or experience, or upon any basis at all;whether it is the emanation of ripe judgment and reflection, or ofsome mere passing gust of ideas springing from the whim of the minute. Hence, when any question arises, it is seldom found that any one isquite unprepared to give some sort of decision. Even the giddy girl ofseventeen will have something to say upon it, albeit she may neverhave heard of the matter before. It is thought foolish-looking not tobe able to pronounce, as if one imperiled the right of privatejudgment itself by not being prepared in every case to act upon it. Inconsequence, what absurd opinions do we hear in all kinds of companiesupon all kinds of topics! How the angels, who know better, must weep!

A conversational party even of tolerably well-educated persons, oftenpresents itself in a ludicrous light. Some question has arisen amongstthem. No one has any clear or definite information upon it. They havehad disputes about the simplest matters of fact involved in it. Yet noperson there, down to the youngest, but would take scorn to be held asincapable of pronouncing upon it. There are as many opinions as thereare persons present, and not one less confident than another. What isvery natural in such circumstances, no one has the least respect forthe opinions of any of the rest. Each, in fact, does justice upon hisneighbour for the absurdity of pronouncing without grounds, whileincapable of seeing the absurdity in himself. And thus an hour will bepassed in a most unprofitable manner, and perhaps the social spirit ofthe company be not a little marred. How much better to say: 'Well, that is a subject I know nothing about: I will not undertake tojudge. ' Supposing all who are present to be in the same predicament, they might dismiss the barren subject, and start another on which someone could throw real light, and from which, accordingly, all mightderive some benefit. 

Is not this habit of pronouncing without preparation in inquiry andreflection just one of the causes of that remarkable diversity ofopinion which is so often deplored for its unpleasant consequences? Inignorance--fancy, whim, and prejudice usurp the directing power. If wetake no time for consideration, we shall be apt to plunge into anerror, and afterwards persevere in it for the sake of consistency, orbecause it has become a thing which we regard as our own. In suchcircumstances, no wonder there are as many 'minds' as 'men. ' But whenany one can speak on the ground of well-ascertained facts, and aftersome deliberation on the bearings of the question, he must carryothers with him, not by fascination, but by real conviction, and thusgreatly reduce the proportion of opinions to men. Very likely, someother man has got hold of a somewhat different range of facts, andcome to different conclusions: he, too, will have his party offollowers. But there being two or three discrepant views on thesubject, is a much less evil than there being as many as there areindividuals. 

The right of pronouncing upon public affairs is one that would beparticularly clung to if there were any danger of its being lost, andit certainly is not in England that any writer would be found ready tochallenge so valued a privilege. At the same time, no one willseriously deny, that if this right were used more generally with theadvantage of a tolerable knowledge of the subject, it would be animprovement. Public men may be acting, as, indeed, they must generallydo, upon certain data carefully brought out by inquiry: they may judgeand act amiss after all, for human judgment is fallible. But when wecontrast their means of forming a judgment with those of many personswho hesitate not to pronounce upon their measures, it cannot be deniedthat they stand in a strong position. When we hear a bold condemnationof their acts from men who, so far from having gone through the sameprocess of inquiry, have not even perused the documents in which thegrounds of the administrative policy were explained, can we dootherwise than smile at the pretensions of the _pseudo_-judges? Is notthe frequency of this unfounded judging much more apt to harden anunlucky statesman than to make him amenable to counsel? On the otherhand, when a public man finds himself and his actions criticised bymen who have knowledge, he must be a hardy one indeed who can entirelydisregard the judgment. 

If we attentively study the progress of any man who has acquiredinfluence over his fellow-creatures--apart from certain matters inwhich the feelings are mainly concerned--we shall find that he hasdistinguished himself by a habit of not pronouncing where he has nomeans of forming a judgment. Such a man has had the good sense to seeand confess that he could not be expected to know many thingssufficiently well to entitle him to pronounce authoritatively uponthem. He has probably given some considerable share of attention tocertain subjects that are of some importance to his fellow-creatures, and thus fitted himself, with regard to them, to speak with more orless decision. Never found guilty of giving a vague, crudely-formedjudgment on things a hundred miles out of his way, but, on thecontrary, obtaining credit occasionally for the manner in which hetreats those with which he is conversant, he irresistibly acquirescharacter and influence. Young hasty minds laugh at his taking suchcare not to commit himself: he is perhaps taxed with getting creditfor merely looking grave and holding his tongue. But this very holdingof the tongue when there is nothing to say, is, in reality, one of thegreatest, though often one of the last-learned virtues. Were hismerits purely negative, they would be great; tending as they do tosave truth from that obscuration which a multitude of ill-formedopinions necessarily throw upon it. But we shall usually discover insuch men a positive merit also in their power to illustrate and give aguiding opinion upon certain subjects of importance to public orprivate interests. 

There is not one sentence in this little essay which may not be justlyset down as mere commonplace. We acknowledge the fault; but defend iton the ground that sound and useful commonplaces require a continualrefreshing and re-presentment, so many persons being, after all, unaware or forgetful of them. 

On a similar ground of defence, we would take leave to remind mankindof the good old maxim, 'Hear the other party. ' Familiar to mostpeople, observed by some, there are multitudes who uniformly act as ifthey had never heard of it. To be quite candid, we often catchourselves neglecting it; and always, at the best, it takes a struggleto make it a reality in our conduct. Experience, however, impresses usmore and more with a sense of its being absolutely essential to theascertainment of truth in any disputable case. There is so much biasfrom self-love, so much recklessness about truth in general, and somuch of even a sincere faithlessness of narration, that no partialaccount of anything is to be trusted. It is but a small concession tothe cause of truth, to wait till we hear the statement of the oppositeparty, or not to pronounce without it. If anything were required toprove how little this is reflected on, it would be the readiness ofnearly all persons to tell their own story, without intimating theslightest doubt that it is to be implicitly received on their ownshewing. One cannot walk along a street, but some friend will come upand inflict a narration, limited entirely to his own view of a case inwhich he is interested or aggrieved, practically ignoring that therecan and must be another way of stating it. And so great is thecomplaisance of mankind, that no one thinks of intimating anynecessity for consulting another authority before giving judgment. Here the vicious habit of thoughtless pronouncing is doubly bad, as itinvolves also a kind of flattery. 

There are some novel doctrines and theories, which seem doomed to meetwith prejudice and opposition, but which yet must have some vitalityabout them, seeing that they survive so much ill-treatment. It iscurious to observe how little regard to the rules of reasoning isusually felt to be necessary in opposing these theories--how merepronouncing comes to stand in their case in the stead of evidence andargument. Although they may have been brought forward as mere forms ofpossible truth--ideal points round which to rally the scattered forcesof investigation--and only advanced as far as facts would go, and nofurther--you will find them denounced as visions, tending to thebreach of the philosophic peace; while, on the other hand, those whooppose them, albeit on no sort of ground but a mere pronunciation ofcontrary opinion, obtain all the credit due to the genuinephilosopher. Abstractly, it would be generally admitted that anydoctrine for which a certain amount of evidence is shewn, can only beoverthrown by a superior force of evidence on the other side. Butpractically this is of no avail. Doubt and denial are so important tophilosophy, and confer such an air of superior wisdom, that merely todoubt and deny will be pretty sure to carry both the educated and theuneducated vulgar. To get a high character in that position is ofcourse very easy. Little more than pronouncing is required. As to therespective positions of the affirmer and denier in some future time, when truth has attained the power of asserting her reign againstprejudice, that is another thing. 

To return to the general question--If any one be impressed by ourremarks with a sense of the absurdity of pronouncing without knowledgeand reflection, let him endeavour to avoid it, and he will confer asensible benefit on society. When next he is in company, and a subjectoccurs to tempt him into an expression of opinion, let him pause amoment, and say to himself: 'Now, do I know anything about it--or if Iknow something, do I know enough--to enable me to speak without fearof being contradicted? Have I ever given it any serious reflection? AmI sure that I have an opinion about it at all? Am I sure that Ientertain no prejudice on the point?' Were every one of us children ofBritish freedom to take these precautions, there would be more poweramongst us to pronounce wisely. There would be a more vigorous andhealthful public opinion, and the amenity, as well as instructivenessof private society would be much increased. 

COOLING THE AIR OF ROOMS IN HOT CLIMATES. 

In our last number, allusion was made to a process for cooling the airof apartments in hot climates, with a view to health and comfort. Theintolerable heat of the climate in India, during certain hours of theday, is well known to be the cause of much bad health among Europeansettlers. By way of rendering the air at all endurable, the plan ofagitating it with punkahs, hung to the roofs of apartments, thepunkahs being moved by servants in attendance for the purpose, isadopted. Another plan of communicating a sensation of coolness, is tohang wet mats in the open windows. But by neither of these expedientsis the end in view satisfactorily gained. Both are nothing else thanmake-shifts. 

The new process of cooling now to be described, is founded on ascientific principle, certain and satisfactory in its operation, provided it be reduced to practice in a simple manner. The discovereris Professor Piazzi Smyth, who has presented a minute account of it ina paper in the _Practical Mechanic's Journal_ for October 1850, andalso separately in a pamphlet. We invite public attention to thiscurious but simple invention, of which we shall proceed to present afew principles from the pamphlet just referred to. 

Mr Smyth first speaks of the uselessness of the punkah, and the dangerof the wet mats. 'The wet mats in the windows for the wind to blowthrough, cannot be employed but when the air is dry as well as hot, and even then are most unhealthy, for although the air may feel dry tothe skin, there is generally far more moisture in it than in our ownclimate; but the height of the temperature increasing the capacity ofthe air for moisture, makes that air at 80 degrees feel very dry, which at 40 degrees would be very damp. Now, one of the reasons of thelassitude felt in warm climates is, that the air expanding with theheat, while the lungs remain of the same capacity, they must take in asmaller quantity by _weight_, though the same by _measure_, of oxygen, the supporter of life; but if, in addition to the air being rarefied, it be also still further distended by the vapour of water being mixedwith it, it is evident that a certain number of cubic inches bymeasure, or the lungs full, will contain a less weight of oxygen thanever; so little, indeed, that life can barely be supported; and weneed not wonder at persons lying down almost powerless in the hot anddamp atmosphere, and gasping for breath. Hence we see that any methodof cooling the air for Indians, instead of adding moisture, shouldrather take it out of the air, so as to make oxygen predominate asmuch as possible in the combined draught of oxygen, azote, and acertain quantity of the vapour of water, which will always be present;and hardly any plan could be more pernicious than the favourite thoughdreaded one by those who have watched its results--of the wet mats. Cold air--that is, air in which the thermometer actually stands at alow reading--by reason of its density, gives us oxygen, the food ofthe lungs, in a compressed and concentrated form; and men canaccordingly do much work upon it. But air which is merely cold to thefeelings--air in which the thermometer stands high, but which merelygives us one of the external sensations of coolness--on being made bya punkah, or any other mere blowing machine, to move rapidly over ourskin--or on being charged with watery vapour, or on being contrastedwith previous excessive heat--such air must, nevertheless, be rarefiedto the full extent indicated by the mercurial thermometer, and giveus, therefore, our supply of vital oxygen in a very diluted form, andof a meagre, unsupporting, and unsatisfying consistence. . . . The _sinequâ non_, therefore, for healthy and robust life in tropicalcountries, is air cold and dry--cold to the thermometer and dry to thehygrometer; or, in other words, dense, and containing little else thanthe necessary oxygen and azote, and this supplied to a room, fresh andfresh, in a continual current. '

