CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

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

 No. 459. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 16, 1852. PRICE 1-1/2_d. _

THE WOMAN OF THE WORLD. 

We all know that there are certain conventional laws by which oursocial doings and seemings are regulated; but what is the power whichcompels the observance of these laws? There is no company police tokeep people moving on, no fines or other penalties; nobody but thevery outrageous need fear being turned out of the room; we have everyone of us strong inclinations and strong will: then, how comes it thatwe get on so smoothly? Why are there no outbreaks of individualcharacter? How is it that we seem dovetailed into each other, as if weformed a homogeneous mass? What is the influence which keeps up theweak and keeps down the strong, and spreads itself like oil upon theboiling sea of human passion? We have a notion of our own, that allthis is the work of an individual of the female sex; and, indeed, eventhe most unconscious and unreflecting would appear to assign to thatindividual her true position and authority, in naming her the Woman ofthe World. 

Society could never exist in a state of civilisation without the womanof the world. The man of the world has his own department, his own_métier_; but She it is who keeps up the general equilibrium. She is acalm, quiet, lady-like person, not obtrusive, and not easily put outof the way. You do not know by external observation that she is in theroom; you feel it instinctively. The atmosphere she brings with her ispeculiar, you cannot tell how. It is neither warm nor chill, neithermoist nor dry; but it is repressive. You do not move in it withnatural freedom, although you feel nothing that could be called_gêne_. Her manner is generally sweet, sometimes even caressing, andyou feel flattered and elevated as you meet her approving eye. But youcannot get into it. There is a glassy surface, beautiful but hard, ofwhich you can make nothing, and presently you feel a kind ofstrangeness come over you, as if you were not looking into the eye ofa creature of your own kind. What you miss is sympathy. 

It is to her want of sympathy the woman of the world owes herposition. The same deficiency is indispensable in the otherindividuals--such as a great monarch, or a great general--who rule thefate of mankind; but with this difference, that in them it is partialand limited, and in her universal. In them, it bears relation to theirtrade or mission; in her, it is a peculiarity of her general nature. She is accused of inhumanity; of sporting with the feelings of thoseabout her, and rending, when they interfere with her plans, thestrings of the heart as ruthlessly as if they were fiddlestrings. Butall that is nonsense. She does not, it is true, ignore the existenceof strings and feelings; on the contrary, they are in her eyes a greatfact, without which she could do nothing. But her theory is, that theyare merely a superficial net-work surrounding the character, thegrowth of education and other circumstances, and that they may betwisted, broken, and fastened anew at pleasure by skilful fingers. No, she is not inhumane. She works for others' good and her own greatness. Sighs and tears may be the result of her operations; but so are theyof the operations of the beneficent surgeon. She dislikes giving pain, and comforts and sustains the patient to the best of her power; but atthe most, she knows sighs are but wind, and tears but water, and soshe does her duty. 

Although without sympathy, the woman of the world has greatsensitiveness. She sits in the room like a spider, with her webfitting as closely to the whole area as the carpet; and she feels theslightest touch upon the slightest filament. So do the company: notunderstandingly like her, but instinctively and unconsciously, like afly who only knows that somehow or other he is not at freedom. Thething that holds him is as soft and glossy and thin and small as silk;but even while dallying with its smoothness and pleasantness, a misty, indefinite sensation of impending danger creeps over him. Be quiet, little fly! Gently--gently: slip away if you can--but no defiance, notugging, no floundering, or you are lost!

A mythic story is told of the woman of the world: how in early lifeshe was crossed in love; how she lost faith in feelings that seemed toexist exceptionally only in her own solitary bosom; and how a certainglassy hardness gathered upon her heart, as she sat waiting andwaiting for a response to the inner voices she had suffered to burstforth--

 The long-lost ventures of the heart, That send no answers back again!

But this is a fable. The woman of the world was never young--not whileplaying with her doll. She grew just as you see her, and will sufferno change till the dissolution of the elements of her body. Love-passages she has indeed had like other women; but the love wasall on one side, and that side not hers. It is curious to observe thepassion thus lavished in vain. It reminds one of the German story ofthe Cave of Mirrors, where a fairy damsel, with beckoning hand andbeseeching eyes, was reflected from a thousand angles. The pursuinglover, endeavouring to clasp his mistress, flung himself from oneillusory image to another, finding only the sharp, polished, glittering glass in his embrace, till faint, breathless, and bleeding, he sank upon the ground. 

The woman of the world, though a dangerous mistress, is an agreeablefriend. She is partial to the everyday married lady, when presentablein point of dress and manners, and overwhelms her with littlecondescending kindnesses and caresses. This good lady, on her part, thinks her patroness a remarkably clever woman; not that sheunderstands her, or knows exactly what she is about; but somehow orother she is _sure_ she is prodigiously clever. As for the everydayyoung lady, who has a genius for reverence, she reveres her; and thesetwo, with their male congeners, are the dress-figures the woman of theworld places about her rooms like ivory pieces on a chessboard. 

This admirable lady is sometimes a mother, and she is devotedly fondof her children, in their future. She may be seen gazing in theirfaces by the hour; but the picture that is before her mind's eye isthe fulfilment of their present promise. An ordinary woman woulddawdle away her time in admiring their soft eyes, and curly hair, andfull warm cheeks; but the woman of the world sees the bud grown intothe expanded flower, and the small cradle is metamorphosed into theboudoir by the magic of her maternal love. And verily, she has herreward: for death sometimes comes, to wither the bud, and disperse thedream in empty air. On such an occasion, her grief, as we may readilysuppose, is neither deep nor lasting, for its object is twined roundher imagination, not her heart. She regrets her wasted hopes andfruitless speculations; but the baby having never been present in itsown entity, is now as that which has never been. The unthinking callher an unnatural mother, for they make no distinction. They do notknow that death is with her a perfectly arranged funeral, a marbletablet, a darkened room, an attitude of wo, a perfumed handkerchief. They do not consider that when she lies down to rest, her eyes, inconsequence of over-mental exertion, are too heavy with sleep to haveroom for tears. They do not reflect that in the morning she breaksinto a new consciousness of reality from the clinging dreams of hermaternal ambition, and not from the small visionary arms, the fragrantkiss, the angel whisper of her lost babe. They do not feel that inopening upon the light, her eyes part with the fading gleam of gemsand satin, and kneeling coronets, and red right hands extendingwedding-rings, and not with a winged and baby form, soaring into thelight by which it is gradually absorbed, while distant hymns melt anddie upon her ear. 

The woman of the world is sometimes prosperous in her reign oversociety, and sometimes otherwise. Even she submits, although usuallywith sweetness and dignity, to the caprices of fortune. Occasionally, the threads of her management break in such a way, that, with all herdexterity, she is unable to reunite them: occasionally, the stringsand feelings are too strong to rend; and occasionally, in rending, thewhole system falls to pieces. Her daughter elopes, her son marries thegoverness, her husband loses his seat in parliament; but there areother daughters to marry, other sons to direct, other honours to win;and so this excellent woman runs her busy and meritorious career. Butyears come on at last, although she lingers as long as she can inmiddle life; and, with her usual graceful dignity, she settles downinto the reward the world bestows on its veterans, an old age ofcards. 

Even now, she sometimes turns round her head to look at the things andpersons around her, and to exult in the reputation she has earned, andthe passive influence her name still exercises over society; but, as arule, the kings and queens and knaves take the place of human beingswith this woman of genius; the deepest arcana of her art are broughtinto play for the odd trick, and her pride and ambition are abundantlygratified by the circumvention of a half-crown. 

The woman of the world at length dies: and what then? Why, then, nothing--nothing but a funeral, a tablet, dust, and oblivion. This isreasonable, for, great as she was, she had to do only with theexternal forms of life. Her existence was only a material game, andher men and women were only court and common cards; diamonds andhearts were alike to her, their value depending on what was trumps. She saw keenly and far, but not deeper than the superficial net-workof the heart, not higher than the ceiling of the drawing-room. Herenjoyments, therefore, were limited in their range; her nature, thoughperfect in its kind, was small and narrow; and her occupation, thoughso interesting to those concerned, was in itself mean and frivolous. This is always her misfortune, the misfortune of this envied woman. She lives in a material world, blind and deaf to the influences thatthrill the bosoms of others. No noble thought ever fires her soul, nogenerous sympathy ever melts her heart. Her share of that current ofhuman nature which has welled forth from its fountain in the earthlyparadise is dammed up, and cut off from the general stream thatoverflows the world. None of those minute and invisible ducts connectsit with the common waters which make one feel instinctively, lovingly, yearningly, that he is not alone upon the earth, but a member of thegreat human family. And so, having played her part, she dies, thiswoman of the world, leaving no sign to tell that an immortal spirithas passed: nothing above the ground but a tablet, and below, only ahandful of rotting bones and crumbling dust. 

MARIE DE LA TOUR. 

The basement front of No. 12 Rue St Antoine, a narrow street in Rouen, leading from the Place de la Pucelle, was opened by Madame de la Tour, in the millinery business, in 1817, and tastefully arranged, so far asscant materials permitted the exercise of decorative genius. She wasthe widow of a once flourishing _courtier maritime_ (ship-broker), who, in consequence of some unfortunate speculations, had recentlydied in insolvent circumstances. At about the same time, ClémentDerville, her late husband's confidential clerk, a steady, persevering, clever person, took possession of the deceasedship-broker's business premises on the quay, the precious savings offifteen years of industrious frugality enabling him to install himselfin the vacant commercial niche before the considerable connectionattached to the well-known establishment was broken up and distributedamongst rival _courtiers_. Such vicissitudes, frequent in all tradingcommunities, excite but a passing interest; and after the customarycommonplaces commiserative of the fallen fortunes of the stillyouthful widow, and gratulatory good-wishes for the prosperity of the_ci-devant_ clerk, the matter gradually faded from the minds of thesympathisers, save when the rapidly rising fortunes of Derville, incontrast with the daily lowlier ones of Madame de la Tour, suggestedsome tritely sentimental reflection upon the precariousness andinstability of all mundane things. For a time, it was surmised by someof the fair widow's friends, if not by herself, that the considerableservices Derville had rendered her were prompted by a warmer feelingthan the ostensible one of respect for the relict of his old andliberal employer; and there is no doubt that the gentle, gracefulmanners, the mild, starlit face of Madame de la Tour, had made a deepimpression upon Derville, although the hope or expectation foundedthereon vanished with the passing time. Close, money-loving, business-absorbed as he might be, Clément Derville was a manof vehement impulse and extreme susceptibility of femalecharm--weaknesses over which he had again and again resolved tomaintain vigilant control, as else fatal obstacles to his hopes ofrealising a large competence, if not a handsome fortune. He succeededin doing so; and as year after year glided away, leaving him richerand richer, Madame de la Tour poorer and poorer, as well as less andless personally attractive, he grew to marvel that the bent form, theclouded eyes, the sorrow-sharpened features of the woman heoccasionally met hastening along the streets, could be those by whichhe had been once so powerfully agitated and impressed. 

He did not, however, form any new attachment; was still a bachelor atforty-five; and had for some years almost lost sight of, andforgotten, Madame de la Tour, when a communication from Jeanne Favart, an old servant who had lived with the De la Tours in the days of theirprosperity, vividly recalled old and fading memories. She announcedthat Madame de la Tour had been for many weeks confined to her bed byillness, and was, moreover, in great pecuniary distress. 

'_Diantre_!' exclaimed Derville, a quicker and stronger pulse thanusual tinging his sallow cheek as he spoke. 'That is a pity. Who, then, has been minding the business for her?'

'Her daughter Marie, a gentle, pious child, who seldom goes out exceptto church, and, ' added Jeanne, with a keen look in her master'scountenance, 'the very image of the Madame de la Tour we knew sometwenty years ago. '

'Ha!' M. Derville was evidently disturbed, but not so much so as toforget to ask with some asperity if 'dinner was not ready?'

'In five minutes, ' said Jeanne, but still holding the half-opened doorin her hand. 'They are very, very badly off, monsieur, thoseunfortunate De la Tours, ' she persisted. 'A _huissier_ this morningseized their furniture and trade-stock for rent, and if the sum is notmade up by sunset, they will be utterly ruined. '

M. Clément Derville took several hasty turns about the room, and theaudible play of his fingers amongst the Napoleons in his pocketsinspired Jeanne with a hope that he was about to draw forth asufficient number for the relief of the cruel necessities of herformer mistress. She was mistaken. Perhaps the touch of his belovedgold stilled for a time the agitation that had momentarily stirred hisheart. 

