CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

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

 No. 444. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, JULY 3, 1852. PRICE 1-1/2_d. _

THE ART SEASON. 

Returning with the circling year, and advancing _pari passu_ with themultitude of metropolitan musical attractions, comes the more silentreign of the picture exhibitions--those great art-gatherings fromthousands of studios, to undergo the ultimate test of public judgmentin the dozen well-filled galleries, which the dilettante, or loungingLondoner, considers it his recurring annual duty strictly to inspect, and regularly to gossip in. As places where everybody meets everybody, and where lazy hours can be conveniently lounged away, the exhibitionsin some sort supply in the afternoon what the Opera and parties do inthe evenings. Nearly all through the summer-day, they are crowded witha softly-rustling, humming, buzzing crowd, coming and going perhaps, taking little heed of the nominal attraction, but sauntering from roomto room, or ensconcing themselves in colonies or clusters of chairs, and lounging vacantly in cool lobbies. At energetic sight-seers, whoare labouring away, catalogue and pencil in hand, they starelanguidly. They really thought everybody had seen the pictures; theyknow they have: they have stared at them until they became a bore. Butthis sort of people, who only come once, why, of course, they supposethis sort of people must be allowed to push about as they please. Butit is a confounded nuisance; it is really. 

The great army of art amateurs, connoisseurs, and the body who areregarded in the artistic world with far greater reverence--the notedpicture buyers and dealers, have come and seen, and gone away again;after having lavishly expended their approbation or disapprobation, and possibly in a less liberal degree, their cash. After the firstweek or so, the galleries begin to clear of gentlemen of the class inquestion; even artists have got tired of coming to see their ownpictures, particularly if they be not well hung; and so the exhibitionis generally handed over during the greater part of its duration tothe languid _far niente_ elegant crowd we have seen thronging itscorridors. The grand day for the moneyed amateurs, who come toincrease their collections, is, however, that of the private view. This generally occurs on a Saturday, and the public is admitted on thefollowing Monday. Within an hour of the opening on the former day, therooms are crowded with a multitude of notabilities. You see that youare in a special class of society, or rather, in two specialclasses--literary and artistic on the one hand; wealthy and sociallyelevated on the other. The fact is evident in the general mutualacquaintanceship which prevails, principally within each respectivecircle, but by no means exclusively so. First, you are sure to observea cluster of those peers and members of parliament who busy themselvesmost in social, literary, and artistic questions. Bishops, too, areregular private-view men; capital judges, moreover, and liberalbuyers; and we seldom miss catching a glimpse of some dozen faces, whose proprietors are men standing at the very top of our historic, philosophic, and critical literature, and who move smilingly about, amid the keen but concealed inspection of the crowd, who pass theirnames in whispers from group to group. 

But the class of regular picture-buyers is quite _sui generis_. Youmay pitch upon your man in a moment. Ten to one, he is old, and hasall the shrivelled, high-dried appearance of the most far-gone andconfirmed bachelorism. Everything about him looks old andold-fashioned. His hair is thin and gray, and he shuffles along on acouple of poor old shanks, which will never look any stouter unless itbe under the influence of a fit of the gout. He wears a whiteneckcloth, arranged with the celebrated wisp-tie--shoes a great dealtoo big for him--and to his keen, twinkling eyes he applies a pair ofheavy horn or silver-set glasses. These old gentlemen appear to knoweach other as if by magic. They cluster in groups like corks in abasin of water, and then go hobbling eagerly along, peering closelyinto the more promising works, jerking their heads from side to side, so as to get the painting in as many lights as possible; and full oftalk--good critical talk--about the productions in course ofinspection. True, there may be something in their observationsspeaking too much of the technical, and too little of the more idealfaculty. They are greater upon flesh-tints and pearly grays, middledistances and chiaroscuro, than upon conception, expression, orelevation or magnificence of sentiment. Nevertheless, they knowthoroughly what appertains to a good picture. They give a work itsplace in a moment, and assign it to its author by internal evidence, with an unfailing accuracy, which speaks of long training and constantfamiliarity with all the main studios of London. Perhaps you observeone of our friends apparently fascinated before a particular canvas:he dances about, so as to get it in every angle of light. Then heshuffles off, and brings two other skilful old foggies, holding eachby an arm; and the three go through the former ceremony as to thelights, and then lay their heads together; and then our originalpersonage glides softly up to the table where the secretary's clerksits with pen and ink before him, and whispers. The clerk smilesaffably--turns up a register: there are two or three confidentialwords interchanged; and then he rises and sticks into the frame of thelucky picture a morsel of card, labelled 'Sold;' and leaves thepurchaser gloating over his acquisition. 

And where do these pictures go? Frequently to some quiet, solemn oldhouse in the West End, or to some grange or manor far down in thecountry. The picture-gallery is the nursery of that house--its prideand its boast. Year after year has the silent family of canvas beenincreasing and multiplying. Their proprietor is, as it were, theirfather. He has most likely no living ties, and all his thoughts andall his ambitions are clustered round that silent gallery, where thelight comes streaming down from high and half-closed windows. Thecollection gradually acquires a name. Descriptions of it are found inguide-books and works upon art. Strangers come to see it with tickets, and a solemn housekeeper shews them up the silent stairs, and throughthe lonesome mansion to its _sanctum sanctorum_. At length, perhaps, the old man takes his last look at his pictures, and then shuts hiseyes for ever. It may be, that within six weeks the laboriouslycollected paintings are in a Pall-Mall auction-room, with all theworld bidding and buzzing round the pulpit; or it may also chance thata paragraph goes the round of the papers, intimating that hiscelebrated and unrivalled collection of modern works of art has beenbequeathed by the late Mr So-and-so to the nation--always on thecondition, that it provides some fitting place for their preservation. The government receives bequests of this kind oftener than it complieswith the stipulation. 

In the beginning of March, the first of the galleries opens itsportals to the world. This is the British Institution, established atthe west end of Pall-Mall, and now in existence for the better part ofa half century. The idea of the establishment was to form a sort ofnursing institution for the Royal Academy. Here artists of standingand reputation were to exhibit their sketches and less importantworks; and here more juvenile aspirants were to try their wings beforebeing subjected to the more severe ordeal of Trafalgar Square. Theidea was good, and flourished apace; so much so, that you notunfrequently find in the British Institution no small proportion ofworks of a calibre hardly below the average of the Great Exhibition;while the A. R. A. 's, and even the aristocratic R. A. 's[1] themselves, do not by any means disdain to grace the humble walls of the threerooms in Pall-Mall. This year, the only picture of Sir EdwinLandseer's exhibited--a wild Highland corry, with a startled herd ofred deer--is to be found in the British Institution. But the merit ofthe works is wonderfully unequal. They are of all classes and allsizes, in water-colour and in oils. Clever sketches by cleverunknowns, rest beside sprawling frescos by youths whose ambition isvaster than their genius; and finished and accomplished works of artare set off by the foils of unnumbered pieces of unformed and not verypromising mediocrity. Among them are the productions of many of themore humble painters of _genre_ subjects--the class who delight inportraying homely cottage interiors, or troops of playing children, orbits of minutely-finished still life--or careful academical studies ofgroups with all the conventions duly observed: this class of picturesmusters strong, and connoisseurs, without so much remarking theirimperfections, carefully note their promise. 

A month after the opening of the British Institution, three galleriesbecome patent on the same morning: the Old Water Colour, in Pall-MallEast, the New Water Colour, in Pall-Mall West, and a still morerecently founded society, called, somewhat pompously, the NationalInstitution of Fine Arts. These are mainly composed of dissenters fromthe other associations--gentlemen who conceive that they have beenill-treated by Hanging Committees, and a large class of juvenile butpromising artists, who resort to the less crowded institutions in thehope of there meeting with better places for their works than in theolder and more established bodies. The two water-colour galleries areboth highly favoured exhibitions, and present works of an importancequite equal to those of the Academy itself. Water-colour painting isindeed a national branch of art in England. Neither French, Germans, nor Italians, can presume for a moment to cope with us in the matterof _aquarelles_. They have no notion of the power of the medium, ofthe strong and rich effects it is capable of producing, and thetransparency of the tints which a great water-colour artist can layon. Nearly twenty years ago, there was but one water-colour society;but increasing numbers, and the usual artistic feuds, produced apartly natural, partly hostile, separation. The ladies and gentlemenwho withdrew were mainly figure painters; those who stayed were mainlylandscape artists; and thus it happens, that while in the new societyyou are principally attracted by historic and _genre_ groups and, scenes, in the old you are fascinated by landscape and city picturesof the very highest order of art. The painters, too, you observe, arevery industrious. The fact is, they can work more quickly in waterthan in oil. Copley Fielding will perhaps exhibit a score oflandscapes, blazing with summer sunshine; David Cox, half asmany--stern and rugged in tone and style; George Tripp will havepainted his fresh river and meadow scenes by the dozen; and the twobrothers Callum will each have poured in old Gothic streets andsquares, and ships in calm and storm, which catch your eye scores oftimes upon the walls. As in the other society, many of the finest'bits' contributed by the water-colourists are not much aboveminiature size. The screens on which these gems are hung attract fullyas much as the walls with their more ambitious freight; and Jenkin'srustic lasses, and Topham's Irish groups, and Alfred Fripp's dark-eyedItalian monks and Campagna peasants, are as much gazed at asRichardson's sunny landscapes or Bentley's breezy seas. 

Five minutes' walk takes us to the new society. No lack of landscapehere; but it is inferior to that in the rival institution, and itsattractions are eclipsed by ambitious pictures of historic orfictitious interest; the scene almost always laid in the picturesquestreets or rooms of a mediæval city, and the groups marvels of displayin the matter of the painting of armour, arms, and the gorgeousvelvets, minivers, and brocades of feudal _grande tenue_. See MrEdward Corbould. He is sure to be as picturesque and chivalrous aspossible. There is the very ring of the rough old times in hiscaracoling processions of ladies and knights, or his fierce scenes ofhand-to-hand fight, with battered armour, and flashing weapons, andwounded men drooping from their steeds. Or he paints softerscenes--passages of silken dalliance and love; ladies' bowers andcourtly revels in alcoved gardens. Mr Haghe is equally mediæval, butmore sternly and gloomily so. He delights in sombre, old Flemishrooms, with dim lights streaming through narrow Gothic windows, uponhuge chimney-pieces and panellings, incrusted with antique figures, carved in the black heart of oak--knights, and squires, and priests ofold. Then he peoples these shadowy chambers with crowds of sternburghers, or grave ecclesiastics, or soldiers 'armed complete inmail;' and so forms striking pieces of gloomy picturesqueness. Figure-paintings of a lighter calibre also abound. There is Mr JohnAbsolon, who is in great request for painting figures in panoramicpictures; Mr Lee, whose graceful rural maidens are not to besurpassed: Mr Warren, whose heart is ever in the East; and Mr Mole, who loves the shielings of the Highland hills. Landscape, though onthe whole subordinate to _genre_ pictures, is very respectablyrepresented; and the lady-artists usually make a good show on thescreens, particularly in the way of graceful single figures, and theprettinesses of flower and fruit painting. 

We can merely mention the Society of British Artists and the NationalInstitution of Fine Art. Both are mainly composed of the naturalovergrowth of artists who prefer a speedy and favourable opportunityfor the display of their works in minor galleries, to waiting foryears and years ere they can work themselves up to good positions onthe walls of the Academy. Many of these gentlemen, however, exhibitboth in the smaller and the greater collection; but here and there anartist will be found obstinately confining his contributions to onepet establishment--possibly entertaining a notion that he has beendeeply wronged by the Hanging Committee of another. 