He next goes on to describe the principle of his new plan ofcooling:--'The method by which I propose to accomplish thisconsummation, so devoutly to be desired, is chiefly by takingadvantage of the well-known property of air to rise in temperature oncompression, and to fall on expansion. If air of any temperature, highor low, be compressed with a certain force, the temperature will riseabove what it was before, in a degree proportioned to the compression. If the air be allowed immediately to escape from under the pressure, it will recover its original temperature, because the fall in heat, onair expanding from a certain pressure, is equal to the rise on itsbeing compressed to the same; but if, _while the air is in itscompressed state, it be robbed of its acquired heat of compression_, and then be allowed to escape, it will issue at a temperature as muchbelow the original one, as it rose above it on compression. Thus theair, being at 90 degrees, will rise, if compressed to a certainquantity, to 120 degrees; if it be kept in this compressed andconfined state until all the extra 30 degrees of heat have beenconveyed away by radiation and conduction, and the air be then allowedto escape, it will be found, on issuing, to be of 60 degrees oftemperature. If a cooler be formed by a pipe under water, and air beforced in under a given compression at one end, and be made to passalong to the other, it may thereby, if the cooler be sufficientlyextensive, be robbed of all its heat of compression; and if theapparatus is so arranged, as it easily may be, that at every stroke ofthe pump forcing in air at one end of the pipe, an equivalent quantityof the cooled compressed air escape from under a loaded valve at theother, there will be an intermittent stream of cooled air producedthereby, of 60 degrees Fahrenheit, in an atmosphere of 90 degrees, which may be led away in a pipe to the room desired to be cooled. '

The only difficulty to be encountered consists in the erection andworking of machinery. There can be little fear on this score. We haveno doubt that any London engine-maker would hit off the whole schemeof an air-cooling machine in half an hour. What is wanted is aforcing-pump wrought by a one horse or two bullock-power. This beingerected and wrought outside of a dwelling, the air will be forced intoa convolution of pipe passing through a tank of water, like the wormof a still, and will issue by a check-valve at every stroke of thepiston into the apartments to be cooled. Properly arranged, and with asuitable supply of water trickling through the tank, air at 90 degreeswill be reduced to 60 degrees or thereabouts, which is the temperatureof ordinary sitting-rooms in England. What, it may be asked, will bethe expense of such an apparatus for cooling the air of adwelling-house? We are informed that it will not be greater than thatusually paid for heating with fires in this country; and if so, theexpense cannot be considered a serious obstacle to the use of theapparatus. In the case of barracks for soldiers, hospitals, and otherpublic establishments, the process will prove of such importantservice, that the cost, even if greater than it is likely to be, should present no obstacle to its application. 

THE CHURCH OF THE CUP OF COLD WATER. 

One beautiful evening, in the year 1815, the parish priest of SanPietro, a village a few miles distant from Sevilla, returned muchfatigued to his little cottage, where he found his aged housekeeper, the Señora Margarita, watching for him. Notwithstanding that one iswell accustomed to the sight of poverty in Spain, it was impossible tohelp being struck by the utter destitution which appeared in the houseof the good priest; the more so, as every imaginable contrivance hadbeen resorted to, to hide the nakedness of the walls, and theshabbiness of the furniture. Margarita had prepared for her master'ssupper a rather small dish of _olla-podriga_, which consisted, to saythe truth, of the remains of the dinner, seasoned and disguised withgreat skill, and with the addition of some sauce, and a _name_. As sheplaced the savoury dish upon the table, the priest said: 'We shouldthank God for this good supper, Margarita; this olla-podriga makesone's mouth water. My friend, you ought to be grateful for finding sogood a supper at the house of your host!' At the word host, Margaritaraised her eyes, and saw a stranger, who had followed her master. Hercountenance changed, and she looked annoyed. She glanced indignantlyfirst at the unknown, and then at the priest, who, looking down, saidin a low voice, and with the timidity of a child: 'What is enough fortwo, is always enough for three; and surely you would not wish that Ishould allow a Christian to die of hunger? He has not tasted food fortwo days. '

'A Christian! He is more like a brigand!' and Margarita left the roommurmuring loudly enough to be heard. 

Meanwhile, the unwelcome guest had remained standing at the door. Hewas a man of great height, half-dressed in rags, and covered with mud;while his black hair, piercing eyes, and carbine, gave him anappearance which, though hardly prepossessing, was certainlyinteresting. 'Must I go?' said he. 

The priest replied with an emphatic gesture: 'Those whom I bring undermy roof are never driven forth, and are never unwelcome. Put down yourcarbine. Let us say grace, and go to table. '

'I never leave my carbine, for, as the Castilian proverb says, "Twofriends are one. " My carbine is my best friend; and I always keep itbeside me. Although you allow me to come into your house, and do notoblige me to leave it until I wish to do so, there are others whowould think nothing of hauling me out, and, perhaps, with my feetforemost. Come--to your good health, mine host, and let us to supper. '

The priest possessed an extremely good appetite, but the voracity ofthe stranger soon obliged him to give up, for, not contented witheating, or rather devouring, nearly the whole of the olla-podriga, theguest finished a large loaf of bread, without leaving a crumb. Whilehe ate, he kept continually looking round with an expression ofinquietude: he started at the slightest sound; and once, when aviolent gust of wind made the door bang, he sprang to his feet, andseized his carbine, with an air which shewed that, if necessary, hewould sell his life dearly. Discovering the cause of the alarm, hereseated himself at table, and finished his repast. 

'Now, ' said he, 'I have one thing more to ask. I have been wounded, and for eight days my wound has not been dressed. Give me a few oldrags, and you shall be no longer burdened with my presence. '

'I am in no haste for you to go, ' replied the priest, whose guest, notwithstanding his constant watchfulness, had conversed veryentertainingly. 'I know something of surgery, and will dress yourwound. '

So saying, he took from a cupboard a case containing everythingnecessary, and proceeded to do as he had said. The stranger had bledprofusely, a ball having passed through his thigh; and to havetravelled in this condition, and while suffering, too, from want offood, shewed a strength which seemed hardly human. 

'You cannot possibly continue your journey to-day, ' said the host. 'You must pass the night here. A little rest will get up yourstrength, diminish the inflammation of your wound, and'----

'I must go to-day, and immediately, ' interrupted the stranger. 'Thereare some who wait for me, ' he added with a sigh--'and there are some, too, who follow me. ' And the momentary look of softness passed fromhis features between the clauses of the sentence, and gave place to anexpression almost of ferocity. 'Now, is it finished? That is well. See, I can walk as firmly as though I had never been wounded. Give mesome bread; pay yourself for your hospitality with this piece of gold, and adieu. '

The priest put back the gold with displeasure. 'I am not aninnkeeper, ' said he; 'and I do not sell my hospitality. '

'As you will, but pardon me; and now, farewell, my kind host. '

So saying, he took the bread, which Margarita, at her master'scommand, very unwillingly gave him, and soon his tall figuredisappeared among the thick foliage of a wood which surrounded thehouse, or rather the cabin. An hour had scarcely passed, whenmusket-shots were heard close by, and the unknown reappeared, deadlypale, and bleeding from a deep wound near the heart. 

'Take these, ' said he, giving some pieces of gold to his late host;'they are for my children--near the stream--in the valley. '

He fell, and the next moment several police-officers rushed into thehouse. They hastily secured the unfortunate man, who attempted noresistance. The priest entreated to be allowed to dress his wound, which they permitted; but when this was done, they insisted oncarrying him away immediately. They would not even procure a carriage;and when they were told of the danger of removing a man so severelywounded, they merely said: 'What does it matter? If he recovers, itwill only be to receive sentence of death. He is the famous brigand, José!'

José thanked the intercessor with a look. He then asked for a littlewater, and when the priest brought it to him, he said in a faintvoice: 'Remember!' The reply was merely a sign of intelligence. Whenthey were gone, notwithstanding all Margarita could say as to thedanger of going out at night, the priest crossed the wood, descendedinto the valley, and soon found, beside the body of a woman, who haddoubtless been killed by a stray ball of the police, an infant, and alittle boy of about four years old, who was trying in vain to awakenhis mother. Imagine Margarita's amazement when the priest returnedwith two children in his arms. 

'May all good saints defend us! What have you done, señor? We havebarely enough to live upon, and you bring two children! I suppose Imust beg from door to door, for you and for them. And, for mercy'ssake, who are these children? The sons of that brigand, gipsy, thief, murderer, perhaps! I am sure they have never been baptised!' At thismoment the infant began to cry. 'And pray, Señor Clérigo, how do youmean to feed that child? You know very well that we have no means ofpaying a nurse. We must spoon-feed it, and nice nights that will giveme! It cannot be more than six months old, poor little creature, ' sheadded, as her master placed it in her arms. 'Fortunately, I have alittle milk here;' and forgetting her anger, she busied herself inputting some milk on the fire, and then sat down beside it to warm theinfant, who seemed half-frozen. Her master watched her in silence, andwhen at last he saw her kiss its little cheek, he turned away with aquiet smile. 

When at length the little one had been hushed into a gentle slumber, and when Margarita, with the assistance of her master's cloak, andsome of her own clothes, had made a bed for the elder boy, and placedhim in it, the good man told her how the children had been committedto his care, and the promise he had made, though not in words, toprotect them. 

'That is very right and good, no doubt, ' said Margarita; 'I only wantto know how we are all to live?' The priest opened his Bible, and readaloud:

'Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup ofcold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, heshall in no wise lose his reward. '

'Amen!' said Margarita. 

Twelve years passed by. The parish priest of San Pietro, who was nowmore than seventy years old, was sitting in the sunshine at his door. Near him, a boy of about twelve years old was reading aloud from theBible, looking occasionally towards a tall, fine-looking young man, who was hard at work in a garden close by. Margarita, who was nowbecome blind, sat and listened. Suddenly, the sound of wheels washeard, and the boy exclaimed: 'Oh! the beautiful carriage!' A splendidcarriage approached rapidly, and stopped before the door. Arichly-dressed servant approached, and asked for a cup of water forhis master. 

'Carlos, ' said the priest to the younger boy, 'go, bring water to thegentleman; and add some wine, if he will accept it. Go quickly!' Atthis moment, the carriage-door opened, and a gentleman, apparentlyabout fifty years old, alighted. 

'Are these your nephews?' said he to the priest. 

'They are more than that, señor; they are my children--the children ofmy adoption. '

'How is that?'

'I will tell you, señor; for I am old and poor, and know but little ofthe world, and am in much need of advice; for I know not what to dowith these two children. ' He related the story we have just told. 'Andnow, señor, what do you advise me to do?'

'Apply to one of the nobles of the court, who must assign you apension of four thousand ducats. '

'I asked you for advice, señor, and not for jest. '

'And then, your church must be rebuilt. We will call it the Church ofthe Cup of Cold Water. Here is the plan. See, this is to be thevicarage; and here, divided by this paling'----

'What does this mean? What would you say? And, surely, I remember thatvoice, that face'----

'I am Don José della Ribeira; and twelve years ago, I was the brigandJosé. I escaped from prison; and--for the revolution made greatchanges--am now powerful. My children'----

He clasped them in his arms. And when at length he had embraced them ahundred times, with tears, and smiles, and broken sentences; and whenall had in some degree recovered their composure, he took the hand ofthe priest and said: 'Well, father, will you not accept the Church ofthe Cup of Cold Water?' The old man, deeply affected, turned toMargarita, and repeated:

'Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup ofcold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, heshall in no wise lose his reward. '

'Amen!' replied the aged woman, her voice tremulous from emotion. 

A short time afterwards, Don José della Ribeira and histwo sons were present at the consecration of the church ofSan-Pietro-del-Vaso-di-Aqua-Fria, one of the prettiest churches in theneighbourhood of Sevilla. 

MUSIC-GRINDERS OF THE METROPOLIS. 

Perhaps the pleasantest of all the out-door accessories of a Londonlife are the strains of fugitive music which one hears in the quietby-streets or suburban highways--strains born of the skill of some ofour wandering artists, who, with flute, violin, harp, or brazen tubeof various shape and designation, make the brick-walls of the busycity responsive with the echoes of harmony. Many a time and oft havewe lingered entranced by the witchery of some street Orpheus, forgetful, not merely of all the troubles of existence, but ofexistence itself, until the strain had ceased, and silence aroused usto the matter-of-fact world of business. One blind fiddler, we knowhim well, with face upturned towards the sky, has stood a publicbenefactor any day these twenty years, and we know not how muchlonger, to receive the substantial homage of the music-loving million. But that he is scarcely old enough, he might have been the identicalOxford-Street Orpheus of Wordsworth:--

 'His station is there; and he works on the crowd, He sways them with harmony merry and loud; He fills with his power all their hearts to the brim-- Was aught ever heard like his fiddle and him?'