'It is a pity, ' he murmured; and then briskly drawing out his watch, added sharply: 'But pray let us have dinner. Do you know that it isfull seven minutes past the time that it should be served?'

Jeanne disappeared, and M. Derville was very soon seated at table. Butalthough the sad tidings he had just heard had not been able toeffectually loosen his purse-strings, they had at least power utterlyto destroy his appetite, albeit the _poulet_ was done to a turn. Jeanne made no remark on this, as she removed the almost untastedmeal, nor on the quite as unusual fact, that the wine _carafe_ wasalready half emptied, and her master himself restless, dreamy, andpreoccupied. Concluding, however, from these symptoms, that a fiercestruggle between generosity and avarice was going on in M. Derville'sbreast, she quietly determined on bringing an auxiliary to the aid ofgenerosity, that would, her woman's instinct taught her, at oncedecide the conflict. 

No doubt the prosperous ship-broker _was_ unusually agitated. The oldwoman's news had touched a chord which, though dulled and slackened bythe heat and dust of seventeen years of busy, anxious life, stillvibrated strongly, and awakened memories that had long slept in thechambers of his brain, especially one pale Madonna face, with itssoft, tear-trembling eyes that---- '_Ciel_!' he suddenly exclaimed, asthe door opened and gave to view the very form his fancy had conjuredup: '_Ciel_! can it be---- Pshaw!' he added, as he fell back into thechair from which he had leaped up; 'you must suppose me crazed, Mademoiselle--Mademoiselle de la Tour, I am quite certain. '

It was indeed Marie de la Tour whom Jeanne Favart had, with muchdifficulty, persuaded to make a personal appeal to M. Derville. Shewas a good deal agitated, and gladly accepted that gentleman'sgestured invitation to be seated, and take a glass of wine. Her errandwas briefly, yet touchingly told, but not apparently listened to byDerville, so abstracted and intense was the burning gaze with which heregarded the confused and blushing petitioner. Jeanne, however, knewwhom he recognised in those flushed and interesting features, and hadno doubt of the successful result of the application. 

M. Clément Derville _had_ heard and comprehended what was said, for hebroke an embarrassing silence of some duration by saying, in a pleasedand respectful tone: 'Twelve Napoleons, you say, mademoiselle. It isnothing: here are twenty. No thanks, I beg of you. I hope to have anopportunity of rendering you--of rendering Madame de la Tour, I mean, some real and lasting service. '

Poor Marie was profoundly affected by this generosity, and thecharming blushfulness, the sweet-toned trembling words that expressedher modest gratitude, were, it should seem, strangely interpreted bythe excited ship-broker. The interview was not prolonged, and Marie dela Tour hastened with joy-lightened steps to her home. 

Four days afterwards, M. Derville called at the Rue St Antoine, onlyto hear that Madame de la Tour had died a few hours previously. Heseemed much shocked; and after a confused offer of further pecuniaryassistance, respectfully declined by the weeping daughter, took ahurried leave. 

There is no question that, from the moment of his first interview withher, M. Derville had conceived an ardent passion for Mademoiselle dela Tour--so ardent and bewildering as not only to blind him to thegreat disparity of age between himself and her--which he might havethought the much greater disparity of fortune in his favour wouldbalance and reconcile--but to the very important fact, that HectorBertrand, a young _menuisier_ (carpenter), who had recently commencedbusiness on his own account, and whom he so frequently met at thecharming _modiste's_ shop, was her accepted, affianced lover. An_éclaircissement_, accompanied by mortifying circumstances, was not, however, long delayed. 

It occurred one fine evening in July. M. Derville, in passing throughthe _marché aux fleurs_, had selected a brilliant bouquet forpresentation to Mademoiselle de la Tour; and never to him had sheappeared more attractive, more fascinating, than when accepting, withhesitating, blushing reluctance, the proffered flowers. She steppedwith them into the little sitting-room behind the shop; M. Dervillefollowed; and the last remnant of discretion and common-sense that hadhitherto restrained him giving way at once, he burst out with avehement declaration of the passion which was, he said, consuming him, accompanied, of course, by the offer of his hand and fortune inmarriage. Marie de la Tour's first impulse was to laugh in the face ofa man who, old enough to be her father, addressed her in such terms;but one glance at the pale face and burning eyes of the speaker, convinced her that levity would be ill-timed--possibly dangerous. Eventhe few civil and serious words of discouragement and refusal withwhich she replied to his ardent protestations, were oil cast uponflame. He threw himself at the young girl's feet, and clasped herknees in passionate entreaty, at the very moment that Hector Bertrand, with one De Beaune, entered the room. Marie de la Tour's exclamationof alarm, and effort to disengage her dress from Derville's grasp, inorder to interpose between him and the new-comers, were simultaneouswith several heavy blows from Bertrand's cane across the shoulders ofthe kneeling man, who instantly leaped to his feet, and sprang uponhis assailant with the yell and spring of a madman. Fortunately forBertrand, who was no match in personal strength for the man he hadassaulted, his friend De Beaune promptly took part in the encounter;and after a desperate scuffle, during which Mademoiselle de la Tour'sremonstrances and entreaties were unheard or disregarded, M. Dervillewas thrust with inexcusable violence into the street. 

According to Jeanne Favart, her master reached home with his face allbloody and discoloured, his clothes nearly torn from his back, and ina state of frenzied excitement. He rushed past her up stairs, shuthimself into his bedroom, and there remained unseen by any one forseveral days, partially opening the door only to receive food andother necessaries from her hands. When he did at last leave his room, the impassive calmness of manner habitual to him was quite restored, and he wrote a note in answer to one that had been sent byMademoiselle de la Tour, expressive of her extreme regret for what hadoccurred, and enclosing a very respectful apology from HectorBertrand. M. Derville said, that he was grateful for her sympathy andkind wishes; and as to M. Bertrand, he frankly accepted his excuses, and should think no more of the matter. 

This mask of philosophic indifference or resignation was not socarefully worn but that it slipped occasionally aside, and revealedglimpses of the volcanic passion that raged beneath. Jeanne was notfor a moment deceived; and Marie de la Tour, the first time she againsaw him, perceived with woman's intuitive quickness through all hisassumed frigidity of speech and demeanour, that his sentiments towardsher, so far from being subdued by the mortifying repulse they had metwith, were more vehemently passionate than ever! He was a man, shefelt, to be feared and shunned; and very earnestly did she warnBertrand to avoid meeting, or, at all events, all possible chance ofcollision with his exasperated, and, she was sure, merciless andvindictive rival. 

Bertrand said he would do so; and kept his promise as long as therewas no temptation to break it. About six weeks after his encounterwith M. Derville, he obtained a considerable contract for thecarpentry work of a large house belonging to a M. Mangier--afantastic, Gothic-looking place, as persons acquainted with Rouen willremember, next door but one to Blaise's banking-house. Bertrand hadbut little capital, and he was terribly puzzled for means to purchasethe requisite materials, of which the principal item was Baltictimber. He essayed his credit with a person of the name of Dufour, onthe quay, and was refused. Two hours afterwards, he again sought themerchant, for the purpose of proposing his friend De Beaune assecurity. Dufour and Derville were talking together in front of theoffice; and when they separated on Bertrand's approach, the young manfancied that Derville saluted him with unusual friendliness. DeBeaune's security was declined by the cautious trader; and as Bertrandwas leaving, Dufour said, half-jestingly no doubt: 'Why don't youapply to your friend Derville? He has timber on commission that willsuit you, I know; and he seemed very friendly just now. ' Bertrand madeno reply, and walked off, thinking probably that he might as well askthe statue of the 'Pucelle' for assistance as M. Derville. He was, naturally enough, exceedingly put out, and vexed; and unhappily betookhimself to a neighbouring tavern for 'spirituous' solacement--a veryrare thing, let me add, for him to do. He remained there till abouteight o'clock, and by that time was in such a state of confusedelation from the unusual potations he had imbibed, that Dufour'ssuggestion assumed a sort of drunken likelihood; and he resolved onapplying--there could not, he thought, be any wonderful harm, if nogood, in that--to the ship-broker. M. Derville was not at home, andthe office was closed; but Jeanne Favart, understanding Bertrand tosay that he had important business to transact with her master--shesupposed by appointment--shewed him into M. Derville's privatebusiness-rooms, and left him there. Bertrand seated himself, fellasleep after awhile, woke up about ten o'clock considerably sobered, and quite alive to the absurd impropriety of the application he hadtipsily determined on, and was about to leave the place, when M. Derville arrived. The ship-broker's surprise and anger at findingHector Bertrand in his house were extreme, and his only reply to theintruder's stammering explanation, was a contemptuous order to leavethe place immediately. Bertrand slunk away sheepishly enough; andslowly as he sauntered along, had nearly reached home, when M. Derville overtook him. 

'One word, Monsieur Bertrand, ' said Derville. 'This way, if youplease. '

Bertrand, greatly surprised, followed the ship-broker to a lane closeby--a dark, solitary locality, which suggested an unpleasantmisgiving, very pleasantly relieved by Derville's first words. 

'Monsieur Bertrand, ' he said, 'I was hasty and ill-tempered just now;but I am not a man to cherish malice, and for the sake of--ofMarie--of Mademoiselle de la Tour, I am disposed to assist you, although I should not, as you will easily understand, like to have anypublic or known dealings with you. Seven or eight hundred francs, Iunderstood you to say, the timber you required would amount to?'

'Certainly not more than that, monsieur, ' Bertrand contrived toanswer, taken away as his breath nearly was by astonishment. 

'Here, then, is a note of the Bank of France for one thousand francs. '

'Monsieur!--monsieur!' gasped the astounded recipient. 

'You will repay me, ' continued Derville, 'when your contract iscompleted; and you will please to bear strictly in mind, that thecondition of any future favour of a like kind is, that you keep thisone scrupulously secret. ' He then hurried off, leaving Bertrand in astate of utter amazement. This feeling, however, slowly subsided, especially after assuring himself, by the aid of his chamber-lamp, that the note was a genuine one, and not, as he had half feared, avalueless deception. 'This Monsieur Derville, ' drowsily murmuredBertrand as he ensconced himself in the bed-clothes, 'is a _bonenfant_, after all--a generous, magnanimous prince, if ever there wasone. But then, to be sure, he wishes to do Marie a service by secretlyassisting her _futur_ on in life. _Sapristie!_ It is quite simple, after all, this generosity; for undoubtedly Marie is the mostcharming--charm--cha'----

Hector Bertrand went to Dufour's timber-yard at about noon the nextday, selected what he required, and pompously tendered thethousand-franc note in payment. 'Whe-e-e-e-w!' whistled Dufour, 'thedeuce!' at the same time looking with keen scrutiny in his customer'sface. 

'I received it from Monsieur Mangier in advance, ' said Hector in hastyreply to that look, blurting out in some degree inadvertently theassertion which he had been thinking would be the most feasiblesolution of his sudden riches, since he had been so peremptorilyforbidden to mention M. Derville's name. 

'It is very generous of Monsieur Mangier, ' said Dufour; 'and he is notfamous for that virtue either. But let us go to Blaise's bank: I havenot sufficient change in the house, and I daresay we shall get silverfor it there. '

As often happens in France, a daughter of the banker was the cashierof the establishment; and it was with an accent of womanlycommiseration that she said, after minutely examining the note: 'Fromwhom, Monsieur Bertrand, did you obtain possession of this note?'

Bertrand hesitated. A vague feeling of alarm was beating at his heart, and he confusedly bethought him, that it might be better not to repeatthe falsehood he had told M. Dufour. Before, however, he could decidewhat to say, Dufour answered for him: 'He _says_ from MonsieurMangier, just by. '

'Strange!' said Mademoiselle Blaise. 'A clerk of Monsieur Derville'shas been taken into custody this very morning on suspicion of havingstolen this very note. '

Poor Bertrand! He felt as if seized with vertigo; and a stunned, chaotic sense of mortal peril shot through his brain, as Marie'ssolemn warning with respect to Derville rose up like a spectre beforehim. 

'I have heard of that circumstance, ' said Dufour. And then, asBertrand did not, or could not speak, he added: 'You had better, perhaps, mademoiselle, send for Monsieur Derville. '

This proposition elicited a wild, desperate cry from the bewilderedyoung man, who rushed distractedly out of the banking-house, andhastened with frantic speed towards the Rue St Antoine--for the momentunpursued. 

