The American Quarterly Review, No. 17,
by Various

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Title: The American Quarterly Review, No. 17, March 1831

Author: Various

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THE AMERICAN QUARTERLY REVIEW.

No. XVII.

MARCH, 1831.

Philadelphia: CAREY & LEA.

SOLD IN PHILADELPHIA BY E. L. CAREY & A. HART. NEW-YORK, BY G. & C. & H. CARVILL.

LONDON:--R. J. KENNETT, 59 GREAT QUEEN STREET. PARIS:--A. & W. GALIGNANI, RUE VIVIENNE.

AMERICAN QUARTERLY REVIEW.

No. XVII.

MARCH, 1831.

ART. I.--France in 1829-30. By LADY MORGAN. Author of "France in 1816," "Italy," &c. &c. &c. 2 vols. J. & J. Harper: New-York.

It was that solemn hour of the night, when, in the words of the poet, "creation sleeps;"--a silence as of the dead reigned amid the streets and alleys of the great city of Dublin, interrupted, ever and anon, only by the solitary voice of the watchman, announcing the time, and the prospects of fair or foul weather for the ensuing day. Even the noise of carriages returning from revels and festive scenes of various kinds, was no longer heard--

"The diligence of trades and noiseful gain, And luxury more late, asleep were laid: All was the night's:"

All! save the inhabitants of one mansion, situated in Kildare street, who were still invading nature's rest. Why were they alone up and stirring? Why were they debarred from taking their needful repose, and obliged to employ the time which should have been devoted to it, in active occupation? The reason is easily understood. Early in the morning, the master and mistress were to set off on a trip to Paris, and there was no small quantity of "packing up" yet to be done. Trunks innumerable lay scattered about a romantically furnished bed-chamber; some were partly filled with different articles of female habiliment; others seemed to be appropriated to literary purposes, and books without number, and of all descriptions, were lying around them--here was a pile of novels, amongst which, the titles of "The Novice of St. Dominick," "Ida of Athens," "The Wild Irish Girl," &c. &c. could be discerned--there was a heap of "Travels," composed of "Italy," "France in 1816," and others:--a couple of volumes, entitled "Life and Times of Salvator Rosa," were reposing in graceful dignity on the open lid of a portmanteau. Several maids were exerting all their activity to get every thing properly arranged; all was bustle and preparation.

Adjoining the chamber was a boudoir, furnished likewise in the most romantic manner, in which sat a lady of even a more romantic appearance than that of either of the apartments. How shall we describe her? She certainly (we must tell the truth, and shame you know whom) did not seem to be of that delightful age, in which a due regard to veracity would allow us to apply to her the line of the poet, "Le printemps dans sa fleur sur son visage est peint." Her cheeks, to be sure, were deeply tinged with a roseate hue, but it was not that with which nature loves to paint the face of spring; the colour proved too palpably, that it had been placed there by the exercise of those "curious arts" with which the sex are enabled to revive dim charms, "and triumph in the bloom of fifty-five." Her dress was romantic in the extreme. Of the unity of time, at all events, it was in direct violation, for its "gay rainbow colours," and modish arrangement, were out of all keeping with her matronly age. One would easily have inferred from it that she was fully impressed with the conviction, that the years which had glided over her head, were not of the old-fashioned kind that contain twelve months, or at least, that she did not consider the lapse of time as at all calculated to impair the attractions of her physiognomy, however prejudicial its effect might be upon the faces of the rest of the female part of the creation. In her countenance there was such an expression of blended affectation and self-complacency, that it was impossible to look upon it without feeling an inclination to smile. She was sitting near a prettily ornamented writing-desk, surmounted by a mirror (in which, by the way, she always found her greatest admirer), with her head reclining on her open hand, her elbow resting on a volume which bore on its back the appropriate title of "The Book of the Boudoir," and her eyes directed, we need hardly say where,--for who does not love to be admired? Her reflections were suddenly disturbed by a knock at the door, which she answered by an "Entrez!" "Ah, Sir Charles, c'est vous," she lisped, as the door opened, and a person in male attire entered, "eh bien, is every thing prêt for our voyage?" "Yes, my dear"--we presume, from this appellation, that the gentleman was her caro sposo, as she might say,--"or at least every thing will be ready shortly; but let me essay again to dissuade you from this foolish expedition"--"de grâce, Sir Charles, ayez pitié de moi; do not pester me with your bétises; I am determined to faire une autre visite to my cher Paris, so that all you may say will be tout à fait inutile." "Well," sighed the caro sposo, "just as you please," and he returned to direct the "packing up," while she began to revel in the anticipations of triumphs, both personal and intellectual, which she intended to gain in the fashionable and literary capital of the world. Alas! "oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises."

Who is this lady? Had she lived in the days of Juvenal, it might have been supposed that he had her in his eye, when he drew, in his sixth satire, the picture of the "greatest of all plagues"--had her existence been cast in the time of the prince of French comic writers, she would undoubtedly have been presumed to be the prototype of the heroine in one of his most exquisite comedies; we need hardly say, therefore, that she is, in the words of Boileau, "une précieuse,

"Reste de ces esprits jadis si renommés Que d'un coup de son art Molière a diffamés."

Pity, then, kind reader, pity the lot of the unfortunate gentleman whom we have just introduced to your acquaintance. A further account of this dame may prove not unacceptable.

Her father was an honest actor, accustomed to afford great delight to those deities who inhabit the one shilling galleries of English and Irish theatres, and to receive, himself, vast gratification from worshipping at the shrine of Bacchus. The daughter having given early indications of quickness and pertness, came to be considered quite a genius by her family and friends, whose natural partiality soon induced her to entertain the same opinion. Determined, accordingly, not to hide her light under a bushel, she made her appearance before the world as an authoress, from which it may very reasonably be inferred that she had not yet attained the years of discretion. Her début, of course, was as a wanderer in the realms of imagination, alias, a novel-writer, and in this capacity she continued to make the public stare for a series of years. We say stare, for we can find no more appropriate word for expressing the feelings which her fictions are calculated to excite. With plots of almost incomprehensible absurdity, they combine a style more inflated than any balloon in which Madame Blanchard ever sailed through the regions of air--a language, or rather jargon, composed of the pickings of nearly every idiom that ever did live, or is at present in existence, and sentiments which would be often of a highly mischievous tendency, if they were not rendered ridiculous by the manner in which they are expressed. The singularity of these productions excited a good deal of sensation, and, if we believe her own words, she was placed by them "in a definite rank among authors, and in no undistinguished circle of society." In some of the principal journals, however, the lady was severely taken to task, at the same time that she was counselled to obtain for herself a partner in weal and wo, by which she might be brought down from her foolish vagaries, to the sober realities of domestic duty. Wonderful to relate, she followed the advice of those whom her vanity must have taught her to consider as her bitterest foes, namely critics,--and as

"Nought but a genius can a genius fit, A wit herself, Amelia weds a wit."

This wit was a regular knight of the pestle and mortar--a physician, whose pills and draughts had acquired for him the enviable right of placing that dignified appellation, Sir, before his Christian name, by which our authoress became entitled to be addressed as "Your Ladyship," as much as if she had married an Earl or a Marquis. Oh! how delighted the ci-devant plain "Miss" must have been at hearing the servants say to her, "Yes, my lady,"--"No, my lady."--The year in which the ceremony was performed that gave her a lord and master, we cannot precisely ascertain; but as the happy pair favoured the capital of France with their presence in 1816, it may not be unreasonable to suppose, that they went there to spend the honeymoon. Miraculous as are the changes which matrimony sometimes operates, it was powerless in its influence upon her Ladyship's propensities, and, consequently, not very long after returning to her "maison bijou" in Dublin, she put forth a quarto! with the magnificent title of "France." There are phenomena in the physical world, in the moral world, in the intellectual world, but this book was a phenomenon that beat them all. It was absolutely wonderful how so much ignorance, nonsense, vanity, and folly, could be compressed within the compass even of a quarto. All the sense that could be discerned in it, was contained in four or five essays, upon Love, Law and Physic, and Politics, contributed by Sir the husband. Being anxious that "France" should have a companion, she subsequently made an expedition to the land of the Dilettanti, in company with the dear man who had made her, "she trusts, a respectable, and she is sure, a happy mistress of a family," and forthwith "Italy" appeared to sustain her well-earned reputation for qualities, which she has the singular felicity of possessing without exciting envy. But her "never ending, still beginning" pen, was not satisfied with two volumes as the fruits of her Italian campaigning, especially as there happened to be a goodly quantity of memoranda in the "diary" which had not yet been turned to any use. Some subject, therefore, was to be hit upon for another publication, in which they could be inserted, when beat out into a sizeable shape; and what could be better adapted for that purpose than the biography of a great Italian artist? The life of poor Salvator Rosa was, in consequence, attempted. Just think of making one of the greatest geniuses that ever lived, a peg to hang notes upon! The next offspring of her Ladyship's brain, was, we believe, another novel, which was as like its predecessors as possible. In the period that elapsed between this birth, and the moment in which we have had the honour of introducing her to our readers, her literary family was increased by another child, with the delightful name of "The Book of the Boudoir."

We hope we have not been understood as meaning to insinuate, that because her Ladyship is the mother of a couple of dozen of volumes, she is on that account a précieuse ridicule. This was far, very far from our intention. None can take more pleasure than ourselves in rendering all homage to genuine female talent, employed for useful and honourable purposes, or be more willing to acknowledge the peculiar excellence by which its productions are frequently marked. Were it our pleasant duty at present to notice the works of an Edgeworth, a Hemans, a Mitford, a Sedgwick, or of any others of that fair and brilliant assemblage, who reflect so great a lustre upon the literature of this age, we should use language as eulogistic as their warmest admirers could desire. But we have to do now with a person of a very different description from those bright ornaments of their sex--with one in whose mind, whatever flowers Nature may originally have planted, have been almost completely choked by the rank weeds of ignorance, presumption, frivolity, and vanity beyond measurement--who, in a list of works as long, to use one of her own delicate illustrations, as "Leporello's catalogue of Don Juan's mistresses," has given little or no aid to the cause of virtue generally, or evinced the slightest anxiety to improve and benefit her sex, but has devoted all her faculties to the erection of an altar on which she might worship herself, and only herself--who has even afforded cause, by the frequently extreme levity of her expressions, for the charge of lending countenance to licentiousness and impiety--whose writings, in fine, are calculated to inflict serious injury upon the tastes, the understandings, and the hearts of her youthful female readers, by accustoming them to a vicious and ridiculous style, by filling their minds with false and perverted sentiments and wrong impressions upon some of the most important matters, and by setting before them the example of a woman who boasts of being a member of no undistinguished circle of society, and yet constantly violates those laws of delicacy and refinement, the full observance of which is indispensable for every female who aspires to the name and character of a lady.

Pale Aurora began now to appear, "Tiphoni croceum linquens cubile," in vulgar parlance, day began to break. Behold our couple setting forth on their Parisian expedition. Some months afterwards, the "maison bijou," in Kildare street, again was illumined by the presence of our fair traveller, whose pen was soon mended, dipped in ink, and busily employed. In due time its labours were brought to a termination, and two goodly volumes were ushered into the light of day, purporting to contain an account of "France in 1829-30." These are the identical volumes which it is our design in this article to notice.