Both of the exhibitions under notice are very various in merit; buteach generally contains some able works, and the specialties of one ortwo painters distinguished by notable peculiarities. Thus thepresident of the British Artists, Mr Hurlstone, has for severalseasons confined himself to Spanish subjects; Mr West paints Norwegianlandscape; Mr Pyne sends to this gallery only his very splendidlake-pictures; and Mr Woolmer's curious sketches, which seemcompounded of the styles of Turner and Watteau, blaze almostexclusively upon the walls. The best men of the National Institutioncontribute also to the Royal Academy--as, for example, Mr Glass, withhis capital groups of hunters or troopers, so full of life andmovement; and Mr Parker, with his smugglers and coast-boatmen. In thisexhibition--and, indeed, in all the London exhibitions--a family, orrather a race or clan of artists, connected at once by blood andstyle, and rejoicing in the name of Williams, abound and flourishexceedingly. These Williamses are dreadful puzzlers to the students ofthe catalogue; they positively swarm upon every page, and thebewildered reader is speedily lost in a perfect chaos ofundistinguishable initials. Sometimes, indeed, the Williamses comeforth under other appellations--they appear as Percies and Gilberts;but the distinguishing mark is strong, and a moment's inspectionconvinces the amateur that the landscape before him, attributed to MrSo-and-so, is the work of 'another of these everlasting Williamses. '

But the first Saturday of May arrives, and with it many a rumour, trueand false, of the state of matters within the Royal Academy--of theacademicians who exhibit, and of what are to be 'the' pictures. Fromearly morning, St Martin's bells have been ringing, and a festivalflag flies from the steeple; no great pomp, to be sure, but it marksthe occasion. About noon, the Queen's party arrives, and Her Majestyis conducted about the rooms by the leading members of the Academy. Between one and two, she departs; and immediately after, the crowd ofticket-holders for the private view cluster before the closedgratings. Punctually as the last stroke of the hour strikes, theportals are flung open, and a cataract of eager amateurs rush up thestaircases, and make their way straight to the inner room, or room ofhonour, all in quest of _the_ picture, to which the _pas_ has beengiven, by its being hung upon the line in the centre of the easternwall of the apartment. The salons fill as by magic; in half an hour, you can hardly move through a crowd of dignitaries of allkinds--hereditary, social, literary, scientific, and artistic. Perhaps, indeed, there is no muster in London which collects a greaternumber of personages famous in every point of view. The ladies of thearistocracy swarm as at a drawing-room. The atmosphere is all onerustle of laces and silks; and it is anything but easy to make one'sway among the bevies of clustered beauties who flock round theirchaperone, all one flutter of ribbons, feathers, and flowers. And tothe Academy, at all events, come all manner of political notabilities:you find a secretary of state by your elbow, and catch the mutteredcriticism of a prime-minister. Ordinary peers and members ofparliament are thicker than blackberries. Bishops prevail as usual;and apropos of ecclesiastical costumes, peculiar looped-up beavers andsingle-breasted greatcoats, the odds are, that you will be attractedby the portly figure and not very refined face of the Romish dignitarywhose pretensions, a couple of years ago, set the country in a blaze. The muster of literary men is large and brilliant. Mr Hallam is mostlikely there as Professor of Ancient History to the Academy; and MrMacaulay as Professor of Ancient Literature. Sir George Staunton putsin an appearance as Secretary for Foreign Correspondence; and bloomingSir Robert Harry Inglis, with the largest of roses at his button-hole, looks the most genial and good-humoured of 'antiquaries. ' TheAcademicians--lucky Forty!--muster early. Happy fellows! they have noqualms of doubt, or sick-agonies of expectation as they mount thebroad flight of steps. They have been giving hints to the HangingCommittee, or they have been on the Hanging Committee themselves. Wellthey know that _their_ works have been at least provided for--all onthe line, or near it; all in the best lights; and all titivated andpolished up and varnished on the walls, and adapted, as it were, tothe situation. You may know an R. A. On the private view-day by thebroad, expanding jollity of his visage, if he be a man of that stamp, or by a certain quiet, self-satisfied smile of self-complacence, if hebe a man of another. 

But he looks and bears himself as a host. He cicerones delightedparties of lady-friends with his face all one smile of courtesy, or hedoes the honours with dignity and a lofty sense of--we do not speakdisrespectfully--of being on his own dunghill, in respect to the moreimportant exigeant connoisseurs, whom he thinks it right to patronise. He always praises his brethren's works, and discovers in them hiddenvirtues. For the Associates, he has minor smiles and milder words. Theordinary mob of exhibiters he looks down upon with a calm andcomplacent gaze, as though from the summit of a Mont Blanc ofsuperiority. At any bold defier of the conventions and traditions ofthe Academy drawing-school, he shakes his head. The pre-Raphaeliteheresy was a sore affliction to him. He looked upon Millais and Huntas a Low-church bishop would regard Newman and Pusey. He prophesiedthat they would come to no good. He called them 'silly boys;' and helooks uneasily at the crowds who throng before this year's picture ofthe Huguenot Couple--not recovering his self-complacency until his eyecatches his own favourite work, when he feels himself graduallymollified, and smiles anew upon the world. 

Not so the nameless artist, whose work of many toiling days, and manysleepless nights, has been sent in unprotected to take its chance. Heknows nothing of its fate until he can get a catalogue. It may be onthe line in the east room; it may be above the octagon-room door; itmay not be hung at all. Only the great artistic guns are invited tothe private view, the rest must wait till Monday. Possibly a straycatalogue puts him so far out of his pain on Sunday. If not, he passesa feverish and unhappy time till the afternoon of Monday; and then, first among the crowd, rushes franticly up stairs. We had anopportunity the other day of seeing the result of a case of the kind. The picture--a work of great fancy and high feeling, but deficient inmanipulative skill--the artist, a poet in the true sense of the word, had spent months in dreaming and in joying over. He found it in thedingiest corner of the octagon-room. His lip quivered and his chestheaved. He pulled his hat further down on his face, and walked quicklyand quietly out. 

We would gladly, indeed, see the octagon-room abolished. A picture isdegraded, and an artist is insulted, by a painting being hung in thisdarksome and 'condemned cell. ' The canvas gets a 'jail-bird' stamp, and its character is gone. In France, at the Palais-Royal, the youngartists have a far better chance. After a stated time, the pictures, which, as the best have primarily had the best places, change stationswith their inferiors; so that everybody in turn enjoys the advantagesof the brightest lights and the most favourable points of view. 

No need, of course, of attempting even the most summary sketch of thestyles and ordinary subjects of the great painters who bear aloft thebanner of the British school of art--of Landseer's glimpses of theHighlands; or Stanfield's skyey, breezy landscapes; of the quietpieces of English rural scenery--meadows, and woodland glades, andriver bits, fresh and rich, and green and natural--of our Lees, ourCreswicks, our Coopers, our Witheringtons, our Redgraves, ourAusdills; of the classic elegance and elevated sentiment of groups byour Dyces and our Eastlakes; of the abundance of clever _genre_subjects--scenes from history or romance--poured in by our Wards, ourFriths, our Pooles, our Elmores, our Eggs; or of--last, not least--thestrange but clever vagaries of that new school, the pre-Raphaelites, who are startling both Academy and public by the quaintness of theirart-theories, and the vehement intensity of their style of execution. All the summer long, the world is free to go and gaze upon them. Allthe summer long, the salons are crowded from morning till night--inthe earlier hours, by artists and conscientious amateurs, the humblersort of folks, who have daily work to do; in the later, by our oldfriends, the staring, _insouciant_, lounging, fashionable mob, whosecarriages and Broughams go creeping lazily round and round TrafalgarSquare. And at parties and balls, and all such reunions, theexhibition forms a main topic of discourse. Bashful gentlemen know itfor a blessing. Often and often does it serve as a most creditablelever to break the ice with. The newspapers long resound with criticalcolumns apropos of Trafalgar Square. You see 'sixth notice' attachedto a formidable mass of print, and read on, or pass on, as you please. But you distinctly observe, at any rate, the social andconversational, as well as the artistic importance of the RoyalAcademy; and you confess, that a London season would be shorn of itsbrightest feature if you shut the gates of the National Gallery. 

 A. B. R. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Associates Royal Academy, and Royal Academicians. 

BILL WILLIAMS:

A STORY OF CALIFORNIA. 

It was in the first flush of the Californian fever, when moderatepeople talked of making one's fortune in a fortnight, and the moresanguine believed that golden pokers would soon become rather common, that the _Betsy Jones_ from London to New Zealand, with myself onboard as a passenger, dropped anchor in the bay of San Francisco, andmaster and man turned out for the diggings. It is my impression thatnot a soul remained on board but the surgeon, who was sick, and thenegro cook, who wouldn't leave him; and the first man I met on thedeck of the _Go-Ahead_ steamer, which took as up to Sacramento, wasour enterprising captain, clad in a canvas jacket and trousers, withthe gold-washing apparatus, two shirts, and a tin kettle, slung at hisback. The crew followed his example, and all the passengers. Thelatter were some thirty men, from every corner of Britain, and ofvarious birth and breeding. There were industrious farm-servants andspendthrift sons of gentlemen among them. Some had sailed with money, to purchase land in the southern colony, some were provided only withtheir hopes and sinews; but California was an irresistible temptationto them all, and by general desire, they had come to try their luck atthe washing. We had mere boys and men of grizzling hair in ourcompany. Two were married, but they wisely left their wives in SanFrancisco, where, having brought with them some spare blankets andcrockery, the ladies improvised a boarding-house, and I believerealised more than their wandering lords. Nevertheless, we, one andall, went up the broad river with loftier expectations than theprudent among us cared to make public. 

There was one who made no secret of his hopes. The man's name was BillWilliams. I had had a loose acquaintance with Bill from school-time, for we had been brought up in the same good town of Manchester, wherehis father was a respectable tradesman, and his three brothers werestill in business. Many a town and many a trade had Bill tried tolittle purpose. Never doing what his relatives could call well, he hadgone through a series of failures, which tired out both kinsmen andcreditors, and at length shipped for New Zealand, leaving a wife andseven children to the care of the said three brothers, till he shouldsee how the climate agreed with him, and find a home for them. Billdid not belong to the extended fraternity of scapegraces. He wasneither wild nor worthless, in the ordinary sense of those terms, butthere was a faith in him, the origin of which baffled his mostpenetrating friends, that he was to get money somehow without workingfor it by any of the common methods. Unlike many a professor of betterprinciples, Bill had carried that faith into practice. Under itsinfluence, he had engaged in every scheme for making fortunes withincredible rapidity which coffee-house acquaintances or advertisingsheets brought to his knowledge. There was not a banking bubble bywhich he had not lost, nor a mining company of vast promise and briefexistence in which he had not held shares. Uncompromisingly averse tothe jog-trot work of ordinary mortals. Bill was neither indolent nortimid in his own peculiar fashion of seeking riches. He would havegone up in a balloon to any height, or down in a diving-bell to depthsyet unsounded, had the promise been large enough; and there wassomething so suitable to his inclinations in the Californian reports, that he was the prime mover of our visit to San Francisco, and theentire desertion of the ship. Strange to say, every man on boardbelieved in Bill; from the captain to the cabin-boy, they had alllistened to his tales. Where he had learned such a number, fortuneknows, concerning found treasures, and wealth suddenly obtained byunexpected and rather impracticable ways. That was the whole circle ofBill's literature, and going over it appeared his chief joy; but thegem of the collection was a prophecy which a gipsy woman, whom hismother met once in a country excursion, had uttered concerninghimself--that he should find riches he never wrought for, and leave agreat fortune behind him. In the faith of that prediction Bill hadlived; and it was a curious illustration of the sympathetic forceinherent in a firm belief, that both passengers and seamen, even thosewho affected to laugh at the rest of what they called his wonderfulyarns, entertained a secret conviction in favour of that tale, andfelt secure of gold-gathering in Bill's company. 

I am not certain that my own mind was entirely clear of a similarimpression, but the two among us who contemned loudest and believedmost devoutly, were the captain and his mate. They were brothers, andof Jewish parentage; the rest of the family still hang about anold-clothes and dyeing establishment in the neighbourhood ofHoundsditch. I made that discovery by an accidental glance at a tornand mislaid letter before we left the Thames, and thought proper toreserve it for private meditation. The relationship of the two waskept a profound secret, for reasons best known to themselves; but tothe eye at least it was revealed by their striking resemblance, bothbeing small, spare, dingy-complexioned men, with keen, cunning eyes, and faces that looked as hard and sharp as steel. Ever since theyfirst heard of the prophecy, they had half ridiculed, half flattered, and kept remarkably familiar with Bill. That familiarity ratherincreased as we went up the Sacramento. A goodly number we made on thedeck of the _Go-Ahead_, our only place of accommodation; and at lengthwe reached the new town, the golden city, which takes its name fromthe river, christened in old times of Spanish voyaging by somediscoverer for his Catholic majesty, and which was to be themetropolis of the diggings. When I first saw it, it consisted of somehundred huts and tents, a large frame-house, in which an advertisingboard informed us there was an ordinary, a gaming-table, and allmanner of spirits; and a timber wharf, somewhat temporarily puttogether, at which we landed. Yet the city was rising, as cities riseonly in the western hemisphere: broad streets and squares were markedout; building was going forward on all sides; while bullock-wagons, canoes, and steamers, brought materials by land and water. Theenterprise and vagrancy of all nations were there, as we had seen themat San Francisco; and those not engaged in building the town, weregoing off in caravans to the gold-gathering. 

