CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

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

 No. 435. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, MAY 1, 1852. PRICE 1-1/2_d. _

FORCED BENEFITS. 

The maxim, that men may safely be left to seek their own interest, andare sure to find it, appears to require some slight qualification, fornothing can be more certain, than that men are often the better ofthings which have been forced upon them. Those who advocate the ideain its rigour, forget that there are such things as ignorance andprejudice in the world, and that most men only become or continueactively industrious under the pressure of necessity. The vastadvantages derived from railway communication afford a ready instanceof people being benefited against their will. At the bare proposal torun a line through their lands, many proprietors were thrown into afrenzy of antagonism; and whole towns petitioned that they might notbe contaminated with the odious thing. In spite of remonstrances, andat a vast cost, railways were made; and we should like to know whereopponents are now to be found. Demented land-proprietors are come totheir senses; and even recalcitrant Oxford is glad of a line toitself. 

Cases of this kind suggest the curious consideration, that manyremarkable benefits now experienced were never sought for orcontemplated by the persons enjoying them, but came from anotherquarter, and were at first only grudgingly submitted to. A singularexample happens to call our attention. There is a distillery in thewest of Scotland, where it has been found convenient to establish adairy upon a large scale, for the purpose of consuming the refuse ofthe grain. Seven hundred cows are kept there; and a profitable marketis found for their milk in the city of Glasgow. That the refuse of thecow-houses might be applied to a profitable purpose, a large farm wasadded to the concern, though of such land as an amateur agriculturistwould never have selected for his experiments. Thus there was acomplete system of economy at this distillery: a dairy to convert thedraff into milk, and a farm to insure that the soil from the cowsmight be used upon the spot. But, as is so generally seen in thiscountry, the liquid part of the refuse from the cow-houses wasneglected. It was allowed to run into a neighbouring canal; and theproprietors would have been contented to see it so disposed of forever, if that could have been permitted. It was found, however, to bea nuisance, the very fishes being poisoned by it. The proprietors ofthe canal threatened an action for the protection of their property, and the conductors of the dairy were forced to bethink them of someplan by which they should be enabled to dispose of the noxious matterwithout injury to their neighbours. They could at first hit upon noother than that of carting away the liquid to the fields, and therespreading it out as manure. No doubt, they expected some benefit fromthis procedure; and, had they expected much, they might never havegiven the canal company any trouble. But the fact is, they expected solittle benefit, that they would never have willingly taken the troubleof employing their carts for any such purpose. To their surprise, thebenefit was such as to make their lean land superior in productivenessto any in the country. They were speedily encouraged to makearrangements at some expense for allowing the manure in a diluted formto flow by a regular system of irrigation over their fields. Theoriginal production has thus been _increased fourfold_. The company, finding no other manure necessary, now dispose of the solid kindarising from the dairy, among the neighbouring farmers who stillfollow the old arrangements in the management of their cows. The sumof L. 600 is thus yearly gained by the company, being not much lessthan the rent of the farm. If to this we add the value of the extraproduce arising from the land, we shall have some idea of theadvantage derived by this company from having been put under a littlecompulsion. 

An instance, perhaps even more striking, was supplied a few years agoby certain chemical works which vented fumes noxious to a wholeneighbourhood. Being prosecuted for the nuisance, the proprietors wereforced to make flues of great length, through which the fumes might beconducted to a considerable distance. The consequence was surprising. A new kind of deposit was formed in the interior of the flues, andfrom this a large profit was derived. The sweeping of a chimney wouldsometimes produce several thousand pounds. At the same time, nothingcan be more certain than that this material, but for the threat ofprosecution, would have been allowed to continue poisoning theneighbourhood, and, consequently, not yielding one penny to theproprietors of the works. [1]

It has pleased Providence to order that from all the forms of organiclife there shall arise a refuse which is offensive to our senses, andinjurious to health, but calculated, under certain circumstances, toprove highly beneficial to us. The offensiveness and noxiousness lookvery much like a direct command from the Author of Nature, to do thatwhich shall turn the refuse to a good account--namely, to bury it inthe earth. Yet, from sloth and negligence, it is often allowed tocumber the surface, and there do its evil work instead. An importantprinciple is thus instanced--the essential identity of Nuisance andWaste. Nearly all the physical annoyances we are subjected to, andnearly all the influences that are operating actively for our hurt, are simply the exponents of some chemical solecism, which we are, through ignorance or indifference, committing or permitting. There ishere a double evil--a positive and a negative. When the Londonergroans at the smokiness of his streets, and the particles of soot hefinds spread over his shirt, his toilet-table, and every nice articleof furniture he possesses, he has the additional vexation of knowing, that the smoke and soot should have been serving a useful purpose asfuel. When he passes by a railway over the tops of the houses in somemean suburb, and looks down with horror and disgust on the pools andheaps of filth which are allowed to encumber the yards, courts, andnarrow streets of these localities, to the destruction of the healthof the inhabitants, he has a second consideration before him, that allthese matters ought to be in the care of some easy-acting system, bywhich, removed to the fields, they should be helping to create themeans of life, instead of death. We never can look upon a greatfactory chimney pouring forth its thick column of smoke, without atwin grief--for the disgust it creates, and the good that is lost byit. Properly, that volatile fuel should be doing duty in the furnace, and effecting a saving to the manufacturer, instead of rendering himand his concerns a nuisance to all within five miles. 

Troublesome as these nuisances are, there is such an inaptitude to newplans, that they might go on for ever, if an interference should notcome in from some external quarter. It matters little whence theinterference comes, so that the end be effected. We cannot, however, view the proceedings of a Board of Health in ordering cleanlyarrangements, or those of a municipal council putting down factorysmoke, without great interest, for we think we there see part, and animportant one too, of the great battle of Civilisation againstBarbarism. And this interest is deepened when we observe the benefitswhich Barbarism usually derives from its own defeats. Thefactory-owner, for instance, will find that, in applying an apparatusby which smoke may be prevented, he will not merely be sparing hisneighbours a great annoyance, but economising fuel to an extent whichmust more than repay the outlay. By repressing nuisance, he will be inthe same measure repressing waste. [2] Were there, in like manner, ageneral measure for enforcing the removal of refuse from theneighbourhood of human habitations, the rate-payers would in due timesee blessed effects from the compulsion to which they had beensubjected. Their groans would be succeeded by gladness, and they wouldthank the legislators who had slighted their remonstrances. When thecholera approached in 1849, our British Board of Health ordered ageneral cleaning out of stables, and a daily persistence in thepractice. It was complained of as a great hardship; but the Boardascertained that owners of valuable race-horses cause their stables tobe thoroughly cleaned daily, as a practice necessary for the health ofthe animals; the Board, therefore, very properly insisted on forcingthis benefit upon the proprietors of horses generally. Can we doubtthat a similar policy might be followed with the like goodconsequences at all times, and with regard to the habitations of menas well as horses?

It would thus appear, that men may really be allowed a too undisturbedrepose in their views and maxims, and, if always left to seek theirown interests, would often fail to find the way. If, indeed, it weretrue that men are sure to find out their own interest, no countryshould be behind another in any of the processes or arts necessary forthe sustenance and comfort of the people; whereas we know the contraryto be the case. If it were true, there should be no class in our owncountry willing to sit down with the dubious benefits of monopoly, instead of pushing on for the certain results of enlightenedcompetition. It could only be true at the expense of the old proverb, that necessity is the mother of invention; for do we not every day seemen submitting idly and languidly to evils which can just be borne?whereas, if these were a little greater, and therefore insupportable, they would at once be remedied. An impulse _ab extra_ seems in a vastnumber of instances to be necessary, to promote the good of bothnations and individuals. Now, whether this shall come in the ordinarycourse of things, and be recognised as necessity, or from anenlightened power having a certain end, generally beneficial, in view, does not appear to be of much consequence, provided only we can betolerably well assured against the abuses to which all power isliable. It may be well worthy of consideration, whether, in thiscountry, we have not carried the principle of _Laissez faire_, or_leave us alone_, a little too far in certain matters, where somegentle coercion would have been more likely to benefit all concerned. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The idea of this article, and the above facts, are derived from avaluable memoir just published by the Board of Health, with referenceto the practical application of sewage water and town manures toagricultural production. 

[2] We understand that this has been the case with factory-owners atManchester who have applied the smoke-preventing apparatus. The savingfrom such an apparatus in the office where this sheet is printed, appears to be about 5 per cent. ; an ample equivalent for the outlay. 

MONSIEUR JEROME AND THE RUSSIAN PRINCESS. 

On arriving at Blois, I went to the Hôtel de la Tête Noire--a massive, respectable-looking building, situated on the quay nearly opposite abridge that crosses the river to the suburb of St Etienne. The comfortof the rooms, and the excellence of the dinners that succeeded oneanother day by day, induced me to stay longer than I had intended, andrendered me spectator and part-actor in an adventure not uncommon inFrench-land. My apartment was numbered 48--by the way, who ever sawNo. 1 in a hotel, or upon a watch?--and next door--that is, at No. 49--dwelt a very dignified-looking gentleman, always addressed as M. Jerome. I often take occasion to say, that I pique myself on beingsomething of a physiognomist; and as I have been several times rightin my judgment of character and position from inspection of thecountenance, the occasions in which I have been mistaken may be setdown as exceptions. M. Jerome at once interested me; and as I was idlyin search of health, and had taken care to have nothing whatever to dobut to kill time, the observation of this gentleman's appearance andmanners naturally formed a chief part of my occupation. 

I began by ascertaining exactly the colour of his eyes andhair--nearly black; the shape of his nose--straight, and rather toolong; and would have been glad to examine the form of his mouth, but ahuge moustache hanging over his lips in the French military style--seethe portrait of General Cavaignac--prevented me from ascertaining theprecise contour of what one of my old philosophers calls the PortEsquiline of Derision. M. Jerome was, upon the whole, a handsome man, with a romantically bilious complexion; and the expression of hislarge dark eyes was really profound and striking. His costume wasalways fashionable, without being showy; and there was nothing toobject to but a diamond ring, somewhat too ostentatiously displayed onthe little finger, which, in all his manual operations, at dinner orelsewhere, always cocked up with an impertinent 'look-at-me air, ' thatI did not like. When, indeed, this dandy walked slowly out of thedining-room to the door-step, and lighted his cigar, the said littlefinger became positively obnoxious; and I used to think whether itwere possible that that human being had been created purposely as ascaffolding whereon to exhibit a flashing little stone, set in twentyshillings worth of gold. 

M. Jerome, though not, strictly speaking, a silent man, wassufficiently reserved at table. The early courses were by him alwaysallowed to pass without any further remark than what politenessrequires--as: 'Shall I send you some more of this _blanquette_?' or, 'With pleasure, sir;' and so forth. When dessert-time approached, however, he generally began to unbend, to take part in the generalconversation, and throw in here and there a piquant anecdote. He didthis with so much grace, that had it not been for the diamond ring, Ishould have been disposed to consider him as a man of large experiencein the best society. The other people who generally attended attable--travellers, commercial and otherwise, with one or two smartfolks from the town, on the look-out for Parisian gossip, to retail tothe less adventurous members of their circle--were all delighted withM. Jerome: it was M. Jerome here, and M. Jerome there; and if M. Jerome happened to dine out, every one seemed to feel uneasy, and lookupon him as guilty of a great dereliction of duty. They could almostas well have done without their _demi-tasse_. 

Although I am an inquisitive, I am not a very impertinent man. I liketo pry into other people's affairs only in so far as I can do sowithout hurting their feelings, or putting my own self-love in dangerof a check. If, therefore, I gave the reins to my curiosity, anddevoted myself to studying the more apparent movements of this M. Jerome, I shrank from putting any direct questions to the _garçon_, who might probably at once have given me a very prosaic account ofhim. On one occasion, I threw in casually a remark, to the effect thatthe gentleman at No. 49 seemed a great favourite with the fair sex;but the only reply was a smile, and an acknowledgment that, ingeneral, people of fascinating exterior--here the _garçon_ glanced atthe mirror he was dusting--_were_ great favourites with the fairerportion of the creation. 'We Frenchmen, ' it was added, 'know the wayto the female heart better than most men. ' The waiter had paused withhis duster in his hand. I felt that he was going to give me his Art ofLove; and opportunely remembering that I had a letter to put into thepost, I escaped the infliction for the time. 