"Facit indignatio versus," exclaimed the old Roman satirist, and "indignation makes us write," would we exclaim, in assigning our motives for devoting a number of our pages to "France in 1829-30," could we for a moment be persuaded that our readers would credit the assertion. It seems to us, that we already behold every one of them smiling in derision, and giving an incredulous shake of the head, at the bare idea of a cold-blooded reviewer being actuated by indignant feelings to place his critical lance in rest, and run a course against an unfortunate author. We must, nevertheless, be permitted to protest, that we do feel a considerable quantity of very honest and virtuous indignation against the trash last put forth by Miladi--quite as much, we are sure, as impelled Juvenal to the composition of his searing satires. We may be told, however, that we are waging battle with a lady, and that we should be upon our guard not to give fresh cause for the exclamation, that "the age of chivalry is gone." A lady, true; but, when in your boasted "age of chivalry," persons of her sex buckled on armour and rushed into the melée, were they spared by the courteous knights with whom they measured swords? Did not Clorinda receive her death wound from the hand of Tancred? And why should the Amazon who wields the pen, be more gently dealt with than she who meddles with cold iron? In literature, as in war, there is no distinction of sex. We hope, therefore, we shall not be accused of ungallant, or anti-chivalric bearing, on account of the blows we may inflict upon the literary person of a most daring Thalestris, especially as her vanity is a panoply of proof.

In her preface, Lady M. says, that a second work on France from her pen could only be justified by the novelty of its matter, or by the merit of its execution. Then do we pronounce this second work, this "France in 1829-30," to be the most unjustifiable imposition on the good nature of the reading community that ever was practised. Its matter is nothing more nor less than Miladi herself; and is she a novelty? Something less than half a century ago, her Ladyship undoubtedly was a novelty, and one too of an extraordinary kind. As to the "merit of its execution," it is quite sufficient to know that it is the work of Lady Morgan, to form an idea of that requisite for its "justification." Out of thine own mouth have we condemned thee. The fact is, that "France in 1829-30," is almost, the counterpart of "France in 1816," and the same remarks may be made concerning it which we have already applied to the latter. All the information we could discover we had obtained from it on finishing its perusal, was that its author had improved in neither wisdom, knowledge, nor modesty, since her first visit to the land after which both of these productions have been christened. France! and what right have they to that name? Would it not induce one to suppose, that their author had at least travelled through the greater portion of that beautiful country, and eked out a number of her pages from the notes, such as they might be, made during the tour? And yet her Ladyship, on both occasions, went to Paris by the high road of Calais, remained in the capital a few months, and then returned by another high road. Even "Paris in 1816," "Paris in 1829-30," would be titles with which these publications would possess scarcely more affinity, than that by which children, on whom the preposterous fondness of their parents has bestowed the high-sounding appellations of warriors and monarchs, are connected with those worthies. Their only appropriate names would be, "Lady Morgan in 1816," "Lady Morgan in 1829-30;" for what information do they give about France or Paris, and what information do they not give about Lady Morgan? they even let us into the secrets of her Ladyship's wardrobe. It was Paris that saw Lady Morgan, and not Lady Morgan that saw Paris, in the same way as, according to Dr. Franklin, it was Philadelphia that took Sir William Howe, and not Sir William Howe that took Philadelphia.

To collect materials for a book of travels, it is necessary to be all eyes and ears with regard to every thing but one's self. Her Ladyship, however, was just the reverse throughout the whole period of her absence from Kildare street,--it seems always to have been her object to attract, and not to bestow, attention. In the volumes before us, it is her perpetual endeavour to win admiration by making known the admiration she entertains for herself, as well as that which she supposes she excites in others. They are consequently, in great measure, filled with what was said to Lady Morgan, and what Lady Morgan did and said during her last visit to Paris. While discoursing about anything else than herself, she appears to be on thorns until she gets back to that all absorbing subject, and no matter what is the title of the chapter, she generally contrives, by hook or by crook, to bring herself into it as the main object of interest. The poor reader is thus often sadly disappointed in the expectations he may form of deriving pleasure or information from various parts of her work, in consequence of the promises held out by their "headings." He almost always eventually discovers, that however he may have been induced to anticipate a meeting with other persons or matters, it is still "Monsieur Tonson come again." We must confess, that it is rather too bad to be Morbleued in this way; though it is but fair to acknowledge, that her Ladyship is not an intentional tormentor, like the malicious wags by whom the unfortunate Frenchman was teased out of house and home. On the contrary, her design is one altogether consonant to the general benevolence of her character. It is to give pleasure; and as her greatest delight arises from the contemplation of herself, she has presumed, naturally enough if we may believe the philosophers, that the same cause will produce the same effect upon the rest of the world. All her pictures, therefore, like those of the painter who doated upon his mistress to such a degree as to introduce her face into every one of his works, contain the object of her idolatry, either prominently in the foreground, or so ingeniously placed in the background, as to be quite as well fitted to draw attention.--But it is time to follow her in some of her peregrinations.

On a certain day of the year 1829, which she has not had the goodness to designate, she arrived at Calais. She was accompanied by an Irish footman,--not, we presume, the "illiterate literatus," whom she has immortalized in her first "France,"--and by a person whom she once or twice alludes to in her volumes; first, by acknowledging her obligations to a "Sir C. M." for some articles which had been contributed by him to swell the dimensions of her work; and, secondly, by mentioning that somebody sent a "flask of genuine potteen," to her Ladyship's great delight, "with Mr. Somebody's compliments to Sir C. M." As there is an individual designated once or twice also as "my husband," we have shrewd suspicions that he and this Sir C. M. are one and the same being. The first thing that Miladi does at Calais, is to experience a "burst of agreeable sensations;" and the next, to feel a considerable degree of surprise at being delighted again with that renowned place--renowned for having been several times visited by Lady Morgan, besides other minor causes of celebrity, such as its sieges, and its having been the place where Yorick commenced his sentimental journey; but these have been completely forgotten since the year 1816. After her "little heart" had been fluttered by those agreeable and wonderful sensations, the nature of its palpitations was unfortunately changed by the indignation with which it was filled on her discovering "how English" every thing appeared. "English carpets, and English cleanliness; English delf and English damask," with various other Englishiana, gave such a John Bull aspect to the room of the hotel into which she was ushered, that she was on the point of swooning, when her ears were suddenly assailed by a loud sound--Gracious heavens! What noise is that? Her delicate little head is in a twinkling thrust out of the window, and she beholds,--oh horror of horrors--she beholds a mail-coach, built on the regular English plan, cantering into the yard, with all its concomitants completely à l'Anglaise--"horses curvetting, and not a hair turned--a whip that 'tips the silk' like a feather--'ribbons,' not ropes--a coachman, all capes and castor--a guard that cries 'all right,'" and who was at that moment puffing most manfully into a "reg'lar mail-coach horn." This was too much, and her Ladyship would inevitably have been driven distracted, or, at least, have gone into hysterics, had not a most delicious idea interposed its aid, and she exclaimed, "What luck to have written my France, while France was still so French!"--and what luck, say we, to have so commodious a safety-valve as vanity, by means of which to let off the superabundant steam of one's ire!

Now, as to her Ladyship's having written her "France," while France was still "so French," this we do not deny; but we do deny that her France itself is "so French." It would be an affair of some considerable difficulty, in our humble opinion, to find any thing French either about it or the "France" we are now reviewing, except their titles, and innumerable scraps of the French language, not unfrequently so expressed and so applied that they would do honour to Mrs. Malaprop herself.

Lady M.'s fondness for generalizing, has led her to relate this apparition of the "Bang-up" in such a way as would induce any one who did not know better, to suppose that the "Coach" had entirely superseded the "Diligence" upon the French roads. Truly would such a change be a cause of regret; for the traveller in France would thus be deprived of a fruitful source of amusement. But we have the pleasure of announcing, for the satisfaction of such of our readers as may entertain the design of paying a visit to that country, that the coach which Lady Morgan saw, was the only vehicle of the kind with which her eyes could have been annoyed. We speak understandingly on the subject, as we happened to be in France about the same time as her Ladyship. This coach, which, if we recollect aright, was called the Telegraph, and not the "Bang-up," was a speculation of some Englishman, who ran it for a short time between Boulogne and Calais, but without much success. The old national vehicle had too strong a hold upon the affections of the most national people in the world, to be pushed from the field by any foreign opponent, and the slow, sure, and comfortable Diligence kept on the even tenor of its way, while the dashing, rapid Telegraph arrived prematurely at the end of its journeying.

We do not deem ourselves competent to decide upon so momentous a subject as the respective merits of the English and French stages, to give them our technical appellation; but it may be remarked as perhaps somewhat singular, that with regard to comfort--a matter respecting which the French are as noted for their general heedlessness as the English are for their almost uniform concern--the Diligence can lay claim to unquestionable superiority over the coach. On the other hand, the coach is constructed in such a way as to possess far greater facilities for rapidity of locomotion,--a quality which it might be supposed the quick vivacious temperament of the French would especially prize in their conveyances. As to appearance also, the English vehicle is certainly a good deal better off than the French. Nothing, indeed, that a stranger may have heard or read about the latter, can prepare him for it sufficiently, to prevent him on first beholding it from giving way to something more than a smile. It is not, however, so much the mere machine itself that operates upon his risible faculties, as the whole equipage, or atalage,--the scare-crow horses, that seem to have been once the property of the keeper of some museum by whom their bones have been linked together and covered with skin as well as they might be, without inserting something between as a substitute for flesh; the non-descript gear by which these living anatomies are kept together and attached to the vehicle, composed of rope, leather, iron, steel, brass, and every thing else that could by any possibility be used for the purpose; the queer-looking postillion, with his long cue, huge boots, and pipe, all combine with the grotesque appearance of the Diligence itself, to form an ensemble irresistibly ludicrous.

What a difference, too, there is in the facility with which they get "under weigh." One crack of the coachman's whip, causes his fine animals to give "a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull together," and away you whirl in an instant. But the traveller in France does not find starting so easy a matter. He gets into the Diligence; every thing seems ready. The passengers are all in their places, and have saluted each other with true French politeness, except some gruff John Bull sitting in a corner seat and eyeing his associates with mingled scorn and distrust--the five or six apologies for horses are standing in an attitude of the greatest patience, waiting for the signal to make an attempt at putting one foot before the other--the conducteur, a person who has the supreme direction of the movements of the Diligence, is in his place on the top--the boots in which the legs of the postillion are buried, are dangling on both sides of the wheel horse on the left--crack! goes his whip--a jingling sound responds, caused by the endeavours of the "cattle" to advance--"mais que diable"--crack! crack! crack!--something like motion is experienced, when there is a sudden stop, and the conducteur is seen descending from his eminence, muttering sundry expressions of no very gentle nature--"what the devil's the matter now," growls a more than bass voice out of one window--"qu'est ce que c'est, conducteur," simultaneously demand a treble and a tenor from another window--"rien, Madame," the answer is always addressed to the lady, "rien du tout," he replies whilst endeavouring to repair some part of the "rigging" that could not stand the efforts of the poor beasts to move from their position. At length, however, you get fairly under weigh, with about a four knot breeze, and continue to make some progress for an hour or two amidst a noise caused by the rumbling of the vehicle, the creaking, jingling, rattling, and clanking, of the atalage, the unceasing crack of the whip, and the chattering of your companions, to which the sounds at Babel were music. The movement then becomes adagio, and soon afterwards the conducteur's voice is heard, begging the passengers in all parts of the vehicle to descend. Wondering what is the matter, you get out with the rest, and find the cause of this commotion to be a grande Montagne--anglicè, a little hill--in mounting which, the tender care that is taken of the animals upon the road, however much the state of their flesh shows it is diminished in the stable, renders it indispensable that they should be relieved of every possible weight. To this inconvenience you are subjected on approaching almost every little elevation, the like of which in England or the United States, would not cause the slightest diminution of speed. But it must be confessed, that occasionally, a hill is to be passed of a magnitude which the steeds could never surmount without diminishing their load, and then the notice that is said to have been affixed to one of the Diligences, may very well be appended to all. "MM. les voyageurs, sont priés, quand ils descendent, de ne pas aller plus vite que la voiture:" passengers are requested, when they descend, not to go faster than the vehicle. A most necessary request! La Fontaine, when he wrote the fable in which he gives an account of a vehicle ascending a steep eminence, and the exertions of a fly to assist the horses, must have just returned from some excursion in a Diligence, during which he was witness to the creeping, toiling, panting of the animals pulling it up a hill. Pauvres diables! as the women are constantly exclaiming, a fly might really lend them some aid in their efforts. About every eight miles, fresh horses are in readiness, but the change is rarely for the better,--for the worse it cannot be.