Decidedly not--there is nothing to match it; and so thinks 'theone-pennied boy' who spares him his one penny, and deems it wellbestowed. Then there are the harpers, with their smoothFrench-horn-breathing and piccola-piping comrades, who at the soothinghour of twilight affect the tranquil and retired paved courts or snugenclosures far from the roar and rumble of chariot-wheels, where, clustered round with lads and lasses released from the toils of theday, they dispense romance and sentiment, and harmonious cadences, inexchange for copper compliments and the well-merited applause of fitaudiences, though few. Again, there are the valorous brass-bands ofthe young Germans, who blow such spirit-stirring appeals from theirtravel-worn and battered tubes--to say nothing of the thousandperformers of solos and duets, who, wherever there is the chance of amoment's hearing, are ready to attempt their seductions upon our earsto the prejudice of our pockets. All these we must pass over with thisbrief mention upon the present occasion; our business being with theirnumerous antitheses and would-be rivals--the incarnate nuisances whofill the air with discordant and fragmentary mutilations anddistortions of heaven-born melody, to the distraction of educated earsand the perversion of the popular taste. 

'Music by handle, ' as it has been facetiously termed, forms ourpresent subject. This kind of harmony, which is not too oftendeserving of the name, still constitutes, notwithstanding the largeamount of indisputable talent which derives its support from thegratuitous contributions of the public, by far the larger portion ofthe peripatetic minstrelsy of the metropolis. It would appear thatthese grinders of music, with some few exceptions which we shallnotice as we proceed, are distinguished from their praiseworthyexemplars, the musicians, by one remarkable, and to them perhaps verycomfortable characteristic. Like the exquisite Charles Lamb--if hiscurious confession was not a literary myth--they have ears, but noear, though they would hardly be brought to acknowledge the fact socandidly as he did. They may be divided, so far as our observationgoes, into the following classes:--1. Hand-organists; 2. Monkey-organists; 3. Handbarrow-organists; 4. Handcart-organists; 5. Horse-and-cart-organists; 6. Blindbird-organists; 7. Piano-grinders;8. Flageolet-organists and pianists; 9. Hurdy-gurdy players. 

1. The hand-organist is most frequently a Frenchman of thedepartments, nearly always a foreigner. If his instrument be good foranything, and he have a talent for forming a connection, he will befound to have his regular rounds, and may be met with any hour in theweek at the same spot he occupied at that hour on the week previous. But a man so circumstanced is at the head of the vagabond profession, the major part of whom wander at their own sweet will wherever chancemay guide. The hand-organ which they lug about varies in value fromL. 10 to L. 150--at least, this last-named sum was the cost of afirst-rate instrument thirty years ago, such as were borne about bythe street-organists of Bath, Cheltenham, and the fashionablewatering-places, and the grinders of the West End of London at thatperiod, when musical talent was much less common than it is now. Wehave seen a contract for repairs to one of these instruments, including a new stop and new barrels, amounting to the liberal sum ofL. 75: it belonged to a man who had grown so impudent in prosperity, asto incur the penalty of seven years' banishment from the town in whichhe turned his handle, for the offence of thrashing a young nobleman, who stood between him and his auditors too near for his sense ofdignity. Since the invention of the metal reed, however, which, undervarious modifications and combinations, supplies the sole utterance ofthe harmonicon, celestina, seraphina, colophon, accordian, concertina, &c. &c. And which does away with the necessity for pipes, the streethand-organ has assumed a different and infinitely worse character. Some of them yet remain what the old Puritans called 'boxes ofwhistles'--that is, they are all pipes; but many of them might withequal propriety be called 'boxes of Jews-harps, ' being all reeds, orrather vibrating metal tongues--and more still are of a mixedcharacter, having pipes for the upper notes, and metal reeds for thebass. The effect is a succession of sudden hoarse brays as anaccompaniment to a soft melody, suggesting the idea of a duet betweenTitania and Bottom. But this is far from the worst of it. Theprofession of hand-organist having of late years miserably declined, being in fact at present the next grade above mendicancy, the elementof cheapness has, per force, been studied in the manufacture of theinstrument. The barrels of some are so villainously pricked that thetime is altogether broken, the ear is assailed with a minim in theplace of a quaver, and _vice versâ_--and occasionally, as a matter ofconvenience, a bar is left out, or even one is repeated, in utterdisregard of suffering humanity. But what is worse still, these metalreeds, which are the most untunable things in the whole range ofsound-producing material, are constantly, from contact with fog andmoisture, getting out of order; and howl dolorously as they will intoken of their ailments, their half-starved guardian, who will grindhalf an hour for a penny, cannot afford to medicate their pains, evenif he is aware of them, which, judging from his placid composureduring the most infamous combination of discords, is very much to bequestioned. [1]

2. The monkey-organist is generally a native of Switzerland or theTyrol. He carries a worn-out, doctored, and flannel-swathedinstrument, under the weight of which, being but a youth, or veryrarely an adult, he staggers slowly along, with outstretched back andbended knees. On the top of his old organ sits a monkey, or sometimesa marmoset, to whose queer face and queerer tricks, he trusts forcompensating the defective quality of his music. He dresses hisshivering brute in a red jacket and a cloth cap; and, when he can, heteaches him to grind the organ, to the music of which he will himselfdance wearily. He wears an everlasting smile upon his countenance, indicative of humour, natural and not assumed for the occasion: andthough he invariably unites the profession of a beggar with that ofmonkey-master and musician, he has evidently no faith in a melancholyface, and does not think it absolutely necessary to make youthoroughly miserable in order to excite your charity. He will leavehis monkey grinding away on a door-step, and follow you with agrinning face for a hundred yards or more, singing in a kind ofrecitative: 'Date qualche cosa, signer! per amor di Dio, eccellenza, date qualche cosa!' If you comply with his request, his voluble thanksare too rapid for your comprehension; and if you refuse, he laughsmerrily in your face as he turns away to rejoin his friend andcoadjutor. He is a favourite subject with the young artists abouttown, especially if he is very good-looking, or, better still, excessively ugly; and he picks up many a shilling for sitting, standing, or sprawling on the ground, as a model in the studio. Itsometimes happens that he has no organ--his monkey being his onlystock in trade. When the monkey dies--and one sees by their melancholycomicalities, and cautious and painful grimaces, that the poor brutesare destined to a short time of it--he takes up with white mice, or, lacking these, constructs a dancing-doll, which, with the aid of ashort plank with an upright at one end, to which is attached a cordpassing through the body of the doll, and fastened to his right leg, he keeps constantly on the jig, to the music of a tunelesstin-whistle, bought for a penny, and a very primitive parchment tabor, manufactured by himself. These shifts he resorts to in the hope ofretaining his independence and personal freedom--failing to succeed inwhich, he is driven, as a last resource, to the comfortless drudgeryof piano-grinding, which we shall have to notice in its turn. 

3. The handbarrow-organist is not uncommonly some lazy Irishman, if hebe not a sickly Savoyard, who has mounted his organ upon a handbarrowof light and somewhat peculiar construction, for the sake offacilitating the task of locomotion. From the nature of his equipage, he is not given to grinding so perpetually as his heavily-burdenedbrethren. He cannot of course grind, as they occasionally do, as hetravels along, so he pursues a different system of tactics. He walksleisurely along the quiet ways, turning his eyes constantly to theright and left, on the look-out for a promising opening. The sight ofa group of children at a parlour-window brings him into your frontgarden, where he establishes his instrument with all the deliberationof a proprietor of the premises. He is pretty sure to begin hisperformance in the middle of a tune, with a hiccoughing kind of sound, as though the pipes were gasping for breath. He puts a sudden periodto his questionable harmony the very instant he gets his penny, havinga notion, which is tolerably correct, that you pay him for his silenceand not for his sounds. In spite of his discordant gurglings andsquealings, he is welcomed by the nursery-maids and their infanttribes of little sturdy rogues in petticoats, who flock eagerly roundhim, and purchase the luxury of a half-penny grind, which they perform_con amore_, seated on the top of his machine. If, when your frontgarden is thus invaded, you insist upon his decamping without a fee, he shews his estimate of the peace and quietness you desiderate by hisunwillingness to retire, which, however, he at length consents to do, though not without a muttered remonstrance, delivered with the air ofan injured man. He generally contrives to house himself as night drawson in some dingy taproom, appertaining to the lowest class ofTom-and-Jerry shops, where, for a few coppers and 'a few beer, ' hewill ring all the changes on his instrument twenty times over, untilhe and his admiring auditors are ejected at midnight by thepolice-fearing landlord. 

4. The handcart-organists are a race of a very different and moreenterprising character, and of much more lofty and varied pretensions. They generally travel in firms of two, three, or even four partners, drawing the cart by turns. Their equipage consists of an organ of verycomplicated construction, containing, besides a deal of verymarvellous machinery within its entrails, a collection of bells, drums, triangles, gongs, and cymbals, in addition to the usualquantity of pipes and metal-reeds that go to make up the travellingorgan. The music they play is of a species which it is not very easyto describe, as it is not once in a hundred times that a stranger candetect the melody through the clash and clangor of the gross amount ofbrass, steel, and bell-metal put in vibration by the machinery. This, however, is of very little consequence, as it is not the music inparticular which forms the principal attraction: if it serve to call acrowd together, that is sufficient for their purpose; and it is forthis reason, we imagine, that the effect of the whole is contrived toresemble, as it very closely does, the hum and jangle of GreenwichFair when heard of an Easter Monday from the summit of the ObservatoryHill. No, the main attraction is essentially dramatic. In front of thegreat chest of heterogeneous sounds there is a stage about five or sixfeet in width, four in height, and perhaps eighteen inches or two feetin depth. Upon this are a variety of figures, about fourteen incheslong, gorgeously arrayed in crimson, purple, emerald-green, blue, andorange draperies, and loaded with gold and tinsel, and sparklingstones and spangles, all doubled in splendour by the reflection of amirror in the background. The figures, set in motion by the samemachinery which grinds the incomprehensible overture, perform a dramaequally incomprehensible. At the left-hand corner is Daniel in thelion's den, the lion opening his mouth in six-eight time, and an angelwith outspread wings, but securely transfixed through the loins by arevolving brass pivot, shutting it again to the same lively movement. To the right of Daniel is the Grand Turk, seated in his divan, andbrandishing a dagger over a prostrate slave, who only ventures to risewhen the dagger is withdrawn. Next to him is Nebuchadnezzar on allfours, eating painted grass, with a huge gold crown on his head, whichhe bobs for a bite every other bar. In the right-hand corner is a sortof cavern, the abode of some supernatural and mysterious being of thefiend or vampire school, who gives an occasional fitful start, andturns an ominous-looking green glass-eye out upon the spectators. Allthese are in the background. In the front of the stage standsNapoleon, wearing a long sword and cocked hat, and the conventionalgray smalls--his hand of course stuck in his breast. At his right areTippoo Saib and his sons, and at his left, Queen Victoria and PrinceAlbert. After a score or so of bars, the measure of the music suddenlyalters--Daniel's guardian angel flies off--the prophet and the lionlie down to sleep together--the Grand Turk sinks into the arms of thedeath-doomed slave. Nebuchadnezzar falls prostrate on the ground, andthe fiend in the gloomy cavern whips suddenly round and glares withhis green eye, as if watching for a spring upon the front row ofactors, who have now taken up their cue and commenced theirperformance. Napoleon, Tippoo Saib, and Queen Victoria, dance athree-handed reel, to the admiration of Prince Albert and a group oflords and ladies in waiting, who nod their heads approvingly--whenbr'r'r! crack! bang! at a tremendous crash of gongs and grumbling ofbass-notes, the fiend in the corner rushes forth from his lair with aportentous howl. Away, neck or nothing, flies Napoleon, and Tippooscampers after him, followed by the terrified attendants; but lo! atthe precise nick of time, Queen Victoria draws a long sword frombeneath her stays, while up jumps the devouring beast from the den ofthe prophet, and like a true British lion--as he doubtless was all thewhile--flies at the throat of the fiend, straight as an arrow to itsmark. Then follows a roar of applause from the discriminatingspectators, amidst which the curtain falls, and, with an extraflourish of music, the collection of copper coin commences. This isalways a favourite spectacle with the multitude, who never botherthemselves about such trifles as anachronisms and unities; and theonly difficulty the managers have to overcome in order to insure aremunerative exhibition, is that of finding a quiet locality, whichshall yet be sufficiently frequented to insure them an audience. Thereare equipages of this description of very various pretensions andperfection, but they all combine the allurements of music and thedrama in a greater or less degree. 