Half an hour afterwards, Dufour and a bank-clerk arrived atMademoiselle de la Tour's. They found Bertrand and Marie together, andboth in a state of high nervous excitement. 'Monsieur Derville, ' saidthe clerk, 'is now at the bank; and Monsieur Blaise requests yourpresence there, so that whatever misapprehension exists may be clearedup without the intervention of the agents of the public force. '

'And pray, monsieur, ' said Marie, in a much firmer tone than, from herpale aspect, one would have expected, 'what does Monsieur Dervillehimself say of this strange affair?'

'That the note in question, mademoiselle, must have been stolen fromhis desk last evening. He was absent from home from half-past seventill ten, and unfortunately left the key in the lock. '

'I was sure he would say so, ' gasped Bertrand. 'He is a demon, and Iam lost. '

A bright, almost disdainful expression shone in Marie's fine eyes. 'Gowith these gentlemen, Hector, ' she said; 'I will follow almostimmediately; and remember'---- What else she said was delivered in aquick, low whisper; and the only words she permitted to be heard were:'Pas un mot, si tu m'aime' (Not a word, if thou lovest me). 

Bertrand found Messieurs Derville, Blaise, and Mangier in a privateroom; and he remarked, with a nervous shudder, that two gendarmes werestationed in the passage. Derville, though very pale, sustainedBertrand's glance of rage and astonishment without flinching. It wasplain that he had steeled himself to carry through the diabolicaldevice his revenge had planned, and the fluttering hope with whichMarie had inspired Bertrand died within him. Derville repeated slowlyand firmly what the clerk had previously stated; adding, that no onesave Bertrand, Jeanne Favart, and the clerk whom he first suspected, had been in the room after he left it. The note now produced was theone that had been stolen, and was safe in his desk at half-past seventhe previous evening. M. Mangier said: 'The assertion of Bertrand, that I advanced him this note, or any other, is entirely false. '

'What have you to say in reply to these grave suspicions?' said M. Blaise. 'Your father was an honest man; and you, I hear, have hithertoborne an irreproachable character, ' he added, on finding that theaccused did not speak. 'Explain to us, then, how you came intopossession of this note; if you do not, and satisfactorily--though, after what we have heard, that seems scarcely possible--we have noalternative but to give you into custody. '

'I have nothing to say at present--nothing, ' muttered Bertrand, whoseimpatient furtive looks were every instant turned towards the door. 

'Nothing to say!' exclaimed the banker; 'why, this is a tacitadmission of guilt. We had better call in the gendarmes at once. '

'I think, ' said Dufour, 'the young man's refusal to speak is owing tothe entreaties of Mademoiselle de la Tour, whom we overheard implorehim, for her sake, or as he loved her, not to say a word. '

'What do you say?' exclaimed Derville, with quick interrogation, 'forthe sake of Mademoiselle de la Tour! Bah! you could not have heardaright. '

'Pardon, monsieur, ' said the clerk who had accompanied Dufour: 'I alsodistinctly heard her so express herself--but here is the ladyherself. '

The entrance of Marie, accompanied by Jeanne Favart, greatly surprisedand startled M. Derville; he glanced sharply in her face, but unableto encounter the indignant expression he met there, quickly avertedhis look, whilst a hot flush glowed perceptibly out of his palefeatures. At her request, seconded by M. Blaise, Derville repeated hisprevious story; but his voice had lost its firmness, his manner itscold impassibility. 

'I wish Monsieur Derville would look me in the face, ' said Marie, whenDerville had ceased speaking. 'I am here as a suppliant to him formercy. '

'A suppliant for mercy!' murmured Derville, partially confronting her. 

'Yes; if only for the sake of the orphan daughter of the Monsieur dela Tour who first helped you on in life, and for whom you not longsince professed regard. '

Derville seemed to recover his firmness at these words: 'No, ' he said;'not even for your sake, Marie, will I consent to the escape of such adaring criminal from justice. '

'If that be your final resolve, monsieur, ' continued Marie, withkindling, impressive earnestness, 'it becomes necessary that, atwhatever sacrifice, the true criminal--whom assuredly Hector Bertrandis not--should be denounced. '

Various exclamations of surprise and interest greeted these words, andthe agitation of Derville was again plainly visible. 

'You have been surprised, messieurs, ' she went on, 'at Hector'srefusal to afford any explanation as to how he became possessed of thepurloined note. You will presently comprehend the generous motive ofthat silence. Monsieur Derville has said, that he left the note safein his desk at half-past seven last evening. Hector, it is recognised, did not enter the house till nearly an hour afterwards; and now, Jeanne Favart will inform you _who_ it was that called on her in theinterim, and remained in the room where the desk was placed forupwards of a quarter of an hour, and part of that time alone. '

As the young girl spoke, Derville's dilated gaze rested withfascinated intensity upon her excited countenance, and he hardlyseemed to breathe. 

'It was you, mademoiselle, ' said Jeanne, 'who called on me, andremained as you describe. '

A fierce exclamation partially escaped Derville, forcibly suppressedas Marie resumed: 'Yes; and now, messieurs, hear me solemnly declare, that as truly as the note was stolen, _I_, not Hector, was the thief. '

''Tis false!' shrieked Derville, surprised out of all self-possession;'a lie! It was not then the note was taken; not till--not till'----

'Not till when, Monsieur Derville?' said the excited girl, steppingclose to the shrinking, guilty man, and still holding him with herflashing, triumphant eyes, as she placed her hand upon his shoulder;'not till _when_ was the note taken from the desk, monsieur?'

He did not, could not reply, and presently sank, utterly subdued, nerveless, panic-stricken, into a chair, with his white face buried inhis hands. 

'This is indeed a painful affair, ' said M. Blaise, after an expectantsilence of some minutes, 'if it be, as this young person appeared toadmit; and almost equally so, Monsieur Derville, if, as I more thansuspect, the conclusion indicated by the expression that has escapedyou should be the true one. '

The banker's voice appeared to break the spell that enchained thefaculties of Derville. He rose up, encountered the stern looks of themen by one as fierce as theirs, and said hoarsely: 'I withdraw theaccusation! The young woman's story is a fabrication. I--I lent, gavethe fellow the note myself. '

A storm of execration--'_Coquin! voleur! scélérat!_' burst forth atthis confession, received by Derville with a defiant scowl, as hestalked out of the apartment. 

I do not know that any law-proceedings were afterwards taken againsthim for defamation of character. Hector kept the note, as indeed hehad a good right to do, and Monsieur and Madams Bertrand are stillprosperous and respected inhabitants of Rouen, from which cityDerville disappeared very soon after the incidents just related. 

CHEAP MINOR RAILWAYS. 

'On the day that our preamble was proved, we had all a famous dinnerat three guineas a head--never saw such a splendid set-out in my life!each of us had a printed bill of fare laid beside his plate; and Ibrought it home as quite a curiosity in the way of eating!' Such wasthe account lately given us by a railway projector of that memorableyear of frenzy, 1845. A party of committee-men, agents, engineers, andsolicitors, had, in their exuberance of cash, dined at a cost of somesixty guineas--a trifle added to the general bill of charges, and ofcourse not worth thinking of by the shareholders. 

These days of dining at three guineas a head for the good of railwayundertakings are pretty well gone; and agents and counsel may wellsigh over the recollection of doings probably never to return. 

'The truth is, we were all mad in those times, ' added the individualwho owned so candidly to the three-guinea dinner. And this is the onlyfeasible way of accounting for the wild speculations of seven yearsago. There was a universal craze. All hastened to be rich on theconvenient principle of overreaching their neighbours. There wasrobbery throughout. Engineers, landholders, law-agents, and jobbers, pocketed their respective booties, and it is needless to say who wereleft to suffer. 

Looking at the catastrophe, the subject of railway mismanagement issomewhat too serious for a joke, and we have only drawn attention foran instant to the errors of the past in order to draw a warning forthe future. It must ever be lamented that the introduction of sostupendous and useful a thing as locomotion by rail, should havebecome the occasion of such widespread cupidity and folly; forscarcely ever had science offered a more gracious boon to mankind. Itis charitable to think that the foundation of the great error that wascommitted, lay in a miscalculation as to the relation betweenexpenditure and returns. We can suppose that there was a certain faithin the potency of money. To spend so much, was to bring back so much;and it became an agreeable delusion, that the more was spent, thegreater was to be the revenue. Unfortunately, it does not seem to haveoccurred to any one of the parties concerned, that all depends on howmoney is spent. There are tradesmen, we imagine, who know to theircost, that it is quite within the bounds of possibility to have thewhole of their profits swept away by rent and taxes. Curious, thatthis plain and unpleasant and very possible result did not dawn on theminds of the great railway interests. And yet, how grave andcalculating the mighty dons of the new system of locomotion--men whopassed themselves off as up to anything!

Wonderfully acute secretaries; highly-polished chairmen; directorsdisdainful of ordinary ways of transacting business. A mystery made ofthe most common-place affairs! We may be thankful that the world hasat last seen through these pretenders to superhuman sagacity. With butremarkably few exceptions, the great railway men of the time havecommitted the grossest blunders; and the stupidest blunder of all, hasbeen the confounding of proper and improper expenditure; just as if ashopkeeper were to fall into the unhappy error of imagining that hisreturns were to be in the ratio, not of the business he was to do, butof his private and unauthorised expenses. 

The instructive fact gathered from railway experience is, that thereis an expenditure which _pays_, and an expenditure that is totallywasteful. Directors have made the discovery, that costly litigation, costly and fine stations, fine porticos and pillars, fine bridges, andfinery in various other things, contribute really nothing to returns, but, on the contrary, hang a dead weight on the concern. No doubt, fine architecture is a good and proper thing in itself; but a railwaycompany is not instituted for the purpose of embellishing towns withclassic buildings. Its function is to carry people from one place toanother on reasonable terms, with a due regard to the welfare of thosewho undertake the transaction. How carriages may be run well andcheaply, yet profitably, is the sole question for determination; andeverything else is either subordinate or positively useless. Asuitable degree of knowledge on these points would, we think, tendmaterially to restore confidence in railway property. Could there beanything more cheering than the well-ascertained fact, that _norailway has ever failed for want of traffic_? In every instance, thetraffic would have yielded an ample remuneration to the shareholders, had there been no extravagant expenditure. Had the outlays beenconfined to paying for the land required, the making of the line, thelaying down of rails, the buying locomotives and carriages, andworking the same, all would have gone on splendidly; and eight, ten, twenty, and even a higher per cent. , would in many instances have beenrealised. At the present moment, the lines that are paying best arenot those on which there is the greatest amount of traffic, but thoseon which there was the most prudent expenditure. In order to judgewhether any proposed railway will pay, it is only necessary to inquireat what cost per mile, all expenses included, it is to be produced. Ifthe charge be anything under L. 5000 per mile, there is a certainty ofits doing well, even if the line be carried through a poorly-populateddistrict; and up to L. 20, 000 per mile is allowable in greattrunk-thoroughfares; but when the outlay reaches L. 50, 000 or L. 100, 000per mile, as it has done in some instances, scarcely any amount oftraffic will be remunerative. In a variety of cases, the expenditureper mile has been so enormous, that remunerative traffic becomes aphysical impossibility. In plain terms, if the whole of these lines, from end to end, were covered with loaded carriages from morning tonight, and night to morning, without intermission of a single moment, they would still be carried on at a loss! Gold may be bought toodearly, and so may railways. 

As there seems to be an appearance of a revival in railwayundertakings, it will be of the greatest importance to keep theseprinciples in view; and we are glad to observe that, taking lessonsfrom the past, the promoters of railway schemes are confining theirattention mainly to plans of a simple and economical class. Hitherto, railways have, for the most part, been adapted to leadingthoroughfares, by which certain districts have been overcrowded withlines, leaving others destitute. Branch single lines of rail appear, therefore, to be particularly desirable for these forgottenlocalities. These branch-lines may prove exceedingly serviceable, notonly as regards the ordinary demands of trade and agriculture, butthose of social convenience. Among the prominent needs of our time, isready access for the toiling multitudes to places rendered interestingby physical beauty and romantic association--fit objects for holidayexcursions. The _excursion train_, suddenly discharging its hundredsof strangers at some antique town or castle, or in the neighbourhoodof some lovely natural scenery, is one of the wonders of the day--andone, we think, of truly good omen, considering the importance thatseems to be connected with the innocent amusements of the people. Werejoice in every movement which tends to increase the number of placesto which these holiday-parties may resort, as we thoroughly believe, that the more of them we have, our people will be the more virtuous, refined, and happy. 