I had, indeed, observed that if the public generally admitted thevaluable qualities of M. Jerome as a companion, his reputation wasbased principally on the approval of the ladies. All these excellentjudges agreed that he was a nice, quiet, agreeable person; and 'sohandsome!' At least the seven members of an English family, who hadcome to visit Chambord, and lingered at the hotel a week--five of themwere daughters--all expressed this opinion of M. Jerome; and even asupercilious French lady, with a particle attached to her name, admitted that he was 'very well. '

One day, a new face appeared at table to interest me; and as themysterious gentleman and his diamond ring had puzzled me for afortnight, during which I had made no progress towards ascertaininghis real position and character, I was not sorry to have my attentiona little diverted by a mysterious lady. Madame de Mourairef--a Russianname, thought I--was a very agreeable person to look at; much more soto me than M. Jerome. She was not much past twenty years of age;small, slight, elegant in shape, if not completely so in manners; andwith one of those charming little faces which you can analyse intougliness, but which in their synthesis, to speak as moderns should, are admirable, adorable, fascinating. I should have thought that sucha _minois_ could belong only to Paris--the city, by the way, of uglywomen, whom art makes charming. However, there it was above theshoulders, high of course--swan-necked women are only found inEngland--above the shoulders of a Russian marchioness, princess, czarina, or what you will, who called for her cigarettes after dinner, was attended by a little _soubrette_, named Penelope, and looked forall the world as if she had just been whirled off the boards of theOpera Comique. 

I at first believed that this was a mere _mascarade_; but when aletter in a formidable envelope, with the seal of the Russian embassy, arrived, and was exhibited in the absence of the lady herself, toevery one of the lodgers, in proof of the aristocratic character ofthe customer of the Tête Noire, I began to doubt my own perspicacity, and to imagine that I had now a far more interesting object of studythan M. Jerome and his diamond ring. Madame de Mourairef was anexceedingly affable person; and the English family aforesaid, whom Ihave reason to believe were Cockney tradesfolks, pronounced her to bevery high-bred--without a fault, indeed, if it had not been for thathorrid habit of smoking, which, as they judiciously observed, however, was a peculiar characteristic of the Russians. I am afraid, they wouldhave set her down as a vulgar wretch, had they not been forewarnedthat she was aristocratic. The French lady seemed to look upon theforeign one as an intruder, and scarcely deigned to turn her eyes inthat direction. Probably this was because she was so charming, andmonopolised so much of the attention of us gentlemen. 

'They no sooner looked than they loved, ' says Rosalind. This was not, perhaps, quite the case with M. Jerome and the Russian princess, whotook care to let it be known that she was a widow; but in a very fewdays what is called 'a secret sympathy' evidently sprang intoexistence. The former, of course, made the first advances. Hisdiplomatic and seductive arts were not, however, put to a great test, for in three days the lady manifestly felt uneasy until he presentedhimself at dinner; and in a week, I met them walking arm in arm on thebridge. It was easy to see that he was on his good behaviour; and fromsome fragments of conversations I overheard between them when they metin the passage opposite my door, I learned that he was 'doing themelancholy dodge, ' as in the vernacular we would express it; and hadmany harrowing revelations to make as to the manner in which his hearthad been trifled with by unfeeling beauties. 

'There is a tide in the affairs of an hôtel:' I am in a mood forquoting from my favourite authors; and whereas we had at one time satdown nearly twenty to table, we suddenly found ourselves to be onlythree--M. Jerome, the princess, and myself. A kind of intimacy was thenatural result. We made ourselves mutually agreeable; and I was not atall surprised, when one evening Madame de Mourairef invited us twogentlemen to take tea with her in her little sitting-room. Bothaccepted joyfully; and though I am persuaded that M. Jerome would havepreferred a tête-à-tête, he accepted my companionship with tolerablegrace. We strolled together, indeed, on the quay for half an hour. Itwas raining slightly, and I had a cough; but I have too good anopinion of human nature to imagine that my new acquaintance kept meout by his fascinating conversation, in order to make me catch adesperate cold, that would send me wheezing to bed. 

The tea was served, as I suppose it is served in Russia, very weak, with a plentiful admixture of milk and accompaniment of _biscuitsglacés_. Madame de Mourairef did the honours in an inexpressiblygraceful manner; and I observed that there was a delightful intimacybetween her and her maid Penelope, that quite upset my ideas ofnorthern serfdom. I think they even once exchanged a wink, but of thisI am not sure. There is nothing like experience to expand one's ideas, and I made up my mind to re-examine the whole of my notions ofMuscovite vassalage. M. Jerome seemed less struck by thesecircumstances than myself--being probably too much absorbed incontemplation of our hostess--but even he could not avoid exclaiming, 'that if that were the way in which serfs were treated, he should liketo be a serf--of such a mistress!'

'You Frenchmen are _so_ gallant!' was the reply. 

A little while afterwards, somebody proposed a game of whist. Therewas an objection to 'dead-man, ' and Penelope, with a semi-orientalsalaam, offered to 'take a hand. ' Madame de Mourairef was graciouslypleased to order her to do so. We shuffled, cut, and played; and whenmidnight came, and it was necessary to retire, I felt almost afraid toexamine into my own heart, lest I might find that the soubretteappeared to me at least as high-bred as the mistress. 

We spent some delightful evenings in this manner, and perhaps stillmore delightful days, for by degrees we became inseparable, and allour walks and drives were made in common. The garçon often lookedmaliciously at me, even offered once or twice to develop his Art ofLove; but I did not choose to be interrupted in my physiognomicalstudies, and gave him no opportunity. 

A picnic was proposed, and agreed upon. We intended at first to go toChambord; but there was danger of a crowd; and a valley on the road toVendôme was pitched upon. A _calèche_ took us to the place, and set usdown in a delightful meadow, enamelled with flowers, as all meadowsare in poetry. A few great trees, forming almost a grove, shaded aslope near the banks of a sluggish stream that crept along between anavenue of poplars. Here the cloth was laid at once for breakfast; andwhilst M. Jerome and the princess strolled away to talk of blightedhopes, Russia, serfdom, wedlock, and the conflagration of the Kremlin, Penelope made the necessary preparation; and I, in my character of afidgety old gentleman, first advised and then assisted her. I amafraid the young damsel had designs upon my heart, for she put severalquestions to me on the state of vassalage in England; and when Ideveloped succinctly the principles and advantages of our freeconstitution, and said some eloquent things that formed a Frenchedition of 'Britons never shall be slaves, ' she became quiteenthusiastic; her cheeks flushed, her eyes brightened; and with a sortof Thervigne-de-Mericourt gesture, she cried: 'Vive la République!'This was scarcely the natural product of what I had said; but solively a little creature, in her dainty lace-cap and flying pinkribbons, neat silk _caraco_, plaid-patterned gown, with pagodasleeves, as she called them, and milk-white _manchettes_--her_bottines_ from the Rue Vivienne, and her face from Paradise--couldreconcile many a harder heart than mine to greater incongruities. Ourarrangements being made, therefore, I sat down on a camp-stool, whilstPenelope reclined on the grass; and I endeavoured to explain to herthe great advantages of a moderate constitutional government, withchecks, balances, and so forth. Although she yawned, I am sure it wasnot from ennui, but in order to shew me her pretty pearly teeth. 

M. Jerome and the princess came streaming back over the meadow--evenaffected to scold me for having remained behind. They were evidentlyon the best possible terms, and I took great satisfaction incontemplating their happiness. Either my perspicacity was at fault, however, or both had some secret cause of uneasiness that pressed upontheir minds as the day advanced. Had they been only betrayed into adeclaration and a plighting of their troth in a hurry? Did theyalready repent? Did Madame de Mourairef regret the barbarous splendourof her native land? Did M. Jerome begin to mourn over the delights ofbachelorship? These were the questions I put to myself without beingable to invent any satisfactory answer. The day passed, however, pleasantly enough; and the calèche came in due time to take us back toBlois. 

Next morning, M. Jerome entered my room with a graceful bow, toannounce his departure for Paris, whither it was necessary for him togo to obtain the necessary papers for his marriage, and Madame deMourairef, he added, accompanied him. I uttered the necessarycongratulations, and gave my address in Paris, that he might call uponme as soon as he was settled in the hôtel he proposed to take. 

'I take two persons with me, ' he said, smiling; 'but one of themleaves her heart behind, I am afraid. '

This alluded to Penelope; but I was determined not to understand. Iwent to say adieu to Madame de Mourairef, who seemed rather excitedand anxious. Penelope almost succeeded in wringing forth a tear; but Idid not think it was decreed that at my age I should really make loveto a Russian serf, however charming. So off they went to the railwaystation, leaving me in a very dull, stupid, melancholy mood. 

'What a fortunate man M. Jerome is!' said the garçon, as he came intomy room a few minutes afterwards. 

'Yes, ' I replied; 'Madame de Mourairef seems in every way worthy ofhim. '

'I should think so, ' quoth he. 'It is not every waiter, howeverfascinating, that falls in with a Russian princess. '

'Waiter! M. Jerome!'

'Of course, ' replied my informant. 'You seem surprised; but M. Jeromeis really a waiter at the Café ----, on the Boulevard des Italiens;came down for his health. We were comrades once, and I promised tokeep the secret, for he thought it extremely probable that he mightmeet a wealthy English lady here, who might fall in love withhim--your countrywomen are so eccentric. He has found a Russianprincess, which is better. I suppose we must now call himMonseigneur?'

Although, like the rest of my species, disposed to laugh at themisfortunes of my fellow-creatures, I confess that I pitied Madame deMourairef; for I felt persuaded that M. Jerome had passed himself offas a very distinguished personage. However, there was no remedy, and Ihad no right to interfere in the matter. The lady, indeed, had been inan unpardonable hurry to be won, and must take the consequences. 

In the afternoon, there was a great bustle in the hôtel, andhalf-a-dozen voices were heard doing the work of fifty. I went outinto the passage, and caught the first fragments of an explanationthat soon became complete. M. Alphonse, courier to M. De Mourairef, had arrived, and was indignantly maintaining that Sophie and Penelope, the two waiting-maids of the princess, had arrived at the Tête Noire, to take a suite of rooms for their mistress; whilst the landlord andhis coadjutors, slow to comprehend, averred that the great lady hadherself been there, and departed. The truth at length came out--thatthese two smart Parisian lasses, having a fortnight before them, haddetermined to give up their places, and play the mascarade which Ihave described. When M. And Madame de Mourairef, two respectable, middle-aged people, arrived, they were dismally made acquainted withthe sacrilege that had been committed; but as no debts had beencontracted in their name, and their letters came in a parcel by thepost from Orleans, they laughed heartily at the joke, and enjoyed theidea that Sophie had been taken in. 

The following winter, I went into a café newly established in the RuePoissonière, and was agreeably surprised to see Sophie, thepseudo-princess, sitting behind the counter in magnificent toilette, receiving the bows and the money of the customers as they passedbefore her, whilst M. Jerome--exactly in appearance as before, exceptthat prosperity had begun to round him--was leaning against a pillarin rather a melodramatic attitude, a white napkin gracefully dependingfrom his hand. They started on seeing me, and were a little confused, but soon laughed over their adventure; called Penelope to take herturn at the counter--the little serf whispered to me as she passed, that I was 'a traitor, a barbarian, ' and insisted on treating me to mycoffee and my _petit verre_, free, gratis, for nothing. 

MEMOIRS OF LORD JEFFREY. 

In the crisis of the French Revolution, British society was paralysedwith conservative alarms, and all tendency to liberal opinions, oreven to an advocacy of the most simple and needful reforms, was metwith a ruthless intolerance. In Scotland, there was not a publicmeeting for five-and-twenty years. In that night of unreflectingToryism, a small band of men, chiefly connected with the law inEdinburgh, stood out in a profession of Whiggism, to the forfeiture ofall chance of government patronage, and even of much of the confidenceand esteem of society. Three or four young barristers wereparticularly prominent, all men of uncommon talents. The chief wasFrancis Jeffrey, who died in 1850, in the seventy-seventh year of hisage, after having passed through a most brilliant career as apractising lawyer and judge, and one still more brilliant, as theconductor, for twenty-seven years, of the celebrated _EdinburghReview_. Another was Henry Cockburn, who has now become the biographerof his great associate. It was verily a remarkable knot of men in manyrespects, but we think in none more than a heroic probity towardstheir principles, which were, after all, of no extravagant character, as was testified by their being permitted to triumph harmlessly in1831-2. These men anticipated by forty years changes which wereultimately patronised by the great majority of the nation. They allthrove professionally, but purely by the force of their talents andhigh character. As there was not any precisely equivalent group of menat any other bar in the United Kingdom, we think Scotland is entitledto take some credit to herself for her Jeffreys, her Cranstons, herMurrays, and her Cockburns: at least, she will not soon forget theirnames. 