We fraternised with a company of Americans, who said they knew 'abluff that flogged creation for the real metal, ' and sold us two sparetents and a wagon, at a price marvellous to ask or pay. Our journeywas not far. It led along the course of the Sacramento, and towardsevening we came in sight of the diggings. A strange sight it was forone accustomed to London streets and shops. The Sacramento runsthrough a great inclined plane, sloping from the hill-country to thesea. Here and there, it is covered with low coppice or underwood; butthe greater part is bare and sandy, or sprinkled over with thin, drywaving grass. As far as the eye could reach upon the plain, and up theriver-banks, the smoke of fires was rising from hut, tent, andupturned wagon, which served for temporary dwellings. Groups of menwere hard at work in small trenches, and numbers more stood with panand cradle, washing out the gold in the shallow creeks of the river. 'Our location, ' as the Americans called it, was an earthy promontoryjutting far out into the water. Close by its landward base we pitchedour tents, turned up our wagon--the bullocks that brought it belongedto the Americans, who promised to sell us a share when they werekilled--and commenced operations. Digging out tenacious clay, andwashing its sandy particles for minute grains of gold, sleeping undercanvas at night, and living on half-cooked and not very choiceprovisions, have little in them of interest worth relating. The firstthing that struck me, was the silence that prevailed among theworkers. In a district so populous, scarcely a sound was heard fromtent, trench, or river. Caravan after caravan, as it arrived, pitchedits tents, and fell to work in the same quiet fashion. A cynicalcharacter might have attributed this to the absence of all femininefaces, for in my time there was not a woman at the diggings. Incredible as it may seem to the fair ones themselves, they were notmissed; but nobody missed anything except gold. Relations parted; oldcomrades left each other with scarcely a leave--taking in search ofbetter gatherings; our American friends began to get tired of thebluff that flogged creation; for although we were getting gold, it wasbut little, and the more impatient spirits of our company departedwith them to find another. 

I wondered that Bill did not join their company. He was long ago wearyof gold-washing; the work was too regular, and the returns far tooslow for him. He used to declare that shopkeeping was better; and itis probable that most of us had similar convictions regarding thevocations we had left in Britain; but except occasionally cooking forthe rest, smoking the tobacco he had providently brought with him, andsuggesting wild projects of digging down the bluff, and dredging theriver for lamps of gold, which, he said, all the grains we found cameoff, Bill at last did nothing at all. With hard labour and harderfare, we had collected some of us more and some less of the preciousdust; but nobody's fortune was yet made, and the rainy season set in. 

The heavy rains confined us for days to the shelter of tent and wagon;but the days were nothing to the nights, which on the banks of theSacramento are almost equinoctial throughout the year; and we hadneither coal nor candle. All the fuel that could be found was rathertoo little for culinary purposes. Concerning the rest of our comforts, there is no use in being particular; but at intervals between thedrowning showers, we were willing enough to come out and work, thoughthe muddy soil and the swollen river made our labour still harder, andour profits less. The best service was done us by an honest Paisleyweaver, who had left his helpmate and two children at San Francisco, in hopes of taking back, quite full, a strong chest, of some twohundredweight capacity, which he had brought with infinite pains tothe diggings. He enlivened our wet leisure by repeating whole volumesof Burns and Scott. Bill also returned to his wonderful stories, though the captain and mate sneered at them more than ever; indeed, they were by far the most discontented of the company, and anunaccountable sort of distrust seemed growing between them and Bill. At length, fever and ague began to thin the ranks of the gold-seekers;we saw the working-parties around us diminish day by day, and gravesdug in the shadows of the low coppice. Our company kept lip amazingly, perhaps because, according to the captain's counsel, we held butlittle communication with other workers; but the want of thebuffalo-meat, which the Indian traders were accustomed to bring, wasmuch felt among us; and one day less rainy than usual, Bill Williams, as the idlest, was sent up the river's bank, on their wonted track, tolook out for their coming. The rest were busy, and did not miss him;but I thought he stayed long. The sky became unusually dark; greatclouds floated over us from the west, and then broke with a suddenthunder-crash, which was renewed every five minutes with such rain andlightning as I had never seen. We ran to our tents, and, when fairlysheltered, Bill also arrived, wet to the skin, out of breath, andlooking terribly frightened. He said, hastily, that he had seennothing, and no word of the Indians; but the poor fellow began toshiver as he spoke, and before evening the fever was strong upon him. 

To keep the rest safe, he was quartered alone in a small hut which theAmericans had left us. It was a poor shelter, being built of turf, androofed with boughs and grass, but as good as any we had. There was nosurgeon among us, and handing him food or drink was deemed a perilousbusiness; but all his comrades had a sort of a liking for Bill, and, besides, he was regarded as the palladium of the party. The fever wasnot violent, though Bill raved at times, and all his wanderings wereafter gold. I have heard him talk for half-hours together in a loudwhisper, as if communicating a secret to some very dull car, concerning a pool among rocks, with glistening sands, and somethingshining far down in a crevice. He was restless, too, and kept lookingout on the track of the Indians after they had come and gone. Oneevening I observed him particularly so. The night fell with heavyrain; we all took early to shelter, and slept so soundly, that Billwas forgotten among us; but in the morning we found him lying wrappedin his blanket, as thoroughly wet as if he had been dipped in theriver, while the hut remained quite dry. Where he had been, or underwhat illusion of the fever, we could not learn, for he never spoke arational word after. The wet and exposure increased his maladytenfold. He became fiercely delirious, and struck at whoeverapproached him, swearing he would let nobody kill him for his gold. The captain warned us all, that this was the most dangerous time forinfection; but I saw that he and his brother had got wind ofsomething, for their eyes were never off the hut. 

Towards the second evening, Bill grew worse, his ravings became faintand low, and he lay gathered up on a corner of his mattress. I hadplaced a pitcher of water as near him as possible, escaping by chancea blow which the poor soul struck at me in his feverish fury; but Icould not help thinking of him when we had all gone to rest. The nightwas so still, that I could hear the rush of the river and the cries ofthe night-hawks on its opposite bank; but being unable to sleep, Icrept out of the tent, and looked to Bill's hut. A smothered sound ofscuffling came from that direction, and stepping nearer, I saw by therising moon, which just then shone with extraordinary brightness, twomen struggling, as it seemed for life, in the narrow space betweenBill's bed and the door. 

'If you don't give me the full half, I'll tell them all, ' said thevoice of the captain's brother; but almost as he spoke, his antagonistthrew him heavily back. I knew it was upon poor Williams, for a lowmoan reached my ear, and I sprang forward just in time to interceptthe victor, who stumbled over me as he rushed out, and a heavy bagrolled from him. The next moment the other was at my side, and I stoodface to face with the captain and his brother in the broad moonlight. The bag for which they had sneaked, and sinned, and scuffled, hadburst by the fall, and its contents--stones, gravel, and sand, withsome small sparkles of gold-dust amongst them--were scattered at myfeet. Both stood stupefied, and I stepped into the hut; but Bill wasdead, and growing cold, with his stiff hands stretched out, as ifclutching at something, and a wild expression of pain and anger in theghastly face, which lay turned up to the moon. Her light filled thehut, and lay upon plain, and tent, and river. It was a glorious night, such as sometimes shines in the gold-country. I woke up my comrades, and told them what I had seen, but they all said: 'Poor Bill! Howcould they help it? and it was a good thing that the captain and hischum had been disappointed;' upon which every man composed himselfagain to sleep. 

Next morning, the captain and mate were gone with all their traps, having joined, as we afterwards heard, a company returning to SanFrancisco. We laid Bill beside the gold-seekers who rested in thecoppice, and our company broke up, and scattered away: some settled atSan Francisco; some went to the United States; and I, having collectedthrough so many hardships almost a pound of dust, returned to theemployment I had left in London with such high contempt. From an oldcomrade, however, still located at the diggings, I heard by letterthat a party of Americans had made a great discovery of gold amongsome rocks in a creek of the Sacramento, and that they had found, sticking fast in a crevice close by, a small spade marked with thename of Bill Williams, which the poor fellow had cut on the handle, asI well remembered, in one of his many idle hours. This explained to meBill's long absence when he went to look for the Indians, hisafter-anxiety, and where he had been in the delirium of the fever, filling up that canvas bag which so fatally deceived the captain andhis brother. The last I heard of these worthies was, that they hadgone to the diggings in Australia; and I never see gold in any shapewithout a recollection of their disappointment, and my own experiencesin California. 

HYGIENIC CHANGE OF AIR. 

The age of hygiene is rapidly approaching, when the exhibition ofdrugs will be the exception instead of the rule in medical treatment. For this reason, the effect of climate on disease is rising into asubject of first-rate importance, and, no longer a prejudice or atradition, submits to the investigations of science. The chief recentwriters on what we already presume to call climatology, are Sir JamesClark in England, Schouw in Sweden, and Carrière in France; and nowthere comes Dr Burgess, armed with the united authority of thesephysicians, and with his own experience, to indoctrinate the public aswell as the profession. His book is of moderate size and price, and werecommend it to all invalids, whether they are able to travel abroad, or are confined by circumstances to their own country; but in themeantime, as the subject is both new and interesting to generalreaders, we propose giving them an inkling of what it contains. [2]

We do not mean that the subject of climate is new in itself:it is only new in its treatment. We have all, from our earliestyouth, heard of the effects of climate; we have all been broughtup to believe in certain foreign places; and we have all observed thatwhen--consumption, for instance--approaches its last stage (rarelybefore), it is shipped off, as a matter of course, for Italy or thesouth of France. And, alas! we have all heard from the wan lips of thestricken one excluded by poverty from the privilege of foreign travel:'If I could but get to a warm climate, I should live!' Such notions, right or wrong, depended exclusively upon habit or prejudice. Experiencehad no effect upon them, any more than it had upon the orthodox courseof medicines which entitled the death of a patient to be consideredprofessionally legitimate. Sometimes, indeed, the venue was changed, andone place became more fashionable than another to die in. Here the groupof English tombs grew gray and ancient, and there a new city of thesilent sprang up with the suddenness of an American emporium. But stillthe cry was: 'A warm climate! Give us Italy, or we perish!'

But we need not say the cry _was_: it continues to this moment. Suchimpressions are long of being dispelled; it takes a great many yearsfor the voice of doubt even to reach completely the public ear; and wethink it a privilege to be able to take such advantage of our widecirculation as will give repining invalids to understand, that theadvantages of a foreign climate are closely limited by one portion ofthe profession, and considered by another portion as highlyproblematical, if not entirely visionary. This applies, however, mainly to consumption; for the advantages of the climatic change areseldom denied in dyspepsy, rheumatism, scrofula, and the tribe ofnervous diseases. Even in these, however, the locality chosen israrely a proper one. There are countries which, if they could onlyobtain the stamp of fashion, would be invaluable to the invalid. 'Theclimate of Norway, for example, ' says Dr Burgess, 'is admirablysuited, during several months of the year, between the middle of Mayand the middle of September, for certain forms of dyspepsy, lesions ofthe nervous system affecting the mind, or that form of generalinnervation which results from an overwrought brain, and diseases ofrepletion. But Norway is little frequented, because it is notfashionable, although it would be difficult to point out a moreappropriate occasional residence for the numerous class of invalidsjust mentioned, than Christiania, with its picturesque environs, sublime scenery, and clear and rarefied atmosphere. '

The non-professional predilection in favour of a warm climate forconsumption, may be referred, we suspect, to the analogy that existsbetween the earlier stages of that disease and those of a common cold. In fact, in most cases in this country, consumption is for a long timestyled a cold; then it becomes a bad cold; then a worse; till it isimpossible to withhold from it the more formidable name. A cold, however, it should be considered, occurs as frequently in summer as inwinter; and in neither is it owing to the temperature, whether high orlow, but to the _atmospheric changes_. The warmer the weather is, thegreater will be the morbific effect of a cold draught of air. That awarm climate _in itself_ is neither prevention nor cure inconsumption, may be inferred from the prevalence of the complaint inall latitudes. In India and in Africa it is as rife as in any part ofEurope. By the Army Reports from Malta, we find that upwards of 30 percent. Of the whole number of deaths throughout the year is caused byphthisis. In Madeira, according to Dr Heineken, Dr Gourlay, and DrMason, no disease is more common among the natives than pulmonaryconsumption. At Nice, it is stated by Dr Meryon, more natives dieannually of consumption than in any town in England of the same amountof population. In Genoa, one of the most prevalent and fatal of theindigenous diseases is pulmonary consumption. In Florence, pneumoniais marked by a suffocating character, and rapid progress towards itslast stage. In Naples, 1 death from consumption occurs in a mortalityof 2-1/3; while in the hospitals of Paris, where phthisis isnotoriously prevalent, the proportion is only 1 in 3-1/4. In short, inall the celebrated sanatoria to which we fly for relief, we find thedisease as firmly established as at home. 