We lately had much pleasure in examining and learning some particularsof a short branch-railway which has added the ancient university cityof St Andrews, with its many curious objects, to the number of thoseplaces which may become the termini of excursion trains. We find fromLord Jeffrey's Life, that in this town, fifty years ago, only onenewspaper was received; a number (if it can be called a number) whichwe are assured, on the best authority, is now increased to _fifteenhundred per week_! Parallel with this fact, is that of its having, tenyears ago, a single coach _per diem_ to Edinburgh, carrying six orseven persons, while now it has three trains each day, transportingtheir scores, not merely to the capital, but to Perth and Dundeebesides. Conceiving that there is a value in such circumstances onaccount of the light which they throw on the progress of the country, we shall enter into a few particulars. 

The St Andrews Railway is a branch of the Edinburgh, Perth, andDundee, and extends somewhat less than five miles. Formed with asingle line only, over ground presenting scarcely any engineeringdifficulties, and with favour rather than opposition from theproprietors of the land, it has cost only L. 25, 000, or about L. 5000per mile. The main line agrees to work it, and before receivingpayment, to allow the shareholders 4-1/2 per cent. For their money;all further profits to be divided between the two companies, afterpaying working expenses. It was opened on the 1st July last, andhitherto the appearances of success have been most remarkable. On anassumption that the traffic inwards was equal to that outwards, thereceipts for passengers during each of the first six weeks averagedL. 52, 14s. This was exclusive of excursion trains, of which onecarried 500 persons, another between 500 and 600, a third 1500; and soon. It was also exclusive of goods and mineral traffic, which areexpected to give at least L. 1000 per annum. The result is, that thisrailway appears likely to draw not much under L. 4000 a year--a sumsufficient, after expenses are paid, to yield what would at almost anytime be a high rate of percentage to the shareholders, while, in thepresent state of the money-market, it will be an unusually ampleremuneration. 

We have instanced this economically-constructed line, because we haveseen it in operation, and can place reliance on the facts connectedwith its financial affairs. Other lines, however, more or lessadvanced, seem to have prospects equally hopeful. A similar branch isabout to be made from the same main line to the town of Leven. One isprojected to branch from the Eskbank station of the North British lineto Peebles--a pretty town on the Tweed, which, up till the presenttime, has been secluded from general intercourse, and will now, forthe first time, have its beautiful environs laid open to publicobservation. The entire cost of this line, rather more than 18 milesin length, is to be only L. 70, 000, or about L. 3600 per mile. Anotherbranch from the same line is projected to go to Lauder. One, of thesame cheap class, is to connect Aberdeen with Banchory on the Dee. Another will be constructed between Blairgowrie and a point on theScottish Midland. For such adventures, St Andrews is a model. [1]

The time is probably not far distant when single branch-lines willradiate over the country, developing local resources, as well asuniting the whole people in friendly and profitable intercourse. To bedone rightly, however, rational foresight and the plain principles ofcommerce must inspire the projectors. It will be necessary to avoidall parliamentary contests; to do nothing without a general movementof the district in favour of the line, so that no parties may besacrificed for the benefit of others; to hold rigorously to aneconomical principle of construction; to launch out into noextravagant plans in connection with the main object contemplated. These being attended to, we can imagine that, in a few years hence, there will be a set of modest little railways which will be the envyof all the great lines, simply because they enjoy the distinctiondenied to their grander brethren, of _paying_, and which will not onlyserve important purposes in the industrial economy of the country, butvastly promote the moral wellbeing of the community, in furnishing ameans of harmless amusement to those classes whose lot it is to spendmost of their days in confinement and toil. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Since the materials of this brief paper were obtained, anothershort line has been opened, extending between Elgin and Lossie-mouth. It is said to have also enjoyed in its first few weeks an amount oftraffic far beyond the calculations of the shareholders. 

THE HUMOUR OF SOUTHEY. 

Some of the critics of 'Robert the Rhymer, who lived at the lakes, 'seem to be of opinion, that his 'humour' is to be classed with suchnonentities as the philosopher's stone, pigeon's milk, and otherapocryphal myths and unknown quantities. In analysing the character ofhis intellect, they would assign to the 'humorous' attribute some suchplace as Van Troil did to the snaky tribe in his work on Iceland, wherein the title of chapter xv. Runs thus: 'Concerning Snakes inIceland' and the chapter itself thus: 'There are no snakes inIceland. ' Accordingly, were they to have the composition of thisarticle, they would abbreviate it to the one terse sentence: 'RobertSouthey had no humour. ' Now, we have no inclination to claim for theKeswick bard any prodigious or pre-eminent powers of fun, or to givehim place beside the rollicking jesters and genial merry-makers, whosehumour gives English literature a distinctive character among thenations. But that he is so void of the comic faculty as certain potentauthorities allege, we persistently doubt. Mr Macaulay affirms thatSouthey may be always read with pleasure, except when he tries to bedroll; that a more insufferable jester never existed; and that, oftenas he attempts to be humorous, he in no single occasion has succeededfurther than to be quaintly and flippantly dull. Another reviewerwarned the author of the _Doctor_, that there is no greater mistakethan that which a grave person falls into, when he fancies himselfhumorous; adding, as a consolatory corollary to this proposition, thatunquestionably the doctor himself was in this predicament. But Southeywas not so rigorously grave a person as his graver writings might seemto imply. 'I am quite as noisy as ever I was, ' he writes to an oldOxford chum, when in sober manhood. 'Oh, dear Lightfoot, what ablessing it is to have a boy's heart! it is as great a blessing incarrying one through this world, as to have a child's spirit will infitting us for the next. ' On account of this boyish-heartedness, he iscompared by Justice Talfourd to Charles Lamb himself: 'In a certainprimness of style, bounding in the rich humour which overflowed it, they were nearly akin; both alike reverenced childhood, and both hadpreserved its best attributes unspotted from the world. ' In thefifty-fifth year of his age, he characterised himself as a man

 ----by nature merry, Somewhat Tom-foolish, and comical, very; Who has gone through the world, not unmindful of pelf, Upon easy terms, thank Heaven, with himself, Along bypaths, and in pleasant ways, Caring as little for censure as praise; Having some friends, whom he loves dearly, And no lack of foes, whom he laughs at sincerely; And never for great, nor for little things, Has he fretted his guts[2] to fiddle-strings. He might have made them by such folly Most musical, most melancholy. 

No one can dip into the _Doctor_ without being convinced of thisbuoyancy of spirit, quickness of fancy, and blitheness of heart. Iteven vents its exuberance in bubbles of levity and elaborate trifling, so that all but the _very_ light-hearted are fain to say: Somethingtoo much of this. Compared with our standard humorists--the peerage, or Upper House, who sit sublimely aloft, like 'Jove in his chair, ofthe sky my lord mayor'--Southey may be but a dull commoner, one of thethird or fourth estate. But for all that, he has a comfortable fund ofthe _vis comica_, upon which he rubs along pleasantly enough, hospitably entertaining not a few congenial spirits who can put upwith him as they find him, relish his simple and often racy fare, andenjoy a decent quantum of jokes of his own growing, without piningafter the brilliant banquets of comedy spread by opulent barons of therealm. 

To support this apology for the worthy doctor by plenary proof, wouldinvolve a larger expenditure of space and letter-press than befits theeconomy of a discreet hebdomadal journal. We can but allude, and hint, and suggest, and illustrate our position in an 'off-at-a-tangent' sortof way. Look, for instance, at his ingenious quaintness in the matterof _onomatology_. What a name, he would say, is Lamb for a soldier, Joy for an undertaker, Rich for a pauper, or Noble for a tailor; Bigfor a lean or little person, and Small for one who is broad in therear and abdominous in the van; Short for a fellow six feet withouthis shoes, or Long for him whose high heels barely elevate him to theheight of five; Sweet for one who has either a vinegar face, or a foxycomplexion; Younghusband for an old bachelor; Merryweather for any onein November or February, a black spring, a cold summer, or a wetautumn; Goodenough for a person no better than he should be; Toogoodfor _any_ human creature; and Best for a subject who is perhaps toobad to be endured. Amusing, too, are the doctor's reasons for usingthe customary _alias_ of female Christian names--never calling anywoman Mary, for example, though _Mare_, being the sea, was, he said, too emblematic of the sex; but using a synonyme of better omen, andMolly therefore was to be preferred as being soft. 'If he accosted avixen of that name in her worst mood, he _mollified_ her. Martha hecalled Patty, because it came pat to the tongue. Dorothy remainedDorothy, because it was neither fitting that women should be madeDolls nor Idols. Susan with him was always Sue, because women were tobe sued; and Winifred Winny, because they were to be won. ' Or refer tothat pleasant bit of erudite trifling upon the habits of rats, beginning with the remark, that wheresoever Man goes Rat follows oraccompanies him, town or country being equally agreeable to him;entering upon your house as a tenant-at-will--his own, notyours--working out for himself a covered-way in your walls, ascendingby it from one storey to another, and leaving you the largerapartments, while he takes possession of the space between floor andceiling, as an _entresol_ for himself. 'There he has his parties, andhis revels, and his gallopades--merry ones they are--when you would beasleep, if it were not for the spirit with which the youth and bellesof Rat-land keep up the ball over your head. And you are morefortunate than most of your neighbours, if he does not prepare forhimself a mausoleum behind your chimney-piece or under yourhearthstone, retire into it when he is about to die, and very soonafford you full proof that though he may have lived like a hermit, hisrelics are not in the odour of sanctity. You have then the additionalcomfort of knowing, that the spot so appropriated will thenceforth beused as a common cemetery or a family-vault. ' In the same vein, homageis paid to Rat's imitation of human enterprise: shewing how, when theadventurous merchant ships a cargo for some foreign port, Rat goeswith it; how, when Great Britain plants a colony at the antipodes, Rattakes the opportunity of colonising also; how, when ships are sent outon a voyage of discovery, Rat embarks as a volunteer; doubling thestormy Cape with Diaz, arriving at Malabar with Gama, discovering theNew World with Columbus, and taking possession of it at the same time, and circumnavigating the globe with Magellan, and Drake, and Cook. 

Few that have once read will forget the Doctor's philologicalcontributions towards an amended system of English orthography. Assuming the propriety of discarding all reference to the etymology ofwords, when engaged in spelling them, and desirous, as a philologicalreformer, to establish a truly British language, he proposesintroducing a distinction of genders, in which the language hashitherto been defective. Thus, in anglicising the orthography of_chemise_, he resolves that foreign substantive into the home-grownneologisms, masculine and feminine, of Hemise and Shemise. Again, inletter-writing, every person, he remarks, is aware that male andfemale letters have a distinct sexual character; they should, therefore, be generally distinguished thus--Hepistle and Shepistle. And as there is the same marked difference in the writing of the twosexes, he proposes Penmanship and Penwomanship. Erroneous opinions inreligion being promulgated in this country by women as well as men, the teachers of such false doctrines he would divide into Heresiarchsand Sheresiarchs. That troublesome affection of the diaphragm, whichevery person has experienced, is, upon the same principle, to becalled, according to the sex of the patient, Hecups and Shecups;which, upon the above principle of making our language truly British, is better than the more classical form of _Hicc_ups and _Hoe_ccups;and then in its objective use we have Hiscups and Hercups; and in likemanner Histerics should be altered into Herterics, the complaint neverbeing masculine. 

None but a 'humorist' would have announced the decease of a cat insuch mingled terms and tones of jest and earnest as thefollowing:--'Alas! Grosvenor, ' writes Southey to his friend Mr Bedford(1823), 'this day poor old Rumpel was found dead, after as long andhappy a life as cat could wish for, if cats form wishes on thatsubject. His full titles were: "The Most Noble the ArchdukeRumpelstiltzchen, Earl Tomlemagne, [3] Baron Raticide, Waowhler andSkaratch. " There should be a court mourning in Catland; and if theDragon [a cat of Mr Bedford's] wear a black ribbon round his neck, ora band of crape _à la militaire_ round one of the fore-paws, it willbe but a becoming mark of respect. . . . I believe we are, each and all, servants included, more sorry for this loss than any of us would liketo confess. I should not have written to you at present had it notbeen to notify this event. ' The notification of such events, in printtoo, appears to some thinkers _too_ absurd. Others find a specialinterest in these 'trifles light as air, ' because presenting'confirmation strong' of the kindly nature of the man, taking nounamiable or affected part in the presentment of _Every Man in HisHumour_. His correspondence is, indeed, rich in traits of quiethumour, if by that word we understand a 'humane influence, softeningwith mirth the ragged inequalities of existence'--the very 'juice ofthe mind oozing from the brain, and enriching and fertilising whereverit falls'--and seldom far removed from its kindred spirit, pathos, with which, however, it is _not_ too closely akin to marry; for pathosis bound up in mysterious ties with humour--bone of its bone, andflesh of its flesh. 