Lord Jeffrey--his judicial designation in advanced life--was ofrespectable, but not exalted parentage. After a careful education atEdinburgh, Glasgow, and Oxford, he entered at the bar in 1793, whennot yet much more than twenty years of age. His father, being himselfa Tory, desired the young lawyer to be so too, seeing that it would befavourable to his prospects; but he could not yield in this point topaternal counsel. The consequence was, that this able man practisedfor ten years without gaining more than L. 100 per annum. All thistime, he cultivated his mind diligently, and was silently traininghimself for that literary career which he subsequently entered upon. His talents were at that time known only to a few intimates: therewere peculiarities about him, which prevented him from being generallyappreciated up to his deserts. His figure, to begin with, was almostludicrously small. Then, in his anxiety to get rid of the Scottishaccent, he had contracted an elocution intended to be English, butwhich struck every one as most affected and offensive. His mannerswere marked by levity, and his conversation to many seemed flippant. His literary musings also acted unfavourably on the solicitors, theleading patrons of young counsellors. Reduced by dearth of businessalmost to despair, he had at one time serious thoughts of flinginghimself upon the London press for a subsistence. The first smile offortune beamed upon him in 1802, when the _Edinburgh Review_ wasstarted--a work of which he quickly assumed the management. That itbrought him income and literary renown, we gather from Lord Cockburn'spages; but we do not readily find it explained how. While moredeclaredly a literary man than ever, he now advanced rapidly at thebar, and quickly became a man of wealth and professional dignity. Wesuspect that, after all that is said of the effect of literarypursuits on business prospects, the one success was a consequence ingreat measure of the other. 

The value of this work rests, in our opinion, on the illustrationwhich it presents of the possibility of a man of sound thoughunpopular opinions passing through life, not merely without sufferinggreatly from the wrath of society, but in the enjoyment of some of itshighest honours. After reading this book, one could almost suppose itto be a delusion that the world judges hardly of any man's speculativeopinions, while his life remains pure, and his heart manifestly isalive to all the social charities. The heroic consistency of Jeffreyis the more remarkable, when it now appears that he was a gentle andrather timid man, keenly alive to the sympathies of friends andneighbours--indeed, of _womanish_ character altogether. As is wellknown, his time arrived at last, when, on the coming of the Whigs intopower in 1830, he was raised to the dignified situation of LordAdvocate for Scotland, and was called upon to take the lead, officially, in making those political changes which he had all alongadvocated. It is curious, however, and somewhat startling, to learnhow little gratification he professed to feel in what appeared sogreat a triumph. While his rivals looked with envy on his exaltation, and mobs deemed it little enough that he should be entirely at theirbeck in requital for the support they gave him, Mr Jeffrey was sighingfor the quiet of private life, groaning at his banishment from a happycountry-home, and not a little disturbed by the troubled aspect ofpublic affairs. Mr Macaulay has somewhere remarked on the generalmistake as to the 'sweets of office. ' We are assured by Lord Cockburn, that Jeffrey would have avoided the advocateship if he could. Heaccepted it only from a feeling of duty to his party. He writes to afemale relation of the 'good reason I have for being sincerely sickand sorry at an elevation for which so many people are envying, andthinking me the luckiest and most elevated of mortals for havingattained. ' And this subject is still further illustrated by an accounthe gives of the conduct of honest Lord Althorpe during the shortinterval in May 1832, when the Whigs were _out_. 'Lord Althorpe, ' hesays, 'has gone through all this with his characteristic cheerfulnessand courage. The day after the resignation, he spent in a greatsale-garden, choosing and buying flowers, and came home with fivegreat packages in his carriage, devoting the evening to studying wherethey should be planted in his garden at Althorpe, and writingdirections and drawing plans for their arrangement. And when they cameto summon him to a council on the Duke's giving in, he was found in acloset with a groom, busy oiling the locks of his fowlingpieces, andlamenting the decay into which they had fallen during his ministry. '

In some respects, the book will create surprise, particularly as tothe private life and character of the great Aristarch. While the_Edinburgh Review_ was in progress under the care of Mr Jeffrey, itwas a most unrelenting tribunal for literary culprits, as well as adetermined assertor of its own political maxims. The common idearegarding its chief conductor represented him as a man ofextraordinary sharpness, alternating between epigrammatic flippancyand democratic rigour. Gentle and refined feeling would certainlynever have been attributed to him. It will now be found that he was atall times of his life a man of genial spirit towards the entire circleof his fellow-creatures--that his leading tastes were for poetry andthe beautiful in external nature, particularly fine scenery--that herevelled in the home affections, and was continually saying thesoftest and kindest things to all about him--a lamb, in short, whilethought a lion. The local circle in which he lived was somewhatlimited and exclusive, partly, perhaps, in consequence of having beenearly shut in upon itself by its dissent from the mass of society onmost public questions; but in this circle Jeffrey was adored by men, women, and children alike, on account of his extreme kindliness ofdisposition. He was almost, to a ridiculous degree, dependent on thelove of his friends; and the terms in which he addresses some of them, particularly ladies, sound odd in this commonsense world. Thus, thewife of one of his friends is, 'My sweet, gentle, and long-sufferingSophia. ' He pours out his very heart to his correspondents, and withan effect which would reconcile to him the most irascible author heever scarified. Thus, to his daughter, who had just left him with herhusband:--'I happened to go up stairs, and passing into our room, sawthe door open of that little one where _you_ used to sleep, and thevery bed waiting there for you, so silent and desolate, that all thelove, and the _miss_ of you, which fell so sadly on my heart the firstnight of your desertion, came back upon it so heavily and darkly, thatI was obliged to shut myself in, and cry over the recollection, as ifall the interval had been annihilated, and that loss and sorrow werestill fresh and unsubdued before me; and though the fit went offbefore long, I feel still that I must vent my heart by telling you ofit, and therefore sit down now to write all this to you, and get ridof my feelings, that would otherwise be more likely to haunt my vigilsof the night. ' Thus, on the death of a sister in his early days:--'Avery heavy blow upon us all, and much more so on me than I hadbelieved possible. The habit of seeing her almost every day, and ofliving together intimately since our infancy, had wound so manythreads of affection round my heart, that when they were burst atonce, the shock was almost overwhelming. Then, the unequalledgentleness of her disposition, the unaffected worth of her affections, and miraculous simplicity of character and manners, which made heralways appear as pure and innocent as an infant, took so firm, thoughgentle a hold on the heart of every one who approached her, that eventhose who have been comparatively strangers to her worth, have beengreatly affected by her loss. . . . During the whole of her illness, shelooked beautiful; and when I gazed upon her the moment after she hadbreathed her last, as she lay still, still, and calm, with her brighteyes half closed, and her red lips half open, I thought I had neverseen a countenance so lovely. A statuary might have taken her for amodel. Poor, dear love! I kissed her cold lips, and pressed her cold, wan, lifeless hand, and would willingly at that moment have put off myown life too, and followed her. When I came here, the sun was rising, and the birds were singing gaily, as I sobbed along the emptystreets. '

The sensibility of Jeffrey to all fine expression that comes to usthrough the medium of literature was intense, most so in his latterdays, when his whole character seems to have undergone a mellowingprocess. While pining under his greatness as Lord Advocate, and anauthority in parliament (1833), he says: 'If it were not for my loveof beautiful nature and poetry, my heart would have died within melong ago. I never felt before what immeasurable benefactors these samepoets are to their kind, and how large a measure, both of actualhappiness and prevention of misery, they have imparted to the race. Iwould willingly give up half my fortune, and some little fragments ofhealth and bodily enjoyment that yet remain to me, rather than thatShakspeare should not have lived before me. ' Who that had only readhis lively, acute articles in the formal Review, could have believedhim to be so deeply sympathetic with an unfortunate poet, as he shewsin the following fine passage in one of his letters (1837)? 'In thelast week, I have read all Burns's Life and Works--not without manytears, for the life especially. What touches me most, is the pitiablepoverty in which that gifted being (and his noble-minded father)passed his early days--the painful frugality to which their innocencewas doomed, and the thought how small a share of the useless luxuriesin which we (such comparatively poor creatures) indulge, would havesufficed to shed joy and cheerfulness in their dwellings, and perhapsto have saved that glorious spirit from the trials and temptationsunder which he fell so prematurely. Oh! my dear Empson, there must besomething _terribly_ wrong in the present arrangements of theuniverse, when those things can happen, and be thought natural. Icould lie down in the dirt, and cry and grovel there, I think, for acentury, to save such a soul as Burns from the suffering, and thecontamination, and the _degradation_, which these same arrangementsimposed upon him; and I fancy that, if I could but have known him, inmy present state of wealth and influence, I might have saved, andreclaimed, and preserved him, even to the present day. He would nothave been so old as my brother-judge, Lord Glenlee, or Lord Lynedoch, or a dozen others that one meets daily in society. And what acreature, not only in genius, but in nobleness of character, potentially at least, if right models had been put _gently_ beforehim!'

The narrative of Lord Cockburn occupies only one volume, the otherbeing filled with a selection from Lord Jeffrey's letters. It is abrief chronicle of the subject; many will feel it to beunsatisfactorily slight. The author seems to have been afraid ofbecoming tedious. It is, however, a manly and faithful narration, withthe rare merit of going little, if at all, beyond bounds in itsappreciation of the hero or his associates, or the importance of thecircumstances in which he moved. The sketches of some of Jeffrey'scontemporaries, as John Clerk, Sir Harry Moncreiff, and Henry Erskine, are vigorous pieces of painting, which will suggest to many a desirethat the author should favour the public with a wider view of the menand things of Scotland in the age just past. With a natural partialityas a friend and as a biographer, he seems to us to set too high anestimate on Jeffrey when he ranks him as one of a quartett, includingDugald Stewart, Sir Walter Scott, and Dr Chalmers, 'each of whom inliterature, philosophy, or policy, caused great changes, ' and 'leftupon his age the impression of the mind that produced them. ' Few ofhis countrymen would claim this rank for either Jeffrey or Stewart. Jeffrey, no doubt, raised a department of our literature from a low toa high level; he was a Great Voice in his day. But he produced nothingwhich can permanently affect us; he gave no great turn to thesentiments or opinions of mankind. His only original effort of anymark, is his exposition of the association theory of beauty, whichrests on a simple mistake of what is pleasing for what is beautiful, and is already nothing. We suspect that no man with his degree oftimidity will ever be very great, either as a philosopher or as a manof deeds. He was a brilliant _writer_--the most brilliant, and, withone exception, the most versatile in his age; but to this we wouldlimit his panegyric, apart from the glory of his long and consistentcareer as a politician, which we think can scarcely be overestimated. 

So many of the most remarkable passages of the work have been alreadyhackneyed through the medium of the newspapers, that we feel somewhatat a loss to present any which may have a chance of being new to ourreaders. So early as his twentieth year, we find Mr Jeffrey thussensibly expressing himself on an important subject:--

'There is nothing in the world I detest so much as companions andacquaintances, as they are called. Where intimacy has gone so far asto banish reserve, to disclose character, and to communicate thereality of serious opinions, the connection may be the source of muchpleasure--it may ripen into friendship, or subside into esteem. But toknow half a hundred fellows just so far as to speak, and walk, andlounge with them; to be acquainted with a multitude of people, for allof whom together you do not care one farthing; in whose company youspeak without any meaning, and laugh without any enjoyment; whom youleave without any regret, and rejoin without any satisfaction; fromwhom you learn nothing, and in whom you love nothing--to have such aset for your society, is worse than to live in absolute solitude; andis a thousand times more pernicious to the faculties of socialenjoyment, by circulating in its channels a stream so insipid. '

At the peace of Amiens, Jeffrey wrote thus to his friend Morehead, 7thOctober 1801: 'It is the only public event in my recollection that hasgiven me any lively sensation of pleasure, and I have rejoiced at itas heartily as it is possible for a private man, and one whose owncondition is not immediately affected by it, to do. How many parentsand children, and sisters and brothers, would that news make happy?How many pairs of bright eyes would weep over that gazette, and wetits brown pages with tears of gratitude and rapture? How many wearywretches will it deliver from camps and hospitals, and restore oncemore to the comforts of a peaceful and industrious life? What arevictories to rejoice at, compared with an event like this? Yourbonfires and illuminations are dimmed with blood and with tears, andbattle is in itself a great evil, and a subject of general grief andlamentation. The victors are only the least unfortunate, and sufferingand death have, in general, brought us no nearer to tranquillity andhappiness. ' It may be well thus to bring the value of a peace beforethe public mind. Let those who only know of war from history, reflecthow great must be the evils of a state the cessation of which givessuch a feeling of relief. 