If we examine the analogies presented by the history of the inferioranimals, we find no argument in favour of a foreign climate. Thefishes, birds, and wild beasts of one region, die in another. 'Man, although endowed in a remarkable degree, and more so than any otheranimal, with the faculty of enduring such unnatural transitions, nevertheless becomes sensible of their injurious results. For familiarillustrations of this influence, we have only to look to thebroken-down constitutions of our Indian officers, or to the emaciatedframe of the shivering Hindoo who sweeps the crossings of the streetsof London. The child of the European, although born in India, must besent home in early life to the climate of his ancestors, or to oneclosely resembling it, in order to escape incurable disease, if notpremature death. Again, the offspring of Asiatics born in this countrypine and dwindle into one or other of the twin cachexiæ--scrofula andconsumption; and, if the individual survives, lives in a state ofpassive existence, stunted in growth, and incapable of enduringfatigue. If such extreme changes of climate prove obnoxious to thehealth of individuals having naturally a sound constitution, how arewe to expect persons in a state of organic disease to be therebybenefited? In fact, view the subject in whatever light we may, we musteventually arrive at the natural and rational conclusion--that naturehas adapted the constitution of man to the climate of his ancestors. The accident of birth does not constitute the title to any givenclimate. The natural climate of man is that in which not only hehimself was born, but likewise his blood-relations for severalgenerations. This is his natural climate, as well in health as whenhis constitution is broken down by positive disease, or unhinged bylong-continued neglect of the common rules of hygiene. ' It is DrBurgess's theory, therefore, that when change is necessary, amodification of the patient's own climate--that is to say, change ofair in the same climate--is more in accordance with the laws ofnature, and more likely to effect good, than a violent transition towarmer countries. 

With regard to the curability of this disease, there is now, webelieve, no doubt of the fact, although, unfortunately the process hasnot yet come completely into the hands of the physician. That a curehas frequently taken place, somehow or other, even in advanced stagesof pulmonary consumption, has been demonstrated by _post-mortem_examinations; but nature herself seems, in these cases, to have beenher own doctor, for no mode of treatment of general applicability hasbeen discovered. Some think that the progress of tubercles may bearrested in the first stage--others, that nothing can be effected tillthe second. Some resort to the water-cure--others, to the still moremarvellous Spanish baths of Panticosa; and others, again, swear bycod-liver oil. As to the last remedy, our author quotes the statementsof Dr Williams, 'that the pure fresh oil from the liver of the cod ismore beneficial in the treatment of pulmonary consumption than anyagent, medicinal, dietetic, or regimenal, that has yet been employed. Out of 234 cases carefully recorded, the oil disagreed, and wasdiscontinued, in only 9 instances. In 19, although taken, it appearedto do no good; whilst in the larger proportion of 206 out of 234, itsuse was followed by marked and unequivocal improvement--thisimprovement varying in degree in different cases, from a temporaryretardation of the progress of the disease, and a mitigation ofdistressing symptoms, up to a more or less complete restoration toapparent health. The most numerous examples of decided and lastingimprovement, amounting to nearly 100, have occurred in patients in thesecond stage of the disease, in which the tuberculous deposits beginto undergo the process of softening. The most striking instance of thebeneficial operation of cod-liver oil in phthisis, is to be found incases in the _third_ stage--even those far advanced, where consumptionhas not only excavated the lungs, but is rapidly wasting the wholebody with copious purulent expectoration, hectic, night-sweats, colliquative diarrhoea, and other elements of that destructive processby which, in a few weeks, the finest and fairest of the human familymay be sunk to the grave. The power of staying the demon ofdestruction sometimes displayed by the cod-liver oil is marvellous. 'Dr Burgess, however, although witnessing the same results even infar-gone cases, limits their duration to a year or eighteen months, after which the medicine lost its effect. Although the oil, therefore, is serviceable through the process of nutrition, he considers it nospecific, and concludes on the subject thus: 'All that our presentknowledge enables us to state positively on the subject is this:cod-liver oil is the most effectual stay to the progress ofconsumption, in a great majority of cases, that we possess; thissalutary action is not always lasting, and there are cases in whichits administration cannot be borne, and others in which it produces nogood effects whatever. In those cases in which the stomach rejects thepure oil, if it be given in combination with phosphoric acid, it willgenerally be borne easily, and the acid will assist the tonic actionof the oil. '

The non-professional notion respecting the curative powers of climateis, that by breathing a mild and soothing atmosphere, the phthisicalpatient withdraws irritation, and leaves nature at liberty to effecther own cure. But this, it seems, is entirely erroneous, inasmuch asit is through the skin, not the lungs, that a warm climate actsbeneficially. When an atmospheric change takes place so as to producea chill, 'whereby the cutaneous transpiration is instantly checked, the skin then becomes dry and hard, so that the respiratory organssuffer from the excessive action they now undergo, for the matter oftranspiration must be eliminated through the lungs if the action ofthe skin be interrupted. ' This is illustrated by the instantaneousrelief usually afforded by free perspiration in cases where difficultbreathing and oppression of the chest have been occasioned byartificial heat. What really soothes, therefore, is _equability_ ofclimate, not high temperature. Some authors even think that a coldclimate is more suitable for consumption than a warm one, and point toUpper Canada, with its pure, dry, tonic atmosphere, affording hardlyany trace of the complaint at all. 

Here we might stop, as the nature of our work precludes our followingDr Burgess in his exposition of the action of climate on the lungs andskin; but it may be useful, and at any rate amusing, to trace hisiconoclastic progress through the popular shrines of Hygiea on thecontinent. 

Malta is a famous resort for phthisical patients, although during thewinter and spring the weather is cold and variable, and in autumn thesirocco is frequent. When a sirocco has blown for some days, it lullssuddenly, and is succeeded by an equally strong breeze from thenorth-west, contrasting violently with the former in temperature andeverything else. The extremes of heat and cold are as great here andin other places in the Mediterranean as in London. In Malta, ourauthor saw five or six cases of bronchitis, which in a single monthterminated in incurable phthisis; and in two cases, six weeks onlyelapsed between the first signs of the tuberculous deposit and thedeath of the patients. 

Madeira, a still more popular sanatorium for this disease, is acomplete delusion. Instead of the climate being essentially dry, it issaturated with humidity during a great part of the year; and thepeculiar sirocco of the place is of a hot, dry, irritating nature. Anintelligent medical author, who had resorted to Madeira for change ofair, remarks, that 'very frequent and remarkable variations in a givenseries of years, incontestably prove that Madeira is no more to berelied on than any other place for certainty of fine weather, and thatit has equally its annual variations of temperature. . . . From what hasbeen stated by writers, a person might be led to believe that diseasewas scarcely known there; but I am afraid, that were the subjectthoroughly investigated, as it ought to be, few places would be foundwhere the system is more liable to general disorder; while, at thesame time, I suspect that the average duration of life would turn outto be inferior to that of our own country. '

Our author knows no place more unfavourable to patients suffering fromorganic diseases of the lungs, than the far-famed sanatoria--Aix andMontpellier. The atmosphere is pure, but ever and anon keen andpiercing, and the _bise_ and _marin_--one cold and cutting, and theother damp--irritate the lungs, and excite coughing. Add to this, thatProvence is proverbially the land of dust, and, what is worse, theland of the _mistral_--a wind from the north-west, which carriesstones, men, and carriages before it. 'For several days in spring theclimate may no doubt be delicious, although, however, always too warmabout mid-day, when suddenly the mistral, of evil celebrity, begins toblow. It is difficult to give an adequate idea of the change, or ofthe injurious effects of the climate under the influence of thisscourge. The same sun shines in the same bright blue sky, but thetemperature is glacial. The sun is there only to glare and dazzle, andseems to have no more power in producing warmth, than a rushlightagainst the boisterous winds, which chill the very marrow in one'sbones. During the prevalence of this wind, it is impossible to stirout of doors without getting the mouth and nostrils filled with dust. All nature seems shrivelled and dried up under its baneful influence. '

Nice, likewise, is scourged by the mistral, which there, however, divides its empire with winds from the north and north-east. 'But oneof the greatest vices characterising the climate of Nice, if not thegreatest, is the remarkable variation of temperature noticed betweenday and night--in the sun and in the shade. The land or continentalwinds prevail during the night; the southerly or maritime during theday. The former are cold and dry; the latter, soft and humid. As soon, therefore, as the former subside, and the sun rises in the horizon, the humidity commences to shew itself in the atmosphere; whilst, onthe contrary, when the diurnal winds cease, and the sun sets, theabove hygrometric condition of the air disappears. ' M. Carrière cannotconceive why our countrymen prefer Nice to a milder climate, andconsiders that the annual mortality in the English colony ought todiscourage other hectic invalids from going thither. 

Central Lombardy is, in general, characterised by marshy swampspoisoning the whole atmosphere with their miasmatic exhalations. Themeteoric influences are decidedly cold and variable; and the 'extremesof temperature increase in proportion as we approach the valleys atthe foot of the Central Alps, especially those most distant from theAdriatic coast. ' This climate, our author tells us, cannot afford morebenefit to the consumptive than that of the fens of Lincolnshire, orof the marshes of Holland. Brescia, Pavia, Mantua, and other Lombardtowns, also share in this character; and at Verona, Mr B. Honanwrites, that of all humbugs, the humbug of an Italian climate is themost intolerable. 

At Genoa, although the air is pure and transparent in fine weather, itis liable to sudden gusts of wind and violent transitions dangerous tothe invalid. 

'In no part of England could a climate be found more unfavourable forconsumptive invalids than that of Florence, a town built in a deepravine, almost surrounded by the Apennines, and intersected by asqualid river. . . . Extreme cold in winter, great heat in summer, theprevalence of the northerly winds, the chilling effects of which arenot always neutralised by the antagonistic winds, rapid and violenttransitions, profoundly affecting the system, even in healthy persons;and combined with these violent atmospheric and thermal variations arealso, in similar proportions, hygrometric and electric ever-changinginfluences. ' Leghorn, the seaport of Tuscany, is built in a sunklocality, in the midst of a marshy country. Beggars, galley-slaves, assassins, smugglers, these are the picturesque portions of theinhabitants; and the promenade is an arid beach, anything but soothingto the respiratory organs. The English cemetery is a touchingspectacle, with its numerous monuments of brilliant marble; amongwhich stands conspicuous the tomb of Smollett. 

Of Pisa, the grand central depôt of Italy for foreign consumptivepatients, Dr Burgess says: 'The excess of humidity and warmtemperature of the Pisan climate depress the vital force, induce anoverwhelming lassitude, and are, in my opinion, most unfavourableelements in a climate so generally recommended for pulmonaryconsumption. Whatever effect the humid mildness of the air may have indiminishing excitability, and in allaying pulmonary irritation inpatients of a nervous temperament, it is decidedly injurious in thoseof a feeble and lymphatic habit. . . . The delusion of an Italianclimate, as regards the cure or prophylaxis of tubercular consumption, is in no part of that country, so delightful to persons in soundhealth, more clearly portrayed than at far-famed Pisa. The stagnantlife, the death-like silence, the dreary solitude of this dull town, whatever utility these elements may have in allaying the restlessirritability of nervous and excitable patients, always produce seriousevils upon those consumptive invalids of a melancholy turn of mind, orwhose spirit is broken by hope deferred. Brooding over theirmelancholy condition, in a foreign land, away from the comforts ofhome, without the solace and cheering influence of friends andrelations, they soon break down and perish. ' M. Carrière and Sir JamesClark consider the climate of Rome adapted only for consumptivepatients in the first stage of the complaint; but Dr Burgess, after atrain of reasoning founded on scientific facts, comes to a conclusionconsonant with his own theory, that it is not adapted for consumptionin any stage or form whatever. 

It is needless to follow our author to Naples, for this place isadmitted by all writers to be injurious in cases of pulmonaryconsumption; but we may conclude this fragmentary survey by statingthat, according to Dr Burgess, the least injurious portions of Italyare the Lake of Como and the city of Venice, _the air in neither ofthem being warm, but in both equable_. Here we end as we began: 'It isa mistake to suppose that a warm, humid, relaxing atmosphere canbenefit pulmonary disease. Cold, dry, and still air, appears a morerational indication, especially for invalids born in temperateregions. ' It will be seen that our author differs occasionally fromboth his great predecessors, Sir James Clark and M. Carrière; but evenin so doing, he has at least the merit of fairly opening out a mostimportant subject. 

Let it be understood, that we have merely mentioned the nature of thecontents of this volume, without attempting to follow Dr Burgesseither in his reasonings or in the facts on which these are founded. We have now only to recommend the work as one that will be foundhighly interesting and suggestive, both by the medical and non-medicalreader. [3]

FOOTNOTES:

[2] _Climate of Italy in Relation to Pulmonary Consumption_: withRemarks on the Influence of Foreign Climates upon Invalids. By T. H. Burgess, M. D. , &c. London: Longman, Brown, Green, & Longmans. 1852. 