Nor can we assent to the assertion, that in his ballads, metricaltales, and rhyming _jeux-d'esprit_, Southey's essay to be comicresults in merely 'quaint and flippant dulness. ' Smartly enough hetells the story of the Well of St Keyne, whereof the legend is, thatif the husband manage to secure a draught before his good dame, 'ahappy man henceforth is he, for he shall be master for life. ' But ifthe wife should drink of it first--'God help the husband _then_!' Thetraveller to whom a Cornishman narrates the tradition, compliments himwith the assumption that _he_ has profited by it in his matrimonialexperience:--

 'You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes, ' He to the Cornishman said; But the Cornishman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head. 

 'I hastened as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch; But, i' faith, she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to church. '

And with all their extravagances of expression and questionable taste, the numerous stories which Southey delighted to versify on themesdemoniac and diabolical, from the _Devil's Walk_ to the _True Balladof St Antidius_, are fraught with farcical import, and have anindividual ludicrousness all their own. That he could succeedtolerably in the mock-heroic vein, may be seen in his parody onPindar's _ariston men hydor_, entitled _Gooseberry Pie_, and in someof the occasional pieces called _Nondescripts_. Nor do we know any oneof superior ingenuity in that overwhelming profusion of epithets andcrowded creation of rhymes, which so tickle the ear and the fancy insome of his verses, and of which we have specimens almost unrivalledin the celebrated description of the cataract of Lodore, and thevivaciously ridiculous chronicle of Napoleon's march to Moscow. 

FOOTNOTES:

[2] Southey was no purist in his phraseology at times. The not veryrefined monosyllable in the text may, however, be tolerated as havinga technical relation to the fiddle-strings by hypothesis. 

[3] This patrician Bawdrons is not forgotten in Southey's verse;thus--

 Our good old cat, Earl Tomlemagne, Is sometimes seen to play, Even like a kitten at its sport, Upon a warm spring-day. 

TRACKS OF ANCIENT ANIMALS IN SANDSTONE. 

Many of our readers must have heard of the interest excited a fewyears ago by the discovery, that certain marks on the surface of slabsof sandstone, raised from a quarry in Dumfriesshire, were thememorials of extinct races of animals. The amiable and intelligent DrDuncan, minister of Ruthwell, who had conferred on society theblessing of savings-banks for the industrious poor, was the first todescribe to the world these singular chronicles of ancient life. Thesubject was afterwards brought forward in a more popular style by DrBuckland, in his lively book, the Bridgewater Treatise on Geology. Since then, examples of similar markings have been found in severalother parts of Europe, and a still greater number in America. 

Dumfriesshire is still the principal locality of these curious objectsin our island; and they are found not only in the original spot--thequarry of Corncockle Muir, but in another quarry at Craigs, near thetown of Dumfries. Ample collections of them have been made by SirWilliam Jardine, the famed naturalist, who happens to be proprietor ofCorncockle Quarry, and by Mr Robert Harkness of Dumfries, a younggeologist, who seems destined to do not a little for the illustrationof this and kindred subjects. Meanwhile, Sir William Jardine haspublished an elegant book, containing a series of drawings, in whichthe slabs of Corncockle are truthfully represented. [4]

The Annandale footmarks are impressed on slabs of the New RedSandstone--a formation not long subsequent to the coal, and remarkablefor its comparative deficiency of fossils, as if there had beensomething in its constitution unfavourable to the preservation ofanimal remains. It is curious to find that, while this is the case, ithas been favourable to the preservation of what appears at first sighta much more accidental and shadowy memorial of life--the mereimpression which an animal makes on a soft substance with its foot. Yet such fully appears to be the fact. The sandstone slabs ofCorncockle, lying in their original place with a dip of about 33degrees to the westward, and separating with great cleanness andsmoothness, present impressions of such liveliness, that there is nopossibility of doubt as to their being animal foot-tracks, and thoseof the tortoise family. A thin layer of unctuous clay between the bedshas proved favourable to their separation; and it is upon thisintervening substance that the marks are best preserved. Slab afterslab is raised from the quarry--sometimes a foot thick, sometimes onlya few inches--and upon almost every one of them are impressions found. What is very remarkable, the tracks or series of footprints pass, almost without exception, in a direction from west to east, or upwardsagainst the dip of the strata. It is surmised that the strata werepart of a beach, inclining, however, at a much lower angle, from whichthe tide receded in a westerly direction. The animals, walking downfrom the land at recess of tide, passed over sand too soft to retainthe impressions they left upon it; but when they subsequently returnedto land, the beach had undergone a certain degree of hardeningsufficient to receive and retain impressions, 'though these, ' says SirWilliam, 'gradually grow fainter and less distinct as they reach thetop of the beds, which would be the margin of drier sands nearer theland. ' He adds: 'In several instances, the tracks on one slab which weconsider to have been impressed at the same time, are numerous, andleft by different animals travelling together. They have walkedgenerally in a straight line, but sometimes turn and wind in severaldirections. This is the case in a large extent of surface, where wehave tracks of above thirty feet in length uncovered, and where oneanimal had crossed the path of a neighbour of a different species. Thetracks of two animals are also met with, as if they had run side byaide. '

With regard to the nature of the evidence in question, Dr Buckland hasvery justly remarked, that we are accustomed to it in our ordinarylife. 'The thief is identified by the impression which his shoe hasmade near the scene of his depredations. The American savage not onlyidentifies the elk and bison by the impression of their hoofs, butascertains also the time that has elapsed since the animal had passed. From the camel's track upon the sand, the Arab can determine whetherit was heavily or lightly laden, or whether it was lame. ' When, therefore, we see upon surfaces which we know to have been laid downin a soft state, in a remote era of the world's history, clearimpressions like those made by tortoises of our own time, it seems alegitimate inference, that these impressions were made by animals ofthe tortoise kind, and, consequently, such animals were among thosewhich then existed, albeit no other relic of them may have been found. From minute peculiarities, it is further inferred, that they weretortoises of different species from any now existing. Viewing suchimportant results, we cannot but enter into the feeling with which DrBuckland penned the following remarks:--'The historian or theantiquary, ' he says, 'may have traversed the fields of ancient or ofmodern battles; and may have pursued the line of march of triumphantconquerors, whose armies trampled down the most mighty kingdoms of theworld. The winds and storms have utterly obliterated the ephemeralimpressions of their course. Not a track remains of a single foot, ora single hoof, of the countless millions of men and beasts whoseprogress spread desolation over the earth. But the reptiles thatcrawled upon the half-finished surface of our infant planet, have leftmemorials of their passage, enduring and indelible. No history hasrecorded their creation or destruction; their very bones are found nomore among the fossil relics of a former world. Centuries andthousands of years may have rolled away between the time in whichthose footsteps were impressed by tortoises upon the sands of theirnative Scotland, and the hour when they were again laid bare andexposed to our curious and admiring eyes. Yet we behold them, stampedupon the rock, distinct as the track of the passing animal upon therecent snow; as if to shew that thousands of years are but as nothingamidst eternity--and, as it were, in mockery of the fleeting, perishable course of the mightiest potentates among mankind. '

The formation of the slabs, and the preservation of the footprints, are processes which the geologist can easily explain. A beach on whichanimals have left the marks of their feet, becomes sufficientlyhardened to retain the impressions; another layer of sand or mud islaid down by perhaps the next tide, covering up the first, andprotecting it from all subsequent injury. Thousands of years after, the quarryman breaks up the layers, and finds on the one surface theimpression of the animal, while the lower face of the superincumbentlayer presents a cast of that impression, thus giving us in fact adouble memorial of one event. At Wolfville, on the Bay of Fundy, SirCharles Lyell some years ago observed a number of marks on the surfaceof a red marly mud which was gradually hardening on the sea-shore. They were the footprints of the sand-piper, a bird of which he sawflights daily running along the water's edge, and often leaving thirtyor more similar impressions in a straight line, parallel to theborders of the estuary. He picked up some slabs of this dried mud, andsplitting one of them up, found a surface within which bore two linesof the same kind of footprints. Here is an example before our livingeyes, of the processes concerned in producing and preserving thefossil footprints of the New Red Sandstone. 

Some years after the Annandale footprints had attracted attention, some slab surfaces of the same formation in Saxony and England werefound bearing an impression of a more arresting character. Itresembled the impression that would be made by the palm and extendedfingers and thumb of the human hand, but a hand much thicker andflabbier than is commonly seen. The appropriate name of_Cheirotherium_ was proposed for the unknown extinct animal which hadproduced these marks. The dimensions in the several examples werevarious; but 'in all cases the prints of what appear to have been thehind-feet are considerably larger than those of the fore-feet; so muchso, indeed, that in one well-preserved slab containing severalimpressions, the former measures eight inches by five, and the latternot more than four inches by three. In this specimen, the print of thefore-foot is not more than an inch and a half in advance of that ofthe hinder one, although the distance between the two successivepositions of the same foot, or the length of a pace of the animal, isfourteen inches. It therefore appears, that the animal must have hadits posterior extremities both much larger and much longer than theanterior; but this peculiarity it possessed in common with manyexisting species, such as the frog, the kangaroo, &c. ; and beyond thisand certain appearances in the sandstone, as if a tail had beendragged behind the animal, in some sets of footsteps, but not inothers, there is nothing to suggest to the comparative anatomist anyidea of even the class of Vertebrata to which the animal should bereferred. '[5] Soon after, some teeth and fragments of bones werediscovered, by which Professor Owen was able to indicate an animal ofthe frog-family (Batrachia), but with certain affinities to thesaurian order (crocodiles, &c. ), and which must have been about thesize of a large pig. It has been pretty generally concluded, that thiscolossal frog was the animal which impressed the hand-likefoot-prints. 

At a later period, footprints of birds were discovered upon thesurfaces of a thin-bedded sandstone belonging to the New Red formationon the banks of the Connecticut River, in North America. The birds, according to Sir Charles Lyell, must have been of various sizes; someas small as the sand-piper, and others as large as the ostrich, thewidth of the stride being in proportion to the size of the foot. Thereis one set, in which the foot is nineteen inches long, and the stridebetween four and five feet, indicating a bird nearly twice the size ofthe African ostrich. So great a magnitude was at first a cause ofincredulity; but the subsequent discovery of the bones of the Moa orDinornis of New Zealand, proved that, at a much later time, there hadbeen feathered bipeds of even larger bulk, and the credibility of the_Ornithichnites Giganteus_ has accordingly been established. SirCharles Lyell, when he visited the scene of the footprints on theConnecticut River, saw a slab marked with a row of the footsteps ofthe huge bird pointed to under this term, being nine in number, turning alternately right and left, and separated from each other by aspace of about five feet. 'At one spot, there was a space severalyards square, where the entire surface of the shale was irregular andjagged, owing to the number of the footsteps, not one of which couldbe distinctly traced, as when a flock of sheep have passed over amuddy road; but on withdrawing from this area, the confusion graduallyceased, and the tracks became more and more distinct. '[6] ProfessorHitchcock had, up to that time, observed footprints of thirty speciesof birds on these surfaces. The formation, it may be remarked, is oneconsiderably earlier than any in which fossil bones or otherindications of birds have been detected in Europe. 

In the coal-field of Westmoreland county, Pennsylvania, there werediscovered in 1844, slabs marked with footprints bearing aconsiderable resemblance to those of the Cheirotherium, and believedto have been impressed by an animal of the same family, though withsome important points of distinction. The hind-feet are not so muchlarger than the fore; and the two on each side, instead of comingnearly into one row, as in the European Cheirotherium, stand widelyapart. The impressions look such as would be made by a rudely-shapedhuman hand, with short fingers held much apart; there is someappearance as if the fingers had had nails; and a protuberance likethe rudiment of a sixth finger appears at the side. This was thefirst indication of reptile life so early as the time of thecoal-formation; but as the fossil remains of a reptile have now beenfound in Old Red Sandstone, at Elgin, in Scotland, the originalimportance of the discovery in this respect may be regarded aslessened. 