Here is a curious passage about the society of Liverpool in 1813, andhis love of his native country. We must receive the statementrespecting the Quakers with something more than doubt, at least as tothe extent to which it is true:--'I have been dining out every day forthis last week with Unitarians, and Whigs, and Americans, and brokers, and bankers, and small fanciers of pictures and paints, and the Quakeraristocracy, and the fashionable vulgar, of the place. But I do notlike Liverpool much better, and could not live here with any comfort. Indeed, I believe I could not live anywhere out of Scotland. All myrecollections are Scottish, and consequently all my imaginations; andthough I thank God that I have as few fixed opinions as any man of mystanding, yet all the elements out of which they are made have acertain national cast also. In short, I will not live anywhere else ifI can help it; nor die either; and all old Esky's[3] eloquence wouldhave been thrown away in an attempt to persuade me that _banishmentfurth the kingdom_ might be patiently endured. I take more to Roscoe, however: he is thoroughly good-hearted, and has a sincere, thoughfoolish concern for the country. I have also found out a Highlandwoman with much of the mountain accent, and sometimes get a littlegirl to talk to. But with all these resources, and the aid of theBotanical Garden, the time passes rather heavily; and I am in somedanger of dying of ennui, with the apparent symptoms of extremevivacity. Did you ever hear that most of the Quakers die ofstupidity--actually and literally? I was assured of the fact the otherday by a very intelligent physician, who practised twenty years amongthem, and informs me that few of the richer sort live to be fifty, butdie of a sort of atrophy, their cold blood just stagnating by degreesamong their flabby fat. They eat too much, he says; take littleexercise; and, above all, have no nervous excitement. The affection isknown in this part of the country by the name of _the Quaker'sdisease_, and more than one-half of them go out so. I think thiscurious, though not worth coming to Liverpool to hear, or writing fromLiverpool, &c. '

He was at this time about to sail for America, in order to marry alady of that country. In a letter to Morehead, he recalls hisold-fashioned country residence of Hatton, in West Lothian, and MrMorehead's family now resident there. Tuckey was a nickname for one ofMr Morehead's daughters; Margaret was another. Till the last, he hadpet names for all his own descendants and relatives, having no doubtfelt how much they contribute to the promotion of family affection. 'Iam almost ashamed of the degree of sorrow I feel at leaving all theearly and long-prized objects of my affection; and though I ampersuaded I do right in the step which I am taking, I cannot helpwishing that it had not been quite so wide and laborious a one. Youcannot think how beautiful Hatton appears at this moment in myimagination, nor with what strong emotion I fancy I hear Tuckeytelling a story on my knee, and see Margaret poring upon her Frenchbefore me. It is in your family that my taste for domestic society anddomestic enjoyments has been nurtured and preserved. Such a child asTuckey I shall never see again in this world. Heaven bless her, andshe will be a blessing both to her mother and to you. ' After touchingupon a volume of poems which Mr Morehead had published--'If I wereyou, however, I would live more with Tuckey, and be satisfied with mygardening and pruning--with my preaching--a good deal of walking andcomfortable talking. What more has life? and how full of vexation areall ambitious fancies and perplexing pursuits! Well, God bless you!Perhaps I shall not have an opportunity to inculcate my innocentepicurism upon you for a long time again. It will do you no harm. '

It will be a new fact to most of the admirers of Jeffrey, that he hadin early life devoted himself to the writing of poetry. Of what hewrote between 1791 and 1796, the greater part has disappeared from hisrepositories. 'But, ' says his biographer, 'enough survives to attesthis industry, and to enable us to appreciate his powers. There aresome loose leaves and fragments of small poems, mostly on the usualsubjects of love and scenery, and in the form of odes, sonnets, elegies, &c. ; all serious, none personal or satirical. And besidesthese slight things, there is a completed poem on Dreaming, in blankverse, about 1800 lines long. The first page is dated Edinburgh, May4, 1791, the last Edinburgh, 25th June 1791; from which I presume thatwe are to hold it to have been all written in these fifty-threedays--a fact which accounts for the absence of high poetry, thoughthere be a number of poetical conceptions and flowing sentences. Thenthere is a translation into blank verse of the third book of the_Argonauticon_ of Apollonius Rhodius. The other books are lost, but hetranslated the whole poem, extending to about 6000 lines. . . . And I maymention here, though it happens to be in prose, that of two plays, one, a tragedy, survives. It has no title, but is complete in all itsother parts. . . . He was fond of parodying the _Odes_ of Horace, withapplications to modern incidents and people, and did it verysuccessfully. The _Otium Divos_ was long remembered. Notwithstandingthis perseverance, and a decided poetical ambition, he was neverwithout misgivings as to his success. I have been informed, that heonce went so far as to leave a poem with a bookseller, to bepublished, and fled to the country; and that, finding some obstaclehad occurred, he returned, recovered the manuscript, rejoicing that hehad been saved, and never renewed so perilous an experiment. 

'There may be some who would like to see these compositions, orspecimens of them, both on their own account, and that the friends ofthe many poets his criticism has offended might have an opportunity ofretaliation, and of shewing, by the critic's own productions, howlittle, in their opinion, he was worthy to sit in judgment on others. But I cannot indulge them. Since Jeffrey, though fond of playing withverses privately, never delivered himself up to the public as theauthor of any, I cannot think that it would be right in any one elseto exhibit him in this capacity. I may acknowledge, however, that, sofar as I can judge, the publication of such of his poetical attemptsas remain, though it might shew his industry and ambition, would notgive him the poetical wreath, and of course would not raise hisreputation. Not that there are not tons of worse verse published, andbought, and even read, every year, but that their publication wouldnot elevate Jeffrey. His poetry is less poetical than his prose. Viewed as mere literary practice, it is rather respectable. It evincesa general acquaintance, and a strong sympathy, with moral emotion, great command of language, correct taste, and a copious possession ofthe poetical commonplaces, both of words and of sentiment. But allthis may be without good poetry. '

Having given little of Lord Cockburn in our extracts, we shallconclude with a passage of his narration which stands out distinctly, and has a historical value. It refers to Edinburgh in the seconddecade of the present century, but takes in a few names of deceasedcelebrities:--'The society of Edinburgh was not that of a provincialtown, and cannot be judged of by any such standard. It wasmetropolitan. Trade or manufactures have, fortunately, never markedthis city for their own; but it is honoured by the presence of acollege famous throughout the world, and from which the world has beensupplied with many of the distinguished men who have shone in it. Itis the seat of the supreme courts of justice, and of the annualconvocation of the Church, formerly no small matter; and of almost allthe government offices and influence. At the period I am referring to, this combination of quiet with aristocracy made it the resort, to afar greater extent than it is now, of the families of the gentry, whoused to leave their country residences and enjoy the gaiety and thefashion which their presence tended to promote. Many of the curiouscharacters and habits of the receding age--the last purely Scotch agethat Scotland was destined to see--still lingered among us. Severalwere then to be met with who had seen the Pretender, with his courtand his wild followers, in the Palace of Holyrood. Almost the wholeofficial state, as settled at the Union, survived; and all graced thecapital, unconscious of the economical scythe which has since mowed itdown. All our nobility had not then fled. A few had sense not to feeldegraded by being happy at home. The Old Town was not quite deserted. Many of our principal people still dignified its picturesque recessesand historical mansions, and were dignified by them. The closing ofthe continent sent many excellent English families and youths amongus, for education and for pleasure. The war brightened us withuniforms, and strangers, and shows. 

'Over all this, there was diffused the influence of a greater numberof persons attached to literature and science, some as their calling, and some for pleasure, than could be found, in proportion to thepopulation, in any other city in the empire. Within a few years, including the period I am speaking of, the College contained PrincipalRobertson, Joseph Black, his successor Hope, the second Munro, JamesGregory, John Robison, John Playfair, and Dugald Stewart; none of themconfined monastically to their books, but all--except Robison, who wasin bad health--partaking of the enjoyments of the world. Episcopacygave us the Rev. Archibald Alison; and in Blair, Henry, John Home, SirHarry Moncreiff, and others, Presbytery made an excellentcontribution, the more to be admired that it came from a church whicheschews rank, and boasts of poverty. The law, to which Edinburgh hasalways been so largely indebted, sent its copious supplies; who, instead of disturbing good company by professional matter--an offencewith which the lawyers of every place are charged--were remarkablyfree of this vulgarity; and being trained to take difference ofopinion easily, and to conduct discussions with forbearance, were, without undue obtrusion, the most cheerful people that were to be metwith. Lords Monboddo, Hailes, Glenlee, Meadowbank, and Woodhouselee, all literary judges, and Robert Blair, Henry Erskine, and HenryMackenzie, senior, were at the earlier end of this file; Scott andJeffrey at the later--but including a variety of valuable personsbetween these extremities. Sir William Forbes, Sir James Hall, and MrClerk of Eldin, represented a class of country gentlemen cultivatinglearning on its account. And there were several, who, like the founderof the Huttonian theory, selected this city for their residence solelyfrom the consideration in which science and letters were here held, and the facilities, or rather the temptations, presented for theirprosecution. Philosophy had become indigenous in the place, and allclasses, even in their gayest hours, were proud of the presence of itscultivators. Thus learning was improved by society, and society bylearning. And unless when party-spirit interfered--which, at one time, however, it did frequently and bitterly--perfect harmony, and, indeed, lively cordiality, prevailed. 

'And all this was still a Scotch scene. The whole country had notbegun to be absorbed in the ocean of London. There were still littlegreat places--places with attractions quite sufficient to retain menof talent or learning in their comfortable and respectable provincialpositions, and which were dignified by the tastes and institutionswhich learning and talent naturally rear. The operation of thecommercial principle which tempts all superiority to try its fortunein the greatest accessible market, is perhaps irresistible; butanything is surely to be lamented which annihilates local intellect, and degrades the provincial spheres which intellect and itsconsequences can alone adorn. According to the modern rate oftravelling, the capitals of Scotland and of England were then about2400 miles asunder. Edinburgh was still more distant in its style andhabits. It had then its own independent tastes, and ideas, andpursuits. Enough of the generation that was retiring survived to castan antiquarian air over the city, and the generation that wasadvancing was still a Scotch production. Its character may beestimated by the names I have mentioned, and by the fact, that thegenius of Scott and of Jeffrey had made it the seat at once of themost popular poetry and the most brilliant criticism that thenexisted. This city has advantages, including its being the capital ofScotland, its old reputation, and its external beauties, which haveenabled it, in a certain degree, to resist the centralising tendency, and have hitherto always supplied it with a succession of eminent men. But now that London is at our door, how precarious is our hold ofthem, and how many have we lost!'

We would just add one remark which occurs to us after reviewing thecareer of this eminent patriot and writer, and it may be of service toyoung men now entering upon the various paths of ambition. It is thefortune of many to be led by whim, prejudice, and other reasons, intocertain tracks of opinion, which, as they do not lead to the publicgood, so neither do they conduce to any ultimate benefit for thosetreading them. How striking the contrast between the retrospect of aliterary man, who has spent, perhaps, brilliant abilities insupporting every bad cause and every condemned error of his time, andnecessarily found all barren at last, and the reflections of one likeFrancis Jeffrey, who, having embraced just views at first, continuedtemperately to advocate them until he saw them adopted as necessaryfor the good of his country, and had the glory of being almostuniversally thanked for his share in bringing about their triumph! Letyoung literary men particularly take this duly to heart, for it maysave them from many a bitter pang in their latter days. 

FOOTNOTES:

[3] 'Lord Eskgrove, a judge, who consoled a friend he was obliged tobanish, by assuring him that there really were places in the world, such as England, for example, where a man, though out of Scotland, might live with some little comfort. '

THE MOONLIGHT RIDE. 