[3] We print the above as we received it from a respectablecontributor, but without giving any opinion ourselves upon a subjectof which we are not qualified to judge. --_Ed. C. J. _

THE DEVICE, OR IMPRESS. 

If the various works of useful and ornamental art discovered in thesepulchres of nations long since fallen into oblivion, were of noother value, at the present day, than merely to be applied to thepurposes which they were originally intended to subserve; if they didnot elucidate the manners, customs, and progressional refinement ofmen with passions and feelings similar to our own; the labour andexpense incurred by their exhumation would be thrown away. It is not, then, for the intrinsic value of the specimens to be produced, neitheris it for any very particular admiration of the 'good old times, ' butto exhibit and illustrate a very general and exceedingly active phaseof our ancestors' minds, that, turning over the refuse materials ofhistory, we proceed to disinter, from their worm-eaten pages, the deadand almost forgotten art of Device--an art that once claimed anextensive literature, and canons of criticism, peculiarly its own. From about 250 to 400 years ago, were the high and palmy days of this'dainty art. ' Then, the learned and subtile schoolmen of the age didnot disdain to write upon it, with ink scarcely dry upon the pens withwhich they had been discussing the most abstruse dogmas of theology;then, not unfrequently, the cureless curate, by the concoction of ahappy device for a generous patron, found himself a beneficed bishop. Nor is such preferment to be wondered at. The qualificationsconsidered necessary to constitute a device-maker, were fully equal tothose which Imlac described to Rasselas as requisite to form a poet. 'Philosophy and poetry, ' wrote Père le Moyne, 'history and fable, allthat is taught in colleges, all that is learned in the world, arecondensed and epitomised in this great pursuit; in short, if there bean art which requires an all-accomplished workman, that art isdevice-making. ' Ruscelli says: 'It belongs only to the most exquisitewits and best-refined judgments to undertake the making of devices. 'Yet, though the learned doctors of Padua, Wirtemberg, and theSorbonne, engaged in deep disquisitions on the emblematicalproperties, natural and mythical, of cranes and crescents, sunflowersand salamanders, pelicans and porcupines--the length and language ofmottoes--how the wind should be pictorially portrayed, with many otherequally weighty considerations, still the chivalrous knights of thetournay, and the fair ladies of their _devoirs_, attained proficiencyin the art. Wolf of Wolfrath, the lute-player, records, that at agrand tournament held at Vienna in 1560, crowns of laurel were awardedto the knights who wore the wittiest devices, as well as to those whoexcelled in feats of arms. 

'But, ' the reader very probably exclaims, 'what was this art ofdevice?'

It consisted in translating an idea into a symbol, and illustratingthat symbol by a tersely-expressed motto. 'The object of a device, 'according to the Lord of Fossez, 'was to express covertly, by means ofa picture and words, a conception of human wit;' and it wasdistinguished from an emblem, inasmuch as the emblem demonstratedsomething universal, whereas the device was peculiarly appropriate tothe person who wore it. The old writers glory in its antiquity, citingmany instances of its having been known and used by both Greeks andRomans. Even during the dark ages it was not entirely lost; it merelyslumbered until the _renaissance_, and the invasions of Italy underCharles VIII. And Louis XII. , when it awoke to a vigorous existence. Thus, though of much greater antiquity than heraldic blazonry, whichonly dates from the time of the Crusades, it was not hereditary, couldbe adopted or changed at pleasure, and did not define the rank of thewearer. Shakspeare, who well understood the nature of the device, distinguishes between it and armorial bearings in the passage whereBolingbroke recounts his injuries:

 'Disparked my parks, and felled my forest woods; From my own windows torn my household coat, [4] Razed out my impress'----

The old heralds, however, looked upon the device with but littlefavour. Camden sneeringly says, that 'Armes were most usual among thenobility in wars till about some hundred years since, when the Frenchand Italians, in the expedition of Naples, beganne to leave armes, haply for that many of them had none, and to bear the curtaines oftheir mistresses' beddes, their mistresses' colours, as impresses intheir banners, shields, and caparisons. ' Daniel, one of our earliestEnglish writers on the subject, is worth quoting for a definition ofthe impress, and to shew the exclusive spirit of the age. He says:'_Impresa_, used of the Italians for an enterprise taken in hand, witha firm and constant intent to bring the same to effect. As if a princeor captaine taking in hand some enterprise of war, or any otherperticulaire affaire, desirous by some figure and motto to manifest tothe world his intent, this figure and motto together is called animpress, made to signify an enterprise, whereat a noble mind levellingwith the aime of a deep desire, strives with a steely intent to gamethe prize of his purpose. For the valiant and hautie gentlemen, disdayning to conjoine with the vile and base plebeians in anyrustique invention, have procured to themselves this one mostsingulare. '

Paul Jovius, a celebrated Italian historian and bishop, in histreatise on devices, says, that the figure or emblem, which he termsthe _body_ of the device, must be exactly fitted to the motto, whichhe terms its _soul_; and though it should not be so obscure as torequire a sibyl to explain it, yet the motto ought to be in a foreignor dead language, so that it may not be comprehended by thevulgar--'such dainties not being intended for vulgar appetites. ' Thehuman figure, also, should never be introduced into the emblem, andthe motto ought not to contain more than three or four words. Theserules, however, were not strictly adhered to, even by Jovius himself. The treatise is written in the form of a dialogue between the bishopand his secretary; its gossipping manner, quaint style, and the greatimportance attributed to the subject-matter, remind us exceedingly ofthe _Complete Angler_ of our old English friend Izaak Walton. As anexample of a perfect device, Jovius mentions one worn in the Italianwars by Antonio Colonna, the friend of Michael Angelo. It representeda branch of palm laid across a branch of cypress, with the motto, _Erit altera merces_ (There will be another reward. ) Another, highlypraised by the old device-writers 'for being of subtle invention, andsingular in outward view, ' was assumed by a Spanish knight, Don DiegoMendoza, to signify the slight encouragement he received from the fairlady who was mistress of his affections. It represented a well, with acircular machine for raising water, full buckets ascending and emptyones going down, the motto, _Los llenos de dolor, y los vazios deesperanza_ (The full one is grief; the empty, hope. ) By the way, wefind a similar figure in _Richard II. _, where the unfortunate monarchsays:

 'Now is this golden crown like a deep well, That owns two buckets, filling one another-- The emptier ever dancing in the air, The other down, unseen, and full of water: That bucket down and full of tears am I, Drinking my grief while you mount up on high. '

Jovius also warmly commends a device worn by Edward Stuart, Lord ofAlbany, a famous captain of tried valour in the French army, duringtheir Italian campaigns. Of the blood-royal of Scotland, being cousinto James IV. , he wore, as his arms, a lion rampant in a field argent;and as his device, a buckle, with the motto, _Distantia jungit_;'thereby implying that he was the bond which held united the kings ofFrance and Scotland, to countervail the forces of their natural enemy, the king of England. '

A quaint bit of romance, in connection with a lady's device, isperhaps worthy of notice. Hippolita Fioramonda excelled all the ladiesof her day in beauty and courtesy, and wore, as her device, moths, embroidered in gold, on a sky-blue robe--a warning to the amorous notto approach too closely the light of her beauty, lest, like mothsattracted by a lamp, they should be burned. There being no motto, oneof her admirers, the Lord of Lesui, a brave knight, famous for hishorsemanship, asked her for an explanation of such a singular andimperfect device. She replied: 'It is to use the like courtesy togentlemen who call to see me, as you do to those who ride in yourcompany; you being accustomed to put on the tail of your horse a smallrattle, to make him more fierce in kicking, so as to warn any who mayapproach you of the danger of his heels, thereby causing them to keepaloof. ' Notwithstanding this repulse, the knight persevered, thoughunsuccessfully, in his suit, until he fell mortally wounded at thebattle of Pavia. Then the lady Fioramonda relenting, had him soughtfor on the sanguinary field, and carried to her own house, where, tohis great contentment, he died in her arms. Such imperfect devices, however, were considered unworthy of the name, unfit for men ofgravity, and suited but to make sport with ladies. Of this descriptionwas that of Augustine Porco, a gentleman of Verona, who, being in lovewith a lady named Bianca, wore in his scarlet cap a small, real, whitewax-candle, and perseveringly followed the lady to every place ofpublic resort she visited. To the inquiries of his friends respectingthis extraordinary device, he merely replied, that it signified_Candela bianca_ (A white candle), and, consequently, doubts wereentertained of the eccentric gallant's sanity. At last, though love isproverbially blind, the lady--probably she had a prompter--discoveredthat the true meaning was _Can de la Bianca_ (The dog of Bianca), andwith her hand rewarded the ingenuity and perseverance of Signor Porco. 

Through devices we obtain glimpses at the morals, as well as themanners, of a foreign people and a bygone age. The amorous devices ofmany ecclesiastical dignitaries afford a capital reason for the rule, that the motto should not be comprehensible 'by the vulgar. ' That ofCardinal Medici, who loved the lady Julian Gonzago, was a cometsurrounded by stars, the motto, _Micat inter omnes_ (It shines amongthem all), from the lines of Horace:

 Micat inter omnes Julium sidus Velut inter ignes luna minores. 

The allusion to the star of Julius in connection with the lady's namerenders this device, in our opinion, rather neat and classical. 

A still more startling sign of the times is exhibited by thedevice-loving bishop. He relates that one Mattei, a man of noblecourage, when waiting with dissimulation and patience an opportunityto murder a person by whom he had been insulted, applied to him(Jovius) for an appropriate device; and the bishop, 'wishing to shewthat a noble mind has power to _digest_, with time, every grievousinjury, ' designed an ostrich devouring a nail, with the motto, _Spiritus durissima conquit_. Mattei wore the device, and ultimatelysucceeded in assassinating his victim; and 'so much was this noblerevenge commended, ' that the pope promoted the ruffian to be captainof his guard--the family of the murdered man signing an agreement tocancel all future quarrels. 

Great care was requisite, when framing a device, lest any part of itcould be turned into ridicule by a witty or spiteful enemy. Charlesthe Bold, Duke of Burgundy, bore a flint and steel, with the motto, _Ante ferit quam flamma micet_ (As he strikes, the fire flashes); andwhen defeated, and slain at the battle of Nancy, the day being cold, with snow on the ground, his triumphant enemy, the Duke of Loreno, said: 'This poor man, though he has great need to warm himself, hasnot leisure to use his tinder-box. '

However puerile the 'art' may appear to us now, there can be littledoubt, that the construction of devices, as an incentive to theacquisition of general knowledge, and as a kind of mental training, was not altogether useless in its day, and formed a link, were it everso slender, in the development of the human mind. Estienne, a notedFrench device-author, observes, that 'to express the conceptions ofour own mind in the most perfect device, there is nothing so proper, so _gentile_, so powerful, or so witty, as the similitudes we discoverwhen walking in the spacious fields of Nature's wonderful secrets; forthe grace of a device, as well as the skill of him who makes it, consists in discovering the correspondence of natural qualities andartificial uses with our own thoughts and intentions. '

The old scholastic logic was freely employed in the arguments by whichthe device-authors advanced their own opinions, or attacked those oftheir contemporaries. Ammirato condemns the unphilosophical definitionof Jovius--that the emblem is the body, and the motto, the soul of adevice. With long, and, we must acknowledge, to us at least, not veryintelligible argument, he maintains, that 'the motto is the _major_part of a syllogism, and the emblem the _minor_; from the conjunctionof which the conclusion is drawn. ' Unprofitable and uninteresting arethese discussions. We shall, in preference, mention the canons ofdevice-criticism, which were of most general prevalence. 

Comparison was considered an essential property of a perfect device. Thus the Pillars of Hercules, with the motto, _Plus ultra_ (Morebeyond), adopted by Charles V. , in allusion to the Spanish discoveriesand conquests in America, and still to be seen on the coin of thatnation, was, by the connoisseurs, termed a mere conceit. The scholar'stwo pens, with _His ad aethera_ (By these fame), being also devoid ofcomparison, was equally inferior. Not more than three figures werepermissible in the emblem, unless the greater number were of the samespecies. A device portraying an elephant, with a flock of sheepgrazing quietly around, the motto, _Infestus infestis_ (Hostile onlyto the wicked), was strictly correct, as the sheep, being all of onespecies, were recognised merely as one figure. Metaphor was notallowed in the motto: a device faulty in this respect, represented aball of crystal, the motto, from Plautus, _Intus et in cute_ (The samewithin and without); crystal being devoid of skin (_cutis_), theexpression was metaphorical. The introduction of negatives into themotto was considered good: as a sundial, with _Ne aspiciatur nonaspicitur_ (Unless looked upon--by the sun--it is not esteemed, or isof no use), a good device for a king's favourite; a flame of fire, with _Nunquam deorsum_ (Never downwards); a gourd floating on astream, with _Jactor non mergor_ (Abandoned, but not sunk. ) When themotto was taken from a well-known classic, fewer words were required:thus in a device representing a flame blown upon by the wind, with_Lenis alit flammas, grandior aura necat_ (A gentle wind nourishesflame, a stronger, extinguishes), the words, _grandior necat_ (astronger, extinguishes) would have been sufficient. Nicediscrimination was required in selecting the most suitable languagefor a motto. According to Contile, the Spanish was most suitable forlove-matters; the Italian, for pleasant conceits; the Greek, forfiction; and the Latin, for majesty. Household furniture, andimplements of husbandry, were considered improper subjects for theemblem of a device; consequently, that of the Academia della Cruscawas set down as decidedly vulgar, it being a sieve, with _Il piu belfior ne coglie_ (It collects the finest flour of it)--a play on theword _crusca_ (bran), assumed as the title of the Academy, from itshaving been instituted for the express purpose of purifying (sifting)the Italian language. 