Last year, some slabs from Potsdam, in Canada, were brought toEngland, and deposited in the museum of the Geological Society. Belonging as these slabs do to a formation coeval with those in whichthe earliest fossils were hitherto found, it was startling to findthem marked with numerous foot-tracks of what appeared to have beenreptiles. It seemed to shew, that the inhabitants of the world in thatearly age were not quite so low in the scale of being as hadpreviously been assumed from the facts known; and that all attempts todescribe, from positive knowledge, anything like a progression ofbeing on the face of our globe, were at least premature. ProfessorOwen had, at first, scarcely any hesitation in pronouncing thefootprints to be those of tortoises; but he afterwards changed hisviews, and expressed his belief that the impressions had been producedby small crustacean animals. Thus the views previously entertainedregarding the invertebrate character of the _fauna_ of the Silurianepoch, have ultimately remained unaffected, so far as these Potsdamslabs are concerned. 

Slabs of sandstone and shale often retain what is called theripple-mark--that is, the corrugation of surface produced by thegentle agitation of shallow water over sand or mud. We can see theseappearances beneath our feet, as we walk over the pavement of almostany of our cities. Such slabs are also occasionally marked byirregular protuberances, being the casts of hollows or cracks producedin ancient tide-beaches by shrinkage. In many instances, thefootprints of animals are marked by such lines passing through them, shewing how the beach had dried and cracked in the sun after theanimals had walked over it. In the quarries at Stourton, in Cheshire, some years ago, a gentleman named Cunningham observed slab surfacesmottled in a curious manner with little circular and oval hollows, andthese were finally determined to be the impressions produced byrain--the rain of the ancient time, long prior to the existence ofhuman beings, when the strata were formed! Since then, many similarmarkings have been observed on slabs raised from other quarries, bothin Europe and America; and fossil rain-drops are now among the settledfacts of geology. Very fine examples have been obtained from quarriesof the New Red Sandstone at Newark and Pompton, in New Jersey. SirCharles Lyell has examined these with care, and compared them with theeffects of modern rain on soft surfaces of similar materials. He says, they present 'every gradation from transient rain, where a moderatenumber of drops are well preserved, to a pelting shower, which, by itscontinuance, has almost obliterated the circular form of the cavities. In the more perfectly preserved examples, smaller drops are often seento have fallen into cavities previously made by larger ones, and tohave modified their shape. In some cases of partial interference, thelast drop has obliterated part of the annular margin of a former one;but in others it has not done so, for the two circles are seen tointersect each other. Most of the impressions are elliptical, havingtheir more prominent rims at the deeper end [a consequence of the rainfalling in a slanting direction]. We often see on the under side ofsome of these slabs, which are about half an inch thick, casts of therain-drops of a previous shower, which had evidently fallen when thedirection of the wind was not the same. Mr Redfield, by carefullyexamining the obliquity of the imprints in the Pompton quarries, ascertained that most of them implied the blowing of a strong westerlywind in the triassic period at that place. ' A certain class of theimpressions at Pompton are thought to be attributable to hail, 'beingdeeper and much more angular and jagged than the rain-prints, andhaving the wall at the deeper end more perpendicular, and occasionallyoverhanging. '[7]

FOOTNOTES:

[4] _Ichnology of Annandale. _ Lizars, Edinburgh. 1851. 

[5] _Ansted's Introduction to Geology_, i. 303. 

[6] _Lyell's Travels in North America_, i. 254. 

[7] _Quarterly Journal of Geological Society_, April, 1851. 

AITON'S TRAVELS. 

A work in any department of general literature rarely appears from thepen of a clergyman in the Church of Scotland, and therefore that towhich we are about to refer, under the title noted beneath, [8] is insome respects a curiosity. The writer, a minister settled in amountainous parish in Lanarkshire, may be said to have made aremarkable escapade for one in his obscure situation and reverendcalling. With an immense and unclerical flow of animal spirits, evidently as fond of travelling as old William Lithgow, and asgarrulous as Rae Wilson, of whose class he is a surviving type, DrAiton is quite the man to take a journey to the Holy Land; for nodifficulty in the way of toil, heat, hunger, creeping or wingedinsects, wild beasts, or still wilder savages, disturbs hisequanimity. He also never hesitates to use any expression that comesuppermost. He explicitly observes, that 'no man with the capacity of ahen, ' should fail to contribute such information as he possesses onthe sacred regions he has traversed. Alluding to some circumstances inthe voyage of St Paul, he says he has 'no desire to cook the facts. 'He talks of a supposition being 'checkmated. ' And in going along thecoast of Spain, he mentions that he took care to have 'a passingsquint at Cape St Vincent. ' Many similar oddities break out in thecourse of the narrative; not that we care much about them one way orother; it is only to be regretted that the author has by thislooseness of expression, and his loquacious dragging in of passagesfrom Scripture on all occasions, also by his inveterate love ofanecdotic illustration, done what he could to keep down a reallyclever book to an inferior standard of taste. We would hope, however, that candid readers will have a kindly consideration of the author'sintentions, and pass over much that is prosy and ridiculous for thesake of what is original and interesting. Traversing lands that havebeen described a hundred times before, it might be supposed thatlittle was left for Dr Aiton to pick up; yet every traveller has hisown method of observation. In justice to the doctor, it must beacknowledged that he made a judicious use of time during his travelsin the East, and has told us many amusing particulars of what he saw. There is, at least, always a certain graphic painting in his off-handdescriptions; as, for instance, his notice of an incident thatoccurred on his arrival in Egypt. 

'On landing at Alexandria I saw a ship unloading, and box by box werebeing handed to the lighter, according to the number each respectivelybore. Some mistake, more or less important, had apparently been madeby one of the native operatives on the occasion. Instantly two stickswere laid on his head with dreadful effect. The poor fellow seemed tobe stunned and stupified for a time. On this account it probablyhappened, that he fell into a second similar blunder, when a stick wasthrown, not horizontally, but perpendicularly, and so aimed that itstruck the socket of the eye. In one moment he lost the sight of it, and the ball hung by a ligament on his cheek. He uttered a hideousyell, and staggered; notwithstanding of which other two cudgels wereapplied to his arm while he had the power to hold it up in protectionof his head. Horror of horrors! I thought, verily in the fulfilment ofprophecy, God has been pleased to curse this garden and granary of theworld, and to permit foreigners terribly to tyrannise over itsdegraded people. ' Proceeding onward to Cairo: 'What a hurry-skurrythere was in the dark in getting into the vans at the hotel-door tobe conveyed to the Mahmoudie Canal! When I arrived, I found the bargein which we were to be conveyed both very confined and dirty. But itproceeded at tolerable speed, drawn by horses which were pursued bywell-mounted Arabs yelling, lashing, and cracking with their whips. Weall passed a fearful night of suffocation and jambing, fasting andfeasted on by millions. Some red-coated bedlamites, unfortunatelyinfatuated with wine, had to be held from jumping overboard. Theramping and stamping, and roaring and scrambling for room to sit orlie, was horrific. At last the day dawned, when matters were not quiteso bad; but we moved over our fifty miles of ditch-water to Atfeh in amanner the most uncomfortable any poor sinners ever suffered. '

The account given of his entry to Cairo is also strikingly faithful. 'When I landed at Boulac, another Oriental scene of novelty waspresented. Crowds of men and women, all in their shirts only--lazylooking-on watermen calling for employment, porters packing luggage onthe camels, donkey-boys, little active urchins, offering their asses, crying: "Here him best donkey"--"you Englese no walk"--"him kickhighest"--"him fine jackass"--"me take you to Cairo. " There were alsoplenty of custom-house folks demanding fees to which they had noright, and sturdy rascals seeking buckshish, and miserable beggarsimploring alms. Walking through this promiscuous crowd, with all thedignity they could muster, there were venerable sheiks, or Egyptianoolema, with white turbans, and long silvery beards, and tawnysinister faces. And there were passengers not a few, with a carpet-bagin the one hand and a lady hanging on the other arm, crowding from thedeck to the shore. 

'The moment I mounted the stair at the pier of Boulac, I found myselfin the red dusky haze of an Egyptian atmosphere. It was near noon, andthe rays of the hot sun trembled over the boundless Valley of the Nileon to the minarets of Cairo, and further still to the sombre Pyramids. Now, indeed, the scene before me presented a superb illusion ofbeauty. The bold range of the Mockattam Mountains, its craggy summitscut clearly out in the sky, seemed to run like a promontory into a seaof the richest verdure; here, wavy with breezy plantations of olives;there, darkened with acacia groves. Just where the mountain sinks uponthe plain, the citadel stands on its last eminence, and widely spreadbeneath lies the city--a forest of minarets, with palm-treesintermingled, and the domes of innumerable mosques rising andglittering over the sea of houses. Here and there, green gardens areislanded within that ocean, and the whole is girt round withpicturesque towers, and ramparts occasionally revealed through vistasof the wood of sycamores and fig-trees that surround it. From Boulac Iwas conveyed to the British Hotel at Cairo, the Englishman's home inEgypt, conducted by Mr Shepherd, the Englishman's friend in the East. The approach to Grand Cairo is charming and cheering, and altogetheras fanciful as if I had been carried with Aladin's lamp in my handthrough a fairy region to one of the palaces mentioned in the _ArabianNights of Entertainment_. I passed along a broad level path, full oflife and fancy, amid groves and gardens, and villas all glittering ingrandeur. At every turn, something more Oriental and magnificent thananything I had yet seen presented itself. Along the level, broadhighway, a masquerading-looking crowd was swarming towards Cairo. Ladies, wrapped closely in white veils, were carrying water on theirheads. Long rows of dromedaries loaded with luggage were movingstately forward. Donkeys at full canter, one white man riding, and twoblack men driving and thumping the poor brutes most unmercifully withshort thick sticks, were winding their way through the throng. Ladiesenveloped in flowing robes of black silk, and veiled up to the eyes, were sitting stride-leg on richly-caparisoned asses, shewing off withpomp a pair of yellow morocco slippers, which appeared on their feetfrom under their flowing robes. And before these, clearing the way, there were eunuch slaves crying: "Darak ya Khowaga-riglak! shemalak!"which probably may mean: "Stand back, and let her ladyship pass!"There were walkers and water-carriers, with goat-skins full on theirback; and fruit-sellers and orange-girls; and ourselves and othersdriving at full gallop, regardless of all the Copts, Abyssinians, Greeks, Turks, Parsees, Nubians, and Jews, which crowded the path. Butcuriosity of this sort is soon satisfied, and these novelties arepassed, when I find myself in the midst of the city, more full of mudand misery, dark, dirty twisting lanes, arched almost over byverandas, and wretchedly paved or not paved at all, full of smells anddisgusting sights--such as lean, mangy dogs, and ragged beggarsquivering with lice, and poverty-stricken people; all this more thanthe whole world can produce anywhere else, not excepting even theJewish city of Prague; which astonished me beyond comparison till Isaw the poorer portions of Cairo. '