It is only on the road that the postillions drive slowly; when they enter a town it is a sort of signal for them to dash on at a furious rate, notwithstanding the danger of going rapidly through streets which are little better than alleys, and in which there are no side-pavements to mark the limits for pedestrians. We never before experienced such philanthropic alarm for the safety of our fellow-mortals, as on the evening of our arrival in Paris, whilst whirling at a furious rate through its narrow streets, which were thronged with people, when it was so dark that their ears alone could give them warning to get out of the way. No accident, however, occurred. The French drivers, it must be confessed, though not very elegant or stylish "whips," are very sure; they contrive to guide the immense Diligences through the crowded labyrinths of a large city with wonderful safety, notwithstanding the swiftness with which they generally pass through them, and the loose manner in which the horses are linked together.

But where did we leave our Ladyship? Oh, with her head out of the window of the hotel, saying something about her France and the other France. We really beg her pardon for keeping her so long in such a situation, and hasten to relieve her from it, by placing her, together with Sir C. M. and the Irish footman, in a,--but here again we are at fault. She has not had the kindness to inform us what was the species of conveyance that she consecrated to eternal veneration by employing for her journey to Paris, and as we have neither time nor space for an adequate investigation of this important point, we must leave it to be mooted by other commentators, contenting ourselves with the knowledge that the illustrious trio arrived safely at the capital.

On reaching the hotel in the Rue de Rivoli, which she had resolved upon immortalizing by residing in it during her sojourn in Paris, she was again fearfully agitated by that dreadful fondness for things English, in France, by which her nervous system had before been so greatly discomposed. Woful to relate, she was received by "a smart, dapper, English-innkeeper-looking landlord," and conducted to apartments "which were a box of boudoirs, as compact as a Chinese toy." "There were carpets on every floor, chairs that were moveable, mirrors that reflected, sofas to sink on, footstools to stumble over; in a word, all the incommodious commodities of my own cabin in Kildare street." Poor Miladi! this was really too provoking, to have all the trouble and expense of journeying from Dublin to see just what was to be seen there; but no matter, it will serve for the subject of some twenty pages in your intended book. But then the change, so trying to the nerves of a romantic lady, which had taken place since 1816. In that year, she remembered, on driving into the paved court of the hotel d'Orleans, she had seen "an elderly gentleman, sitting under the shelter of a vine, and looking like a specimen of the restored emigration. His white hair, powdered and dressed à l'oiseau royale; his Persian slippers and robe de chambre, à grand ramage, (we hope, reader, you have a French dictionary near you) spoke of principles as old as his toilet. He was reading, too, a loyal paper, loyal, at least, in those days,--the Journal des Débats. Bowing, as we passed, he consigned us, with a graceful wave of the hand, to the care of Pierre, the frotteur. I took him for some fragment of a duc et pair of the old school; but, on putting the question to the frotteur, who himself might have passed for a figurante at the opera, he informed us that he was 'Notre bourgeois,' the master of the hotel." It is quite wonderful to us how Miladi could have survived to relate so shocking a metamorphosis. Ovid has nothing half so strange and heart-rending.

The instances we have mentioned are far from being the only ones in which her Ladyship was "put out of sorts" by the Anglomania, which, she would make us believe, is operating at present as great a revolution in the social, as was effected in '98 in the political condition of France. All along the road from Calais to Paris, she sees nothing but "youths galloping their horses in the cavalry costume of Hyde Park," "smart gigs and natty dennets," "cottages of gentility, with white walls and green shutters, and neat offices, rivalling the diversified orders of the Wyatvilles of Islington and Highgate," in short, nothing but "English neatness and propriety on every side," with one terrible exception, however, "an Irish jaunting car!" of which she chanced, to her infinite dismay, to catch a glimpse. The second appearance that she makes in the streets of Paris, is for the purpose of buying some "bonbons, diablotins en papillotes, Pastilles de Nantes, and other sugared prettinesses," for which Parisian confectioners are so renowned. Accordingly, she goes into a shop where she supposes that "fanciful idealities, sweet nothings, candied epics and eclogues in spun sugar, so light, and so perfumed as to resemble (was there ever such nonsense) congealed odours, or a crystallization of the essence of sweet flowers," are to be sold, but on inquiry she is told by a "demoiselle behind the counter, as neat as English muslin and French (what a wonder it wasn't English) tournure could make her," that 'we sell no such a ting,' but that she might have 'de cracker, de bun, de plom-cake, de spice gingerbread, de mutton and de mince pye, de crompet and de muffin, de gelée of de calves foot, and de apple dumplin.' Reader, Lady Morgan "was struck dumb!" She purchased a bundle of crackers, "hard enough to crack the teeth of an elephant," and hurried from the shop. But misfortunes never come single, and her ladyship, though an exception to most other general rules, was not destined to prove the correctness of that one in this instance, for just as she was escaping from the place where she had experienced the serious inconvenience of being "struck dumb," she was struck in another way--viz. on the left cheek, by the explosion of a bottle of "Whitbread's entire," the consequence of which was, that the exterior of her head became covered with precisely the same thing with which its interior is filled--"froth."--

Foaming with rage and brown-stout, her Ladyship was hastening home as fast as her "little feet" could carry her, when a perfumer's shop "caught the most acute of all her senses."--What a delightful mode, by the way, her ladyship has, of imparting knowledge en passant, as it were; here we have the important information communicated to us, that her "acutest sense" is situated in her nose, just because she happened to pass by a perfumery store; but what a nose her ladyship's nose must be, since it is endowed with more wonderful faculties than her eyes, which possess such miraculous powers as to enable her to see things in France perceptible by no other mortal optics! But to proceed with our dismal story. Her ladyship's olfactory nerves, as we have already mentioned, having made her aware of the proximity of a perfumer's shop, she was induced to go into it by the desire of procuring something which might relieve them from the torture produced by the exhalations of 'Whitbread's entire.' But here again she was doomed to disappointment. She asked for various "eaux, essences, and extraits," and was presented with bottles of "lavendre vatre, honey vatre, and tief his vinaigre;" she asked for savons, and was shown cakes of "Vindsor soap," and "de Regent's vashball." In an agony of despair, she rushes from the shop, first taking care, however, to "gather up her purse and reticule," and soon arrives at her--alas! English furnished apartments. After stumbling over a footstool, and being incommoded by other "incommodious commodities," she at length sinks exhausted upon a sofa, just opposite to a "mirror that reflected." But what other singular looking object, besides Miladi's face, is it that forms a subject of that glass's reflections, and is lying on a table just behind her? It is a little basket, the contents of which her ladyship soon begins to investigate,--and what do you suppose she finds?--"A flask of genuine potteen!!" This time she is struck loquacious, and she shrieks out, "this is too much! was it for this we left the snugness and economical comfort of our Irish home, and encountered the expensive inconveniencies of a foreign journey, in the hope of seeing nothing British, 'till the threshold of that home should be passed by our feet;'--to meet at every step with all that taste, health, and civilization (exemplified by 'lavendre vatre,' 'vindsor soap,' and 'a flask of potteen,') we cry down at home, as cheap and as abundant abroad," &c. &c. The piercing key on which her Ladyship pitched her voice while declaiming this magnificent soliloquy, brought Sir C. M., the Irish footman, and the English-looking landlord into the room, in a terrible flurry. "My dearest dear what is the matter?"--"Och! my leddy, what is it now that ails you?"--"Ah! madame, mille pardons, qu'est ce que c'est?" simultaneously issue from the mouths of the three worthies. "Avaunt! get out of my sight, you maudit imitateur; and you Sir Charles, et vous, Patrick, see that tout est preparé for returning to Dublin dans l'heure même," meekly responds Miladi. But a sudden change comes over her countenance--sudden as that which took place in the aspect of Juno when she beheld the waves raised to the very heavens by the power of Neptune, and supposed that they had overwhelmed the bark which carried Æneas and his companions, the objects of her eternal hatred. She smiled, as the face of Nature smiles when the clouds that have long covered it with gloom, have disappeared before the potent influence of the "glorious orb that gives the day," and at length she rapturously cried out, "How lucky to have written my France, while France was still so French!"--Lady Morgan was herself again.

Now we beg leave to observe, that this Anglomania bugbear, by which her ladyship pretends to have been so much distressed, is the merest piece of nonsense and affectation in the world. We will not be so ungallant as to suppose that Lady Morgan has intentionally related what is not altogether so true as might be, but she has been accustomed for such a length of time to roam about the varied realms of fancy, that it would be impossible for her ever to descend to the flat regions of fact. Besides, as we have already stated, she has been gifted with powers of vision more surprising than those of the lynx or the seer--the first can only see through a stone, the second can only see things which may exist at a future day, when they will be visible to every one else--but she sees things existing at present, that defy the ken of all other animals, rational and irrational. While reading her account of the English vehicles, English cottages, &c. &c. which she observed in her journey from Calais to Paris, we could not help asking ourselves, where were our eyes during the time we travelled that road? We are satisfied, however, that they were in their right place, and tolerably well employed; and that if they did not encounter the signs of Anglomania mentioned by her Ladyship, it was because these were to be perceived by no one but herself. Wide indeed is the difference between travelling in France and England! The poet Grey, in one of his charming letters, affirms, that in the former country it would be the finest in the world, were it not for the terrible state of the inns; but it must have greatly deteriorated there, or have improved in his native isle since his time, for there can not be the slightest question as to the superior delights of journeying in the latter at present. The inns in France are still bad enough, in all conscience, and offer but a dreary welcome to one who has been accustomed to the neatness and comforts of English hostels. There are, however, various other particulars of importance for a traveller's enjoyment, which Shakspeare's "sea-walled garden" furnishes in by far the greater abundance. In France the roads are comparatively much inferior, and the general appearance of the country is less pleasing. You meet there with few or none of those detached farm-houses, with their little dependencies of cottages, which everywhere greet the eye in England, bespeaking the honest and well-conditioned yeoman, and presenting a picture of prosperity and contentment,--the villages through which you pass, mostly wear a decayed and squalid appearance--the magnificent country-seats, with their parks and other appurtenances, whose frequent recurrence in England constitutes so rich a feast for the gaze of the stranger, are rarely rivalled in France--the landscape here, also, is much seldomer able to borrow that venerable grace and romantic charm which the remains of feudal ages alone can lend. This last circumstance is one greatly to be regretted; for perhaps the most exquisite gratification to be derived from travelling through a country, where for centuries civilization in a greater or less degree has exercised sway, arises from the contemplation of the various monuments of by-gone days, some slowly mouldering into dust, others still proudly defying the assaults of the great destroyer. The mind dwells upon them with a species of pensive delight, and that peculiar charm which their association with the fictions and annals of times past inspires. It would seem, that France should be especially rich in the relics of that feudalism of which for a long time it was the chief seat, but a reason for their scantiness may be found in the policy which caused Louis XI., and which was subsequently pursued by Richelieu, and completed by Louis le Grand, to call the nobles from their estates, where they exercised almost sovereign authority, to the capital, and convert them into mere hangers on of the court--in the destructive hostilities which have almost incessantly desolated the kingdom--and especially in the determined war that was made upon castles by the patriots of the Revolution. These, at all events, are the causes which Sir Walter Scott, in his "Paul's Letters to his Kinsfolk," assigns for the circumstance we are lamenting. The first one of them had also been previously intimated by that worthy personage, the father of Tristram Shandy,--"Why are there so few palaces and gentlemen's seats, (he would ask with some emotion, as he walked across the room,) throughout so many delicious provinces in France? Whence is it that the few remaining chateaux amongst them are so dismantled, so unfurnished, and in so ruinous and desolate a condition?--Because, sir, (he would say,) in that kingdom no man has any country-interest to support:--the little interest of any kind which any man has anywhere in it, is concentrated in the court, and the looks of the Grand Monarch; by the sunshine of whose countenance, or the clouds which pass across it, every Frenchman lives or dies." This, however, is certainly not the case with Frenchmen of the present day.