Objects that were not recognisable unless painted in colours, werealso inadmissible; thus the otherwise clever device of the Earl ofEssex--a rough diamond, with the motto, _Dum formas minuis_ (Infashioning, you diminish), came under the censure of the critics. Inlike manner, objects not easily distinguishable from others, wereliable to the same condemnation. The celebrated device assumed by MaryQueen of Scots on the death of her first husband, Francis II. , representing a liquorice-plant, with _Dulce meum terra tegit_ (Theearth covers my sweet), was pronounced faulty, because theliquorice-plant could not be readily distinguished from other shrubs, the roots of which wanted the property of sweetness so necessary togive point to the device. Unnatural or chimerical figures could not beadmitted, excepting those to which tradition or classical authors hadgiven fixed forms and attributes--as the mermaid, harpy, phoenix;consequently, a device representing a winged tortoise, the motto, _Amor addidit_ (Love has added them), was improper. Qualities ascribedto animate or inanimate bodies by the ancients, were consideredlegitimate, though known by the moderns to be fictitious. Thus thedolphin, from the story of Arion, appears in devices as the friend ofthe distressed; the salamander, living in fire, typifies the strongpassions, natural, yet destructive to their victim; the young stork, carrying the old one, illustrates filial piety; the crane, which, according to Pliny, holds a stone in its claw to avert sleep, is a fitemblem of watchfulness; the pomegranate, king of fruits, wears a regalcrown; the crocodile, symbol of hypocrisy, sheds deceitful tears. Inshort, almost everything that was in the heavens above, in the earthbeneath, and in the waters under the earth, was seized by thedevice-maker, and converted into a symbol of some virtue, vice, orother quality of the mind. Nor was there only one emblem taken fromeach object; by varying the circumstances, they were multiplied to anenormous amount. Menestrier gives no less than 514 different devices, founded upon the properties of the sun alone. 

Though devices previous to the reign of Henry VIII. Were seldom wornin England, yet the insignia of the order of the Garter, instituted in1350, in connection with its well-known motto and assumed origin, maybe considered a genuine device. The next earliest we meet with wasworn by Henry IV. , and represented a blazing beacon, the motto, _Unesans plus_ (One alone. ) This motto has been termed inappropriate; but, considering that beacons were always placed at considerable distancesfrom each other--one sufficing for a considerable district--we mayconclude that the usurping Henry implied, that there was only one kingin England, and that one was himself. Richard Duke of York, when hetook up arms against Henry VI. , assumed, as his device, a sun, partlyvisible only through thick clouds, with the motto, _Invitis nubibus_(Obscured by clouds. ) After his death, his son Edward, in consequenceof the success of the Yorkist cause, changed this device to a full sununobscured. This was the sun of York so frequently alluded to byShakspeare, and such a stumbling-block to his commentators. HenryVIII. , on the occasion of his visiting Francis I. At the field of theCloth of Gold, wore an English archer, dressed in Lincoln green, drawing his arrow to the head, the motto, _Cui adhereo præest_ (Hewhom I aid, conquers); a very significant intimation to Charles V. AndFrancis, both of whom were anxious for Henry's alliance against eachother. Ann Boleyn wore a white-crowned falcon standing on a goldenstem, from which sprouted red and white roses, with the motto, _Mihiet meae_ (To me and mine. ) This device of the fair and unfortunate Annhas survived to the present day. Now, emblematical of her fall, as itwas once of her high station, it is degraded to be the sign of anale-house, and known to the village topers as the _Magpie and Stump_!'The gentle Surrey of the deathless lay, ' one of the last victims ofthe tyrant Henry, wore a broken pillar, with the motto, _Sat superest_ (Enough remains. ) One of the charges brought against him, whenarraigned for high treason, was for wearing this very device. Mary, when she ascended the throne, wore a representation of Time drawingTruth out of a well, with the words, _Veritas temporis filia_ (Truthis the daughter of Time); and Cardinal Pole wore a serpent surroundingthe terrestrial globe, with the motto, _Estote prudentes_ (Be yecunning. ) Both of those devices were very significant of the periodand of their wearers. 

The romantic amusements of Queen Elizabeth raised the device to thehighest pinnacle of importance it ever possessed in this country, Hentzner, a German traveller, who visited the palace of Whitehall in1598, says, that he saw in her majesty's bedroom 'a variety of deviceson paper, cut in the shape of shields, with mottoes, used by thenobility at tilts and tournaments, hung up there for a memorial. ' Asto Elizabeth herself, Camden states, that the enumeration of thevarious devices worn by her would fill a large volume. The generality, however, of the devices of that reign were fulsome flatteries, allusive to the Maiden Queen; such as--the moon, with the words, _Quidsine te coelum?_ (What would Heaven be without thee?) or, Venus seatedon a cloud, with, _Salva, me Domina!_ (Save me, O lady!) The best ofthe time was worn by the impetuous and ill-starred Essex, to signifyhis grief on one of the occasions when he had lost the queen's favour. It represented merely a sable field, surrounded by the words. _Parnulla figura dolori_ (Grief cannot be painted. ) The 'English Bayard, 'Sir Philip Sidney, does not appear to great advantage in his devices. One, we presume intended to shew the steadfastness of his purpose, represented the tideless Caspian Sea, the motto, _Sine refluxa_(Without ebb. ) Another of 'that famous soldier, scholar, and poet, 'throws a curious light on the manners of the age. Camden tells us thatSir Philip, 'who was a long time heir-apparent to the Earl ofLeicester (his uncle), after the earl had a son born to him, used atthe next tilt-day following the motto, _Speravi_ (I had hoped), with adash across the word, thereby signifying that his hope was dashed. 'Would any gentleman now thus publicly express his disappointment atsuch an event?

The pedantry of the first James was almost as favourable to devices asthe pageantry of Elizabeth; but the days of chivalry, the glories ofthe _triumph_ and the tilt-yard, were fast passing away, while the newarts of wood and copper-plate engraving were rising into eminence; andconsequently devices, instead of being worn singly on the shields andtrappings of knights and maskers, were soon found collected, andseasoned with poetry on the pages of printed books. These books ofemblems, as they were termed, are by no means uninteresting; haply, ata future time, we may have an opportunity of referring to them. Theearly printers, we should observe, were the first who used devices onpaper, each having a distinguishing emblem and motto, which theydisplayed on the title-pages of their works. We read of only onedevice worn by James; it represented the Scottish thistle united withred and white roses, the motto, _Rosas Henricus, regna Jacobus_, implying that as Henry united roses, James united kingdoms. Thoughforeign to our subject, we may mention here, as it is not generallyknown, that it was James who removed the red dragon of the Tudors fromthe royal arms, placing as a supporter in its stead the unicorn ofScotland. We meet with only one device of the unfortunate Charles. Itrepresented a snake that had just cast its skin, the motto, _Paratior_(More ready. ) During the civil war, many mottoes and figures wereadopted by both the royalist and parliamentary parties, but few ofthem can be termed regular devices. With the Restoration, a newdescription of court amusement came into fashion, and the device soonbecame a prey to 'dull forgetfulness. ' Many emblems, however, werethen and subsequently assumed as crests, and a great number of mottoeswere taken to point the moral, if any, of heraldic blazonry. Thoughrepudiated and unrecognised by the strict herald, they are nowgenerally considered to be the particular property and distinguishingensign of certain surnames and families, and as hereditary as thequaint and fanciful charges and quarterings of coat-armour itself. 

FOOTNOTES:

[4] The armorial bearings or coat-armour of his house. 

A COUNTRY WEDDING IN FRANCE. 

No part of France, with the exception of Brittany, has preserved itspatriarchal habits, national character, and ancient forms of language, more than Touraine and Berry. The manners of the people there areextremely primitive, and some of their customs curious andinteresting. The following account is from the pen of a modern Frenchwriter of great power of observation and description. 

It was in winter, near the time of the carnival, a season of the yearwhen it is very customary to celebrate country weddings. In thesummer, there is seldom time, and the farm-work will not allow of athree days' holiday, to say nothing of the slackened diligence whichis the unavoidable consequence of a village festival. I was seatedunder the large kitchen chimney, when the firing of pistols, thebarking of dogs, and the squeaking sounds of the bagpipe, announcedthe approach of the betrothed couple. Presently after, old Maurice andhis wife, with Germain and Marie, followed by Jacques and his wife, the chief respective kinsfolk, and the godfathers and godmothers ofthe betrothed, made their entrance into the yard. 

Marie, not having yet received the wedding-presents, called _livrées_, was dressed in the best attire of her simple wardrobe: a coarse darkgown; a white handkerchief, with large flowers of gaudy colours; a redcalico apron; a snow-white muslin head-dress, the shape of whichcalled to mind the _coiffure_ of Ann Boleyn and Agnes Sorel. Marie'sfeatures were fresh-looking, and lighted up with a smile, but withoutany expression of pride, albeit she had some good reason for such afeeling at this moment. Germain was grave and tender in his attentionsto his betrothed, like the youthful Jacob saluting Rachel at the wellsof Laban. Any other girl would have assumed an air of importance andtriumph; for in all classes of society, it is something for a girl tobe married for her sparkling eyes. But Marie's eyes glistened withtears of emotion and love; you could see at a glance that she was toodeeply affected to be heedful of the opinion of others. Père Mauricewas the spokesman on the occasion, and delivered the customarycompliments and invitations. In the first place, he fastened to themantelpiece a branch of laurel ornamented with ribbons: this is calledthe _exploit_--that is to say, the form of invitation. He thenproceeded to distribute to each of those invited a small cross, madeof blue and rose coloured ribbon--the rose for the bride, the blue forthe bridegroom; and the guests had to keep this token--the women todeck their head-dress, and the men their buttonhole, on the day of thewedding. This is their ticket of admission to the ceremonies. 

Père Maurice, after making his compliments, invited the master of thehouse and all his 'company'--that is to say, all his children, hiskinsfolk, his friends, and servants--to the benediction, to theentertainment, to the feast, to the dance, and 'to all the rest;'observing with the usual form of words: 'I have _done you the honour_of bidding you to the wedding. '

Notwithstanding the liberality of the invitation carried thus fromhouse to house, through the whole parish, the natural politeness ofthe peasants, which is remarkably discreet, prescribes that only twopersons of each family should avail themselves of the summons--thehead of the family and one of the children. 

The invitations being concluded, the betrothed couple and theirrelatives repaired to dinner together at the farmhouse, after whichMarie tended her three sheep on the common, and Germain went to workin the fields, as if nothing had happened. 

The day before that appointed for the wedding, at two o'clock in theafternoon, the band of music arrived--that is to say, the _bagpipe_, and the man with the _triangle_, --their instruments ornamented withlong floating ribbons, and playing a march for the occasion, somewhatslow, indeed, for feet not indigenous to the country, but in perfectharmony with the character of the soil and the up-and-down nature ofthe roads in those parts. Some pistol-shots, fired by the young folksand children, announced the commencement of the nuptials. The companygradually assembled, and a dance was struck up on the grass-plotbefore the house. At nightfall, strange preparations were begun, theparty separating into two bands; and when darkness closed in, theyproceeded to the ceremony of the _livrées_, or present-making. 

This took place at the house of the bride--Mrs Guillette's cottage. The good woman took with her her daughter; a dozen young and pretty_pastourelles_, Marie's friends and relatives; two or threerespectable matrons, her neighbours, loquacious, quick of reply, andrigid guardians of ancient usages; then she selected a dozen vigorouschampions from her kinsmen and friends; and lastly, the old_chauvreur_ or flaxdresser of the parish, a man of eloquence andaddress if ever there was one. 