A number of years ago, a gentleman in Clydesdale offered me asituation as head-groom, which I accepted. He had one horse which waskept in a stable by himself, and was, without exception, the ugliestand most savage animal of his kind I had ever seen. There was not asingle point of a strong or a fast horse about him. He was as black ascharcoal; he was named Satan, and richly did he deserve the name. Hewould fly at you, like a dog, with his teeth; attempt to beat you downwith his fore-feet; and strike round a corner at you with his hindones. He had beaten off all the rough-riders, grooms, and jockeys inthat part of the country. 

After being in the place for a few days, I was asked by the gentleman, if I thought I could make anything of Satan. I replied, that if hebeat me, he would be the only horse which had ever done so; but stillI considered him to be by far the most savage I had ever seen. 'Tryhim to-morrow at one o'clock, ' said he, as he turned to go away: 'Iwill have a few friends with me to see how you succeed. '

I determined, however, to try him that night, and without any witnessto see whether I succeeded or not. My room was over the stables, andas the moon did not rise till eleven o'clock, I threw myself upon thebedclothes, and, contrary to my intention, fell asleep. When I awoke, it was twelve, the moon was shining brightly, and rendering everythingas visible as if it were day. 

I went down to the stable with a bridle prepared for the purpose, anda heavily-loaded whip in my hand. I knew that it would be impossibleto saddle him; and, indeed, I should be safer on his bare back, in theevent of his throwing himself down. I opened the stable-door gently, and there he was prone on his side, his legs and neck stretched out, as I have often seen horses lying after sore fatigue. I clapped myknee upon his head, loosed the collar that bound him, slipped the bitinto his mouth, buckled the throat-band, raised him to his feet, backed him out, and leaped upon his back before he had time to get hiseyes right opened. But open them now he did, and that with avengeance; he pawed, and struck the walls with his fore-feet, till thefire flashed from the stones; and then he reared till he fell rightback upon the pavement. I was prepared for this, and slipped off himas he went down, and then leaped on him again as he rose. I had not asyet touched him with whip, bridle, or spur; but now I gave him thecurb and the spurs at the same instant. He gave one mad bound, andthen went off at a rate that completely eclipsed the speed of thefleetest horse I had ever ridden. He could not trot, but his gallopwas unapproachable, and consisted in a succession of leaps, performedwith a precision, velocity, and strength, absolutely bewildering. 

He fairly overturned all my preconceived notions of a fast horse. Onhe thundered, till we came under the shadow of a fir-wood, and then, whether out of mischief or dread of the darkness, he haltedinstantaneously, his fore-feet so close together that you might haveput them into a bucket. Owing to the depression of his shoulders--forhe had no more withers than an ass--the way that he jerked down hishead, and the suddenness of the stop, a monkey, although he had beenholding on with his teeth, must have been unseated. For me, I waspitched a long way over his head, but alighted upon a spot so soft andmossy, that it looked as if some kind hand had purposely prepared itfor me. Had I been in the slightest degree stunned, or unable toregain my feet, that instant he would have torn me to pieces with histeeth, and beaten my mangled body into the earth with his hoofs. But Iat once sprang to my feet, and faced him. I could have escaped byleaping into the wood; but my blood was up, my brain clear, and myheart gave not one extra pulsation. There he stood upon his hind-legsnearly upright, beating the air with his fore-feet, his mouth open, his upper lip curled, his under one drawn down, his large white teethglancing like ivory in the moonlight. As soon as he saw me upon myfeet, he gave a yell such as I had never heard from a horse before, save once, and which I believe is never elicited from that animal, except when under the domination of frantic rage or fear. 

This unearthly cry roused every living thing within hearing. An armyof rooks, startled from their encampment in the wood, circled andwheeled between us and the moon, shading her light, and filling themidnight air with their discordant screams. This attracted theattention of Satan, and, bringing his fore-feet to the ground, hepricked up his ears, and listened. I sprang forward, seized him by themane, and vaulted upon his back. As I stooped forward to gather up thereins, which were dangling from his head, he caught me by the cuff ofthe jacket--luckily it was but the cuff!--and tore it up to theshoulder. Instantly he seized me again; but this time he succeededrather better, having a small portion of the skin and flesh of mythigh between his teeth. The intense pain occasioned by the bite, orrather bruise, of a horse's mouth, can only be properly judged of bythose who have felt it. I was the madder of the two now; and of allanimals, an enraged man is the most dangerous and the most fearless. Igave him a blow between the ears with the end of the whip; and he wentdown at once, stunned and senseless, with his legs doubled up underhim, and his nose buried in the ground. I drew his fore-legs fromunder him, that he might rise the more readily, and then lashed himinto life. He turned his head slowly round, and looked at me, and thenI saw that the savage glare of his eye was nearly quenched, and that, if I could follow up the advantage I had gained, I should ultimatelybe the conqueror. I now assisted him to rise, mounted him, and struckat once with whip and spur. He gave a few bounds forward, a stagger ortwo, and then fell heavily upon his side. I was nearly under him;however, I did save my distance, although that was all. I now began tofeel sorry for him; his wonderful speed had won my respect; and as Iwas far from being naturally cruel, whip or spur I never used exceptin cases of necessity: so I thought I would allow him to lie for a fewminutes, if he did not incline to get up of himself. However, as I hadno faith in the creature, I sat down upon him, and watched himintently. He lay motionless, with his eyes shut; and had it not beenfor the firm and fast beat of his heart, I should have considered himdying from the effects of the blow; but the strong pulsation told methat there was plenty of life in him; and I suspected that he waslying quiet, meditating mischief. I was right. Every muscle beganpresently to quiver with suppressed rage. He opened his eyes, and gaveme a look, in which fear and fury were strangely blended. I am notwithout superstition, and for an instant I quailed under that look, asthe thought struck me, that the black, unshapely brute before me mightactually be the spirit indicated by his name. With a muttered growl atmy folly, I threw the idea from me--leaped up--seized the reins--witha lash and a cry made him spring to his feet--mounted him as he rose, and struck the spurs into his sides. He reared and wheeled; butfinding that he could not get rid of me, and being unable to stand thetorture of the spurs, which I used freely (it was no time for mercy!)he gave two or three plunges, and then bounded away at that dreadfulleaping gallop--that pace which seemed peculiarly his own. I tried tomoderate his speed with the bridle; but found, to my surprise, that Ihad no command over him. I knew at once that something was wrong, as, with the bit I had in his mouth, I ought to have had the power to havebroken his jawbone. I stooped forward to ascertain the cause; theloose curb dangling at the side of his head gave a satisfactoryexplanation. 

He had it all his own way now; he was fairly off with me; and all Icould do was to bear his head as well up as I could, to prevent himfrom stumbling. However, as it would have been bad policy to let himknow how much he was master, I gave him an occasional touch with thespur, as if wishing him to accelerate his pace; and when he made anextra bound, I patted him on the neck, as if pleased with hisperformance. 

A watery cloud was passing over the face of the moon, which renderedeverything dim and indistinct, as we tore away down a grassy slope;the view terminating in a grove of tall trees, situated upon arising-ground. Beyond the dark outline of the trees, I saw nothing. 

As we neared the grove, Satan slackened his speed; this I thought hedid with a view to crush me against the trunks of the trees. Toprevent him from having time to do this, I struck him with the spurs, and away again he went like fury. As he burst through the trees, Iflung my head forward upon his neck, to prevent myself from beingswept off by the lower branches. In doing this, the spurs accidentallycame in contact with his sides. He gave one tremendous leapforward--the ground sank under his feet--the horse was thrown over hisown head--I was jerked into the air--and, amid an avalanche of earthand stones, we were hurled down a perpendicular bank into the brown, swollen waters of the Clyde. 

Owing to a bend in the river, the force of the current was directedagainst this particular spot, and had undermined it; and althoughstrong enough to bear a man or a horse, under ordinary circumstances, yet down at once it thundered under the desperate leap of Satan. However, it did not signify, as nothing could have prevented us fromsurging into the water at the next bound. 

A large quantity of rain had fallen in the upper part of the shire;and, in consequence, the river was full from bank to brae. I wasnearly a stranger to the place; indeed, so much so, that I hadsupposed we were running from the river. This, combined with thesuddenness of the shock, and the appearance of a turbid, rapidriver--sweeping down trees, brushwood, branches, hay, corn, and strawbefore it, with resistless force--was so foreign to my idea of thecalm, peaceful Clyde, that when I rose to the surface, I was quitebewildered, and had very serious doubts as to my own identity. 

I was roused from this state of bewilderment by the snorting andsplashing of the horse: he was making a bold attempt to scale theperpendicular bank. Had I been thrown into the body of the stream, Ishould have been swept away, and the animal must have perished; but inall heavy rapid runs of water, salt or fresh, there is what is termedan eddy stream, running close inshore, in a contrary direction to themain body of the water. I have seen Highlanders in their boatscatching fish in the eddy stream of the Gulf of Corrievrekin, within ashort distance of the main tide, which, had it but got the slightesthold on their boat, would have swept them with fearful velocity intothe jaws of the roaring gulf. I was caught by this eddy, which kept mestationary, and enabled me, by a few strokes, to reach the horse'sside. To cross the river, or to land here, was alike impossible; so Itook the reins in my right hand, wheeled the horse from the bank, anddashed at once with him into the strength of the current. Away wewent, Satan and I, in capital spirits both; not a doubt of oureffecting a safe landing ever crossing my mind. And the horse evincedhis certainty upon that subject, by snatching a bite out of a heap ofhay that floated at his side, and eating it as composedly as if he hadbeen in the stable. 

We soon swept round the high bank that had caused our misfortune, andcame to a level part of the country, which was flooded far up into thefields. I then struck strongly out in a slanting direction for theshore, and soon had the satisfaction of finding myself once more uponthe green turf. Satan shook himself, pricked up his ears, and gave alow neigh. I then stroked him, and spoke kindly to him. He returnedthe caress by licking my hand. Poor fellow! he had contracted afriendship for me in the water--a friendship which terminated onlywith his life; and which was rendered the more valuable, by his neverextending it to another living thing. 

THE GOLD-FEVER IN AUSTRALIA. 

The discovery of gold in the new continent has thrown the country intoa state which well merits examination. The same circumstance inCalifornia was no interruption to progress of any kind. It merelypeopled a desert, and opened a trade where there was none before;while in Australia it finds an established form of civilisation, and acommerce flowing in recognised channels. It is an interesting task, therefore, to trace the nature of the influence exercised in thelatter country over old pursuits by the new direction of industry; andit is with some curiosity we open a mercantile circular, dated Sydney, 1st November 1851. This, we admit, is a somewhat forbidding documentto mere literary readers; but we shall divest its contents of theirtechnical form, and endeavour, by their aid, to arrive at some generalidea of the real state and prospects of the colony. 

Up to the middle of last May, the colonial heart beat high with hope. Trade was good; the pastoral interests were flourishing; the countryproperties, as a matter of course, were improving; and theintroduction of the alpaca, the extended culture of the vine, and thegrowth of cotton, appeared to present new and rich sources of wealth. At that moment came the discovery of the Gold Fields; and a shock wascommunicated to the whole industrial system, which to some peopleseemed to threaten almost annihilation. The idea was, thatgold-digging would swallow up all other pursuits, and the flocksperish in the wilderness from the want of shepherds. Nor was thisaltogether without foundation; for the stockholders have actually beenconsiderable sufferers: all the industrial projects mentioned havebeen stopped short; and the gold-diggings still continue to attract tothemselves, as if by a spell, the labour of the country. The panic, however, has now subsided. It is seen that the result is not so bad aswas anticipated, and hopes are entertained that the evil will go nofurther. A stream of population, it is thought, will be directed toAustralia from abroad, and the labour not demanded by gold may sufficefor other pursuits. Up to the date of the circular, the value of goldshipped for England from New South Wales had been L. 217, 000, and itwas supposed that about L. 130, 000 more remained at Sydney and in thehands of the miners: 10, 000 persons were actually engaged in mining, and 5000 more concerned otherwise in the business; and as the resultof the exertions of that multitude, the amount of gold fixedarbitrarily for exportation during the next twelve months, is L. 2, 000, 000. 

But, on the other hand, in the Sydney district alone, the trade inwool has already fallen off to the extent of several thousand bales--adeficiency, however, not as yet attributed to the diminished number ofthe sheep. It is supposed that the high rates of labour will operatechiefly in disinclining the farmers to extend their operations; and ifthis at the same time affords them leisure and motive to attend betterto the state of their clips, it will ultimately have an effect ratherbeneficial than otherwise. Australian wool has hitherto beenattainable by foreigners only in the English market; but it is afavourable symptom that two cargoes left Sydney last year direct forHamburg. To shew the falling off in trade during the gold year, it maybe mentioned that the exports of wool in the two previous years wereabout 52, 000 bales; and in 1850-1, about 48, 000. There was likewise adeficiency of about 6000 casks of tallow, and 3000 hides. 