5. The horse-and-cart-organists are a race of enterprisingspeculators, who, relying upon the popular penchant for music, haveundertaken to supply the demand by wholesale. It is impossible by meredescription to impart an adequate idea of the truly appalling andtremendous character of their performances. Their machines are some ofthem vast structures, which, mounted upon stout wheels, and drawn by acouple of serviceable horses, might be mistaken for wild-beast vans. They are crammed choke-full with every known mechanical contrivancefor the production of ear-stunning noises. Wherever they burst forthinto utterance, the whole parish is instantly admonished of theirwhereabouts, and, with the natural instinct of John Bull for a row--nomatter how it originates--forth rushes the crowd to enjoy thedissonance. The piercing notes of a score of shrill fifes, the squallof as many clarions, the hoarse bray of a legion of tin trumpets, theangry and fitful snort of a brigade of rugged bassoons, theunintermitting rattle of a dozen or more deafening drums, the clang ofbells firing in peals, the boom of gongs, with the sepulchral roar ofsome unknown contrivance for bass, so deep that you might almost countthe vibrations of each note--these are a few of the components of thehorse-and-cart-organ, the sum-total of which it is impossible to addup. Compared to the vicinity of a first-rater in full blow, the insideof a menagerie at feeding-time would be a paradise of tranquillity andrepose. The rattle and rumble of carts and carriages, which drive theprofessors and possessors of milder music to the side-streets andsuburbs, sink into insignificance when these cataracts of uproar beginto peal forth; and their owners would have no occasion to seek anappropriate spot for their volcanic eruptions, were it not that thepolice, watchful against accident, have warned them from the principalthoroughfares, where serious consequences have already ensued throughthe panic occasioned to horses from the continuous explosion of suchunwonted sounds. In fact, an honourable member of the Commons' Houseof Parliament made a motion in the House, towards the close of thelast session, for the immediate prohibition of these monsternuisances, and quoted several cases of alarm and danger to life ofwhich they had been the originating cause. These formidable erectionsare for the most part the property and handiwork of the men who travelwith them, and who must levy a pretty heavy contribution on the publicto defray their expenses. They perform entire overtures and longconcerted pieces, being furnished with spiral barrels, and mightprobably produce a tolerable effect at the distance of a mile orso--at least we never heard one yet without incontinently wishing it amile off. By a piece of particular ill-fortune, we came one day uponone undergoing the ceremony of tuning, on a piece of waste-ground atthe back of Coldbath Prison. The deplorable wail of those torturedpipes and reeds, and the short savage grunt of the bass mystery, haunted us, a perpetual day-and-night-mare, for a month. We could nothelp noticing, however, that the jauntily-dressed fellow, whosefingers were covered with showy rings, and ears hung with long drops, who performed the operation, managed it with consummate skill, andwith an ear for that sort of music most marvellously discriminating. 

6. Blind bird-organists. Though most blind persons either naturallypossess or soon acquire an ear for music, there are yet numbers who, from the want of it or from some other cause, never make anyproficiency as performers on an instrument. Blindness, too, is oftenaccompanied with some other disability, which disqualifies its victimsfor learning such trades as they might otherwise be taught. Hencemany, rather than remain in the workhouse, take to grinding music inthe streets. Here we are struck with one remarkable fact: theIrishman, the Frenchman, the Italian, or the Savoyard, at least sosoon as he is a man, and able to lug it about, is provided with aninstrument with which he can make a noise in the world, and prefer hisclamorous claim for a recompense; while the poor blind Englishman hasnothing but a diminutive box of dilapidated whistles, which you maypass fifty times without hearing it, let him grind as hard as he will. It is generally nothing more than an old worn-out bird-organ, in alllikelihood charitably bestowed by some compassionate PollSweedlepipes, who has already used it up in the education of hisbull-finches. The reason, we opine, must be that the major part, ifnot the whole, of the peripatetic instruments of the metropolis arethe property of speculators, who let them out on hire, and that theblind man, not being considered an eligible customer, is precludedfrom the advantage of their use. However this may be, the poor blindgrinder is almost invariably found furnished as we have described him, jammed up in some cranny or corner in a third-rate locality, where, having opened or taken off the top of his box, that the curiousspectator may behold the mystery of his too quiet music--the revolvingbarrel, the sobbing bellows, and the twelve leaden and ten woodenpipes--he turns his monotonous handle throughout the live-long day, inthe all but vain appeal for the commiseration of his fellows. This isreally a melancholy spectacle, and one which we would gladly missaltogether in our casual rounds. 

7. The piano-grinders are by far the most numerous of thehandle-turning fraternity. The instrument they carry about with themis familiar to the dwellers in most of the towns in England. It is aminiature cabinet-piano, without the keys or finger-board, and isplayed by similar mechanical means to that which gives utterance tothe hand-organ; but of course it requires no bellows. There is onething to be said in favour of these instruments--they do not make muchnoise, and consequently are no very great nuisance individually. Theworst thing against them is the fact, that they are never in tune, andtherefore never worth the hearing. After grinding for twelve orfourteen hours a day for four or five years, they become perfectabominations; and luckless is the fate of the poor little strangercondemned to perpetual companionship with a villainous machine, whoseevery tone is the cause of offence to those whose charity he mustawaken into exercise, or go without a meal. These instruments areknown to be the property of certain extensive proprietors in the city, some of whom have hundreds of them grinding daily in every quarter ofthe town. Some few are let out on hire--the best at a shilling a day;the old and worn-out ones as low as two or three pence; but the greatmajority of them are ground by young Italians shipped to this countryfor the especial purpose by the owners of the instruments. Thesedescendants of the ancient Romans figure in Britain in a verydifferent plight from that of their renowned ancestors. They may beencountered in troops sallying forth from the filthy purlieus ofLeather Lane, at about nine or ten in the morning, each with hisawkward burden strapped to his back, and supporting his steps with astout staff, which also serves to support the instrument when playing. Each one has his appointed beat, and he is bound to bring home acertain prescribed sum to entitle him to a share in the hot supperprepared for the evening meal. We have more than once, when startledby the sound of the everlasting piano within an hour of midnight, questioned the belated grinder, and invariably received for answer, that he had not yet been able to collect the sum required of him. Still there can be no doubt that some of them contrive to save money;inasmuch as we occasionally see an active fellow set up on his ownaccount, and furnished with an instrument immensely superior to thoseof his less prosperous compatriots. So great is the number of thesewandering Italian pianists, that their condition has attracted theattention of their more wealthy countrymen, who, in conjunction with aparty of benevolent English gentlemen, have set on foot an associationfor the express purpose of imparting instruction to poor Italians ofall grades, of whom the vagabond musicians form the largest section. 

It is easy to recognise the rule adopted in the distribution of theinstruments among the grinders: the stoutest fellow, or he who cantake the best care of it, gets the best piano; while the shattered andrickety machine goes to the urchin of ten or twelve, who can scarcelydrag it a hundred yards without resting. It is to be supposed that theinstruments are all rated according to their quality. There is at thismoment wandering about the streets of London a singular and pitiableobject, whose wretched lot must be known to hundreds of thousands, andwho affords in his own person good evidence of the strictness of therule above alluded to, as well as of the rigour with which the tradeis carried on. We refer to a ragged, shirtless, and harmlessly insaneItalian lad, who, under the guardianship of one of the piano-mongers, is driven forth daily into the streets, carrying a blackened andgutted, old piano-case, in which two strings only of the originalscale remain unbroken. The poor unwashed innocent transports himselfas quickly as possible to the genteelest neighbourhood he can find, and with all the enthusiasm of a Jullien, commences his monotonousgrind. Three turns of the handle, and the all but defunct instrumentejaculates 'tink;' six more inaudible turns, and then the respondingstring answers 'tank. ' 'Tink--tank' is the sum-total of hisperformance, to any defects in which he is as insensible as a blindman is to colour. As a matter of course, he gets ill-treated, mobbed, pushed about, and upset by the blackguard scamps about town; and wereit not for the police, who have rescued him times without number fromthe hands of his persecutors, he would long ere now have been reducedto as complete a ruin as his instrument. In one respect, he is indeedalready worse off than the dilapidated piano: he is dumb as well assilly, and can only utter one sound--a cry of alarm of singularintensity; this cry forms the climax of pleasure to the wretches whodog his steps, and this, unmoved by his silent tears and woful looks, they goad him to shriek forth for their express gratification. We havestumbled upon him at near eleven at night, grinding away with all hismight in a storm of wind and rain, perfectly unconscious of either, and evidently delighted at his unusual freedom from interruption. 

8. Flageolet-organists and pianists. It is a pleasure to award praisewhere praise is due, and it may be accorded to this class of grinders, who are, to our minds, the elite of the profession. We stated abovethat some of the piano-grinders contrive, notwithstanding theirdifficult position, to save money and set up for themselves. It isinevitable that the faculty of music must be innate with some of thesewandering pianists, and it is but natural that these should succeedthe best, and be the first to improve their condition. The instrumentwhich combines a flageolet-stop with a piano is generally found in thepossession of young fellows who, by dint of a persevering and savageeconomy, have saved sufficient funds to procure it. Indeed, in commonhands, it would be of less use than the commonest instrument, becauseit requires frequent--more than daily--tuning, and would therefore beof no advantage to a man with no ear. Unless the strings were instrict unison with the pipes, the discordance would be unbearable, andas this in the open air can hardly be the case for many hourstogether, they have to be rectified many times in the course of aweek. As might be reasonably supposed, these instruments arecomparatively few. When set to slow melodies, the flageolet taking theair, and the piano a well-arranged accompaniment, the effect is reallycharming, and, there is little reason to doubt, is found as profitableto the producer as it is pleasing to the hearer. They are to be metwith chiefly at the west end of the town, and on summer eveningsbeneath the lawyers' windows in the neighbourhood of some of the Innsof Court. 

9. The hurdy-gurdy player. We have placed this genius last, because, though essentially a most horrid grinder, he, too, is in some sort aperformer. In London, there may be said to be two classes ofthem--little hopping, skipping, jumping, reeling Savoyard or Swissurchins, who dance and sing, and grind and play, doing, like Cæsar, four things at once, and whom you expect every moment to see rollingon the pavement, but who continue, like so many kittens, to pitch ontheir feet at last, notwithstanding all their antics--and men withsallow complexions, large dark eyes, and silver ear-rings, who standerect and tranquil, and confer a dignity, not to say a grace, evenupon the performance of the hurdy-gurdy. The boys for the most part donot play any regular tune, having but few keys to their instruments, often not even a complete octave. The better instruments of the adultperformers have a scale of an octave and a half, and sometimes twooctaves, and they perform melodies and even harmonies with somethinglike precision, and with an effect which, to give it its due praise, supplies a very tolerable caricature of the Scotch bagpipes. Thesegentry are not much in favour either with the genuine lovers of musicor the lovers of quiet, and they know the fact perfectly well. Theyhang about the crowded haunts of the common people, and find theirharvest in a vulgar jollification, or an extempore 'hop' at the doorof a suburban public-house on a summer night. There are a fewold-women performers on this hybrid machine, one of whom is familiarto the public through the dissemination of her _vera effigies_ in acontemporary print. 