But the principal drawback upon the pleasure of travelling in France, is decidedly the multitude of mendicants by whom you are continually annoyed, and whose miserable appearance offends the eye, while it sickens the heart. Scarcely ever does the vehicle stop without being immediately surrounded by the most distressing objects that the mind can conceive, in such numbers as to render it impossible for any one except the possessor of Fortunatus's or Rothschild's purse, to bestow alms, however inconsiderable, upon them all. A humane individual, who should attempt to do it, with a pocket of but moderate dimensions, would soon be reduced to the necessity of enrolling himself in the mendicant band, and crying out with the rest of them, in their peculiar tone, "Donnez un sous, à un pauvre malheureux, pour l'amour de Dieu, et de la Sainte Vierge." "Give a sous to a poor unfortunate, for the love of God and of the Holy Virgin." The crowds of these beggars upon the French roads, lead the stranger to apprehend that in Paris they will swarm to such an extent as to mar in a degree the pleasure of his residence there; he is, however, agreeably disappointed at finding in his perambulations through its streets, that they are completely free from them, in consequence of the admirable regulations of the police. It is worthy of remark, that the reverse of this is the case in England. There the roads and villages rarely afford cause for the tear of compassion, or the exclamation of disgust, elicited by scenes of misery; but in walking about London, one must be made of sterner stuff than was sentimental Yorick, who can avoid endeavouring to repeat "Psha! with an air of carelessness," at almost every step, after being obliged to refuse infinitely stronger claims upon charity than those which were advanced by the poor Franciscan.

We have thus enumerated most of the reasons why travelling in England is preferable to that in France, yet there is one circumstance to be remarked in favour of the latter, which almost counterbalances every consideration of an unfavourable kind. We allude to the facility with which a stranger can make acquaintance with his fellow passengers, in the "gay, smiling land of social mirth and ease." In England he may journey from Plymouth to Berwick without speaking more than ten words to any persons who chance to be his companions in the coach, or hearing ten words spoken by them if they happen not to know each other; but in a French public conveyance, only a short time elapses before all its occupants are as much at ease, and upon as good terms with each other, as if they were familiar acquaintances. Many a pleasant hour have we spent in a diligence, in consequence of the conversations we have fallen into with individuals whom we have there encountered, some of which were of a highly ludicrous character. We shall never forget a series of interrogatories put to us by a loquacious fellow next to whom we were seated in the diligence in going from Rouen to Paris, and who was about as ignorant as he was garrulous. Hearing us say, in answer to a question of another person, that we were from the United States, he asked us how we liked Italy; and on our telling him we had never been there, inquired with a face of great surprise, whether the United States was not on the other side of Italy? After endeavouring to give him an idea of the situation of our country, he asked successively, if we had crossed the ocean in a steam-boat, if the United States belonged to England or to France, and if Philadelphia was not the place where the great revolt of the Negroes took place. But we must return to her Ladyship, with the wish that she would contrive to render her company more agreeable, that we might have less temptation to wander from her at this rate.

With regard to the English furniture of her Ladyship's apartments, and the English confectionaries and perfumeries which gave rise to the memorable adventures we have related above, we may remark that it may have been so ordained by fate that she should light upon one of the very few hotels, one of the very few confectionary shops, and one of the very few perfumery stores in Paris, in which matters are ordered in the English style; but to give us to understand, in consequence, that all the hotels are furnished in the same way, and that bonbons, extraits, &c. are not to be procured, is like the proceeding of the Hon. Frederick de Roos, R. N. who affirms, in his sapient work on the United States, that all the inhabitants in Philadelphia take tea on the steps before their doors in summer evenings, because, forsooth, he saw a family sitting on those of the house in which they lived, in order to enjoy a July twilight.

One of the first things that her Ladyship does on the morning subsequent to her arrival, is to give notice to her friends of that important event,--a gratuitous piece of kindness altogether, as it seems to us, for it must doubtless have been announced by as many portentous signs as accompanied the birth of Owen Glendower. Nevertheless, in order to make assurance doubly sure, she despatched 'cards to some, and notes to others, after the Parisian fashion,' but previously indulged in a very pretty sentimental fit. This was caused by the first name that met her eye as she opened her 'old Paris visiting book for 1818'--that of Denon, "the page, minister, and gentilhomme de la chambre of Louis XV., the friend of Voltaire, the intimate of Napoleon, the traveller and historian of Modern Egypt, the director of the Musée of France," &c. &c., who, we are informed, used always to be so particularly delighted with her Ladyship's visits to Paris, that he was wont to hail them with his hand, and welcome them with a cordial smile. Alas! death had overtaken him, notwithstanding his friendship with Lady Morgan; and she could no longer expect his salutations. "Other hands were now extended, other smiles beamed now as brightly; but his were dimmed for ever!" How kind her Ladyship is! Fearing her readers might be distressed by the idea, that, in consequence of the decease of Denon, she might have been in some want of welcoming, she has taken the precaution of setting them at ease upon that point, by the above ingenious sentence. In mentioning the reasons of her intimacy with Denon, she employs language of a very singular kind, which, if maliciously interpreted to the letter, might subject her to uncomfortable remarks, though we are sure it is nothing but an effusion of gurgling vanity. It is an instance, however, to what a degree that sentiment, when extreme, gets the better of all sense of propriety and decorum. She says, that even if Denon had not been such a person as she describes him, "still, he suited me, I suited him. There was between us that sympathy, in spite of the disparity of years and talents, which, whether in trifles or essentials,--between the frivolous or the profound,--makes the true basis of those ties, so sweet to bind, so bitter to break!" It is well for Sir Charles Morgan's peace of mind, that he is acquainted, as he must be, with his wife's frivolity and egotism. How, indeed, he could have allowed her to come before the world with such phraseology in her mouth, we cannot imagine, unless on the supposition that he is such a husband as La Bruyère has described. "Il ne sert dans sa famille qu' à montrer l'exemple, d'un silence timide et d'une parfaite soumission. Il ne lui est dû ni douaire ni conventions; mais à cela près, et qu'il n'accouche pas, il est la femme, et elle le mari."

After her Ladyship had "shuddered," and "felt as if she was throwing earth upon Denon's grave whilst drawing her pen across his precious and historical name," she spent about half an hour in weeping, "like a fair flower surcharged with dew," over the names of others of her departed friends, Guinguené, Talma, Langlois, Lanjuinais, &c., until she fortunately recollected that the climate of Paris is one that "developes a sensibility prompt, not deep." Lucky thought! She immediately threw down the visiting-book, threw up the window to let in the climate, wiped from her eyes the tears "which parted thence, as pearls from diamonds dropp'd," and began to think of "all that death had left her, of the 'greater still behind,'--of friends, each in his way, a specimen of that genius and virtue, which, in all regions, and in all ages, make the ne plus ultra of human excellence." Admire the delicacy of the method by which Miladi lets us into the secret of her being a ne plus ultra; it is not by a bold assertion, but by a modest inuendo. She keeps company with ne plus ultras--birds of the same feather flock together--ergo, she is a ne plus ultra herself. And so she is, but in her own way. "Il y a malheureusement," observes a French writer of the present day "plus d'une manière de se rendre célèbre,"--"there is, unfortunately, more than one method of becoming celebrated,"--and as this writer is an acquaintance of Lady Morgan, we are half inclined to think he committed that sentence to paper after returning from a visit to her Celebrityship.

We may as well cite here a few more instances of her ingenuity in communicating, obliquely, how distinguished a personage she is,--a quality she possesses in a degree that we do not recollect ever to have seen rivalled. We copy verbatim.

"The other day I dined in the Chaussée d'Antin, in that house where it is always such a privilege to dine; where the wit of the host, like the menus of his table, combines all that is best in French or Irish peculiarity; and where the society is chosen with reference to no other qualities than merit and agreeability."

Speaking of the weekly assemblies at an eminent individual's house, at which she was a constant attendant, she says, they

"Are among the most select and remarkable in Paris. Inaccessible to commonplace mediocrity and pushing pretension, their visitor must be ticketted in some way or another" (by writing a "France," or an "Italy," for instance,) "to obtain a presentation."

With regard to another circle of which she was a large segment, she observes,--

"It is sufficient to have merit, agreeability, or the claims of old acquaintance to belong to it, but, truth to tell, it is still so far exclusive, that what Madame Roland calls l'universelle mediocrité, gains no admission there."

Again:--

"I happened one night at Gen. La Fayette's to say that I should remain at home on the following morning, and the information brought us a numerous circle of morning visitors; others dropped in by chance, and some by appointment. From twelve till four, my little salon was a congress composed of the representatives of every vocation of arts, letters, science, bon ton," (the Congress of Vienna was nothing to this,) "and philosophy, in which, as in the Italian opera-boxes of Milan and Naples, the comers and goers succeeded each other, as the narrow limits of the space required that the earliest visitor should make room for the last arrival."

We might fill pages with similar specimens of her modesty, but we must proceed.

The notes and cards being all despatched, authentic intelligence is at length diffused throughout Paris of her arrival, and such a commotion is forthwith excited as had never been seen even in that city of commotions, since the time the Giraffe made her entrée into it, and said to the gaping multitude, "Mes amis, il n'y a qu'une bête de plus." Perhaps the sensation might be excepted which was created by "Messieurs les Osages," the American deputation whose "France" has not yet, we believe, appeared in either hemisphere. The Rue de Rivoli was instantly crowded with "old friends" and "intimate acquaintances," ne plus ultras included, besides various others anxious for the honour of an introduction, all striving who should get first into the "Hôtel de la Terrasse;" and such was the press of visits, dinner-parties, suppers, balls, &c. &c. that for a period her Ladyship could not, as she says, "find leisure to register a single impression for her own amusement, or haply for that of a world, which, it must be allowed, is not very difficult to amuse." In this sentiment we request leave, before going further, to record our unqualified concurrence, and also to state, that we know of no one from whom it could proceed with more propriety and weight than from Miladi. It has been, doubtless, expressed before, by various other book-makers, but never, we feel confident, by one whose career affords fuller evidence of its correctness, or who could adduce more forcible proofs in support of it, should they be required. In such case, the simple fact need only be cited, that "France in 1830" is the work of the same hand which indited "Ida of Athens," some twenty years previous, and which, during that interval, has furnished the world almost annually, with quartos, octavos, or duodecimos.