The part that in Brittany is played by the _bazvalan_ or villagetailor, is in our part of the country acted by the flaxdresser orwoolcomber--two professions which are often united. He is present atall solemnities, gay or grave, being essentially a man of eruditionand a good speaker; and on these occasions he has always to act asspokesman, and to execute well and worthily certain formularies ofspeech, in use from time immemorial. His wandering profession, whichintroduces the man into so many family circles, without allowing himto fix himself in his own, naturally serves to render him talkativeand amusing, a ready story-teller, and an able man of song. 

The flaxdresser is particularly sceptical. He and another rusticfunctionary, of whom we shall speak presently, the grave-digger, arealways the _esprits forts_ of the place. They are so much in the habitof talking of ghosts, and are so well acquainted with all the tricksof which these evil spirits are capable, that they scarcely fear themat all. It is especially in the night that all these worthies, grave-diggers, flaxdressers, and ghosts, exercise their industry. Itis in the night also the flaxdresser relates his lamentable stories. But he is no more than the sacristan addicted exclusively to thepleasure of inspiring his auditors with fear; he delights in raising alaugh; and is jocose and sentimental by turns, when he comes to speakof love and Hymen. He is the man to collect and store up in memory themost ancient songs, and to hand them down to posterity; and, as usual, he was in the present instance the person charged with thepresentation of the wedding-gifts at the nuptials of Marie. 

As soon as all were assembled in the house, the doors and windows wereclosed with the greatest care; the very leucomb shutter of the granarywas barricaded; planks, trussels, and tables were put up across allthe points of egress, as if one was preparing to sustain a siege; andwithin this fortification reigned a solemn silence of expectation, until from a distance were heard singing, laughter, and the sound ofrustic instruments. These were the bridegroom's band, Germain at itshead, accompanied by his stoutest companions, the grave-digger, kinsfolk, friends, and servants, who formed a joyous and solid_cortège_. 

As they approached the house, however, they slackened their pace, consulted together, and were silent. The young girls, shut up in thehouse, had contrived to find little slits in the windows, throughwhich they watched the procession as it arrived, and formed in orderof battle. A fine chilly rain fell, which added to the excitement ofthe situation, whilst a large fire crackled and blazed on the hearthwithin doors. Marie would gladly have shortened the inevitableslowness of this state of siege: she did not at all like to see herbetrothed dawdling about in the wet and cold; but she had no voice inthe affair--nay, she had even to share ostensibly in the cruelty ofher companions. 

When the two camps were thus pitched in face of one another, adischarge of firearms from the party without doors set all the dogs inthe neighbourhood in commotion: those belonging to the house flew tothe gate, barking loudly; and the little children, whom their mothersvainly endeavoured to quiet, fell to crying and trembling with fear. The grave-digger, the bard and orator of the bridegroom, now stationedhimself before the door, and in a pitiable voice began a dialogue withthe flaxdresser, who was at the garret-window over the same door. 

_Grave-digger. _ Hollo! my good folks, my dear neighbours, for mercy'ssake open the door. 

_Flaxdresser. _ Pray who may you be; and how come you to take theliberty of calling us your dear neighbours? We don't know you. 

_G. _ We are honest folks in trouble. Don't fear us, my friends, butbestow your hospitality on us. The sleet falls fast, our feet are allfrozen, and we have come such a distance that our shoes are worn out. 

The flaxdresser inquires sharply who they are, and receives variousridiculous answers. At length the besiegers say--

_Grave-digger. _ Well, then, if you'll not listen to reason, we shallenter by force. 

_Flaxdresser. _ Try, if you like. We are strong enough not to fear you;and as you are insolent, we shall not answer you any more. 

So saying, the flaxdresser slammed to the wicket with a bang, and wentdown a ladder into the room below. He then took the bride elect by thehand, and the young folks joining them, all fell to dancing andshouting gaily, whilst the matrons of the party sang with shrillvoices, and amidst shouts of laughter, at the people outside, who wereattempting the assault. The besiegers, on their side, pretended rage;they fired their pistols at the doors, set the dogs barking, rattledthe shutters, thumped the walls, and uttered loud cries. 

The garrison at last seemed to manifest some desire to capitulate; butrequired as a condition that the opposite party should sing a song. Assoon as the song was begun, however, the besieged replied with thesecond line; and so long as they were able to do this, they were safe. The two antagonists were the best hands in the country for a song, andtheir stock seemed inexhaustible. Once or twice the flaxdresser made awry face, frowned, and turned to the women with a disappointed look. The grave-digger sang something so old that his adversary hadforgotten it, or perhaps had never known it; but instantly the goodwoman took up the burden of the song with a shrill voice, and helpedtheir friend through his trouble. At length the party of the bridedeclared they would yield, provided the others offered her a presentworthy of her. Thereupon began the song of the _Wedding-gifts_, to anair as solemn as a church psalm, the men outside singing bass inunison, and the women answering from within in falsetto. In twentycouplets at least the men enumerate all the wedding-presents, and thematrons at length consent that the door should be opened. 

On this being arranged, the flaxdresser instantly drew the woodenspigot which fastened the door on the inside--the only fastening knownin most of the dwellings in our village--and the bridegroom's bandrushed in, but not without a combat, for the lads who garrisoned theplace, even the old flaxdresser and the ancient village dames, considered it their duty to defend the hearth. The invaders were armedwith a goose stuck upon a large iron spit, adorned with bouquets ofstraw and ribbons, and to plant this at the fire was to gainpossession of the hearth. Every effort was of course made to attainthis object. Now came a veritable battle, although the combatants didnot come to actual blows, and fought without any anger or ill-will. But they pressed and pushed one another so closely, and there was somuch emulation in the display of muscular power, that the resultsmight have been more serious than they appeared amidst the singing andlaughter. The poor old flaxdresser, who fought like a lion, was pinnedto the wall, and squeezed until he could hardly get breath. More thanone hero was rolled in the dust, more than one hand was withdrawnbleeding from an attack on the spit. These sports are dangerous, andin consequence of the occurrence of serious accidents, our peasantshave resolved to drop them. The enormous iron spit was twisted like ascrew before it was at length flung across the fire-irons, and theconquest achieved. 

There was now no lack of talk and laughter. Each one exhibited thewounds he had received; but as they were in many cases given by thehand of a friend, nobody complained. The matrons cleaned thestone-floor, and order was re-established. The table was covered withpitchers of new wine. 'When they had all drunk together, clinkingtheir glasses, and had taken breath, the bridegroom was led into themiddle of the room; and, furnished with a ring, he had to undergo anew trial. 

During the contest, the bride had been concealed, with three of hercompanions, by her mother, her godmother, and her aunts, who hadseated the four young girls on a bench, in a corner of the room, andcovered them with a large white cloth. The three girls had beenselected of the same height as Marie; and this cloth veiling them fromhead to foot, it was impossible to distinguish one from another. Thebridegroom was only allowed to touch them with the end of his switch, to point out which he guessed to be his bride. If wrong, he could notdance with the latter that evening, but only with the one he hadselected in error. 

The party then separated, to re-assemble at eight o'clock the nextmorning. At the appointed time, after a breakfast of milk-soup, wellpeppered to stimulate the appetite--for the nuptial-feast promised tobe a rich one--all assembled in the farmyard. A journey of severalmiles had to be performed to obtain the nuptial benediction. Germainmounted the gray mare, which had been new shod and decked with ribbonsfor the occasion; the bride rode behind him; whilst hisbrother-in-law, Jacques, was mounted on the old gray, with thegrandmother. The joyous cavalcade set out, escorted by the children onfoot, who kept firing pistols and making the horses start. MrsMaurice, the mother, seated with the children and the village fiddlersin a cart, opened the procession to the sounds of the little band ofmusic. 

A crowd was gathered at the _mairie_ and the church to see the prettybride. We must describe her dress, it became her so well. Her cleanmuslin cap, embroidered all over, had lappets trimmed with lace; awhite kerchief, modestly crossed in front, left visible only thedelicate outline of a neck rounded like that of a dove; her dress offine green cloth set off her pretty figure; and she wore an apron ofviolet silk, with the _bavette_ or bib, which the village lasses havesince then foolishly given up. 

At the ceremony of the _offrande_, Germain, according to custom, placed the _treizaine_--that is to say, thirteen pieces of silver--inthe hand of his bride, and slipped on her finger a silver ring of apeculiar form, which had existed unchanged for ages, but which has nowbeen replaced by the _alliance d'or_. 

We pass over the ceremony of the wedding. The party remounted theirsteeds, and returned home at a rapid pace. The feast was splendid, andlasted till midnight, interspersed with song and dance. The old folksdid not quit the table for fourteen hours. The grave-diggersuperintended the _cuisine_, and filled his part to admiration; infact, he was famous in this line, and between the services, he lefthis cooking and joined in the dance and song. He was strong, fresh, and gay as a lark. On leaving a wedding-party, he would go and dig agrave, or nail down a coffin--a task of which he acquitted himselfwith pious care. 

We now come to the third and most curious day of the nuptials, whichis still strictly observed. As the ceremony of the _livrées_ is thesymbol of taking possession of the heart and home of the bride, thatof the _chou_ is the type of the fecundity of marriage. Afterbreakfast the next morning, this performance commenced--a custom ofancient Gallic origin, which became gradually a sort of Mystery orMorality of the middle ages. Two lads disappear during the breakfast, go and dress themselves up, and then return, accompanied by music, dogs, children, and firing of pistols. They represent a couple ofbeggars--husband and wife--covered with rags: they are called thegardener and his wife (_le jardinier_ and _la jardinière_), and giveout that they have the charge and the cultivation of the sacredcabbage. The man's face is bedaubed with soot and wine-lees, orsometimes covered with a grotesque mask. A broken pot or an old shoe, suspended to his belt with a bit of string, serves him to beg for andcollect the offerings of wine. No one refuses; and he pretends todrink, and then pours the wine on the ground, in token of libation. Henow feigns to be tipsy, and rolls in the mud; whilst his poor wiferuns after him, reproaching him pathetically, and calling for help. Ahandbarrow is now brought, on which is placed the gardener, with aspade, a cord, and a large basket. Four strong men carry him on theirshoulders. His wife follows on foot, and the old folks come after witha grave and pensive air; then the nuptial procession march two by twoto the measure of the music. The firing of pistols recommences, thedogs bark more loudly than ever at the sight of the gardener thusborne in triumph, and the children jeer him as he passes. Theprocession arrives at the bride's dwelling, and enters the garden. There a fine cabbage is selected--a matter which is not effected in ahurry, for the old folks hold a council, each one pleading for somefavourite cabbage. Votes are taken; and when the choice is made, thegardener ties his cord round the stalk, and retreats to the furtherend of the garden, whilst the other actors in the comedy--theflaxdresser, the grave-digger, the carpenter, and the shoemaker--allstand round the cabbage. One digs a trench, advances, recedes, makes aplan, spies at the others through a pair of spectacles; and, in short, after various difficulties and mummeries, the gardener pulls the cord, his wife spreads her apron, and the cabbage falls majestically amidstthe hurrahs of the spectators. The basket is then brought, the twogardeners plant the cabbage in it with all sorts of precautions; freshearth is put round its root, it is propped with sticks, and carefullytied up. Rosy apples on the end of sticks, branches of thyme, sage, and laurel are stuck all round it, and the whole is decked withribbons and streamers. The trophy is then replaced on the handbarrowwith the gardener, who has to hold it upright, and prevent anyaccident. Lastly, the procession leaves the garden in good order, andto a measured march. On coming, however, to the gate, and again whenthey enter the court-yard of the bridegroom's house, an imaginaryobstacle opposes their passage. The bearers of the burden stumble, raise a great outcry, draw back, advance again, and, as if repelled bysome invincible force, pretend to give way under their load. Meantimethe bystanders keep exclaiming, to excite and encourage the bearers:'Bravo!' 'Well done, my boys!' 'Courage!' 'Have a care!' 'Patience!''Stoop now; the gate is too low!' 'To the left--now to the right!''Look sharp now!' 'Now you're through!'

On reaching the court-yard of the bridegroom, the cabbage is liftedoff the barrow, and carried to the highest point of the house--whethera chimney, a gable, or a pigeon-house. The gardener plants it there, and waters it with a large pitcher of wine, whilst a salvo ofpistol-shots, and the joyous contortions of the _jardinière_, announceits inauguration. The same ceremony is immediately recommenced:another cabbage is removed from the bridegroom's garden, and carriedwith the same formalities to the roof of the house which his wife hasjust quitted. These trophies remain there, until the wind and raindestroy the baskets, and carry away the plants; but they generallyremain long enough to verify the predictions of the village dames, that ere their removal, the new-married couple shall be blessed with apretty little addition to their domestic happiness. 

The day is far advanced when these ceremonies are accomplished, andall that remains, is to escort with music the parents of the youngcouple to their homes. There they have a dance, and all is over. 