The above are all the grinders which observation has enabled us toidentify as capable of classification. The reader may, if he likes, suppose them to be the metropolitan representatives of the nineMuses--and that, in fact, in some sort they are, seeing that they arethe embodiments to a certain extent of the musical tastes of a sectionat least of the inhabitants of London; though, if we are asked whichis Melpomene? which is Thalia? &c. &c. We must adopt the reply of theshowman to the child who asked which was the lion and which was thedog, and received for answer: 'Whichever you like, my little dear. '

With respect to all these grinders, one thing is remarkable: they areall, with the exception of a small savour of Irishmen, foreigners. Scarcely one Englishman, not one Scot, will be found among the wholetribe; and this fact is as welcome to us as it is singular, because itspeaks volumes in favour of the national propensity, of which we havereason to be proud, to be ever doing something, producing something, applying labour to its legitimate purpose, and not turning anotherman's handle to grind the wind. Yet there is, alas! a scattered andcharacteristic tribe of vagabond English music-grinders, and to thesewe must turn a moment's attention ere we finally close the list. We must call them, for we know no more appropriate name, cripple-grinders. It is impossible to carry one's explorations veryfar through the various districts of London without coming upon one ormore samples of this unfortunate tribe. Commerce maims and mutilatesher victims as effectually as war, though not in equal numbers; andmen and lads without arms, or without legs, or without either, and mendoubled up and distorted, and blasted blind and hideous withgunpowder, who have yet had the misfortune to escape death, are leftwithout limbs or eyesight, often with shattered intellects, to fightthe battle of life, at fearful odds. Had they been reduced to a likemiserable condition while engaged in killing their fellow-creatures onthe field of battle or on the deck of carnage, a grateful countrywould have housed them in a palace, and abundantly supplied theirevery want; but they were merely employed in procuring the necessariesof life for their fellows in the mine or the factory, and as nobodyowes them any gratitude for that, they must do what they can. Andbehold what they do: they descend, being fit for nothing else, to thelevel of the foreign music-grinder, and, mounted on a kind ofbed-carriage, are drawn about the streets of London by their wives orchildren; being furnished with a blatant hand-organ of last century'smanufacture, whose ear-torturing growl draws the attention of thepublic to their woful plight, they extort that charity which wouldelse fail to find them out. If there be something gratifying in thefact, that this is the only class of Britons who follow such aninglorious profession, there is nothing very flattering in theconsideration, that even these are compelled to it by inexorablenecessity. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Among some of the continental nations, Justice, though blind, isnot supposed to be deaf; she has, on the contrary, a musical ear, andcompels the various grinders of harmony to keep their instruments intune, under the penalty of a heavy fine. In some of the German cities, the police have summary jurisdiction in offences musical, and areempowered to demand a certificate, with which every grinder is boundto be furnished, shewing the date of the last tuning of hisinstrument. If he perpetrate false harmony, and his certificate be runout, he is mulcted in the fine. Such a by-law would be a real bonus inLondon. 

A VOICE FROM THE DIGGINGS. 

The voices that have come from the diggings in California andAustralia have hitherto been so loud and so many, that they haveserved only to confuse. We have the image before our fancy of a vastcrowd of human beings hastening over seas and deserts towards certaingeographical points, where they meet, struggle, fix. We see thempicking up lumps of gold from the surface, or digging them out of theearth, or collecting the glittering dust by sifting and washing; andthen we hear of vast torrents of the precious metal finding their wayinto Europe, threatening to swamp us all with absolute wealth, andconfound and travesty the whole monetary transactions of the world. What we don't see, is the gold itself. We should like, if it were onlyout of curiosity, to feel a handful of it in our pocket: but we gropein vain. A sovereign costs twenty shillings, as before; and twentyshillings are as hard to come at as ever. Nevertheless, we believe inthe unseen presence of that slave-genius, who lends himself, with asickly smile, to the service of mankind, and buys when we think he issold! We have faith in bills of lading, and accept without questionany amount that is reported to lie dormant in the reservoir of theBank of England: only we wonder in private whether the importations ofthe precious metal are likely to increase permanently in greaterproportion than the population in this quarter of the globe, and thespread of taste, comfort, and luxury, calling every day new arts intoexistence, perfecting old ones, and distributing wealth throughout theconstantly widening circle of talent and industry. 

But our present business is with the diggings and the diggers. We haveoften wished we could interrogate one of those unquiet spirits in themanner of Macbeth--'What is't ye do?' How do you manage? By what signsdo you know a locality that is likely to repay your pains? What areyour instruments, your machinery? What do you conceive to be theprospects of your singular trade? And, in fact, our curiosity is atthis moment to a certain extent gratified: a Voice has been waftedacross the ocean to our private ear, and, undisturbed by the thousandother tongues of the diggings, we can listen to an account, distinctso far as it goes, of the whole process of gold-hunting. The voiceemanates from Mr S. Rutter, of Sydney, whose experience has lain bothin the Californian and Australian mines, and we propose puttingtogether, in as intelligible a way as we can, the rough hints withwhich we have been favoured. 

Mr Rutter, on the 24th of May last, left Sydney for the Ophirdiggings, with a party, including himself, of four individuals. Asleeping partner remained behind, whose duty it was to furnish themeans of conveyance for the first trip; but the four travellersentered with each other into a more precise agreement, the chiefarticles of which we give, as being common in such adventures:--

I. We solemnly agree to stand by each other in all circumstances. 

II. Each man is to come provided with firearms. 

III. The capital is to be contributed equally, or credit given, as maybe agreed to by the majority. 

IV. The profit or loss to be equally divided. 

V. In the event of death or disablement occurring to any of the party, his share of the stock and profits is to be immediately handed over tohis friends. 

On this paction being signed, the party set forth, provided withL. 100 worth of goods, a cart and a team of horses, and reachedParamatta, a distance of eighteen miles, the first night, althoughthey were obliged to send back one of the horses, which had proved tobe useless. Here Mr Rutter slept in a bed for the last time duringfour months; and the next day, having purchased another horse, andsold some of their goods to lighten the wagon, they set forth againtowards evening. The road was nothing more than a dray-track, to whichthe horses were unequal; and after proceeding a few miles, they weredetained at the village of Prospect for a week, till one of thepartners had returned to Sydney, and brought back a pair ofbush-horses and a new cart. As they proceeded the next day, they foundthe track over which they travelled become more and more populous;till, on crossing the Macquarrie, they encamped in the midst ofthirteen teams of cattle and their thirteen companies, all bound uponthe same errand as themselves. 

On the 12th of June, in the dusk of the evening, they reached thesummit of a hill overlooking their destination. The Summerhill Creeklay before them, with the camp-fires of fifty or sixty huts; and asthey descended into the midst, the inhabitants of this village of thedesert were returning from work with laughter and rude merriment. After pitching their camp, and taking some refreshment, they proceededanxiously to inquire the news; and that night they turned in with novery bright anticipations, after learning that the creek was high andgoods low, the weather alternating between rain and frost, the minesovercrowded, and superfluous hands deserting them fast. They struggledfor awhile against these evil auguries; they even contrived, withgreat labour, to pick up an ounce or two of gold; but at length, losing heart, the party broke up on the 23d, and all went home but ouradventurer. 

His geological and mechanical knowledge enabled him to obtain apartnership with another band of gold-hunters then at work; and afterspending some days in _prospecting_ on account of the new concern, hefound 'a chink he liked the look of, ' which appeared to have beenpartially worked. Licences were accordingly taken out, thecommissioner being on the spot, and forty-five feet of frontage to thecreek were marked off. As soon as the river became a little lower, they began in earnest to dig a race for turning the course of thewater. Their pump was made and fixed ready to drain; a dam wasemptied; six ounces of gold were obtained as an earnest of what theymight expect; and then it began to rain, and the creek to roar, andthe whole of their machinery was swept away. 

Here was a new mishap: but these things will happen in the diggings;and so our adventurers, agreeing to pay the commissioner a monthlylicence for their ground, intending to return in the dry weather towork it, removed bag and baggage to another part of the river. Herethey dug away, but it appears with no tempting success; and they tookcare to return to the commissioner in time, as they thought, toimplement their monthly bargain. On tendering the money for theirlicence, however, they discovered that they were just half an hour toolate, and that the functionary had disposed of their forty-five feetto another bidder. What to do now? They fell in with a man, an oldfriend of Mr Rutter, just setting off on a journey of sixty-two milesto the north, where he told them a piece of gold had been foundweighing 106 lbs. This invaluable man they instantly took intopartnership, and purchasing fresh horses, they struck their camp, andfollowed their new companion across the country, in search of a placecalled the Devil's Hole, near the World's End. It is no wonder theylost their way. As there was no such thing as a road, they wereobliged to transport their goods on the horses' backs; and theinteresting nature of their journey may be guessed at from the fact, that they had to cross a creek with steep banks sixteen times in thecourse of five miles. 

They at length reached the Louisa Diggings, near those quartz-ridgeswhere, in fact, a 106 lb. Lump of gold had been found. They encampedin the dark; and getting up betimes the next morning, looked eagerlyout on this land of promise. It was a dull, dreary morning, and aheavy continuous rain plashed upon the earth. About 200 persons weretaking the air in this watery atmosphere, their dress and movementscorresponding well with the aspect of the hour. Some were covered withan old sack, some with a blanket, some with a dripping cloak, but allglided slowly about in the rain, with a stick in their hands, andtheir eyes fixed upon the ground. These phantoms were gold-hunters;and the silent company was immediately joined by our adventurers, whoglided and poked like the rest. The ground was new, and during twodays gold was obtained in this way, from a particle the size of apin's head to a lump of nearly an ounce. When the surface wasexhausted, digging commenced; but the soil was too tough for thecommon cradle, and although rich in gold, it would not repay thetrouble of washing. Upon this, the company broke up, each pursuing hisown way; and our adventurer and another agreed to go down the countrytogether to Maitland, prospecting on the way. 

The place where the large mass of gold was found is an intersectionbetween two quartz-ridges, rising from a high table-land in the midstof a congeries of mountains, offshoots from the range that extendsfrom Wilson's Point, on the south, to Cape York, on the north. Theclay soil covers many acres below and around the ridges, and whereverit was prospected by our adventurer, gold was found. On the 12th ofSeptember, he reached Maitland; and here he found a letter awaitinghim, which determined him to choose a new hunting-ground. Some yearsbefore, it seems, a man he knew, who was at that time a shepherd inthe Wellington District, while crossing the country on his master'sbusiness, lost his way in the gullies, and did not find it again fortwo days. While sitting down, in his dilemma, on a quartz-rock, heobserved something glittering beside him, and breaking off with histomahawk a piece of the stone, he carried it home with him as acuriosity. At home it lay for years, till the reported discoveries ofgold induced him to offer it for sale to a goldsmith in Sydney. Theresult was, that he connected himself with a party of adventurers, andthey all set forth for the place where he had rested among thegullies. His companions proved treacherous; and when they had comesufficiently near to be able, as they thought, to find the spotwithout his assistance, they turned him adrift. They sought the goldenrock for three days--but in vain; and he went back to Sydney, toinvite Mr Rutter to accompany him. Here ends our narrative for thepresent; and a most instructive one it is. The search for gold, ourinformant tells us plainly, is a mere lottery, its results dependingalmost wholly upon chance. Plenty as the metal is, it frequently coststwenty shillings the sovereign's worth; and, in short, we are at thatpoint of transition when the mania is dying away, and the science hasnot begun. When capital and skill are brought to bear upon the processof mining in Australia, it will become a regular, though by no means amiraculously profitable business; and even at present, steadylabouring-men may spread themselves over thousands of miles of theauriferous creeks, if they will be satisfied with a profit of seven oreight shillings a day. 

According to his experience, the place to look for gold is in theneighbourhood of distinct traces of volcanic action, or in smallstreams coming direct from hills of volcanic formation, or rivers fedby these streams. An abundance of quartz (commonly called spar) isuniversally reckoned an indication of the presence of gold; and iftrap-rock is found cropping up amid this quartz, and perforated withstreaks of it, so much the better. Sometimes the solid quartz itselfis pounded, and gold extracted by the aid of quicksilver. When thegold is found in rivers, or on their banks, prediction is vain:nothing will do but the actual trial by the wash-pan. But where thereis a bar or sand-bank, the richest deposit will always be on the sideof the bank presented to the descending stream. The metal in suchdigging is almost invariably found in small spangles, that appear tohave been granular particles crushed or rolled flat by some enormouspressure. In California, these spangles were the beginning of thegold-finding. When the streams and their banks were well searched, thecrowds of adventurers tried, in desperation, what they could do bydigging deep holes in the plains; and there the metal was found insuch different forms as to indicate quite a different process ofdeposition. Some of these holes were productive--although it wassevere labour to dig fifteen or eighteen feet through a hard soilmerely as an experiment; and in the course of time the plains werecovered with tents. The influx of adventurers continued; and the olddiggers, dissatisfied with gains that seemed to the new prodigious, retired further and further back, and began to grope in the terraceson the sides of volcanic hills, and among the detritus of extinctcraters. Here the harvest was rich, and as the crowning effort of thegold-passion, unassisted by machinery, they actually in some cases cutaway the sides of the hills! 'My own impression is, ' concludes ourinformant on this subject, 'that, both in California and Australia, the chances of individual enterprise, and even of small companies, aredecreasing rapidly; but that when the mines so wrought have ceased topay, capital and machinery, directed by science, will receiveprofitable employment for ages to come. '

The wash-pan we have mentioned may be of tin, if not required to beused with quicksilver, otherwise of copper or wood; but of whatevermaterial made, it should be some 15 inches in diameter at the top, 10or 11 at the bottom, and 5, or 5-1/2 inches deep. The manner of usingthis is learned only by practice and observation, and consists in apeculiar motion, by which the heavier substances sink to the bottomand remain there, while the soluble and lighter parts are washed out. The principal use of the wash-pan is in rewashing the partially washed'stuff' taken from the rocker, and in prospecting to ascertain bytrial the value of a new place. 