It is interesting to notice, that preserved meats are sent from NewSouth Wales to the neighbouring colonies and to England inconsiderable quantities. Timber for shipbuilding is rising inestimation in the English market. Australian wines are said to befully equal to Rhenish; and a Vineyard Association has been formed forthe purpose of improvement. Wool, however, is at present the greatstaple; and the Circular seems to derive some consolation from theidea, that if the crop should continue deficient, prices in Englandwill probably be maintained. 'To anticipate the future prices for ourstaples, ' it says, 'in a market open to so many influences as that ofGreat Britain, is almost impossible; but it may be well to point outthe causes which are likely to affect their value--we allude moreespecially to wool. We have stated that the production thereof, in NewSouth Wales, is likely to be checked by the attraction of thegold-diggings; and still further, by the gradual abandonment ofindifferent or limited runs, which formerly supported a large numberof sheep, but which will not pay to work at present prices of wool andlabour. Therefore, if we bear in mind that Australia has furnishedhalf of the entire quantity of the wools imported into Great Britain, and that the English buyers have hitherto been purchasing inanticipation of a large annual increase from hence, which for thepresent, at anyrate, will not be forthcoming, we think we need beunder no apprehension of lower prices than the present. '

It will be remarked, that this somewhat unfavourable report is made atthe end of the first six months of the gold-fever. That kind ofgold-seeking, however, which unsettles the habits of a population, andrepresses the other pursuits of industry, is not likely to endure verylong in any country. It must give way in time to scientific mining, which is as legitimate a business as any other, and which, by thewealth it circulates, will tempt men into new avenues of industry, andrecruit, to any extent that may be desirable, the supply of labour. Hitherto that supply has come in inadequate quantities, or frompolluted sources; but we have now precisely what the colony wanted--astream of voluntary emigration, which, in the process of time, whenskilled labour only can be employed, will flood the diggings, and itssuperfluous portions find their level in the other employmentsafforded by the country. That this will take place without theinconvenience of a transition period, is not to be expected; but, uponthe whole, we look upon the present depression of the legitimate tradeof the colony as merely a temporary evil, arising out of circumstancesthat are destined to work well for its eventual prosperity. 

The same process, it should be observed, has already been gone throughin California. The lawless adventurers who rushed to the gold-fieldsfrom all parts of the world subsided gradually into order from meremotives of self-preservation; and as the precious metal disappearedfrom the surface, multitudes were driven by necessity or policy intoemployments more remunerative than digging. The large miningpopulation--the producers of gold--became the consumers of goods;markets of all kinds were opened for their supply; emporia of traderose along the coast; and a country that so recently was almost adesert, now promises to become one of the great marts of the commerceof the world. If this has been the case in California, the processwill be much easier in Australia, where the rudiments of variousbusinesses already exist, and where the staple articles of produce aresuch as can hardly be pushed to a superfluous extent. 

The true calamity, however, under which the fixed colonists, theproducers of the staples, suppose themselves to suffer, is the changeoccasioned in the price of labour by the golden prospects of thediggings. On this question there is always considered to be twoantagonistical interests--that of the employers, and that of theemployed; the former contending for the minimum, and the latter forthe maximum rate. But this is a fallacy. The interest of the two isidentical; and for these obvious reasons, that if wages be too high, the capitalist must cease to produce and to employ; and if too low, the working population must sink to the position of unskilledlabourers at home, and eventually bring about that very state ofsociety from which emigration is sought as an escape. In supposingtheir interests to be antagonistical, the one party reasons as badlyas the other; but, somehow, there always attaches to the bad reasoningof the employed a stigma of criminality, from which that of the otheris free. This is unjust enough in England, but in Australia it isridiculous. A capitalist goes out, provided with a sum so small as tobe altogether useless at home as a means of permanent support, butwhich, in the colony, he expects, with proper management, to place himfor the rest of his life in a position of almost fabulous prosperity. These cheering views, however, he confines to his own class. Themeasure of his happiness will not be full unless he can find cheaplabour, as well as magnificent returns. For this desideratum he willmake any sacrifice. He will take your paupers, your felons--yourrattlesnakes; anything in the shape of a drudge, who will toil formere subsistence, and without one of the social compensations whichrender toil in England almost endurable. 

We are never sorry to hear of the high price of labour in countrieswhere the employers live in ease and independence; and we joinheartily in the counsel to the higher class of working-men in thiscountry given by Mr Burton in his _Emigrants Manual_--'never toconfound a large labour-market with good sources of employment. ' Itdoes not appear to us to be one of the least of the benefits that willaccrue after convalescence from the gold-fever in Australia, thehigher value the employed will set upon their labour. We cannot reasonfrom the English standard, which has not been deliberately fixed, butforced upon us by competition, excessive population, public burdens, and the necessities of social position. In a new country, however, where all these circumstances are absent, and whither employers andemployed resort alike for the purpose of bettering their condition, weshould like to see traditions cast aside, and the fabric of societyerected on a new basis. 

BURGOMASTER LAW IN PRUSSIA. 

On turning out, and then turning over, a mass of old papers which hadlain packed up in a heavy mail-trunk for a period of more than fortyyears, I came the other day upon a little bundle of documents in legalGerman manuscript, the sight of which set me, old as I am, a laughinginvoluntarily, and brought back in full force to my memory thecircumstances which I am about briefly to relate. A strange thing isthis memory, by the way, and strangely moved by trifles to theexercise of its marvellous power. For more than thirty years--for theaverage period that suffices to change the generation of man uponearth--had this preposterous adventure, and everything connected withit, lain dormant in some sealed-up cavity of my brain, when the baresight of the little bundle of small-sized German foolscap, with itsragged edges and blotted official pages, has set the whole paltrydrama, with all its dignified performers, in motion before the retinaof my mind's eye with all the reality of the actual occurrence. 

It was in the spring or early summer of the year 1806, that, in thecapacity of companion and interpreter to a young nobleman who wasmaking the tour of Germany, I was travelling on the high-road fromMagdeburg to Berlin. We rolled along in a stout English carriage drawnby German post-horses, and having left Magdeburg after an earlybreakfast, stopped at a small neat town, some eighteen or twenty mileson our route--my patron intending to remain there for an hour or two, in the hope of being rejoined by a friend who had promised to overtakeus. He ordered refreshment, and sat down and partook of it, while I, not choosing to participate, seated myself in the recess ofan old-fashioned window, and kept my eyes fixed upon ourtravelling-carriage, from which the wearied horses had been removed, and which stood but a few paces from where I sat. At the end of anhour, my patron having satisfied his appetite, declined to wait anylonger, and proposed that we should proceed on our journey. It was myoffice to discharge all accounts, and of course to check any attemptat peculation which might be made. I summoned the innkeeper, whosejust demand was soon paid, and ordered the horses to be put to. Thiswas done in a few minutes, and the stable-man, as we walked out to thecarriage, came forward and presented his little bill. As I ran ithastily over before paying it, I saw that the rascal had charged forservices which he had not rendered. With the design of making the mostof a chance-customer, he had put down in his account a charge forgreasing the wheels of the carriage. Now, as I had never taken my eyesfrom the carriage during the whole period of our stay, I could not bedeceived in the conviction that this was a fraud. True, it was themerest trifle in the world; but the fellow who wanted to exact it wasthe model of an ugly, impudent, and barefaced rogue, and therefore Iresolved not to pay him. Throwing him the money, minus the attemptedimposition, I told him to consider himself fortunate that he had gotthat, which was more than such a rogue-_schurke_ was the word Iused--deserved. 

'Do you call me a rogue?' said he. 

'Certainly; a rogue is your right name, ' I replied, and sprang intothe carriage. 

'Ho! ho!' said he; 'that is against the law. Hans Felder, ' he bawledto the postilion, 'I charge you not to move; the horses may be ledback to the stable: the gracious gentleman has called me a rogue. Stiefel, run for the police: the gracious gentleman says I am a rogue. I will cite him before the council. '

It was in vain that I put my head out of the window, and bawled to thepostilion to proceed. He was evidently afraid to move. In a fewminutes a crowd began to collect around us, and in less than a quarterof an hour half the inhabitants of the place had assembled in front ofthe inn. The noise of a perfect Babel succeeded in an instant to thedull silence of the quiet town. I soon gathered from the vehementdisputes that arose on all sides, that the populace were about equallydivided into two parties. The more reasonable portion were forallowing us to proceed on our journey, and this would perhaps havebeen permitted, had not my companion, on understanding what was thematter, burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and repeated theoffensive word, accompanying it with a declaration in French, whichmany of the bystanders understood, that he considered it generallyapplicable. The landlord of the inn now came forth, and after a notvery energetic attempt to conciliate the ostler, who refused to foregohis determination to obtain legal redress, invited us to alight andresume our quarters in the inn. This we were compelled to do, toescape the annoyance of the crowd; and the carriage being housed undera shed, the horses returned to the stable. We had not been threeminutes in the inn before the police appeared to take me into custody, and march me off to durance vile. By this time I began to see that thecharge, and the dilemma into which it had led us, was no joke. I mightperhaps have bribed the scoundrel who preferred it, and have sent awaythe police with a gratuity; but I felt as little disposed to do thatas to go to prison. I refused to leave the inn, protested against thejurisdiction of their absurd laws over strangers, and at length, withthe assistance of my companion, and a good deal of threatening talk, succeeded in ejecting the two police functionaries from the room. Theykept watch, however, at the door, and planted sentinels at thewindows, to prevent an ignominious flight that way. 

In the meanwhile, the whole town was in commotion, and everybody washurrying towards the _rathhaus_, or town-hall, where it was plainenough that preparations were making for putting me immediately uponmy trial. I saw the old _burgermeister_ go waddling by in his robe ofoffice, accompanied by a crowd of nondescript officials, with one ofwhom my villainous-looking adversary was in close confabulation. In ashort space of time, a band of very scurvy-looking police, plainlyvamped up for the occasion, made its appearance; and one of the bandentering the room without ceremony, presented me with a summons, couched in legal diction, citing me to appear instantly before thecommission then sitting, to answer an indictment preferred against meby Karl Gurtler, Supernumerary Deputy Road Inspector of the district, whose honourable character I had unjustly and wantonly assailed anddeteriorated by the application of the scandalous and defamatory term, schurke. There was nothing for it but to obey the mandate; andaccordingly, requesting the bearer to convey my compliments to theassembled council, and to say that I would have the honour ofattending them in a few minutes, I dismissed him, evidently soothedwith my courteous reception. I did this with a view of getting rid ofthe _posse comitatus_, in whose company I did not much relish the ideaof being escorted as a prisoner. My politeness, however, had not theanticipated effect, as, upon emerging from the inn, we found the wholesquad waiting at the door as a sort of body-guard, to make sure of ourattendance. 

On arriving at the rathhaus, which was crammed to overflowing with allthe inhabitants of the place who could possibly wedge themselves intoit, way was cleared for us through the crowd to the seats which hadbeen considerately allotted for us, in front of the tribunal. A moreextraordinary bench of justice was perhaps never convened. It wasplain that the little village was steeped in poverty to the lips, andthat I, having been entrapped, through an unconscious expression, inthe meshes of some antiquated law, was doomed to administer in somemeasure to their need by the payment of a penalty and costs. The fatold fellow who presided as judge, and beneath whose robe of office anunctuous leathery surtout was all too visible, peered in vain througha pair of massive horn-spectacles into a huge timber-swathed volume insearch of the act, the provisions of which I had violated. At length, the schoolmaster--a meagre, pensive-looking scarecrow, industriouslypatched all over--came to his assistance, turned over the ponderouscode by which the little community were governed, and having rummagedout the law, and the clause under the provisions of which I had beenso summarily arrested, handed it to the clerk, who I shrewdlysuspected to be nothing more or less than the village barber. He, atthe command of the judge, read it aloud for the information of allpresent, and for my especial admonition. From the contents, itappeared to have been decreed, how long ago I had no means of judging, that, for the better sustentation of good morals and good-breeding, and for the prevention of quarrelling, or unseemly and abusiveconversation, any person who should call or designate any other personin the said town by the name of thief, villain, rascal, rogue(schurke), cheat, charlatan, impostor, wretch, coward, sneak, suborner, slanderer, tattler, and sundry other titles of ill-repute, which I cannot recollect now, and could not render into English were Ito recall them, should, upon complaint of the person aggrieved, andupon proof of the offence by the evidence of worthy and truth-speakingwitnesses, be amerced in such penalty, not exceeding a certain sum, asin the estimation of the presiding magistrate should be held to be aproper compensation for the injury to his reputation suffered by theplaintiff. When the clerk drew breath at the end of the long-windedclause, I inquired if the law in question made no counter-provisionfor cases which might occur where, the abusive term being richlydeserved, it could be no crime to apply it. The schoolmaster, who, despite his patched habiliments, was a clever fellow, at once answeredmy question in the negative, and justified the omission of any suchprovision by contraverting the position I had advanced upon moralgrounds. This he did in a speech of some length, and with remarkableingenuity and good sense; proving--to the satisfaction of hisfellow-townsmen at least--that to taunt a malefactor openly with hismisdeeds, was not the way to reform him, while it was a sure mode ofproducing a contrary result; and winding up with an assurance, thatthe law was a good law, and perfect in all its parts; and that if Ihad suffered wrong, I might obtain at their hands redress as readilyand with as much facility as my antagonist. 