The accounts that her Ladyship gives of the various festive entertainments of which she partook, constitute the matter of a large number of her pages. If it be true, however, that in order to observe well, one ought to screen one's self from observation, she could have had little opportunity of obtaining acquaintance with the constitution of French society; for, if we believe her own story, there was no social assemblage of any kind to which she went, where she was not the observed of every one, the centre of attraction, the nucleus of excellence. And what information is to be derived from her relation of a ball here, or a soirée there, beyond the very interesting, highly important, and most credible intelligence, that as soon as the announcement of Lady Morgan's name falls upon the ears of the company, everything else is forgotten; a dead silence instantaneously takes place of the conversational hum that before prevailed; all eyes are directed towards the door; LADY MORGAN ENTERS; a buzz of admiration succeeds; she advances with a dignified air towards the hostess, or rather the hostess runs eagerly forward to meet her; she drops a romantic curtesy; she sits down; and thenceforward nothing is thought of by any of the guests but Miladi, and the pearls that fall from her lips. As the French are fond of forming queues, or files, for the purpose of avoiding confusion, when there is any great earnestness among a large collection of persons with regard to any object of curiosity, we can imagine the whole assemblage falling into one as soon as she takes her seat, and thus enjoying, each in turn, the coveted delight.--But we mistake; other information respecting French society is communicated, unwittingly however, by her Ladyship. It is this: that they are as fond of ridicule in 1830, as they were in 1816, and as they have ever been. We have little difficulty in believing, that her Ladyship received a vast deal of attention in Paris; still, we must confess, that it appears to us impossible not to be convinced, from her own story, that it was owing to a very different reason from the one to which it is attributed by her self-love. If there is any feature in the French character peculiarly salient or prominent, it is the love of ridicule. "Take care," said a lady to her son, who was on the eve of departure for his travels, "of the Inquisition at Madrid, of the mob at London, and of ridicule at Paris." Nothing that is at all calculated to excite an ironical smile or a sarcastic remark, escapes a "fasting Monsieur's" observation, and even the greatest virtues and genius, if combined with any quality which can afford matter for a joke, will scarcely prevent their possessor from being made a laughing-stock. Napoleon was so well aware of this propensity of his subjects, that he was prevented by it from placing his own figure in the car which surmounts the triumphal arch erected between the Court of the Tuileries and the Place du Carousal, being apprehensive that the wags would avail themselves of the opportunity thus afforded of punning at his expense--le char le tient--le charlatan. What a delectable tit-bit, consequently, for this appetite of the Parisians, must be a darling little philosopher in petticoats, (not quite sexagenary,) who dabbles in all sciences and arts, and is at the same time a pretender to the pretty affectations and hoydenish manners of a youthful belle! Such a person, especially if she possess that happy opinion of herself, which prevents her from having the slightest suspicion that she can be the object of anything but admiration with all, is regarded by them as a legitimate subject for a mystification, which, in our vernacular, means hoax,--elle se prête au ridicule, as they say, she lends herself, as it were, to ridicule; and to be convinced that they know how to take consummate advantage of the loan, it is only necessary to glance over "France in 1830." Every one who does so will, we feel confident, understand in the same manner as ourselves, the meaning of that "brilliant welcome," which Miladi, with so much complacency, informs us she received "in the capital of European intellect." From beginning to end, these volumes afford almost continued specimens of perfection in the art of "quizzing," and may therefore be particularly indicated to such as are anxious to acquire proficiency in that way. We are glad that we have at length discovered a description of persons to whom we can conscientiously recommend the work we are reviewing, as calculated to afford desirable information.

There is another cause, besides this fondness for ridicule, to which the mystification of her Ladyship may be attributed. Whoever is at all acquainted with her writings, must be aware that she pretends to be a great republican, and to entertain a most orthodox horror of royalism and the appendages thereof, and that she has called the royalist party in France all the hard names she could find in the most approved collection of opprobrious epithets. This circumstance, it is easy to imagine, may have excited a slight desire of revenge in the breasts of some of the younger members of that party.

In her very preface, we have an evidence of her having been the victim of as well concerted and admirably conducted a hoax, as was ever played off upon any one--it surpasses that which was put upon poor Malvolio in "Twelfth Night." After making the remark upon which we have already commented, that a second work on France from her pen could "alone be justified by the novelty of its matter, or by the merit of its execution," she says--

"It may serve, however, as an excuse, and an authentication of the attempt, that I was called to the task by some of the most influential organs of public opinion, in that great country. They relied upon my impartiality (for I had proved it, at the expense of proscription abroad, and persecution at home); and, desiring only to be represented as they are, they deemed even my humble talents not wholly inadequate to an enterprise whose first requisite was the honesty that tells the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

Oh you wicked wags! If the abolition of capital punishment be effected in France, we hope you will be specially excepted as unworthy of mercy for this cruel plot to make Miladi Morgan expose herself thus to the sneers of an ill-natured world. We think we see you in conclave, laughing and joking over an epistle you have just concocted and signed with the names of half a dozen of the leaders of the liberals, in which her Ladyship is earnestly conjured to cross the Irish and the English channels and hasten to Paris, in order to dispel by the effulgence of her intellectual rays, the mists and darkness that the fiend of ultraism had spread over the political horizon. Seriously speaking, we cannot divine any other than this or a similar manner of accounting for her Ladyship's assertion, that "she was called to the task by some of the most influential organs of public opinion in France;"--she would not certainly affirm what she knew to be false, and the idea that she did receive a bonâ fide request of the above purport from such individuals, is too absurd to command belief for a moment. Would any one in his senses, who is "desirous of being represented as he is," put in requisition the pencil of an artist by which he would be sure to be caricatured?

The "persecution at home," that her Ladyship affects to have suffered, refers, we suppose, to sundry articles in the Quarterly Review and other Journals, in which she was rather roughly handled. We all know, however, what a pleasant thing it is to deem ourselves the objects of persecution, when it does not interfere with our profit--it is a flattering unction we love to lay to the soul, as it seems to augment our importance--and Miladi appears to have been highly delighted with the persecutions she has encountered. She is continually alluding to the attacks of the Quarterly, and whenever an opportunity occurs, favours us with extracts from them, and now and then she slips in some satirical observation concerning herself from the Journal des Débats. The different manner in which she has been treated by the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews, is an exemplification of the potent influence which party spirit exercises over those journals. In the latter, one or two of her works have been criticised with overwhelming power, and in a tone and spirit superlatively bitter. In the former, on the contrary, she is spoken of with studied lenity, although the Reviewer is obliged to confess that he is not one of her particular admirers, and seems to be perpetually restraining himself from indulging in the language of raillery and sarcasm. We need hardly add that the political principles which her Ladyship professes to entertain, are the main cause of this discrepancy. For our own part, we conscientiously believe that the English journal has not gone half so far beyond the truth as its Scotch rival has fallen short of it, in their respective strictures. With regard to the republican bursts of Lady Morgan, we cannot help suspecting that there is more affectation and cant in them than sincerity:--she is too anxious to let it be known that she is caressed every where by the ne plus ultras of aristocracy and rank, as well as by those of intellect, and, at the same time, there is too much parade and ostentatious vehemence in her explosions against the royalist party.

As to the other article which her Ladyship says she has received in exchange for her impartiality!--"proscription abroad,"--we feel pretty confident that it exists no where but in her own imagination. There it has, doubtless, been engendered by the malice of some ultra in disguise, who has made her Ladyship believe, that the Emperor of Austria, the Grand Signior, the King of Owyhee, and the other despots of the earth, have forbidden, on pain of racking, roasting, and every kind of torture, the importation of her books into their dominions, lest these should be revolutionized by them forthwith. Heaven defend us! we are very much afraid that Lady Morgan will set this world of ours on fire, somewhere about the time when it comes in contact with the comet. It is not mere supposition on our part that her Ladyship deems herself an object of dread to the Austrian government at least;--read what she says àpropos of the entrée of its ambassador into a ball-room where she was making all the lamps and candles hide their diminished heads. "When his Austrian excellence was announced, how I started, with all the weight of Aulic proscription on my head! The representative of the long-armed monarch of Hapsburg so near me,--of him, who, could he only once get his fidgetty fingers on my little neck, would give it a twist, that would save his custom-house officers all future trouble of breaking carriages and harassing travellers, in search of the pestilent writings of 'Ladi Morgan.' I did not breathe freely, till his excellency had passed on with his glittering train, into the illumined conservatory, and was lost in a wilderness of flowering shrubs and orange trees." Ought not this ambassador to be recalled for his negligence, his want of loyalty, in not attempting to get his fingers about Miladi's 'little neck,' in order to restore his Imperial master to peace and tranquillity of mind? Poor Francis! still are you doomed to be fidgetty on your throne. We think we see you receiving intelligence of the appearance of this last emanation from Ladi Morgan's untiring pen--a mortal paleness overspreads your face, as Metternich rushes into your presence with terror depicted in his countenance, articulating only "Ladi Morgan, Ladi Morgan," having just obtained himself a knowledge of the dreadful fact from an almost breathless courier--in an agony of suspense you gaze wildly at your faithful counsellor, until he has recovered composure sufficient to unfold to you the whole tale of horror. It is told! The monarch in whose hands are the lives of fifty millions of subjects, lies himself, to all appearance, deprived of existence. But see! he revives--his lips move--what are the words which fall faintly upon the ears of the bewildered attendants who have been called into the apartment by the cries of the prime minister? They are words of malediction, of the same purport as those which Henry II. of England uttered against his servants, for their want of zeal in allowing him to be so long tormented by Thomas à Becket, and which caused that prelate's death. But alas! for your repose, Imperial Cæsar, it is not so easy at the present day, as in former times, for de Luces and de Morevilles to gratify the vengeful wishes of their masters, and Lady Morgan yet breathes the breath of life (although it is true she did not do it "freely," according to her own account, while in the vicinity of your ambassador in Paris,) to keep your nervous system in disorder, and for the continued vexation of the rational part of the reading world.