This rocker, or cradle, may be made of half-inch softwood, andconsists of a trough 10 inches deep, 18 inches broad, and 4 feet long, closed at the broad end, and open at the other; with a transverse barat the upper part, two feet from the broad end, to receive the tray. This machine is placed on rockers, like a cradle, and deposited sonear the water that, when at work, the man who rocks with his lefthand may be able to reach the water with a small tin baler, providedwith a wooden handle two feet long. A bucketful of the earth to bewashed is thrown into the tray, and the person who is to rock thecradle taking a balerful of water, throws it uniformly on the mass inthe tray, and keeps rocking and washing till the gold becomes obvious. These are the simpler implements of gold-hunting; and provided withthem, the little company of adventurers pitch their tent and continueto dig, till they come to earth they think will pay for washing. Thenext morning, they get up perhaps at daylight, for the sake of thecoolness of the hour, and pass through the sieve ten or fifteenbuckets before breakfast. After breakfast, all hands resume work tillabout twelve o'clock, when they dine, then rest through the heat ofthe day till three o'clock, and go on again till dark. They usuallydivide the work as follows: one in the hole digs, fills the bucketwith earth, and, if necessary, bales the water out of the hole;another takes the bucket and empties it into the tray of the machine;while a third rocks, supplies the machine with water, and empties thetray of the large stones. This, it will be seen, is no child's play:your gold-hunter is no idle wanderer, but a hard-working man, subjected to a thousand discomforts unknown in civilised life. 

The quicksilver cradle is a more complicated and expensive machine, requiring six men instead of three to work it. It is understood, however, to save at least 20 per cent. Of the metal, and indeed to beindispensable in some places in California, where the gold is in toofine particles to be detected by the common rocker. Quicksilver has sostrong an affinity for gold, that the minutest particle of the latterhaving once touched, it is deprived of the possibility of escape; andwhen the process of washing has been completely gone through, thewhole mass of gold particles will be found bound together by thequicksilver into a compact lump, in size and shape often resembling anegg. The gold is thus obtained in the form of an amalgam; but thequicksilver is easily evaporated, if its loss be of no consequence, orseparated without loss by a more scientific process. 

We have more than once used the word _prospecting_, which, we believe, is peculiar to this kind of mining. The deposits of gold are socapricious, that the adventurers, in order to lose as little time aspossible in removing from place to place, detach one of their numberon the hunt for a mine--and this is called prospecting. He sets outwith a few provisions, a rifle, a pick and shovel, at all events, witha pan and large knife; and on reaching some hopeful-looking locality, he makes experiments on the soil by washing. The considerations thatdetermine his calling the company to the spot are of course influencedby the circumstance of their having a common or a quicksilver cradle. He calculates the average value of the gold he finds in severalpanfuls of the soil at different depths; and he takes into account thedistance it has to be carried for washing, the means of transit thereexist, and how far off is the nearest store. The prospector, therefore, is a very important member of the concern, and in manycases the success of the adventure depends upon his experience andsagacity. 

THE HISTORY OF JANE A POOLE. 

In the latter part of the fourteenth century, an incident occurred inthe family of the Earl of Suffolk, which affords a curiousillustration of old manners in England. We shall follow the account ofthe circumstance, given in a manuscript in the British Museum. 

Sir Michel Poole, second Earl of Suffolk, had several sons anddaughters. First was Mighell, son and heir; then William, second son;and afterwards ten additional olive branches, of diverse names andboth sexes--all of whom, however, died, and went down unmarried to thecold tomb. Some fell off like nipped blossoms in their infancy;convents and wars absorbed the rest, till only the eldest two wereleft of all that numerous family to perpetuate the name of Poole, andraise the fortunes of the race. In due course of time, Sir Mighellmarried Elizabeth, daughter of the right noble knight, Thomas Duke ofNorfolk; and these together had two children, Jane and Katharine, but, alas! no son. Years passed on, and the hope of an heir was at an end;but before that hope was quite laid aside, the tragedy of the housebegan. 

Jane, as yet heiress and darling, a round, bright, wilful cherub, beautiful and loving, but mighty in her passionate force, andindomitable in her infant will, beyond all power of control--the onemost cared for, and on whom was anchored such a rich argosy of hopesand first fond love--was one day given into the safe keeping of Maud, a young serving-girl, a rough, untutored peasant-girl, who was one ofthe underwomen to the bower-maidens. The king was coming to the castlethat night, and every female finger that could work was employed onthe last stitches of a dainty tapestry-bed, which was to receive HisMajesty as became his lordly dignity. Even the mother's care must giveway to the housewife's duty; even love must yield to loyalty. 

Left alone in an upper apartment with her young charge, Maud becameweary of confinement, and resolved at all hazards to descend to thegreat hall, and have her share of the general amusement. Down, accordingly, she went. Jane, of course, accompanied her, and, contraryto orders, was allowed to romp about at pleasure. The day was cold, and the fire burned brightly in the open hearth. Nearer and nearer thelittle one crept to the blazing logs, watching the sparks fly up in agolden shower when the crackling masses fell to the ground, or whensome rough soldier struck them with his mailed hand. No one looked toher while she played by the open hearth, and tried to seize the vividsparks; once only, a trooper caught her roughly back; but again shestole towards the great blazing logs, and this time she was lessfortunate. Suddenly, a cry was heard. Jane's clothes were in flames. Maud extinguished them as she best could. She crushed the burning withher hands in such haste as she might make; but, alas! to what a wreckhad the fire reduced the child! Her long fair hair was withered to itsroots; her pretty eyes were closed, and the curling lashes scorched tothe skin; her pure neck was blackened and blistered; and, a mass ofpain and sore, she lay like a dead thing, but for the wailing moanswhich shewed her sad title yet to a ruined existence. Alas for herthat she did not die! Wo, that life was so strong in her now, when, blemished and disfigured for ever, she might not hold its honours ortaste its joys!--now, when she must endure a worse thing than deathfor the sake of her family name! 'Therefore, ' says the chronicle, 'shewas in a manner loathed of her parents, and kept forth secretly fromthe common knowledge of the people. '

'The house of Poole must have no charred mummy for its heiress, ' saidold Dame Katharine; and Sir Mighell and his lady bowed their heads andacquiesced. 

It was agreed, then, that she should be sent to a house of 'closenuns, ' to be made a woman of religion, and so kept out of the sight ofall men's eyes. With this view, she was brought up; taught nothingelse; suffered to hope for nothing else; suffered to speak of nothingelse. But they could not bind her thoughts; and by a strangeperversity of will, these went always to the open fields and theunfettered limb, to the vague picturing of freedom, and the dreamyforecast of love. Yet she kept her peace; not daring to tell her mindto any, and nourishing all the more strongly, because in silence, thecharacteristics which destroyed the charm of a conventual life. Whenshe came to the years of discretion, she was to be professed; but, inaccordance with an old custom, before her profession she required toenter the world for a season, that her 'vocation' might be judged of, whether it were true or not, or simply the effect of education on theone hand, and of ignorance on the other; and thus, when she wasfifteen years of age, she was dismissed to her father's house for thespace of six months' nominal trial, after which time she must returnto the convent for ever. 

Now, Dame Katharine a Poole, Jane's paternal grandmother, was afierce, proud old woman, whose heart was set on the creation of herson's house, and whose very virtue was her family pride. When sheheard of Jane's return to the outer world of men, she hastily rodeover to see this ugly, despised thing, and to take her from herfather's castle to the grim quiet of her own dungeon-like home, if sobe that she was as unlovely as report had spoken her. They met; andfor a moment the proud old dame was struck as by death. The seamed andscarred face, the closed eyes--one perfectly sightless, the otherwell-nigh so--the burnt and withered hair growing in long, raggedpatches only, the awkward gait and downcast look; all were likedaggers in Dame Katharine's heart; and 'she rebuked her greatly, seeing that she was too loathly for any gentleman who was equal to herin birth. '

Poor Jane bore all these coarse reproaches with much outward meekness;but the spirit which they woke up in her was little interpreted by thedrooping head and tearful eyes. A fiery demon, breathing rage andvowing revenge, took such meek-seeming as this, and blinded the oldgrandam to the mischief she was working, until it was too late torepair it. Dame Katharine took the girl home; Sir Mighell and his wifeconsenting in gratitude to be so well delivered from such a heavyburden. Dame Elizabeth, the girl's mother, truly shed a few tears, quickly dried; and so young Jane parted for ever from her father'shouse. 

Like a dead thing, revived by the fresh winds of heaven, Jane'scomparative freedom aroused in her the most passionate abhorrence ofthe life to which she was destined, and the most passionate desire forliberty and affection. With each breath she drew by the open casement, with each glance cast into the depths of the dark woods beyond, roseup the strong instincts of her age, and turned her for ever from theconvent gate. In vain the dame insisted; Jane stood firm; and declaredthat she would still refuse, at the very altar, to take the vow. Yetwas she timid in all things but those of love and liberty; and DameKatharine, by violence and threats, so worked on her fears, that sheat last consented, amid grievous tears and bitter reproaches, to bedeprived of her name and state, and given forth to the castle peopleas a poor gentlewoman, godchild to the dame. 

'Anything for freedom!' sighed Jane, as she took the oath of secrecy. 'Any deprivation rather than that living tomb of the nun!'

It was now the dame's chief care to be rid of her charge. She castabout for suitors, but even the lowest squire shook his head at theoffer. At last, she married her grandchild to the son of an honestyeoman of Suffolk, and so sent her forth to take her place in theworld as the wife of a common peasant, and the mother of a family ofpeasants. Such was the fate allotted to Jane a Poole, daughter of theproud Earl of Suffolk!

Of her issue, we need say but little. Suffice it to know, that Janeand her ploughman William had four children, three sons and onedaughter; of whom William, the second son, married an honest man'sdaughter, whose name was Alice Gryse, and whose children were livingin 1490, when this chronicle was written. 

Return we now to the puissant lord, Sir Mighell, Earl of Suffolk. Hewas not long suffered to enjoy his home; indeed, so ardent a soul ashis would have eaten its way through his castle walls, as a chrysalisthrough its silken tomb, if he had been long inactive. If war had notbeen his duty, he must have made it his crime; if foreign foes had notcalled upon his valour, too surely would domestic friends havesuffered from his disloyalty. Born for the fight, he would havefulfilled his destiny by force if he might not by right. At the battleof Agincourt (1415), he perished along with many other of England'snobles. 

Sir Mighell having died without a son, his titles and estates went tohis brother, Sir William. Dame Elizabeth, widow of Sir Mighell, andher daughter Katharine, shortly afterwards, as was usual in thesetimes, went to reside in the Abbey of Brasenode; and there theyultimately died. 