NOBLE INSTANCE OF TURKISH GENEROSITY AND HONESTY. 

I happened, a short time ago, to be in company with a retiredshipmaster in Liverpool, who, after spending forty-five years of hislife chiefly in command of vessels from that port, had retired toenjoy the fruits of a well-deserved competency. The conversationturned upon the difficulty, nay, almost the impossibility, of beingable, in this highly-civilised and _moral_ country, in the ordinarybusiness of life, to trust only to the _word_ or _honour_ of thecontracting parties. The Ancient Mariner fully agreed with me in myopinions, and said, that during a long intercourse with his species inevery quarter of the globe, the only men he had met with whose wordswere equal to their bonds, or whose _honesty_ would stand the test ofbeing trusted with untold gold, were--_the Turks_. On my expressingsurprise at this unqualified encomium in favour of a set of men onwhom, as a nation, we have generally been accustomed to look withdistrust and suspicion, the old gentleman said: 'I will give you anaccount of the circumstances which first led me to form this opinion, and leave you to judge for yourself;' and added, that during anoccasional intercourse with them, extending over a period of twentyyears, he had had it only the more strengthened and confirmed. He thensaid: 'It is now upwards of thirty years since I had, for the firsttime, any intercourse with the Mediterranean: our vessel was charteredto Constantinople; and one of the principal owners, a Liverpoolmerchant, was aboard acting as his own supercargo. Although it was_my_ first acquaintance with the Turks, it was not _his_, as thesequel will shew. 

'As we approached our destination, we availed ourselves of thecustomary aid of one of the local pilots; but he who on this occasionundertook the responsibility, proved but an inexperienced guide; andfrom some mistake in his bearings, ran the vessel upon a sandbank, from which every effort to dislodge her, laden as she was, provedunavailing. We were on a bleak part of the coast, and not more thanhalf a mile from the shore, although a considerable distance from ourdestined port. It was necessary, therefore, to take out severalboat-loads of the cargo, and send them on shore, whatever might be therisk they ran of being left there, while we were getting the shipafloat again. On expressing my fears as to their safety to themerchant whose property the goods were, he at once said: "I know theTurks, and will abide the consequences of the step;" although, situated as we were, we could not shrink from the results, whateverthey might be, without incurring a much heavier loss, if not theentire destruction of the vessel. Accordingly, the boats were got out, and part of the cargo at once transferred to them, and conveyed to theshore, I acting as cockswain on the occasion. As the foremost boatapproached, a number of turbaned figures were seen advancing, who, assoon as it touched the beach, rushed into the surf, and, with a shout, hauled it high and dry, and commenced at once to bear off its cargo toa field in the immediate neighbourhood, above high-water mark. Remonstrance or resistance would have been equally out of thequestion, as neither understood a word the other said, and theirnumbers were overpowering. So rapidly did the goods vanish from theboat under their active operations, that I had not even time to take anote of the particular packages. As soon as the boat was emptied ofits contents, they assisted in pushing it off again into deep water;and in a very desponding state of mind regarding the ultimate fate ofthe goods which I had left on shore, I returned to the ship. Onexpressing my fears on that score to the merchant, who met me at thegangway, he smiled, and said: "It's all right, I saw by the turbansand dresses of the men who came down to you that they were Turks; andI know, from experience, that we run no risk whatever in leaving thegoods under their self-imposed guardianship. " As he was the party whowas most interested in the result, I said nothing more, but proceededto lighten the ship as speedily as possible, by making severaladditional trips to the shore with as much of the cargo as enabled usto get at the ballast; and on each occasion we received the sameprompt and energetic assistance from our turbaned allies, eachboat-load being carried to the corner of the field where the otherswere deposited. It required two days to get the ship sufficientlylightened of her ballast, so as to get her afloat again, and this wewere enabled to do without her sustaining any damage of a seriousnature, as the weather, fortunately for us, continued perfectly calm. 

'During these two nights that the goods were left on shore, they werewatched by _two of the Turks alone_; and when we were ready for theirreshipment, they assisted us as energetically in replacing them in theboat, as they did at first in removing them from it. On our last tripto the shore, the merchant went with us, and I took several pieces ofgold with me, which I offered to the honest fellows who had sogenerously and voluntarily rendered us such efficient service; when, to my still greater surprise, they, to a man, making a low bow, andmuttering something, which to me was unintelligible, put their handson their hearts, and refused to accept it. The merchant, whounderstood a word or two only of their language, said that he couldmake out that what they had said was, that _we were brothers_, and _indistress_, and _that_ was enough to induce them to do what they couldto assist us. 

'Our vessel then proceeded on her voyage to Constantinople, which shereached in a short time, and got her cargo safely disembarked. Whilethere, I occasionally met in the streets several of the men who hadassisted us, and received from them in passing always a pleasing smileof recognition. '

I ask my readers whether they think that, if such a thing had occurredon almost any part of _our own coasts_, a similar result would havetaken place? Is it not notorious, and a deep and indelible stain onthe great proportion of our population on the coast, that on a wrecktaking place, the natives not only pilfer all that they can lay theirhands upon, but sometimes do not even hesitate, it is alleged, toextinguish any glimmering sparks of life that may be perceptible inthe bodies of the unfortunate mariners who have been washedashore--with a view to protect themselves in the possession of theirbasely acquired spoil? And is it not equally notorious, that so farfrom their doing anything to warn a ship in distress, that they seeapproaching their iron-bound shores, of its danger, and doing anythingto prevent it, they very often shew false signals, so as to draw theunfortunate vessel upon the rocks which it is so anxious to avoid?Such practices are an everlasting disgrace to the natives of manyparts of our coasts; and how nobly, therefore, does the conduct of thepoor Turks contrast with it, and that, too, be it borne in mind, evenwhen rendered to those whom they are taught to regard as Infidels!

My venerable informant also told me, that during an occasionalintercourse, extending over a period of nearly twenty years, with thenatives of several parts of Turkey, he had never met with a solitaryinstance even of dishonesty, or a departure from an agreement, theconditions of which had only been settled by _a verbal_ engagement, even when the result would evidently be unfavourable to them. 

LADY BETTY, THE HANGWOMAN. 

 [The following curious sketch is from Mr W. R. Wilde's _Irish Popular Superstitions_, printed in M'Glashan's _Readings in Popular Literature_. It does not refer to a superstition, but to one of those facts which exhibit as much of the preternatural as the wildest excursion of fancy. A portion of the little volume is reprinted from the _Dublin University Magazine_, and, for aught we know, Lady Betty may have made her appearance originally in that work. ]

The old jail of Roscommon stood, and, although now converted to otherpurposes, still stands in the market-place, in the centre of the town. It is an exceedingly high, dark, gloomy-looking building, with acastellated top, like one of the ancient fortresses that tower abovethe houses in many of the continental cities. It can be discerned at agreat distance; and, taken in connection with the extensive ruins ofO'Connor's Castle, in the suburbs, and the beautiful abbey upon theother side of the town, seems to partake of the character of themiddle-age architecture. The fatal drop was, perhaps, the highest inIreland. It consisted of a small doorway in the front of the thirdstorey, with a simple iron beam and pulley above, and the _lapboard_merely a horizontal door hinged to the wall beneath, and raised or letfall by means of a sliding-bolt, which shot from the wall when therewas occasion to put the apparatus of death in requisition. Fearful asthis elevated gallows appeared, and unique in its character, it wasnot more so than the finisher of the law who then generally officiatedupon it. No decrepit wretch, no crime-hardened ruffian, no secret andmysterious personage, who was produced occasionally disguised andmasked, plied his dreadful trade here. Who, think you, _gentle_reader--who now, perhaps, recoils from these unpleasant but truthfulminutiæ--officiated upon this gallows high?--a female!--a middle-aged, stout-made, dark-eyed, swarthy-complexioned, but by no meansforbidding-looking woman--the celebrated Lady Betty--the finisheressof the law--the unflinching priestess of the executive for theConnaught circuit, and Roscommon in particular, for many years. Fewchildren, born or reared in that county thirty, or evenfive-and-twenty years ago, who were not occasionally frightened into'being good, ' and going to sleep, and not crying when left alone inthe dark, by _huggath a' Pooka_, or, 'here's Lady Betty. ' The onlyfragment of her history which we have been able to collect is, thatshe was a person of violent temper, though in manners rather above thecommon, and possessing some education. It was said that she was anative of the County Kerry, and that by her harsh usage she drove heronly son from her at an early age. He enlisted; but, in course ofyears, returned with some money in his pocket, the result of hiscampaigning. He knocked at his father's door, and asked a night'slodging, determined to see for himself whether the brutal mother hehad left had in any way repented, or was softened in her disposition, before he would reveal himself. He was admitted, but not recognised. The mother, discovering that he possessed some money, murdered himduring the night. The crime was discovered, and the wretched womansentenced to be hanged, along with the usual dockful ofsheep-stealers, Whiteboys, shop-lifters, and cattle-houghers, who, tothe amount of seven or eight at a time, were invariably 'turned off'within four-and-twenty hours after their sentences at each assizes. Noexecutioner being at hand, time pressing, and the sheriff and hisdeputy being men of refinement, education, humanity, and sensibility, who could not be expected to fulfil the office which they hadundertaken--and for which one of them, at least, was paid--thiswretched woman, being the only person in the jail who could be foundto perform the office, consented; and under the name of Lady Betty, officiated, unmasked and undisguised, as _hangwoman_ for a greatnumber of years after; and she used also to flog publicly in thestreets, as a part of her trade. Numerous are the tales related of herexploits, which we have now no desire to dwell upon. We may, however, mention one extraordinary trait of her character. She was in the habitof drawing, with a burnt stick, upon the walls of her apartment, portraits of all the persons she executed. 

THE WILL AND THE WAY. 

I learned grammar when I was a private soldier on the pay ofsixpence a day. The edge of my berth, or that of my guard-bed, was myseat to study in; my knapsack was my bookcase, and a bit of board lyingin my lap was my writing-table. I had no money to purchase candle oroil; in winter, it was rarely that I could get any light but that of thefire, and only my turn even of that. To buy a pen or piece of paper, Iwas compelled to forego some portion of food, though in a state ofhalf-starvation. I had not a moment of time that I could call my own;and I had to read and write amid the talking, laughing, singing, whistling, and bawling of at least half a score of the most thoughtlessof men--and that, too, in the hours of their freedom from all control. And I say, if I, under these circumstances, could encounter and overcomethe task, is there--can there be, in the whole world, a youth who canfind an excuse for the non-performance?--_William Cobbett_. 

PAPER-MILLS. 

A return has been made of the number of paper-mills at present at workin England, Wales, Ireland, and Scotland; also of the number of'beating-engines' in each mill. From this it appears that there are inEngland 304 paper-mills at present in activity, having 1267beating-engines at work, and 107 silent. In Scotland, there are 48mills, having 278 beating-engines at work, and 8 silent. In Ireland, there are 28 mills, having 71 beating-engines at work, and 15 silent. In Wales, there are no paper-mills. The total is, 880 mills, having1616 beating-engines at work, and 130 silent. 

LINES TO ----. 

 O could I love thee, love as thou art worthy to be loved, Thy deep, thy constant tenderness my purpose might have moved. I know, might I accept thy heart, a blissful lot were mine; Would we had earlier met--but no! I never could be thine. 

 I love thee as a sister loves a brother kind and dear, And feel a sister's thrilling pride whene'er thy praise I hear; And I have breathed a sister's prayer for thee at Mercy's throne, And ne'er a truer, purer love might sister's bosom own. 

 I knew this trial was in store; I felt it day by day; And oft in agony I prayed this cup might pass away; And yet I lacked the power to tell, what thou too late must hear, To tell thee that another claims this heart to thee so dear. 

 Alas! that I must cause thee pain--I know that thou wilt grieve-- For oh! thou art all truthfulness; thou never couldst deceive; And I have wept when anxious care sat heavy on thy brow, Have wept when others wounded thee, and I must wound thee now. 

 It may be that in after-years we yet shall meet again, When time has cancelled every trace of this dark hour of pain: O may I see thee happy, blest, whate'er my lot may be, And, as a sister and a friend, I shall rejoice with thee. 

 HARRIET. 

PROCESS FOR PRODUCING TAPERED IRON. 

In No. 430 of this Journal, page 207, there is some mention of thepatented rolling process for tapering bar-iron by machinery. Thisimportant invention is not of American origin, as persons unacquaintedwith the facts might imagine: it was first practised at the MerseySteel and Iron Company's works at Liverpool, and then patented by MrWilliam Clay in the United States. The Company mentioned were awardedfor the manufacture the prize-medal of the Great Exhibition, and thesilver medals of the Franklin Institute of Philadelphia, and theAmerican Institute of New York. 

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