Multifarious are the other instances we might cite of the manner in which her simple Ladyship was mystified by the ironical propensities of some, and the malicious ultraism of others, during her visit to Paris in 1829-30. "There are certain characters," observes M. Jouy, "who may be considered as the scourges of whatever is ridiculous (les fleaux du ridicule;) they discover it under whatever form it may be hid, and pitilessly immolate it with the weapon of irony," and into the hands of persons of this merciless tribe she seems to have been perpetually falling. We must content ourselves, however, with referring to but one example more; a conversation between herself and a young Frenchman, about Romanticism and Classicism, which she has detailed in her first volume. This is a subject, which, as every one must know, has set all Paris by the ears, and attracts almost as much attention there as the overthrow of one dynasty and the creation of another. Lady Morgan, of course, is a thorough-going romantique, and demonstrates the greater excellence of the school of which she deems herself the chief support and brightest ornament, in pretty much the same way as the superiority of modern writers over the ancients used to be proved by the advocates of the former, viz. by two methods, reason and example, the first of which they derived from their own taste, and the second from their own works. At the time she was delivered of her quarto about France in 1810, Paris was still immersed in classical darkness, and it may therefore be fairly inferred that the romantic light with which it has since been illumined, radiated from that same tome. What can be more natural? When she left France, "the word 'Romanticism' was unknown (or nearly so) in the circles of Paris; the writers à la mode, whether ultra or liberal, were, or thought themselves to be, supporters and practisers of the old school of literature;" in the interval of her absence she published a work in which she told the Parisians that Racine was no poet, and gave them other valuable information of the kind, calculated to dispel their classical infatuation:--when she returned, every thing was changed; poets and prosers were vieing with each other in gloriously offending against all rules and canons; Romanticism, in short, was, as she asserts, completely the order of the day. The classical wrath of one man was the source of unnumbered woes to ancient Greece, and why may not the romantic wrath of one woman--a woman too, who keeps autocrats and sultans fidgetty on their thrones, be the cause of a change in the literature of a country? This change, at all events, however it may have been operated, seems to have inspired her with additional courage in her assaults, and additional fury in her anathemas upon the poor French authors whom the ignorant world has hitherto been in the habit of regarding as objects of admiration. She now asserts, in "France in 1829-30," that the whole classic literature of that country is "feeble and unuseful," nay, even fitted to "enervate and degrade;" and in a wonderfully luminous chapter about modern literature, she has shown as clearly as Hudibras could have proved by "force of argument" that "a man's no horse," that Classicism is the ally of despotism, and that it was the policy of arbitrary power to encourage a fondness for the ancient authors!

Fiercely romantic, however, as her Ladyship is, she is mild as a cooing dove in comparison with the male interlocutor in the famous conversation to which we have alluded. This personage completely out-herods Herod; but that he was an ultra in disguise, endeavouring to make her Ladyship write down absurdities, is a conviction which 'fire and water could not drive out of' us;--even she, herself, at one period of the dialogue, can not help doubting whether she "is or is not the subject of what in England is called a hoax, and in France a mystification," and when she doubts upon such a point, it would be extremely difficult for any one else not to deem it a matter of certainty. Had we space sufficient, we should transcribe the whole of this colloquy, as it deserves repetition; but we can only give a small specimen of it for the amusement of our readers. The gentleman having informed Miladi, that Racine, Corneille, and Voltaire, are "dethroned monarchs," and no longer tolerated at the Theatre, she asks him what is to be seen or heard there, to which he answers:--

"'Our great historic dramas, written not in pompous Alexandrines, but in prose, the style of truth, the language of life and nature, and composed boldly, in defiance of Aristotle and Boileau. Their plot may run to any number of acts, and the time to any number of nights, months, or years; or if the author pleases, it may take in a century, or a millennium: and then, for the place, the first scene may be laid in Paris, and the last in Kamschatka. In short, France has recovered her literary liberty, and makes free use of it.'

"'Oui da!' I rejoined, a little bothered, and not knowing well what to say, but still looking very wise, 'In fact, then, you take some of those liberties, that you used to laugh at, in our poor Shakspeare?'

"'Your poor Shakspeare! your divine, immortal Shakspeare, the idol of new France!--you must see him played textuellement at the Français, and not in the diffuse and feeble parodies of Ducis.'

"'Shakspeare played textuellement at the Français!" I exclaimed--'O, par exemple!'

"'Yes, certainly. Othello is now in preparation; and Hamlet and Macbeth are stock pieces. But even your Shakspeare was far from the truth, the great truth, that the drama should represent the progress, development, and accomplishment of the natural and moral world, without reference to time or locality. Unknown to himself, his mighty genius was mastered by the fatal prejudices and unnatural restrictions of the perruques of antiquity. Does nature unfold her plots in five acts? or confine her operations to three hours by the parish clock?'

"'Certainly not, Monsieur; but still....'

"'Mais, mais, un moment, chère Miladi. The drama is one great illusion of the senses, founded on facts admitted by the understanding, and presented in real life, past or present. When you give yourself up to believe that Talma was Nero, or Lafont Britannicus, or that the Rue Richelieu is the palace of the Cæsars, you admit all that at first appears to outrage possibility. Starting, then, from that point, I see no absurdity in the tragedy, which my friend Albert de S---- says he has written for the express purpose of trying how far the neglect of the unities may be carried. The title and subject of this piece is "the Creation," beginning from Chaos (and what scenery and machinery it will admit!) and ending with the French revolution; the scene, infinite space; and the time, according to the Mosaic account, some 6000 years.'

"'And the protagonist, Monsieur? Surely you don't mean to revive the allegorical personages in the mysteries of the middle ages?'

"'Ah ça! pour le protagoniste, c'est le diable. He is the only contemporaneous person in the universe that we know of, whom in these days of cagoterie we can venture to bring on the stage, and who could be perpetually before the scene, as a protagonist should be. He is particularly suited, by our received ideas of his energy and restlessness, for the principal character. The devil of the German patriarch's Faust is, after all, but a profligate casuist; and the high poetical tone of sublimity of Milton's Satan is no less to be avoided in a delineation that has truth and nature for its inspiration. In short, the devil, the true romantic devil, must speak, as the devil would naturally speak, under the various circumstances in which his immortal ambition and ceaseless malignity may place him. In the first act, he should assume the tone of the fallen hero, which would by no means become him when in corporal possession of a Jewish epileptic, and bargaining for his pis aller in a herd of swine. Then again, as a leader of the army of St. Dominick, he should have a fiercer tone of bigotry, and less political finesse, than as a privy councillor in the cabinet of the Cardinal de Richelieu. At the end of the fourth act, as a guest at the table of Baron Holbach, he may even be witty; while as a minister of police, he should be precisely the devil of the schoolmen, leading his victim into temptation, and triumphing in all the petty artifices and verbal sophistries of a bachelor of the Sorbonne. But as the march of intellect advances, this would by no means be appropriate; and before the play is over, he must by turns imitate the patelinage of a Jesuit à robe courte, the pleading of a procureur général, the splendid bile of a deputy of the côté droit, and should even talk political economy like an article in the 'Globe.' But the author shall read you his piece--'La Création! drame Historique et Romantique, in six acts, allowing a thousand years to each act. C'est l'homme marquant de son siècle.''

"'But,' said I, 'I shall remain in Paris only a few weeks, and he will never get through it in so short a time.'

"'Pardonnez moi, madame, he will get through it in six nights--the time to be actually occupied by the performance; an act a night, to be distributed among the different theatres in succession, beginning at the Français and ending at the Ambigu.'"

It is here that her Ladyship begins to doubt whether this romantic gentleman was not hoaxing her, and certes it was time; but 'melt and disperse ye spectre doubts!' an attempt to hoax Lady Morgan, impossible! They do quickly pass away, and the conversation is pursued in the same strain, until "Monsieur de ---- one of the conscript fathers of classicism" is announced. No sooner has his name passed the lips of the servant, than the romantic gentleman snatches up his hat, and endeavours to make an exit from the room, in as much consternation as if the "protagonist" himself were about to appear. But Monsieur de ---- the classicist, enters before he can escape; "he draws up." The two then "glanced cold looks at each other, bowed formally, and the romanticist retired, roughing his wild locks, and panting like a hero of a tragedy." What a picture! We venture to affirm, however, that had an attentive observer been present, he would have seen something like a wink or a covert glance passing between the two worthies as they enacted the above scene, which might have led him to suspect that they knew each other better than Miladi supposed: it was only on the previous evening, be it stated, on her own authority, that she had made the acquaintance of the romanticist, whom she describes as having "something of an exalté in his air, in his open shirt collar, black head, and wild and melancholy look." The dialogue that ensues with the classicist after the disappearance of the other, is quite as ridiculous as the foregoing one, and quite as well calculated to give her Ladyship a fit of the "doubts," though it does not appear that she suffered by them a second time. We may mention, before leaving this subject, that when the romanticist told her, in the extract we have just made, that Othello was in preparation for the Theâtre Français, he told her truth; but, if we are not very much mistaken, the other piece of information he communicated--that Hamlet and Macbeth are stock-tragedies at that theatre--could only have been related by a gentleman of great fertility of imagination. Othello, we know, was actually performed, and went off tolerably well until the final scene, but then the nerves of the Frenchmen were put to a trial they could not by any possibility endure. The sight of a Moor and an Infidel, endeavouring to smother a lady and a Christian, so completely aroused all the gallant and religious sensibilities of the audience, that shouts of terrible, abominable, resounded from every part of the house, and Monsieur Othello was (theatrically) damned for his wickedness. As far as we know, he never showed his copper-coloured visage again at the Theâtre Français, but contented himself thenceforward with running after poor Desdemona, and stabbing her behind the scene at the opera, where this minor exhibition of cruelty is tolerated in consideration of the roulades, with which he smooths her passage into the other world.

Speaking of theatres puts us in mind, as the story-tellers say, of a remark made by her Ladyship in the chapter she has devoted to the theatres of Paris, which we wish to notice. She says, "it is strange, that among the many men of genius who have treated the subject of the unities, none should have clearly laid it down, that the great object of dramatic composition is the satisfaction of the audience, no matter by what means." What a fine thing it is to be endowed with uncommon powers of original thought! It is so delightful to be able to belie the assertion, that it is too late now to think of propounding any new idea, every thing having already been said that can be said about any thing! Here, ye croakers about modern degeneracy, here is something that should cover you with confusion and shame. Lady Morgan, after having read all, aye, all, that has been written about a certain subject by all the "many men of genius" who have treated it--which it would only require the lifetime of a Methuselah to do--has discovered an idea relating to it, which is to be found in none of the works of those "many men of genius," and this she has revealed for the edification and astonishment of the world, in the sentence we have quoted above. How every lover of new ideas now living, should bless his stars for having cast his existence in the same period as that of her Ladyship! It is, however, our melancholy duty, to be obliged to deprive our generation of the glory which would be shed upon it by such an intellectual invention as the foregoing. Though it has undoubtedly never been adverted to in any way, since she so asserts the fact, by any of the "many men of genius" who have exercised their minds upon the topic of the unities, yet by a singular chance we have fallen upon something very much like it in the petty effusions of two or three subordinate scribblers, who have presumed to hint at what was not excogitated by their betters. One of those effusions is a paper called a "Preface to Shakspeare," written about fifty years ago, as we have discovered, after long research and a great deal of trouble, by a certain Samuel Johnson, who dubbed himself Doctor, and published likewise, if our investigations have informed us rightly, other works, under the titles of "The Rambler," "Rasselas," "Biographies of the British Poets," &c., and tradition even says that he attempted a dictionary of the English language. Another of those effusions is an "Essay upon the Drama," by a person called Walter Scott, who, it is affirmed, is still in the land of the living, but where he dwelleth, and what other productions he hath printed, we have been able to obtain no clue for finding out. It must indeed be confessed, that neither of those individuals has so "clearly laid it down" as her Ladyship, that the audience should be pleased, "no matter by what means," though they certainly have intimated that its gratification ought to be one of the principal objects of a dramatic author. They were foolish enough to think, that to pander to the tastes of an audience, if corrupt and vitiated, is paltry, is despicable; that to consult its inclinations when at war with sound taste or proper decorum, is to do the work of those who are influenced only by a love of sordid gain, reckless of every pure and elevated feeling--that "the end of all writing is to instruct, the end of all poetry, to instruct by pleasing." This is the difference between the sentiment of the authors and that of the authoress; but were that same Samuel Johnson now alive, sooner than maintain an opinion in any the slightest manner at variance with one expressed by her Ladyship, he would,--as he was ready to do, according to his own avowal, when asserting something that was denied by persons scarcely more important than himself,--"sink down in reverential silence, as Æneas withdrew from the defence of Troy, when he saw Neptune shaking the wall, and Juno heading the besiegers."