During his stay in Cairo, the doctor visited the Great Pyramid ofGizeh, the short journey being performed early in the morning, andwith a guide. The toils and pleasures of the excursion are fairlydescribed. 'I had read so much of the bulk of the Pyramids, and theynow appeared so positively insignificant in their dimensions, that I, felt mortified; but I remembered that I had the same impression manyyears ago when first approaching the Alps; and I began to consider, that as the extreme clearness of the atmosphere gave them theappearance of proximity in the far distance, so it would also partlyaccount for the diminutive aspect they persisted in presenting. Idismounted, and scrambled up the bold ledge of rock, and found myselfalready a hundred feet above the level of the Nile. Here my Arab guideproduced cold fowl, bread, wine, and Nile water in plenty at the footof this mountain of stone, which now began to indicate its colossalmagnitude. Standing beside the pyramid, and looking from the base tothe top, and especially examining the vast dimensions of each separatestone, I thus obtained an adequate impression of the magnitude of itsdimensions, which produced a calm and speechless but elevated feelingof awe. The Arabs, men, women, and children, came crowding around me;but they seemed kind and inoffensive. I was advised to mount up to thetop before the sun gained strength; and, skipping like chamois on amountain, two Arabs took hold of me by each wrist, and a third liftedme up from behind, and thus I began, with resolution and courage, toascend the countless layers of huge stones which tower and taper tothe top. Every step was three feet up at a bound; and, really, aperpendicular hop-step-and-leap of this sort was no joke, move aftermove continuing as if for ever. I found that the Arabs did not work sosmoothly as I expected, and that one seemed at a time to be holdingback, while another was dragging me up; and this soon became verytiresome. Perceiving this, they changed their method, and I wasdirected to put my foot on the knee of one Arab, and another pulled meup by both hands, while a third pushed me behind; and thus I boundedon in my tread-mill of tedious and very tiresome exertion. I pausedhalf-way to the top, and rested at the cave. I looked up and down witha feeling of awe, and now I felt the force of Warburton's remark, whenhe calls it the greatest wonder in the world. But in the midst ofthese common-place reflections, a fit of sickness came over me. Everything turned dark before me; and now for a moment my couragefailed me; and when looking at my three savage companions--for myguide and his friend were sitting below finishing the fragments of mybreakfast, and the donkeys were munching beans--I felt myself alikedestitute of comfort and protection; and when they put forth theirhands to lift my body, I verily thought myself a murdered man. When Icame out of my faint, I found that they had gently turned me on mybelly, with my head flat upon the rock, and that they had beensprinkling my face and breast with water. A profuse perspiration brokeout, and I felt myself relieved. I rested ten or fifteen minutes, andhesitated for a moment whether to go up or down; but I had determinedthat I should reach the top, if I should perish in the attempt. Iresumed, therefore, the ascent, but with more time and caution thanbefore; and fearing to look either up or down, or to any portion ofthe frightful aspect around, I fixed my eye entirely on eachindividual step before me, as if there had been no other object in theworld besides. To encourage me by diverting my attention, the Arabschanted their monotonous songs, mainly in their own language, interspersed with expressions about buckshish, "Englese good toArabs, " and making signs to me every now and then how near we weregetting to the top. After a second _dwam_, a rest and a draught ofwater prepared me for another effort at ascending; and now, as Iadvanced, my ideas began to expand to something commensurate with thegrandeur and novelty of the scene. When I reached the top, I foundmyself on a broad area of about ten yards in every way of massivestone-blocks broken and displaced. Exhausted and overheated, I laid medown, panting like a greyhound after a severe chase. I bathed mytemples, and drank a deep, cool draught of Nile water. After inhalingfor a few minutes the fresh, elastic breeze blowing up the river, Ifelt that I was myself again. I rose, and gazed with avidity in fixedsilence, north and south, east and west. And now I felt it veryexhilarating to the spirit, when thus standing on a small, unprotectedpavement so many hundred feet above the earth, and so many thousandmiles from home, to be alone, surrounded only by three wild andferocious-like savages. The Arabs knew as well as I did that my lifeand property were in their power; but they were kind, and proud of theconfidence I had in them. They tapped me gently on the back, patted myhead, kissed my hand, and then with a low, laughing, sinister growl, they asked me for buckshish, which I firmly refused; then theylaughed, and sang and chatted as before. In calmly looking around me, one idea filled and fixed my mind, which I expressed at the time inone word--magnificence!. . . I remained long at the top of the pyramid, and naturally felt elevated by the sublimity of the scenery around, and also by the thought, that I had conquered every difficulty, andaccomplished my every purpose. The breeze was still cool, although thesun was now high in the sky. I laughed and talked with the Arabs; andadvanced with them holding my two hands, to the very edge, and lookeddown the awful precipice. Here again, with a push, or a kick, orprobably by withdrawing their hands, my days would have been finished;and I would have been buried in the Desert among the ancient kings, ormore likely worried up by hungry hyænas. I looked around at myleisure, and began carefully to read the names cut out on the stones, anxious to catch one from my own country, or of my acquaintance, butin this I did not succeed. Seeing me thus occupied, one of the Arabsdrew from his pocket a large murderous-looking _gully_, and when headvanced towards me with it in his hand, had I believed the tenth partof what I had heard or read, I might have been afraid of my life. Butwith a laughing squeal, he pointed to a stone, as if to intimate thatI should cut out my name upon it. Then very modestly he held out hishand for buckshish, and I thought him entitled to two or threepiasters. . . . In coming down, I felt timid and giddy for awhile, andwas afraid that I might meet the fate of the poor officer from India, who, on a similar occasion, happened to miss his foot, and wentbouncing from one ledge of stone to another, towards the bottom, likea ball, and that long after life was beaten out of him. Seeing this, the Arabs renewed their demand for buckshish, and with moreperseverance than ever; but I was equally firm in my determinationthat more money they should not have till I reached the bottom. Atlast they took me by both hands as before, and conducted me carefullyfrom step to step. By and by I jumped down from one ledge to anotherwithout their assistance, till I reached the mouth of the entrance tothe interior. I descended this inlet somewhat after the manner of asweep going down a chimney, but not quite so comfortable, I believe. In this narrow inclined plane, I not only had to encounter sand-flies, and every variety of vermin in Egypt, but I was afraid of serpents. The confined pass was filled, too, with warm dust, and the heat andsmoke of the lights we carried increased the stifling sensation. Inthese circumstances, I felt anxious only to go as far as would enableme to fire a pistol with effect in one of the vaults. This is wellworth while, inasmuch as the sound of the explosion was louder thanthe roar of a cannon. In fact, it almost rent the drum of my ears, androlled on like thunder through the interior of the pyramid, multipliedand magnified as it was by a thousand echoes. The sound seemed tosink, and mount from cavity to cavity--to rebound and to divide--andat length to die in a good old age. The flash and the smoke produced, too, a momentary feeling of terror. Having performed this marvellousfeat, I was nowise ambitious to qualify myself further for giving adescription of the interior. '

After visiting Suez, the author returned to Cairo, descended to thecoast of the Levant, and took shipping for Jaffa, on the route toJerusalem. Every point of interest in the holy city is described asminutely as could be desired. Next, there was a visit to the Dead Sea, regarding which there occur some sagacious remarks. The doctorrepudiates the ordinary belief, that the waters of this famed lake arecarried off by exhalation. Six million tons of water are dischargedevery day by the Jordan into the Dead Sea; and to suppose that thisvast increase is wholly exhaled, seems to him absurd. He deems it morelikely that the lake issues by subterranean passages into the Red Sea. The only remark that occurs to us on this point is, that the saltnessof the lake must be held as a proof that there is at least a largeexhalation from the surface. 

Dr Aiton also visited Bethlehem, where he saw much to interest him;and had the satisfaction of being hospitably entertained by thefathers of the Greek convent. 'I left the convent, ' he says, 'soothedand satisfied much with all that I had seen, and went round to take aparting and more particular view of the plain where the shepherdsheard the angels proclaim: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earthpeace, good-will towards men!" The plain is still mainly underpasture, fertile and well watered, and there I saw shepherds stilltending their flocks. These shepherds have great influence over theirsheep. Many of them have no dogs. Their flocks are docile anddomestic, and not as the black-faced breed of sheep in Scotland, scouring the hills like cavalry. The shepherd's word spoken at anytime is sufficient to make them understand and obey him. He sleepsamong them at night, and in the morning he leadeth them forth to drinkby the still waters, and feedeth them by the green pastures. He walksbefore them slow and stately; and so accustomed are the sheep to beguided by him, that every few bites they take they look up withearnestness to see that he is there. When he rests during the heat ofthe day in a shady place, they lie around him chewing the cud. He hasgenerally two or three favourite lambs which don't mix with the flock, but frisk and fondle at his heel. There is a tender intimacy betweenthe Ishmaelite and his flock. They know his voice, and follow him, andhe careth for the sheep. He gathereth his lambs, and seeketh out hisflock among the sheep, and gently leadeth them that are with young, and carrieth the lambs in his bosom. In returning back to Jerusalem, Ihalted on a rugged height to survey more particularly, and enjoy thescene where Ruth went to glean the ears of corn in the field of herkinsman Boaz. Hither she came for the beginning of barley harvest, because she would not leave Naomi in her sorrow. "Entreat me not toleave thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Wherethou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so tome, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me. " How simpleand tender! Here, when looking around me, honoured I felt for ever beher memory, not only for these touching sentiments, worthy of our raceeven before the fall, and when the image of God was not yet effaced;but also in respect that she who uttered these words was thegreat-grandmother of David, and as of the generation of Jesus. Herealso I looked back to the city of Bethlehem with lingering regret, uttering a common-place farewell to the scene, but never to itshallowed recollections. '

We may conclude our extracts with a passage descriptive of thedoctor's departure from the Holy Land, from which it will be seen thathe was not indisposed to keep his part when necessity demanded. 'Thesteamer _Levant_ was ordered to sail at midnight on the day it arrivedat Jaffa, and there was a vast crowd and great confusion at theembarkation. All the villainy of the Arab watermen was in activeoperation. With the assistance of Dr Kiat's Italian servant, anarrangement had been made that I and my friend were to be taken out tothe steamer for a stipulated sum; but while all the boats of thenatives were going off; ours was still detained at the pier under avariety of flimsy pretences. Then a proposal was made to carry theluggage back to the shore, and to take away the boat somewhere else, apromise being given by the Arabs that they would return with it inplenty of time to take us on board before midnight. By this time, Iwas too old a traveller amid ruffians of this sort to permit so simplea fraud to be perpetrated. The crew insisted on taking hold of theoars, and my friend and I persisted in preventing them. We soon sawthat nothing but determined courage would carry the day. I thereforedid not hesitate to grasp the skipper firmly by the throat till Ialmost choked him, threatening to toss him headlong into the sea. Wealso threatened loudly to go back to the English consul, and to havethem punished for their conduct. Awed a little, and seeing that wewere not to be so easily done as they expected, notwithstanding thatwe had been so simple as to pay our fare before we started, they didat last push off the boat; but it was only after a fashion of theirown. Every forty yards their oars struck work, and they demanded moremoney. The sea was rough even beyond the breakers, and the gravestonewhich I had seen in the garden at Jaffa was enough to convince me, that the guiding of a boat by savages in the dark, through the neck ofsuch a harbour, with whirling currents and terrifying waves, was amatter of considerable danger. There was no remedy for it, butcontinuing to set the crew at defiance, knowing that they could notupset the boat without endangering their own lives as well as ours. They wetted us, however, purposely, with the spray, and did their bestto frighten us, by rocking the boat like a cradle. First one piaster(about twopence-halfpenny) was given to the skipper, then the boat wasadvanced about a hundred yards, when the oars were laid down oncemore. Another row was the consequence, at the end of which anotherpiaster was doled out to him, and forward we moved till we were fairlywithin cry of the ship, when I called out for assistance, and theypushed us directly alongside, behind the paddle-box. Here again theydetained the luggage, and demanded more buckshish; but I laid hold ofthe rope hanging down from the rails of the steamer, and crying to mycompanion to sit still and watch our property, I ran up the side ofthe ship and called for the master, knowing that the captain was onshore. Looking down upon them, he threatened to sink them in the oceanif they did not bring everything on deck in a minute. When I saw theportmanteaus brought up, and my friend and I safely on board, Ithought that all was well enough, although we had got a ducking in thesurf; but in a little, my friend found that he had been robbed of hispurse, containing two sovereigns and some small money; but nobodycould tell whether this had been done in the crowd on the pier, orwhen he was in the boat, or when helped up the side of the ship. Theanchor was weighed about midnight, and we steamed along the coast ofSamaria, towards the once famous city and seaport of Herod. '

Having taken the liberty to be jocular on the doctor's oddities ofexpression, we beg to say, that notwithstanding these and othereccentricities, the work he has produced is well worthy of perusal, and of finding a place in all respectable libraries. 

FOOTNOTES:

[8] _The Lands of the Messiah, Mahomet, and the Pope, as Visited in1851_. By John Aiton, D. D. , Minister of Dolphinton. Fullarton & Co. 1852. 

GLEANING IN SCOTLAND. 

BY A PRACTITIONER. 

Like most other ubiquitous customs, corn-gleaning has been frequentlydescribed by the painter and the poet, yet I much question whether inany case the picture is true to nature. A certain amount of idealismis infused into all the sketches--indeed, in the experience of numbersof readers, this is the sole feature in most of them. Such a defect iseasily accounted for. Those who have depicted the custom werepractically unacquainted with its details, and invariably made thesacred story the model of their picture, without taking intoconsideration the changes induced by time or local peculiarity. Eventhe beautiful and glowing description of English corn-gleaning givenby Thomson, is felt by practical observers to be greatly too much ofthe Oriental hue, too redolent of the fragrance of a fanciful Arcadia. It is a pity that this interesting custom is not more faithfullytranscribed into our national poetry; and it is with the hope that afuture Burns may make the attempt, that the writer of this articleventures to give a short history of his gleaning-days, believing thesubject to be interesting enough to engage the attention of thegeneral reader. 