I had nothing to reply to this, and the proceedings went on in dueform. Without being sworn, the plaintiff was called upon to state hiscase, which he did with an elaborate circumlocution altogether withouta parallel in my experience. He detailed the whole history of hislife--from his birth, in Wolfenbüttel, up to his seven years' servicein the army; then followed his whole military career; and after that, his service under the _weg_-inspector, which was rewarded at length bythe gratification of his honest ambition, in his appointment assupernumerary deputy road inspector of the district. He enlarged uponthe service he had rendered to, and the honours he had received from, his country; and then put it to his judges to decide whether, as apublic officer, a soldier, and a man of honour, he could submit to bestigmatised as a schurke, without appealing to the laws of hisFatherland to vindicate his character. Of course it was not to bethought of. He then detailed the circumstances of the assault I hadmade upon his character, forgetting to mention, however, theprovocation he had given by the fraudulent charge for greasing. Havingfinished his peroration, he proceeded to call witnesses to the fact ofthe abuse, and cited Hans Felder, our postilion, to be first examined. Hans, who had heard every syllable that passed, was not, however, somanageable a subject as the plaintiff expected to find him. Whether, like Toby Allspice in the play, he 'made it a rule never to disobligea customer;' or whether, which was not unlikely, he owed Karl Gurtlera grudge, either for stopping him on his route, or for some previousdisagreement with that conscientious public functionary; or whether, which was likeliest of all, he feared to compromise his claim for_trinkgeld_ from the highborn, gracious gentlemen he had the honour ofdriving, I cannot pretend to determine. Certain it is, that whenbrought to the bar, he had heard nothing, and seen nothing, and knewnothing, and could recollect nothing, and say nothing, about thebusiness in hand; and nothing but nothing could be got out of him by asingle member of the bench, though all took him in hand by turns. Hewas finally sent down. By this time, so dilatory had been theproceedings, the sun was sinking in the west. My companion, weary ofthe prosecutor's long story, had withdrawn to the inn to order dinner. As the second witness was about to give his testimony, a note washanded to the old burgermeister, who, having given it a glance, immediately adjourned the court till the next morning at nine o'clock. The assembly broke up, and, returning to the inn, I found that theproceedings had been stopped by the landlord, to save the reputationof his cookery, which would have been endangered had the dinner waitedmuch longer. Having first consulted my fellow-traveller, he haddespatched directions to the judge to adjourn the case till themorrow, who, like a good and obliging neighbour, had accordingly doneso. 

The little town was unusually alive and excited that evening. KarlGurtler was the centre of an admiring circle, who soon enveloped himin the incense of their meerschaums. He held a large levée in thecommon room of the inn, where a succession of very terrificbattle-songs kept us up to a late hour, as it was of no use to thinkof slumber during their explosion. The next morning, at the appointedhour, the proceedings recommenced, and the remainder of the witnesseswere examined at full length. It was in vain that I offered to pleadguilty, and pay the penalty, whatever it might be, so that we might beallowed to proceed on our journey. I was solemnly reminded, that itwas not for me to interrupt the course of justice, but to await itsdecision with patience. I saw they were determined to prevent ourdeparture as long as possible; and, judging that the only way toassist in the completion of the unlucky business, was to interpose noobstacle to its natural course, I henceforth held my peace, conjuringmy companion on no account to give directions for dinner. After asitting of nearly seven hours on the second day, when everything thatcould be lugged into connection with the silly affair had been saidand reiterated ten times over, the notary in attendance read over hiscondensed report of the whole, and I was called upon for my defence. Itold them plainly that I did not choose to make any; that I was sickof the company of fools; that since it was a crime to speak the truthin their good town, I was willing to pay the penalty for so doing, forthe privilege of leaving it; that I was astonished and disgusted atthe spectacle of a company of grave men siding with such a beggarly_räuber_ (I believed that term was not proscribed in their preciousstatute) as Karl Gurtler was, and taking advantage of the law, ofwhich a stranger must necessarily be ignorant, to obstruct him on hisjourney, and levy a contribution on his purse; and I added, finally, for I had talked myself into an angry mood, that if the farce were notimmediately brought to a conclusion, I should despatch my friendforthwith to Berlin, and lay a report of their proceedings before theBritish ambassador. I could perceive something like consternation inthe broad visage of the burgermeister as I concluded my harangue; butwithout attempting to answer it, the Solons on the bench laid theirheads together, and after a muttering of a few minutes' duration, theschoolmaster pronounced the sentence of the court, which was, that Ishould indemnify the plaintiff to the amount of one dollar, and paythe costs of the proceedings, which amounted to three more. I couldscarce forbear laughing at the mention of a sum so ludicrous. Fifteenshillings for penalty and costs of a trial which had lasted nearly twodays! I threw down the money, and was hastening from the court, whenthe notary called upon me to stop for one moment, while he concludedhis report of the case, to which, it appeared, their laws gave me avalid claim. I took the papers, and crammed them into my valise, inthe hasty packing which took place so soon as I got back to mycompanion. In a quarter of an hour, we were on our road towardsBerlin, having been taught a lesson of politeness, even towardsrogues, at the expense of a stoppage of more than thirty hours on ourroute. I have no recollection how the papers found their way into theold trunk from which they were lately unkennelled. They are now beforeme, and consist of nearly fifty sides of small foolscap, written in abold legal hand, affording a unique specimen of the cheapness of lawamongst a community who, it is to be supposed, had but little demandfor it. 

A few short months after this event, and the little town where it tookplace had something else to think of. The ill-advised step of thePrussian government, who, relying upon the aid of Russia, declared waragainst Napoleon, brought the devastating hordes of republican Franceamong them. The battle of Jena placed the whole kingdom at the foot ofthe conqueror; and few towns suffered more, comparatively, than thelittle burgh which, by the decree of a very doubtful sort of justice, had mulcted me in penalties for calling a very ill-favoured rogue byhis right name. 

TRACES OF THE DANES AND NORWEGIANS IN ENGLAND. 

Mr J. J. A. Worsaae, a conspicuous member of that brilliant corps ofnorthern antiquaries who have of late given a new wing to history, travelled through the United Kingdom in 1846-7, on a commission fromhis sovereign the king of Denmark, to make inquiry respecting themonuments and memorials of the Danes and Norwegians, which might stillbe extant in these islands. The result of his investigations appearedin a concise volume, which has been translated into English, andpublished by Mr Murray in a handsome style, being illustrated bynumerous wood-cuts. [4] It is a work which we would recommend to theattention of all who feel any interest in our early history, ascalculated to afford them a great gratification. One is surprised tofind in how great a degree the Northmen affected Britain; what aninfusion of Scandinavian blood there is in our population; how manytraces of their predominancy survive in names of places and in moretangible monuments. Mr Worsaae writes with a warm feeling towards hiscountry and her historical reminiscences, but without allowing it tocarry him into any extravagances. He is everywhere clear andsimple--sometimes rises into eloquence; and always displays a closeand searching knowledge of his subject. 

From the end of the eighth century till the time of the NormanConquest, the restless chiefs of Denmark and Norway were continuallyin the practice of making piratical expeditions to our shores. Theycommitted terrible devastations, and made many settlements, almostexclusively on the eastern coast. Finally, as is well known, we had abrief succession of Danish kings in England, including the magnanimousCanute. When we look at the quiet people now inhabiting Denmark andNorway, we are at a loss to understand whence came or where residedthat spirit of reckless daring which inspired such a system ofconquest, or how it came so completely to die out; but the explanationis, that the Northmen of those days were heathens, animated by areligion which made them utterly indifferent to danger. Whenever theybecame Christianised, they began to appreciate life like other men, and ceased, of course, to be the troublers they had once been. MrWorsaae draws a line from London to Chester--the line of the greatRoman road (Watling Street)--to the north of which the infusion ofScandinavian population is strong, and their monuments abundant. Avast number of names of places in that part of the island are ofDanish origin--all ending in _by_, which in Danish signifies a town, as Whitby (the White Town), Derby (Deoraby, the town of Deer), Kirby(the church town), &c. --all ending in _thwaite_, which signifies anisolated piece of land--all ending in _thorpe_ (Old Northern, acollection of houses separated from some principal estate)--all endingin _næs_, a promontory, and _ey_ or _öe_, an island. _Toft_, a field;_with_, a forest; _beck_, a streamlet; _tarn_, a mountain-lake;_force_, a waterfall; _garth_, a large farm; _dale_, a valley; and_fell_, a mountain, are all of them common elements of names of placesin England, north of the line above indicated, and all areScandinavian terms. The terminations _by_, _thwaite_, and _thorpe_, are still common in Denmark. 

Mr Worsaae found many memorials of the Northmen in London: forexample, the church of St Clement's Danes, where this people had theirburial-place; the name _Southwark_, which is 'unmistakably of Danishor Norwegian origin;' St Olave's Church there, and even Tooley Street, which is a corruption of the name of that celebrated Norsk saint; but, above all, in the fact that 'the highest tribunal in the city hasretained in our day its pure old northern name "Husting. "' The factis, that about the time of Canute, the Danes predominated over therest of the population of London. Mr Worsaae was not able to trace theDanish face or form as a distinct element in the modern population. Ingoing northward, however, he soon began to find that the prevailingphysiognomy was of a northern character: 'The form of the face isbroader, the cheek-bones project a little, the nose is somewhatflatter, and at times turned a little upwards; the eyes and hair areof a lighter colour, and even deep-red hair is far from beinguncommon. The people are not very tall in stature, but usually morecompact and strongly built than their countrymen towards the south. The Englishman himself seems to acknowledge that a difference is to befound in the appearance of the inhabitants of the northern andsouthern counties; at least, one constantly hears in England, whenred-haired, compact-built men with broad faces are spoken of: "Theymust certainly be from Yorkshire;" a sort of admission that lighthair, and the broad peculiar form of the face, belong mostly to thenorth of England people. . . . In the midland, and especially in thenorthern part of England, I saw every moment, and particularly in therural districts, faces exactly resembling those at home. Had I met thesame persons in Denmark or Norway, it would never have entered my mindthat they were foreigners. Now and then I also met with some whosetaller growth and sharper features reminded me of the inhabitants ofSouth Jutland, or Sleswick, and particularly of Angeln; districts ofDenmark which first sent colonists to England. It is not easy todescribe peculiarities which can be appreciated in all their detailsonly by the eye; nor dare I implicitly conclude that in theabove-named cases I have really met with persons descended in adirect line from the old Northmen. I adduce it only as a strikingfact, which will not escape the attention of at least any observantScandinavian traveller, that the inhabitants of the north of Englandbear, on the whole, more than those of any other part of that country, an unmistakable personal resemblance to the Danes and Norwegians. '