We do not wish to insinuate that her Ladyship has derived any advantage from consulting the pages of either the Preface or the Essay to which we have alluded. By no means. Nothing would be more unjust; for how could she be indebted for any thing to what may be contained in a couple of insignificant pamphlets, whose scarcity is such, that we might almost suppose our copies of them to be the only ones in existence? How they came into our hands, is a point we leave for elucidation to those who find pleasure or profit in unravelling mysteries. There is, to be sure, a wonderful similitude throughout, between her reflections upon the classical and romantic drama, and those which may be read in the Essay; but this circumstance must unquestionably be considered one of those "remarkable coincidences" that every now and then prompt the cry of "a miracle!" It must, else, be accounted for, by supposing that the author of the Essay is gifted with a power over future operations of mind, similar to that which was possessed over future events, by the wizard who warned Lochiel against the fatal day at Culloden, and that he is thus enabled, by his "mystical lore," to make

"Coming ideas cast their shadow before."

Seriously, however, the observations of her Ladyship on this head, furnish as nice an instance of plagiarism as we recollect. The best of the matter is, that after filling nearly a couple of pages with remarks, amongst which not a single original idea is to be found, save perhaps the rather novel one, that "in Macbeth the interest is suspended at the death of Duncan, and does not revive until that of the tyrant is at hand;" she winds up with saying, "obvious as this train of reasoning appears, it has been overlooked equally by the opponents and the sticklers for the old canons of criticism; a lamentable instance of the influence of authority, and of the spirit of party, on the judgments of the most cultivated minds." This is a sample of modest assurance in perfection. There is another "remarkable coincidence" in these volumes, between the biography they contain of General Lafayette, and an article about "the Nation's Guest" in a number of the North American Review for 1825. But we leave it to our contemporary to take her Ladyship to task for this appropriation of his property.

In our foregoing remarks we have confined ourselves, in great measure, to some of those portions of the volumes before us, which are most susceptible of ridicule, though we have adverted to only a few even of those--there are others, however, that would require a graver tone. The sickly sentimentalism about Ninon de l'Enclos, La Vallière, Madame d'Houdetot, and other strumpets--such "free" conversations as those which are detailed at page 138, in the first volume, and page 108, in the second; especially as they were held in the presence of a young girl, her Ladyship's niece, who was doubtless one of the chief causes why so many gentlemen came "pour faire leurs hommages" to the aunt--and various expressions upon matters appertaining to religion, deserve reprehension in no measured terms. But we have not space enough at our disposal to bestow any further notice upon these, or to glance at other parts of "France in 1829-30," although we have reaped but a small portion of the harvest which it contains.

And this is the writer who pretends to enlighten the world upon the "state of society" in one of the greatest countries of the earth! This is the work by means of which she flatters herself that such an object is to be effected,--and this too, (proh pudor!) is the kind of work that can be republished in our country with a certainty of success! Should the fact come to the knowledge of posterity, what will be thought of the literary taste of this generation? We have, however, a cause for consolation--if that can be termed consolation which ministers only to selfish vanity, and is a source of pain to every better feeling--in the assurance that the literary history of future times, judging from the experience of the past, will present similar instances of depravity of intellectual appetite. We wonder now, how our ancestors could have relished what we regard with indifference if not with disgust, in the same way that our taste in some respects will be a matter of surprise with our descendants, and as theirs will be with those by whom they may be succeeded on the stage of life. Every age, since books have been written and books have been read, has furnished, and we may therefore assert, every age will furnish, reason upon reason for making the remark of the philosophic author of the "Caractères," that not to hazard sometimes a great deal of nonsense, is to manifest ignorance of the public taste--"c'est ignorer le goût du peuple, que de ne pas hasarder quelquefois de grandes fadaises." We do not wish to deny that Lady Morgan has been gifted with a modicum of talent; even in the work before us, there is occasional evidence of natural ability, which, had it been properly cultivated and modestly employed, might have earned for her honourable fame. But what advantage--we speak, of course, with reference to reputation; as to pecuniary profit we have no doubt that she has found her account in her 'fadaises,' or else they would not have been multiplied to such an extent--what advantage, we ask, has she derived from her faculty of scribbling, except that she has made herself pretty widely known, and ridiculed wherever she is known? Presumptuous ignorance, and overweening conceit, have, in her case, completely nullified, nay worse, have converted into a curse, in some respects, what was intended every way for a blessing. If Lady Morgan would forego her mongrel idiom, and use the English language; if she would confine herself to subjects with which she has some acquaintance; if she would substitute a simple in the stead of her inflated style; and above all, if she could forget herself, she might write tolerably well; but there are too many ifs to render it probable, or even possible, that the defects to which they relate will ever be overcome. This being the case, we take leave of you, Miladi, not with the au revoir of which you are so fond, but with the parting salutation of Louis the Fourteenth to James the Second, when sending him with an army to recover his forfeited crown, "Adieu, and may we never meet again."

ART. II.--Physiologie des Passions, ou nouvelle Doctrine des Sentimens Moraux; par J. L. ALIBERT. Chapitre XI. de l'Ennui. Physiology of the Passions; or a New Theory of Moral Sentiments. Chap. XI. of Ennui.

This book is neither exact nor eloquent. The thoughts are not precise; the expressions are vague; and, of consequence, the reasonings of no value. The attempts at rich displays of imaginative power are contrasted with a want of invention; and illustrative stories, of feeble execution, are lavished abundantly in lieu of physiological facts. The volumes are too insipid to cheat an idle hour of its weariness; they rather engender fatigue than relieve it. The author will never enter the true elysium of glory; he has not substance enough to proceed straight up the ascent; but will certainly be "blown transverse into the devious air." Like most of the literature of the day, this new Theory of Moral Sentiments is essentially transient. It will pass, like anti-masonry, without producing an era.

Yet the chapter on Ennui is tolerably sensible. It is neither brilliant nor acute; but gives a superficial sketch of that state of being with considerable accuracy. To be sure, it is not from a Frenchman, that the best account of ennui should be expected. Of all nations of Europe, the French have the least of it, though they invented the word; while the Turks, with their untiring gravity, their lethargic dignity, their blind fatalism, their opium-eating, and midnight profligacies, have undoubtedly the largest share. But the Turks are only philosophers in practice; the theory they leave to others. Now next to the Turks, the English suffer most from ennui. Do but hear the account which their finest poetical genius of the present century gives of himself, when he was hardly of age.

"With pleasure drugged he almost longed for wo, And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below."

The complaints of a young man in the bloom of life and the vigour of early hope, cannot excite much sympathy. But he interests all our feelings, when in the fullest maturity to which Lord Byron was permitted to attain, he still draws from his own bosom the appalling picture of unalleviated feelings, and describes the horrors of permanent ennui, in language that was doubtless but the mournful echo of an unhappy mind.

"'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it has ceased to move; Yet, though I cannot be beloved, Still let me love.

My days are in the yellow leaf; The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief, Are mine alone.

The fire that in my bosom preys Is like to some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at his blaze-- A funeral pile.

The hope, the fears, the jealous care, The exalted portion of the pain And power of love I cannot share, But wear the chain."

Such was the harassed state of Lord Byron's mind, at the epoch of his life which seemed to promise a crowded abundance of exciting sensations. He had hastened to the consecrated haunts of classic associations; he was struggling for honour on the parent soil of glory; he was surrounded by the stir and tumult of barbarous warfare; he had the consciousness, that the eyes of the civilized world were fixed upon his actions; he professed to feel the impulse of enthusiasm in behalf of liberty; and yet there was not irritation enough in the new and busy life of a soldier, to overcome his apathy, and restore him to happy activity. He only sought to give away his breath on the field, and to take his rest in a soldier's grave.

The literature of the day is essentially transient. The rapid circulation of intelligence enriches the public mind by imparting and diffusing every discovery; and the active spirit of man, quickened by the easy possession of practical knowledge, rightly claims the instant distribution of useful truth. But with this is connected a feverish excitement for novelty. The world, in the earliest days of which accounts have reached us, followed after the newest strains; and now the lessons of former ages, though they have a persuasive eloquence for the tranquil listener, are as blank and as silent as the grave to the general ear. The voice of the past, all musical as it is with the finest harmonies of human intelligence, is lost in the jangling din of temporary discussions. Philosophy steals from the crowd, and hides herself in retirement, awaiting a better day; true learning is undervalued, and almost disappears from among men. It would seem, as though the wise men of old frowned in anger on the turbulence of the petty passions, and withdrew from the noisy and contentious haunts, where wisdom has no votaries, and tranquillity no followers. In the days of ancient liberty, the public places rung with the nervous eloquence of sublime philosophy; and the streets of Athens offered nothing more attractive than the keen discussions, the piercing satire, and the calm philanthropy of Socrates. But now it is politics which rules the city and the country; the times of deep reflection, of slowly maturing thought, are past; and now that erudition is a jest, ancient learning an exploded chimera, and elaborated eloquence known chiefly by recollection, the ample gazette runs its daily career, and heralds, in ephemeral language, the deeds of the passing hours. The age of accumulated learning is past, and every thing is carried along the rushing current of public economy, or of private business.--Life is divided between excited passions and morbid apathy.

And is this current so strong, that it cannot be resisted? Are we borne without hope of rest upon the ebbing tide? Can we never separate ourselves from the theory, and with the coolness of an observer, watch the various emotions, motives, and passions by which the human world is moulded and swayed? Can we not trace the influence of the changes and chances of this mortal state on the character and minds of mortal men?

Life is a pursuit. The moralists, who utter their heathenish oracles in the commonplace complaints of a heathenish discontent, tell us, that we are born but to pursue, and pursue but to be deceived. They say, that man in his career after earthly honours, is like the child that chases the gaudy insect; the pursuit idle; the object worthless. They tell us, that it is but a deceitful though a deceptive star, which beams from the summit of the distant hill; advance, and its light recedes; ascend, and a higher hill is seen beyond, and a wider space is yet to be traversed. And they tell us, that this is vanity; this the worthlessness of human desire; this the misery and desolation of the human heart. But how little do they know of the throbbings of that heart! How poorly have they studied the secrets of the human breast! How imperfectly do they understand the feebleness and the strength of man's fortitude and will! If the bright object still gleams in the horizon, if the brilliancy of glory is still spread on the remotest hill, if the distant sky is still invested with the delicate hues of promise, and the gentle radiance of hope, pursuit remains a pleasure; and the pilgrim, ever light-hearted, passes heedlessly over the barren wastes, and climbs with cheerful ardour each rugged mountain. But suppose that brilliant star to be blotted out of the sky; suppose the lustre of the horizon to have faded into the dank and gloomy shades of a cloudy evening; suppose the pursuit to be now without an object, and the blood which hope had sent merrily through the veins, to gather and curdle round the desponding heart. Then it is, that life is abandoned to persecuting fiends, and the springs of joy are poisoned by the demons of listlessness.