Meanwhile, and for years afterwards, no one knew anything of Jane, who, though exiled from her rank and family, perhaps enjoyed more realhappiness than those who had been guilty of her maltreatment. Atlength, her husband died, which was a source of grief. Honest Williamhad thought her queer in manners; but he loved her for all that, andwas proud of her, as the daughter of a poor gentleman. He blessed heron his death-bed; and she remained a widow for his sake. Many yeomenwished to marry her, but she refused them all. This went on for manyyears--long after Sir William a Poole had become fourth Earl ofSuffolk, and had had children born to him; long after Alice Gryse hadbecome Jane's daughter-in-law, and made her more than once agrandmother too; and then the whole of this strange story becameknown. Jane had kept her vow of secrecy with perfect fidelity; neverhad she breathed a syllable to her husband or children as to thefamily to which she belonged. It was only, late in life, throughconfession she made to a priest, that who and what she had been wasrevealed. Shocked with the depravity of her unnatural parents, thispious and learned doctor, says the chronicle, 'commanded her topublish this account to her children and their issues, that they mightknow of what race they came, if so be, by the great mercy ofProvidence, they might claim their own again. And not only to them, but also to make it known to all men, as far as was consistent withher own safety; for he said, that the great power of Almighty Godshould be published to all the world. For this reason was thechronicle written--that all men might take warning; for no deed ofwickedness is done in the dark, which shall not be dragged forth tothe light; and no oppression on the innocent shall prosper before theright hand of Eternal Justice. '

THINGS TALKED OF IN LONDON. 

 _March 1852. _

The lecture experiment at the Museum of Practical Geology, in JermynStreet, has proved eminently successful. There were a thousand moreapplications for tickets than could be supplied, in consequence ofwhich the executive very wisely determined, that the course should berepeated until the demand was satisfied. This fact of numbers speakshighly in favour of the working-men of London--none others areadmitted to the course here referred to; and once having got theknowledge, it is to be hoped they will be able to turn it to goodaccount. One of the lecturers told me, that the hall is alwayscrowded, and that a better-behaved auditory has seldom been seen inany quarter, which we may consider to be an encouraging sign of thetimes. The other courses are also going on for those who are able topay high fees, and attend during the day. The titles of a few of thelectures will give you an idea of the nature of the instructionoffered; namely--The Relations of Natural History to Geology and theArts; On the Value of an Extended Knowledge of Mineralogy and theProcesses of Mining; On the Science of Geology and its Applications;On the Importance of Special Scientific Knowledge to the PracticalMetallurgist; and On the Importance of Cultivating Habits ofObservation. You must remember, that the institution is a governmentschool of mines as well as a museum of geology. 

In connection with this, it may be mentioned that the Society of Artsare discussing a project for the 'affiliation' of all the literary, philosophical, scientific, and mechanics' institutions throughout thekingdom, with a view to render them less languid and more beneficialthan too many of them now are. Unity of purpose effected wonders withthe Great Exhibition; and it is thought that the same cause shouldproduce a similar result in the educational and recreativeestablishments alluded to. There is a talk, also, of an assembling ofmost of the learned societies of our great city under one roof--a sortof Palace of Science, which has long been wanting in London, but whichhas long existed in Paris. Should this scheme be carried out, thephilosophers might then adopt Brother Jonathan's motto--_E pluribusunum_. And, next, the Suburban Artisan School of Drawing andModelling, established last year at Camden-Town, has succeeded so wellthat the committee, with Prince Albert as patron, have determined toestablish four additional schools in our other suburban districts. These schools are to be open every evening for instruction, at acharge per month of 2s. No working-man in the metropolis after thisneed be ignorant of drawing. Then, again, a 'Department of PracticalArt' is organised in connection with the Board of Trade, which, bymeans of travelling and stationary superintendents, and otherofficers, is to assist in the development of artistic talent, and itsapplication to useful purposes, wherever it may be found. 

Co-operation of some sort or other is the order of the day; and now agood deal of attention is excited by the announcement of an 'AthenæumInstitute for Authors and Artists, ' something different from the Guildof Literature and Art set afoot last winter, the object being toendeavour to form an incorporated association of the two classesmentioned--of course for their common benefit. The aid of thepossessors of rank and wealth is to be asked at starting, because, asthe promoters say, 'we think literature has a right to ask theassistance of these other two great powers of society, because it somaterially assists them; and because, in many of its branches, it hasno other mode of being paid by society. The severely scientific, thehighly imaginative, the profoundly legislative authors, do not producepromptly marketable, though they produce priceless, works. La Place, Wordsworth, Bentham, could not have existed had they depended on thefirst product of their works; they would have perished before anacknowledging world could have given them bread. ' They say, further, that 'the humblest literary man works for something more than hire, and produces something more effective than a mere piece ofmerchandise. His book is not only sold to the profit of thebookseller, but to the benefit of the public. The publisher pays forits mercantile value, but the public should reward the author for itsmoral and social effect, as they take upon themselves to punish, if ithave an evil tendency. '

Whether the promoters are right or wrong in their views, will be bestproved by the result; meantime, they put forth some good names asprovisional president, vice-president, and managers, and propose thatthe Institute shall comprise four branches--namely, a ProtectiveSociety, a Philanthropic and Provident Fund, an EducationalAssociation, and a Life-Assurance Department. The subscribers are toconsist of two classes: those who give contributions for the benefitof the Institute, and those who seek to benefit themselves. The formerare to be asked to insure their lives, for different rates of premium, the amounts to fall into the corporation at the decease of thesubscribers; and thus a fund would be raised out of which, on certainconditions, participating subscribers would be able to secure aprovision for old age, or premature decay of mental power, the meansof educating their children, and leaving a _solatium_ to their widows. If all this can be carried out, and if literary men, as a class, arecapable of all that the prospectus of the new scheme implies, how muchof distress and heart-breaking misery will be saved to society!

There are several subjects which, having recently been brought beforeour Horticultural Society, have somewhat interested gardening folk. Atone of the meetings, there was exhibited 'a very fine specimen ofcommon mignonette, ' which 'was stated to have been a single plantpricked out into a pot in January 1851, and shifted on until it hadattained a large size. It was mentioned, that mignonette is not anannual, as many imagine it to be; but that it will become a woodyshrub, and last for years, provided it is well managed, and kept freefrom frost and damp. ' So runs the report in the society's journal. 

There was, likewise, an exhibition of black Hamburg grapes by Mr Fry, a Kentish gardener, who made thereupon some observations, which appearto be deserving of wider circulation. The grapes were grown in abuilding seldom heated artificially, and were much attacked by mildewduring the last two seasons, on which prompt measures were taken todiffuse perfectly dry 'sulphur vivum' throughout the house by means ofa sulphurator, until fruit and foliage were completely but lightlycoated. 'Fires were lighted, and the temperature kept up to from 80 to90 degrees, ventilation being considerably diminished, and water inany form discontinued. After being subject to this treatment for aboutfour or five days, the vines received a thorough syringing, whichcleansed them from every particle of sulphur. With respect to the useof sulphur in killing mildew, many ladies and gentlemen, ' adds Mr Fry, 'with whom I have conversed, consider it highly objectionable: theysay, that they do not like the idea of eating sulphur with grapes;neither would any one, and I can prove to them that this need never bedone; and, moreover, that the use of sulphur, when timely andjudiciously applied, does not in any way deteriorate the fruit. I muchquestion if the most practised eye could detect sulphur on the grapesexhibited, although they have been twice covered with it; and as tothe mildew itself among vines, I fear it no more than I do green-flyamong cucumbers, which is so soon deprived of existence by the fumesof tobacco. '

What is called 'a French sulphurator, ' whose great merit appears to be'simplicity and cheapness, ' was also exhibited. It is described as 'atin box for holding the sulphur, placed on the upper side of the pipeof a pair of common bellows. The sulphur gets into the pipe throughsmall holes made for the purpose in the bottom of the box, and, inorder that no stoppage may take place, a small hammer-head attached atthe end of a slight steel-spring, is fixed on the under side of thebellows, a gentle tap from which, now and then, keeps up a continuousfall of sulphur into the pipe. ' It is said, that 'these appliances, which may be attached to a pair of bellows for little more thansixpence, answer every purpose for which they are intended, equally aswell as a more expensive machine. '

At the same time with this contrivance, some bunches of black PrinceGrapes were shewn to the assembled horticulturists, which could onlybe preserved from mildew by frequent applications of sulphur. Thebunches are to be afterwards cleaned by dipping in water, or what isconsidered preferable, 'syringing on all sides with a fine syringe, 'which process, it is well to remember, disturbs the _bloom_ on thefruit least when directed 'downwards, or obliquely, as rain wouldfall. '

As the season for gardening operations is coming on, Mr Rivers'account may be mentioned of his mode of growing strawberries in pots;it will be found to involve certain combinations opposed to ordinarypractice. 'About the second week in July, ' he says, he filled a numberof six-inch pots 'with a compost of two-thirds loam, and one-thirdrotten dung, as follows: three stout pieces of broken pots were placedin the bottom, and a full handful of the compost put in; a stoutwooden pestle was then used with all the force of a man's arm to poundit, then another handful and a pounding, and another, till the pot wasbrimful, and the compressed mould as hard as a barn-floor. The potswere then taken to the strawberry-bed, and a runner placed in thecentre of each, with a small stone to keep it steady. They werewatered in dry weather, and have had no other care or culture. For twoor three years, I have had the very finest crops from plants afterthis method, and those under notice promise well. If the pots arelifted, it will be apparent that a large quantity of food is in asmall space. I may add, that from some recent experiments withcompressed earth to potted fruit-trees, I have a high opinion of itseffect, and I fully believe that we have yet much to learn on thesubject. '

There is a committee sitting at the Admiralty, to devise a method forthe uniform lighting of ships and steamers at night, the object beingto diminish the chances of accident or error to vessels at sea. Andapropos of this, Mr Babbage has published a plan which willeffectually prevent one lighthouse being mistaken for another: it is, that every lighthouse, wherever situated, shall have a number--thenumbers not to run consecutively--and no two adjoining lights to havethe same numeral digits in the same place of figures. There would thenbe no need for revolving or flashing lights, as the only thing to bedone would be to make each lighthouse repeat its own number all nightlong, or whenever it was illuminated. This is to be 'accomplished byenclosing the upper part of the glass cylinders of the argand burnerby a thin tube of tin or brass, which, when made to descend slowlybefore the flame, and then allowed suddenly to start back, will causean occultation and reappearance of the light. ' The number ofoccultations denotes the number of the lighthouse. For instance, suppose the Eddystone to be 243, the two is denoted by two hidings ofthe light in quick succession; a short pause, and four hidings;another short pause, and three hidings, followed by a longer pause;after which the same process is repeated. It would not be easy to makea mistake, for the numbers of the lighthouses nearest to the Eddystonewould be very different; and supposing that the boy sent aloft towatch for the light were to report 253 instead of 243, without waitingto correct his view, the captain, by turning to his book, wouldperhaps find that No. 253 was in the Straits of Sunda, or some equallyremote situation, and would easily recognise the error. When we takeinto account the number of vessels lost by mistaking one lighthousefor another, the value of this proposal becomes apparent. Mr Babbageshews, that bell-strokes might be employed to announce the number of abeacon in foggy weather; and he believes that the time is not fardistant when buoys will also be indicated by a light. Now thatlighthouse dues are to be reduced one-half, we may hope to seeimprovement in more ways than one. 