Scandinavian words abound in the popular language of those districts. 'On entering a house there, one will find the housewife sitting withher _rock_ (Dan. , _Rok_; Eng. , a distaff) and _spoele_ (Dan. , _Spole_;Eng. , spool, a small wheel on the spindle); or else she has set bothher _rock_ and her _garnwindle_ (Dan. , _Garnvinde_; Eng. , reel oryarn-winder) aside, whilst standing by her _back-bword_ (Dan. , _Bagebord_; Eng. , baking-board) she is about to knead dough (Dan. , _Deig_), in order to make the oaten-bread commonly used in theseparts, at times, also, barley-bread; for _clap-bread_ (Dan. , _Klappebröd_, or thin cakes beaten out with the hand), she lays thedough on the _clap-board_ (Dan. , _Klappebord_. ) One will also find the_bord-claith_ spread (Dan. , _Bordklæde_; Eng. Table-cloth); the peopleof the house then sit on the _bank_ or _bink_ (Dan. , _Bænk_; Eng. , bench), and eat _Aandorn_ (Eng. , afternoon's repast), or, as it iscalled in Jutland and Fünen, _Onden_ (dinner. ) The chimney (_lovver_)stands in the room; which name may perhaps be connected with theScandinavian _lyre_ (Icelandic, _ljóri_)--namely, the smoke-hole inthe roof or thatch (_thack_), out of which, in olden times, beforehouses had regular chimneys and "_lofts_" (Dan. , _Loft_; Eng. , roof, an upper room), the smoke (_reek_ or _reik_, Dan. , _Rög_) left thedark (_mirk_ or _murk_, Dan. , _Mörk_) room. Within is the _bower_ or_boor_ (Eng. , bed-chamber), in Danish, _Buur_; as, for instance, inthe old Danish word _Jomfrubuur_ (the maiden's chamber), and in themodern word _Fadebuur_ (the pantry. )'

Mr Worsaae only speaks the truth when he remarks how the name of theDanes has been impressed on the English mind. 'Legends about the Danesare, ' he says, 'very much disseminated among the people, even in thesouth of England. There is scarce a parish that has not in some way oranother preserved the remembrance of them. Sometimes, they arerecorded to have burned churches and castles, and to have destroyedtowns, whose inhabitants were put to the sword; sometimes, they aresaid to have burned or cut down forests; here are shewn the remains oflarge earthen mounds and fortifications which they erected; there, again, places are pointed out where bloody battles were fought withthem. To this must be added the names of places--as, the_Danes-walls_, the _Danish forts_, the _Dane-field_, the_Dane-forest_, the _Danes-banks_, and many others of the like kind. Traces of Danish castles and ramparts are not only found in thesouthern and south-eastern parts of England, but also quite in thesouth-west, in Devonshire and Cornwall, where, under the name of_Castelton Danis_, they are particularly found on the sea-coast. Inthe chalk-cliffs, near Uffington, in Berkshire, is carved an enormousfigure of a horse, more than 300 feet in length; which, the commonpeople say, was executed in commemoration of a victory that KingAlfred gained over the Danes in that neighbourhood. On the heights, near Eddington, were shewn not long since the intrenchments, which, itwas asserted, the Danes had thrown up in the battle with Alfred. Onthe plain near Ashdon, in Essex, where it was formerly thought thatthe battle of Ashingdon had taken place, are to be seen some largeDanish barrows which were long, but erroneously, said to contain thebones of the Danes who had fallen in it. The so-called dwarf-alder(_Sambucus ebulus_), which has red buds, and bears red berries, issaid in England to have germinated from the blood of the fallen Danes, and is therefore also called _Daneblood_ and _Danewort_. It flourishesprincipally in the neighbourhood of Warwick; where it is said to havesprung from, and been dyed by, the blood shed there, when Canute theGreat took and destroyed the town. 

'Monuments, the origin of which is in reality unknown, are, in thepopular traditions, almost constantly attributed to the Danes. If thespade or the plough brings ancient arms and pieces of armour to light, it is rare that the labourer does not suppose them to have belonged tothat people. But particularly if bones or joints of unusual size arefound, they are at once concluded to be the remains of the giganticDanes, whose immense bodily strength and never-failing courage had sooften inspired their forefathers with terror. For though theEnglishman has stories about the cruelties of the ancient Danes, theirbarbarousness, their love of drinking, and other vices, he has stillpreserved no slight degree of respect for Danish bravery and Danishachievements. "As brave as a Dane, " is said to have been an old phrasein England; just as "to strike like a Dane" was, not long since, aproverb at Rome. Even in our days, Englishmen readily acknowledge thatthe Danes are the "best sailors on the continent;" nay, even that, themselves of course excepted, they are "the best and bravest sailorsin all the world. " It is, therefore, doubly natural that Englishlegends should dwell with singular partiality on the memorials of theDanes' overthrow. Even the popular ballads revived and glorified thevictories of the English. Down to the very latest times was heard inHolmesdale, in Surrey, on the borders of Kent, a song about a battlewhich the Danes had lost there in the tenth century. '

In our own northern land, the Northmen committed as many devastations, and made nearly as many settlements, as in England. The OrcadianIslands formed, indeed, a Norwegian kingdom, which was not entirely atan end till the thirteenth century. In that group, and on the adjacentcoasts of Caithness and Sutherlandshires, the appearance of thepeople, the names of places, and the tangible monuments, speakstrongly of a Scandinavian infusion into the population. Sometimes, between the early Celtic people still speaking their own language, andthe descendants of the Norwegians, a surprisingly definite line can bedrawn. The island of Harris is possessed for the most part by a set ofCelts, 'small, dark-haired, and in general very ugly;' but at thenorthern point, called 'the Ness, ' we meet with people of an entirelydifferent appearance. 'Both the men and women have, in general, lighter hair, taller figures, and far handsomer features. I visitedseveral of their cabins, and found myself surrounded by physiognomiesso Norwegian, that I could have fancied myself in Scandinavia itself, if the Gaelic language now spoken by the people, and their wretcheddwellings, had not reminded me that I was in one of those poordistricts in the north-west of Europe where the Gaels or Celts arestill allowed a scanty existence. The houses, as in Shetland, andpartly in Orkney, are built of turf and unhewn stones, with a wretchedstraw or heather roof, held together by ropes laid across the ridge ofthe house, and fastened with stones at the ends. The houses are solow, that one may often see the children lie playing on the side ofthe roof. The family and the cattle dwell in the same apartment, andthe fire, burning freely on the floor, fills the house with a thicksmoke, which slowly finds its way out of the hole in the roof. Thesleeping-places are, as usual, holes in the side-walls. 

'It is but a little while ago that the inhabitants of the Ness, whoare said to have preserved faint traditions of their origin fromLochlin--called also in Ireland, Lochlan--or the North, regardedthemselves as being of better descent than their neighbours the Gaels. The descendants of the Norwegians seldom or never contracted marriagewith natives of a more southern part of the island, but formed amongthemselves a separate community, distinguished even by a peculiarcostume, entirely different from the Highland Scotch dress. Althoughthe inhabitants of Ness are now, for the most part, clothed like therest of the people of Lewis, I was fortunate enough to see the dressof an old man of that district, which had been preserved as acuriosity. It was of thick, coarse woollen stuff, of a brown colour, and consisted of a close-fitting jacket, sewn in one piece, with apair of short trousers, reaching only a little below the knees. It wasformerly customary with them not to cover the head at all. '

The people of the Ness are described as good fishermen--a strikingtrait of their original national character, for nothing coulddistinguish them more from their neighbours, the ordinary Highlandersbeing everywhere remarkable for their inaptitude to a sea-life. 

Tradition speaks loudly all over Scotland of the ancient doings of theDanes. So much, indeed, is this the case, that every antiquity whichcannot be ascribed to the Romans, is popularly thought to be Danish, an idea which has been implicitly adopted by a great number of theScotch clergy in the Statistical Account of their respective parishes. In the Highlands, Mr Worsaae found the people retaining a very freshrecollection of the terrors of the Northmen, and ready to believe thattheir incursions might yet be renewed. 'Having employed myself, ' hesays, 'in examining, among other things, the many so-called "Danish"or Pictish towers on the west and north-west coast of Sutherland, thecommon people were led to believe, that the Danes wished to regainpossession of the country, and with that view intended to rebuild theruined castles on the coasts. The report spread very rapidly, and wassoon magnified into the news, that the Danish fleet was lying outsidethe sunken rocks near the shore, and that I was merely sent beforehandto survey the country round about; nay, that I was actually the Danishking's son himself, and had secretly landed. This report, whichpreceded me very rapidly, had, among other effects, that of making thepoorer classes avoid, with the greatest care, mentioning anytraditions connected with defeats of the Danes, and especially withthe killing of any Dane in the district, lest they should occasion asanguinary vengeance when the Danish army landed. Their fears werecarried so far, that my guide was often stopped by the natives, whoearnestly requested him, in Gaelic, not to lend a helping-hand to theenemies of the country by shewing them the way; nor would they let himgo, till he distinctly assured them that I was in possession of mapscorrectly indicating old castles in the district which he himself hadnot previously known. This, of course, did not contribute to allaytheir fears; and it is literally true, that in several of the Gaelicvillages, particularly near the firths of Loch Inver and Kyle-Sku, wesaw on our departure old folks wring their hands in despair at thethought of the terrible misfortunes which the Danes would now bring ontheir hitherto peaceful country. '

We have here been obliged wholly to overlook Mr Worsaae's curiouschapters about Ireland and the Isle of Man, and to give what we cannotbut feel to be a very superficial view of the contents of his bookgenerally; but our readers have seen enough to inspire them with aninterest in it, and we trust that this will lead many of them to itsentire perusal. 

FOOTNOTES:

[4] _An Account of the Danes and Norwegians in England, Scotland, andIreland. _ By J. J. A. Worsaae, For. F. S. A. , London; Author of_Primæval Antiquities of Denmark. _ London: Murray. 1852. 

CHILDREN OF PRISONS. 

When I was in Berlin, I went into the public prison, and visited everypart of the establishment. At last I was introduced to a very largehall, which was full of children, with their books and teachers, andhaving the appearance of a Prussian school-room. 'What!' said I, 'isit possible that all these children are imprisoned here for crime?' 'Ono, ' said my conductor, smiling at my simplicity; 'but if a parent isimprisoned for crime, and on that account his children are leftdestitute of the means of education, and are liable to grow up inignorance and crime, the government places them here, and maintainsand educates them for useful employment. ' This was a new idea to me. Iknow not that it has ever been suggested in the United States; butsurely it is the duty of government, as well as its highest interest, when a man is paying the penalties of his crime in a public prison, tosee that his unoffending children are not left to suffer and inherittheir father's vices. Surely it would be better for the child, andcheaper as well as better for the state. Let it not be supposed that aman will go to prison for the sake of having his children taken careof; for those who go to prison, usually have little regard for theirchildren. If they had, _discipline_ like that of the Berlin prisonwould soon sicken them of such a bargain. --_Professor Stowe_. 

JUPITER, AN EVENING STAR. 

 Ruler and hero, shining in the west With great bright eye, Rain down thy luminous arrows in this breast With influence calm and high, And speak to me of many things gone by. 

 Rememberest thou--'tis years since, wandering star-- Those eves in June, When thou hung'st quivering o'er the tree-tops far, Where, with discordant tune, Many-tongued rooks hailed the red-rising moon?

 Some watched thee then with human eyes like mine, Whose boundless gaze May now pierce on from orb to orb divine Up to the Triune blaze Of glory--nor be dazzled by its rays. 

 All things they know, whose wisdom seemed obscure; They, sometime blamed, Hold our best purities as things impure: Their star-glance downward aimed, Makes our most lamp-like deeds grow pale and shamed. 

 Their star-glance?--What if through those rays there gleam Immortal eyes Down to this dark? What if these thoughts, that seem Unbidden to arise, Be souls with my soul talking from the skies?

 I know not. Yet awhile, and I shall know!-- Thou, to thy place Slow journeying back, there startlingly to shew Thy orb in liquid space, Like a familiar death-lost angel face--

 O planet! thou hast blotted out whole years Of life's dull round; The Abel-voice of heart's-blood and of tears Sinks dumb into the ground, And the green grass waves on with lulling sound. 

GRATUITOUS SERVICES. 

Never let people work for you _gratis_. Two years ago, a man carried abundle for us to Boston, and we have been lending him two shillings aweek ever since. --_American paper_. 

 * * * * *

Printed and Published by W. And R. CHAMBERS, High Street, Edinburgh. Also sold by W. S. ORR, Amen Corner, London; D. N. CHAMBERS, 55 WestNile Street, Glasgow; and J. M'GLASHAN, 50 Upper Sackville Street, Dublin. --Advertisements for Monthly Parts are requested to be sent toMAXWELL & CO. , 31 Nicholas Lane, Lombard Street, London, to whom allapplications respecting their insertion must be made.