Though born amid the grandeur and sublimity of Highland scenery, Iwas, at a very early age, brought to reside in a small village on theeast coast--small now, but once the most famous and important town inthat part of Scotland. Among the scenes of these times, none stand outmore vividly than the 'gathering-days'--the harvest of the year'senjoyment--the time when a whole twelvemonth's happiness wasconcentrated in the six weeks' vacation of the village-school. I donot recollect the time when I began to glean--or _gather_, as it islocally termed--probably I would, when very young, follow the othersto the near farms, and gradually become, as I grew older, a regulargleaner. At that time the gleaners in our district were divided intotwo gangs or parties. One of these was headed by four old women, whoseshearing-days were past; and as they were very peaceable, decentbodies, it was considered an honour to get attached to their band. Theother was composed of the wilder spirits of the place, who thoughtnothing of jumping dikes, breaking hedges, stealing turnips, andcommitting other depredations on the farms which they visited. Fortunately, my quiet disposition, and supposed good character, procured my admittance into the more respectable gang; and I had thehonour of sharing its fortunes during the five or six years Icontinued a gleaner. I was surprised to see one of these old ladiestoddling about the village only a few weeks ago, though hergathering-days are long since past. She is the last survivor of thequorum, and is now fast fading into dotage. 

Although the two gleaning-parties never assumed a positive antagonism, they took care to conceal their movements from each other as well aspossible. When one of our party received information of a field being'ready, ' the fact was secretly conveyed to all the members, with aninjunction to be 'in such a place at such an hour' on the followingmorning; and the result generally was, that we had a considerableportion of the field gleaned before the other gang arrived. But we didnot always act on previous information. Many a morning we departed onthe search, and frequently wandered all day without 'lifting a head. 'These were the best times for us young ones, whose hearts were toolight to care for more than the fun of the thing, as we then had aglorious opportunity of getting a feast of bramble-berries and wildraspberries in the woods and moors; but to the older members of ourparty the disappointment was anything but pleasant. 

I have spoken of a field being _ready_. Now, to some readers, this mayconvey a very erroneous idea. We learn that in early times not onlywere the gleaners admitted among the sheaves, or allowed to 'followthe shearers, ' as the privilege is now termed, but, in a certaininstance, the reapers were commanded to leave a handful now and thenfor the gleaner. Now, that custom is entirely changed: the sheaves areall taken away from the field; and instead of the reapers leavinghandfuls expressly for the gleaners, the farmer endeavours by rakingto secure as much as possible of what they accidentally leave on thestubble. I am not inclined to quarrel with the condition that requiresthe stocks to be removed ere the gleaners gain admittance; becausemany would be tempted to pilfer, and besides, the ground on which theystand could not be reached. But there is no doubt that the custom ofgleaning was originally a public enactment; while the fact that it hasspread over the whole earth, and descended to the present time, shewsthat it still exists on the statute-book of justice, in all the lengthand breadth of its original signification; and it amounts almost to avirtual abrogation of the privilege when the stubble is thus gleaned. At all events, if these sentiments are not in consonance with the newlights of the day, let them be pardoned in a _ci-devant_ gleaner. 

Upon arriving at a field, our first object was to choose a locality. If we were first on the ground, we took a careful survey of itsgeographical position, and acted accordingly. When the field waslevel, and equally exposed, it mattered little to what part we went;but in the event of its being hilly, or situated near a wood, we hadto consider where the best soil lay, and where the sun had shone most. It was in the discovery of these important points that the sagacityand experience of our aged leaders were most brilliantly displayed, and gave to our party an immense superiority over the other, whosescience was much more scanty; it therefore happened that we hadgenerally the largest quantity and best quality of grain. Thesepreliminaries being settled--and they generally took less time than Ihave done to write--we began work, commencing, of course, at the endof the field by which we entered, and travelling up or down the rigs. 

The process of gleaning may be generally considered a very simple one;but in this, as in everything else, some knowledge is necessary, andno better proof of this could be had, than in the quantities gatheredby different persons in the same space of time. A careless orinexperienced gatherer could easily be detected by the size and_shape_ of his single. The usual method practised by a good gleanerwas as follows:--Placing the left hand upon the knee, or behind theback, the right was used to lift the ears, care being taken to graspthem close by the 'neck. ' When the right hand had gathered perhapstwenty or thirty ears, these were changed into the left hand; theright was again replenished from the ground; and this process wascontinued till the left was full, or rather till the gleaner heard oneof his or her party exclaim: 'Tie!' when the single was obliged to becompleted. Thus it is clear that a good eye and a quick hand areessential to a good gleaner. 

Whenever one of the members of the party found that the left hand wasquite full, he or she could compel the others to finish their singleswhether their hand was full or not, by simply crying theafore-mentioned word 'Tie!' At this sound, the whole band proceeded tofasten their bundles, and deposit them on the rig chosen for theirreception. The process of 'tying' it is impossible to explain onpaper; but I can assure my readers it afforded great scope for tasteand ingenuity. Few, indeed, could do it properly, though the singlesof some were very neat. The best 'tyer' in our party, and indeed inthe district, was a little, middle-aged woman, who was a diligent, rapid gatherer, and generally the first to finish her handful. Hersingles were perfectly round, and as flat at the top as if laid with aplummet. Having finished tying, we laid down our singles according toorder, so that no difficulty might be felt in collecting them again, and so proceeded with our labour. 

When we got to the end of the field, the custom was, to finish ourhandfuls there, and retrace our steps for the purpose of collectingthe deposits, when each of us tied up our collected bundles at theplace from which we originally started. To the lover of thepicturesque, the scene while we sat resting by the hedge-side, was oneof the most beautiful that can be imagined. Spread over the field inevery direction were the gleaners, busily engaged in their cheerfultask; while the hum of their conversation, mingling with the melody ofthe insect world, the music of the feathery tribes, and the ripple ofthe adjoining burn, combined to form a strain which I still hear inthe pauses of life. 

On our homeward road from a successful day's, gathering, how merry weall were, in spite of our tired limbs and the load upon our heads!Indeed it was the load itself that made us glad; and we should havebeen still merrier if that had been heavier. How sweet it was to feelthe weight of our industry--no burden could possibly be more grateful;and I question much whether that was not the happiest moment in Ruth'sfirst gleaning-day, when she trudged home to her mother-in-law withthe ephah of barley, the produce of her unflagging toil. 

When harvest was over, and the chill winds swept over cleared andgleaned fields, our bond of union was dissolved, each retired to hisrespective habitation, and, like Ruth, 'beat out that he had gleaned. 'In many cases, the result was a sufficient supply of bread to thefamily for the ensuing winter. It was singular that, during the restof the year, little or no intercourse was maintained between those whowere thus associated during harvest. They lived together in the samedegree of friendship as is common among villagers, but I could neverobserve any of that peculiar intimacy which it was natural to supposesuch an annual combination would create. They generally returned totheir ordinary occupations, and continued thus till the sickle wasagain heard among the yellow corn, and the _stacks_ were growing inthe barn-yard. Then, as if by instinct, the members of the variousbands, and the independent stragglers, left their monotonous tasks, and eagerly entered on the joys and pleasures of the gathering-days. 

I might add many reminiscences of the few seasons I spent in thismanner; but I am afraid that, however interesting they might prove inrural districts, they are too simple to interest the general reader. Let me observe, however, before concluding, that the great majority ofthe farmers at the present day are decidedly unfavourable to gleaning, although the veneration that is generally entertained for what isancient, and the traditionary sacredness which surrounds thisparticular custom, prevent them from openly forbidding itscontinuance. They have introduced, however, laws and rules whichinfringe sadly its original proportions, and which, in many instances, are made the instruments of oppression. 

WOMEN IN SAVAGE LIFE. 

The division of labour between the man and wife in Indian life is notso unequal, while they live in the pure hunter state, as many suppose. The large part of a hunter's time, which is spent in seeking game, leaves the wife in the wigwam, with a great deal of time on her hands;for it must be remembered that there is no spinning, weaving, orpreparing children for school--no butter or cheese making, or athousand other cares which are inseparable from the agriculturalstate, to occupy her skill and industry. Even the art of theseamstress is only practised by the Indian woman on a few things. Shedevotes much of her time to making moccasons and quill-work. Herhusband's leggins are carefully ornamented with beads; his shot-pouchand knife-sheath are worked with quills; the hunting-cap is garnishedwith ribbons; his garters of cloth are adorned with a profusion ofsmall white beads, and coloured worsted tassels are prepared for hisleggins. In the spring, the corn-field is planted by her and theyoungsters, in a vein of gaiety and frolic. It is done in a few hours, and taken care of in the same spirit. It is perfectly voluntarylabour, and she would not be scolded for omitting it; for all labourwith Indians is voluntary. --_Schoolcraft's Indian Tribes_. 

LANGUAGE OF THE LAW. 

If a man would, according to law, give to another an orange, insteadof saying, 'I give you that orange, ' which one would think would bewhat is called in legal phraseology 'an absolute conveyance of allright and title therein, ' the phrase would run thus:--'I give you alland singular my estate and interest, right, title, and claim, andadvantage of and in that orange, with all its rind, skin, juice, pulp, and pips, and right and advantages therein, with full power to bite, cut, suck, and otherwise eat the same, or give the same away, as fullyand as effectually as I, the said A. B. , am now inclined to bite, cut, suck, or otherwise eat the same orange or give the same away, with orwithout its rind, skin, juice, pulp, or pips, anything heretofore orhereinafter, or in any other deed or deeds, instrument or instruments, of what nature or kind soever, to the contrary in anywisenotwithstanding;' with much more to the same effect. Such is thelanguage of lawyers; and it is gravely held by the most learned menamong them, that by the omission of any of these words, the right tothe said orange would not pass to the person for whose use the samewas intended. --_Newspaper paragraph_. 

CHANCES OF LIFE IN AMERICA. 

10, 268 infants are born on the same day and enter upon lifesimultaneously. Of these, 1243 never reach the anniversary of theirbirth; 9025 commence the second year; but the proportion of deathsstill continues so great, that at the end of the third only 8183, orabout four-fifths of the original number, survive. But during thefourth year the system seems to acquire more strength, and the numberof deaths rapidly decreases. It goes on decreasing until twenty-one, the commencement of maturity and the period of highest health. 7134enter upon the activities and responsibilities of life--more thantwo-thirds of the original number. Thirty-five comes, the meridian ofmanhood, 6302 have reached it. Twenty years more, and the ranks arethinned. Only 4727, or less than half of those who entered lifefifty-five years ago, are left. And now death comes more frequently. Every year the ratio of mortality steadily increases, and at seventythere are not 1000 survivors. A scattered few live on to the close ofthe century, and at the age of one hundred and six the drama is ended;the last man is dead. --_Albany Journal_. 

A SONG. 

 The little white moon goes climbing Over the dusky cloud, Kissing its fringes softly, With a love-light, pale as shroud-- Where walks this moon to-night, Annie? Over the waters bright, Annie? Does she smile on your face as you lift it, proud? God look on thee--look on thee, Annie! For I shall look never more!

 The little white star stands watching Ever beside the moon; Hid in the mists that shroud her, And hid in her light's mid-noon: Yet the star follows all heaven through, Annie, As my soul follows after you, Annie, At moon-rise and moon-set, late and soon: Oh, God watch thee, God watch thee, Annie, For I can watch never more!

 The purple-black sky folds loving, Over far sea, far land; The thunder-clouds, looming eastward, Like a chain of mountains stand. Under this July sky, Annie, Do you hear waves lapping by, Annie? Do you walk, with the hills on either hand? Oh, God love thee, God love thee, Annie, For I love thee evermore!

LONGEVITY OF QUAKERS. 

Quakerism is favourable to _longevity_, it seems. According to lateEnglish census returns, the average age attained by members of thispeaceful sect in Great Britain is fifty-one years, two months, andtwenty-one days. Half of the population of the country, as is seen bythe same returns, die before reaching the age of twenty-one, and theaverage duration of human life the world over is but thirty-threeyears; Quakers, therefore, live a third longer than the rest of us. The reasons are obvious enough. Quakers are temperate and prudent, areseldom in a hurry, and never in a passion. Quakers, in the very midstof the week's business--on Wednesday morning--retire from the world, and spend an hour or two in silent meditation at the meeting-house. Quakers are diligent; they help one another, and the fear of want doesnot corrode their minds. The journey of life to them is a walk ofpeaceful meditation. They neither suffer nor enjoy intensity, butpreserve a composed demeanour always. Is it surprising that their daysshould be long in the land?--_National Intelligencer_. 

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