This is but a small part of what promises more and more to become agreat question--that of navigation. It is felt that, in these go-aheaddays, we must be paying not less attention to our maritime than to ourinland arm of commerce; and this has brought the question of wood_versus_ iron ships again into prominent notice. The advocates of ironshew that the dry-rot, so destructive to wood, cannot enter metal;that lightness and speed, those prime essentials, are insured by theuse of iron; that iron ships are safer, more easily repaired, andcheaper than vessels built of wood; and that they are more lasting. The chief objection hitherto has been the liability of iron to becomefoul in tropical climates; but this now appears to be in a measureovercome. According to Mr Lindsay: 'An admixture has been applied, termed "Anti-Sargassian Paint, " which has been found to answer thepurpose better than any yet discovered. From the experience of itsproperties, we cannot say that in itself it is yet sufficient; but itappears a fair substitute till some other preparation is discovered. Agentleman at Glasgow, ' he adds, 'has already discovered a compound, which, being mixed in a fluid state with the iron, is expected toanswer the desired purpose. There is another disadvantage which willsoon be overcome--the greater liability to error in the compasses ofiron ships; an error which, however, also occurs, though perhaps to aless extent, in every wooden ship. By a most ingenious invention, which will shortly be made public, such errors in any ships, under anycircumstances, can at all times be at once detected. '

An important patented process for producing tapered iron, has beenexplained before the Franklin Institute at Philadelphia--one by whichevery variety of taper may be produced, or combinations of taper, withflat or other forms; and seeing how much tapered iron is used onrailways, in many kinds of machinery, in ships and steamers, thesubject may be considered worthy of more than a mere passing notice. Tapered iron is a form to which machinery has been thoughtinapplicable, and only to be produced by hand-labour. The new method, however, which has been successfully carried into practice at thePhoenixville Ironworks, is thus described: 'The principle on which itacts is that of hydrostatic pressure, or, more properly, _hydrostaticresistance_. A small chamber, similar to that of the commonhydrostatic press, is set on the top of each housing; the closed endof the press being uppermost, and a plunger entering from below; butinstead of water being forced _into_ the press, the chamber is atfirst filled with water, and the pressure of the iron in passingbetween the rollers, tends to lift the top one, which is held down bythe plunger. An escape-pipe, provided with a valve, is inserted intothe top of the chamber. When any upward pressure acts on the toproller, it is communicated by the plunger to the water, which escapesthrough the valve, and the roller rises. 

'When the valve is partially closed, the water escapes more slowly;and the rise of the roller, and consequently the taper of the iron, are more gradual. 

'Any rate of taper may thus be had by regulating the rise of theopening of the escape-valve. If the water is all driven out before thebar is entirely through the rollers, the top roller ceases to rise, and the iron becomes parallel from that point. Then, if the ends ofthe bar be reversed, and it be again passed between the rollers, theparallel portion will become tapered; thus we can get a bar. '

At the same time, a 'Thermometrical Ventilator' was exhibited, whichis described as circular in form, with a well-balanced movable plate. 'Upon the side of the valve is an inverted syphon, with a bulb at oneend, the other being open; the lower part of the tube containsmercury; the bulb, atmospheric air. An increase of temperature expandsthe air in the bulb, drives the mercury down one side and up theother, thereby destroying the balance, and causing the valve to openby turning on its axis. A diminution of temperature contracts the airin the bulb, causes the mercury to rise in the side of the tube, andcloses the valve. ' Besides this, there was 'an improvedmagneto-electric machine, for medical use, with a new arrangement, bywhich the shock is graduated by means of a glass tube, in which a wireis made to communicate with water, so as to produce at first a slightshock; by gradually pressing down the wire attached to a spiralspring, the shock is received in its full force. '

It now appears that Mr Robertson of Brighton claims priority ofdiscovery touching the boring power of _Pholades_. His statements arefounded on daily observation of the creatures at work for threemonths. 'The _Pholas dactylus_' he says, 'makes its hole by gratingthe chalk with its rasp-like valves, licking it up, when pulverised, with its foot, forcing it up through its principal or bronchialsyphon, and squirting it out in oblong nodules. The crypt protects the_Pholas_ from confervæ, which, when they get at it, grow not merelyoutside, but even within the lips of the valves, preventing the actionof the syphons. In the foot there is a gelatinous spring or style, which, even when taken out, has great elasticity, and which seems themainspring of the motions of the _Pholas dactylus_. '

At last, steam communication with Australia seems about to become areality, for the first vessel is announced to start in May for Sydney, to touch at the Cape and other colonies on her way out; andaccommodation is promised for two hundred passengers of differentclasses. There is also a project on foot for a line of steamers fromPanama to Australia, and to Valparaiso, which, if brought intooperation, will make a voyage round the world little more than abagman's journey. Apropos of Australia, Mr Clarke, who first predictedthat gold would be found in that country, says, 'that just 90 degreeswest of the auriferous range in Australia, we find an auriferous bandin the Urals; and just 90 degrees west of the Urals, occur theauriferous mountains of California. ' A speculation for cosmogonists. In our own country, we are finding metalliferous deposits: vastaccumulations of lead-ore have come to light in Wales, which are saidto contain six ounces of silver, and fifteen hundredweight of lead tothe ton; and in Northamptonshire, an abundant and timely supply ofiron-ore has just been met with. We might perhaps turn our metallictreasures to still better account, if some one would only set to workand win the prize offered by Louis Napoleon; namely, 'a reward of50, 000 francs to such person as shall render the voltaic pileapplicable, with economy, to manufactures, as a source of heat, or tolighting, or chemistry, or mechanics, or practical medicine. ' Theoffer is to be kept open for five years, to allow full time forexperiment, and people of all nations have leave to compete. One ofthe electric telegraph companies intends to ask parliament to abolishthe present monopoly as regards the despatch of messages; in anotherquarter, an under-sea telegraph to Ostend is talked about, with a viewto communicate with Belgium independently of France; and there is noreason why it should not be laid down, for the Dover and Calais lineis paying satisfactorily. And, finally, another ship-load of 'marbles'and sculptures has just arrived from Nineveh; and the appointment ofMr Layard as Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs (though now buttemporary) is regarded as a praiseworthy recognition of his merits andservices; and now that we have a government which combines a few_littérateurs_ among its members, it is thought that literature willbe relieved of some of its trammels. 

CHILDREN'S JOYS AND SORROWS. 

I can endure a melancholy man, but not a melancholy child; the former, in whatever slough he may sink, can raise his eyes either to thekingdom of reason or of hope; but the little child is entirelyabsorbed and weighed down by one black poison-drop of the present. Think of a child led to the scaffold, think of Cupid in a Dutchcoffin; or watch a butterfly, after its four wings have been torn off, creeping like a worm, and you will feel what I mean. But wherefore?The first has been already given; the child, like the beast, onlyknows purest, though shortest sorrow; one which has no past and nofuture; one such as the sick man receives from without, the dreamerfrom himself into his asthenic brain; finally, one with theconsciousness not of guilt, but of innocence. Certainly, all thesorrows of children are but shortest nights, as their joys are buthottest days; and indeed both so much so, that in the latter, oftenclouded and starless time of life, the matured man only longinglyremembers his old childhood's pleasures, while he seems altogether tohave forgotten his childhood's grief. This weak remembrance isstrangely contrasted with the opposing one in dreams and fevers inthis respect, that in the two last it is always the cruel sorrows ofchildhood which return; the dream this mock-sun of childhood--and thefever, its distorting glass--both draw forth from dark corners thefears of defenceless childhood, which press and cut with iron fangsinto the prostrate soul. The fair scenes of dreams mostly play on anafter-stage, whereas the frightful ones choose for theirs the cradleand the nursery. Moreover, in fever, the ice-hands of the fear ofghosts, the striking one of the teachers and parents, and every clawwith which fate has pressed the young heart, stretch themselves out tocatch the wandering man. Parents, consider then, that everychildhood's Rupert--the name given in Germany to the fictitious beingemployed to frighten children into obedience--even though it has lainchained for tens of years, yet breaks loose and gains mastery over theman so soon as it finds him on a sick-bed. The first fright is moredangerous the sooner it happens: as the man grows older, he is lessand less easily frightened; the little cradle or bed-canopy of thechild is more easily quite darkened than the starry heaven of theman. --_Jean Paul Richter. _

A REJECTED LOVER. 

 You 'never loved me, ' Ada!--Those slow words Dropped softly from your gentle woman's tongue, Out of your true and tender woman's heart, Dropped--piercing into mine like very swords, The sharper for their brightness! Yet no wrong Lies to your charge; nor cruelty, nor art; Even while you spoke, I saw the ready tear-drop start. 

 You 'never loved me?'--No, you never knew-- You, with youth's dews yet glittering on your soul-- What 'tis _to love_. Slow, drop by drop, to pour Our life's whole essence, perfumed through and through With all the best we have, or can control, For the libation; cast it down before Your feet--then lift the goblet, dry for evermore!

 I shall not die, as foolish lovers do: A man's heart beats beneath this breast of mine; The breast where--Curse on that fiend's whispering, '_It might have been!_'--Ada, I will be true Unto myself--the self that worshipped thine. May all life's pain, like those few tears that spring For me--glance off as rain-drops from my white dove's wing!

 May you live long, some good man's bosom-flower, And gather children round your matron knees! Then, when all this is past, and you and I Remember each our youth but as an hour Of joy--or torture; one, serene, at ease, May meet the other's grave yet steadfast eye, Thinking, 'He loved me well!'--clasp hands, and so pass by. 

THE TEARS OF OYSTERS. 

Glancing round this anatomical workshop (the oyster), we find, amongstother things, some preparations shewing the nature of pearls. Examinethem, and we find that there are dark and dingy pearls, just as thereare handsome and ugly men; the dark pearl being found on the darkshell of the fish, the white brilliant one upon the smooth insideshell. Going further in the search, we find that the smooth, glittering lining, upon which the fish moves, is known as the _nacre_, and that it is produced by a portion of the animal called the_mantle_; and, for explanation's sake, we may add that gourmandspractically know the mantle as the beard of the oyster. When living inits glossy house, should any foreign substance find its way throughthe shell to disturb the smoothness so essential to its ease, the fishcoats the offending substance with nacre, and a pearl is thus formed. The pearl is, in fact, a little globe of the smooth, glossy substanceyielded by the oyster's beard; yielded ordinarily to smooth the narrowhome to which his nature binds him, but yielded in round drops, realpearly tears, if he is hurt. When a beauty glides among a throng ofher admirers, her hair clustering with pearls, she little thinks thather ornaments are products of pain and diseased action, endured by themost unpoetical of shell-fish. --_Leisure Hours. _

'ROBESPIERRE. '

In our recent notice of Robespierre, it was mentioned that, at theperiod of his capture in the Hôtel de Ville, he was shot in the jaw bya pistol fired by one of the gendarmes. Various correspondents pointto the discrepancy between this account and that given by Thiers, andsome other authorities, who represent that Robespierre fired thepistol himself, in the attempt to commit self-destruction. In ouraccount of the affair, we have preferred holding to Larmartine(_History of the Girondists_), not only in consequence of his beingthe latest and most graphic authority on the subject, but because hisstatement seems to be verified by the appearance of the half-signeddocument which it was our fortune to see in Paris in 1849. 

The following is Lamartine's statement:--'The door soon yielded to theblows given by the soldiers with the but-end of their muskets, amidthe cries of "Down with the tyrant!" "Which is he?" inquired thesoldiers; but Léonard Bourdon durst not meet the look of his fallenenemy. Standing a little behind the men, and hidden by the body of agendarme, named Méda; with his right hand he seized the arm of thegendarme who held a pistol, and pointing with his left hand to theperson to be aimed at, he directed the muzzle of the weapon towardsRobespierre, exclaiming: "That is the man. " The man fired, and thehead of Robespierre dropped on the table, deluging with blood theproclamation he had not finished signing. ' Next morning, adds thisauthority, Léonard Bourdon 'presented the gendarme who had fired atRobespierre to the notice of the Convention. ' Further: on Robespierrebeing searched while he lay on the table, a brace of loaded pistolswere found in his pocket. 'These pistols, shut up in their cases stillloaded, abundantly testify that Robespierre did not shoot himself. 'Accepting these as the true particulars of the incident, Robespierrecannot properly be charged with an attempt at suicide. 

In the article referred to, the name Barras was accidentallysubstituted for Henriot, in connection with the insurrectionarymovement for rescuing Robespierre. Barras led the troops of theConvention. 

A correspondent asks us to state what was the actual number of personsslaughtered by the guillotine, and otherwise, during the progress ofthe Revolution. The question cannot be satisfactorily answered. Alison(vol. Iv. P. 289) presents a list, which shews the number to have been1, 027, 106; but this enumeration does not comprehend the massacres atVersailles, the prisons of Paris, and some other places. A million anda half would probably be a safe calculation. One thing is certain, that from the 2d of September 1792, to the 25th of October 1795, aspace of little more than three years, 18, 613 persons perished by theguillotine. Strangely enough, the chief destruction of life was amongthe humbler classes of society, those who mainly promoted therevolution; and still more strange, the greater number of victims weremurdered by the verdicts of juries--a striking example of that generalsubserviency which has since become the most significant defect in theFrench character. 

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