The scholar and the Christian have theirs guarantied against despair. The desire for intelligence is never satisfied but with the attainment of that wisdom which passes all understanding; and the eye discerning the bright lineaments of its perfect exemplar, can set no limits to the sacred passion, which recognises the connexion of the human mind with the divine, and places before itself a career of advancement, to which time itself can never prescribe bounds. But it is not with these high questions that we are at present engaged. We have thrown open the book of human life; we are to read there of this world and its littleness, of the springs of present action, of the relief of present restlessness.

We have said, that the pursuit of a noble object is in itself a pleasure. It is to the mind which holds up no definite object to its wishes, that the universe seems deficient in the means of happiness, and joy becomes a prey to the fiend of ennui.

Let us develop this principle more accurately. Let us examine into the nature of ennui, and fix with exactness its true signification. Let us see if it be a principle of action widely diffused. Let us ascertain the limits of its power; let us trace its influences on individual character. Perhaps the investigation may lead us to a more intimate acquaintance with our nature.

Ennui is the desire of activity without the fit means of gratifying the desire. It presupposes an acknowledgment of exertion as a duty, and a consciousness of the possession of powers suited to making an exertion. It is itself a state of idleness, yet of disquiet. It is inert, yet discontented.

Such is ennui in itself. In its effects, it embraces a large class of human actions, and its influences are widely spread throughout every portion of mental or physical effort. To trace these effects, and to prescribe their limits, will be a part of our object; at present we would observe, that wherever a course of conduct is the result of physical want, of a passion for intelligence, a zeal for glory, or to sum up a great variety of theories in one, of a just and enlightened self-love, there there is no trace of ennui. But when the primary motives of human conduct have failed of their effect, and the mind has become a prey to listlessness, the career, then pursued, let it be what it may, is to be ascribed to the pain of ennui. When the mind gnaws upon itself, we have ennui; the course which is pursued to call the mind from this self-destructive process, is to be ascribed to the influence of that passion.

Are our definitions indistinct? Let us attempt illustration. When the several powers and affections of man are, in the usual course of existence, called into healthy exercise, on objects sufficient to interest and satisfy them; this is happiness. When those powers and affections are exercised by objects sufficient to excite them in their highest degree, but where, being thus excited, there exists no harmony between the mind and its pursuits, where the affections are aroused without being soothed, where the chime is rung, but rung discordantly, there is misery. Where the powers of the mind are vigorous but unoccupied; where there exist a restless craving, an inquiet mobility, yet without any definite purpose or commensurate object, there is ennui.

The state of mind is strongly delineated in the language of the sacred writer.--

"I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do; and behold all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun. And I turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness, and folly; for what can the man do that cometh after the king? Even that which hath already been done. Then I saw that wisdom excelleth folly, as far as light excelleth darkness. The wise man's eyes are in his head; but the fool walketh in darkness; and I perceived also, that one event happeneth to them all. Then I said in my heart, As it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth even to me; and why was I then more wise? Then I said in my heart, that this also is vanity. For there is no remembrance of the wise more than of the fool for ever; seeing that which now is, in the days to come shall all be forgotten. And how dieth the wise man? As the fool. Therefore, I hated life; because the work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me; for all is vanity and vexation of spirit."

Or, to take an example from the earliest monument of Grecian genius. Achilles, in the pride of youth, engaged in his favourite profession of arms, making his way to an immortality secured to him by the voice of his goddess mother, sure to gain the victory in any contest, and selecting for his reward the richest spoils and the fairest maid. Achilles, the heroic heathen, was then fully and satisfactorily employed, and according to his semi-barbarous notions of joy and right, was happy within his own breast, and was happy in the world around him. When the same youthful warrior was insulted by the leader under whose banners he had rallied, when the private recesses of his tent were invaded, and his domestic peace disturbed, his mind was strongly agitated by love, anger, hatred, the passion for strife, and the intense effort at forbearance; and though there was here room enough for activity, there was nothing but pain and misery. But when the dispute was over, and the pupil of the Centaur, trained for strife, and victory, and glory, separated from the army, and gave himself up to an inactive contemplation of the struggle against Troy, his mind was abandoned to the sentiment of discontent, and his passions were absorbed in the morbid feeling of ennui. Homer was an exact painter of the human passions. The picture which he draws of Achilles,[1] receiving the subsequent deputation from the Greeks, illustrates our subject exactly. It was in vain for the hero to attempt to sooth his mind with the melodies of the lyre; his blood kindled only at the music of war; it was idle for him to seek sufficient pleasure in celebrating the renown of heroes; this was but a vain effort to quell the burning passion for surpassing them in glory. He listens to the deputation, not tranquilly, but peevishly. He charges them with duplicity, and avows that he loathes their king like the gates of hell.[2] He next reverts to himself: The warrior has no thanks, he exclaims in the bitterness of disappointment--"The coward and the brave man are held in equal honour." Nay, he goes further, and quarrels with providence and fixed destiny.--"After all, the idler, and the man of many achievements, each must die."[3] To-morrow, he adds, his vessels shall float on the Hellespont. The morning dawned; but the ships of Achilles still lingered near the banks of the Scamander. The notes of battle sounded, and his mind was still in suspense between the fiery impulse for war and the haughty reserve of revenge.

When Bruce found himself approaching the sources of the Nile, a thousand sentiments of pride rushed upon his mind; it seemed to him, that destiny had marked out for him a more fortunate and more glorious career, than for any European, kings or warriors, conquerors or travellers, that had ever attempted to penetrate into the interior of Africa. This was a moment of exultation and triumphant delight. But when that same traveller had actually reached the ultimate object of his research, he has himself recorded the emotions which were awakened within him. At the fountain-head of the Nile, Bruce was almost a victim to sentimental ennui.

In this anecdote of the Abyssinian traveller, we have an example of the rapidity with which ennui treads on the heels of triumph, and banishes the feelings of exulting joy. We will cite another, where misery was followed and consummated by ennui. The most eloquent of the Girondists was Vergniaud. It was he that in the spirit of prophecy compared the French revolution to Saturn, since it was about to devour successively all its children, and finally to establish despotism with its attendant calamities. The rivalship of the Mountain in the Convention, the unsuccessful attack on Robespierre, the trial and condemnation of Louis XVI., the defection of Dumourier and its consequences, had doubtless roused the mind of the fervent but unsuccessful orator to the highest efforts which the decline of power, and the consciousness of wavering fortunes, and the menace of utter ruin, patriotism, honour, and love of life, could call forth. At last came the day, fraught with horrors, when the clamours of a despotic and inexorable mob, claimed of the convention Vergniaud and his associates, the little refuse of republican sincerity, to be the victims of their fiendish avidity for blood. Who will doubt, that during that fearful session the mind of Vergniaud was agitated in the extreme, that the highest possible excitement called him into the highest possible activity? Here there was no room for listlessness, and quite as little for happiness. The guarantees of order were failing, and the friends of order were to be buried under the same ruins with the remains of regular legislative authority. Vergniaud retired from the scenes where the foulest of the dogs of war were howling for their prey, and when Gregoire found him out in his hiding-place, the republican orator, though robbery and massacre were triumphant in the city, was discovered reading Tacitus. Why? From affectation? Surely not; Gregoire's visit was unexpected. From cool philosophy? still less, for it was the season of peril for an irritable man. The studies of Vergniaud on that day were the studies of one suffering from ennui.

Ennui was the necromancer which conjured up the ghost of Cæsar on the eve of the battle of Philippi. And when Brutus esteemed that battle lost, which in truth had been won, he had yet to wrestle with that unseen enemy, and enter on a new contest, where he was sure to be overthrown. The execution of Madame Roland was a scene, as far as she was concerned, of intense and unmitigated suffering; but when Brutus dared to despair of virtue, the atrocious sentiment was dictated, not by the spirit that had dared to plan the liberties of the world, but by the demon of ennui, which in an evil hour had possessed himself of the patriot's soul.

Finally, for we have surely made ourselves intelligible, if it is possible for us to do so--the timid lover, whose affections are moved, yet not tranquillized, who gazes with the eyes of fondness on an object that seems to be of a higher world, and admires as the stars are admired, which are acknowledged to be beautiful yet are never possessed; the timid lover, neither wholly doubting, nor wholly hoping, the sport alternately of joy and of sorrow, full of thought and full of longing, feeling the sentiment of rapture yield to the faintness of uncertain hope, is half his time a true personification of ennui.

That ennui is a principle of action widely diffused, will hardly be denied by any careful observer of human nature. No individual can conscientiously claim to have been always and wholly free from its influences, except where there has been a life springing from the purest sources, sanctified by the early influence of religious motives, and protected from erroneous judgments by the constant exercise of a healthful understanding. For the rest, though few are constantly afflicted with it as an incurable evil, there are still fewer who are not at times made to suffer from its influence. It stretches its heavy hand on the man of business and the recluse; it makes its favourite haunts in the city, but it chases the aspirant after rural felicity, into the scenes of his rural listlessness; it makes the young melancholy, and the aged garrulous; it haunts the sailor and the merchant; it appears to the warrior and to the statesman; it takes its place in the curule chair, and sits also at the frugal board of old fashioned simplicity. You cannot flee from it; you cannot hide from it; it is swifter than the birds of passage, and swifter than the breezes that scatter clouds. It climbs the ship of the restless who long for the suns of Europe; it jumps up behind the horseman who scours the woods of Michigan; it throws its scowling glances on the attempt at present enjoyment; it scares the epicurean from his voluptuousness, and when the ascetic has finished his vow, it compels him once more to repeat the tale of his beads.

To the influence of ennui must be traced the passion for strong excitement. When life has become almost stagnant, when the ordinary course of events has been unable to excite any strong interest, ennui assumes a terrific power over the mind, and clamours for emotion, though that emotion is to be purchased by scenes of horror and of crime. "What a magnificent spectacle," said the Parisian mob, "how interesting a spectacle to see a woman of the wit and courage of Madame Roland on the scaffold!" And it is precisely the same power, which excites the sensitive admirer of works of fiction to ransack the shelves of a library for works of thrilling and "painful" interest.

To the same kind of restless curiosity we have to ascribe the passionate declamations of the tragic actor, and the splendid music of the opera; the cunning feats of the village conjuror, and the lascivious pantomime of the city ballet-dancers; the disgusting varieties of bull-fights, and the celebrated feats of pugilism; the locomotive zeal of the great pedestrians, and the perfect quiescence of the "pillar saints."

The habits of ancient Rome illustrate most clearly the extent to which this passion for strong sensations may hurry the public mind into extravagances, and repress every sentiment of sympathy and generosity. Ambition itself is not so reckless of human life as ennui; clemency is the favourite attribute of the former; but ennui has the tastes of a cannibal, and the sight of human blood, shed for its amusement, makes it greedy after a renewal of the dreadful indulgence. No one need be informed, that the shows of ancient gladiators were attended by an infinitely more numerous throng than is ever gathered by any modern spectacle. And let it not be supposed, that the life of one of these combatants was the more safe, because it depended on the interposition of the Roman fair. The fondness for murderous exhibitions finally raged with such vehemence, that they were at length introduced as an attraction at a banquet, and the guests, as they reclined at table in the luxury of physical ease, have been wet by the life-blood from the veins of the wounded gladiators.

Quinetiam exhilarare viris convivia cæde Mos olim, et miscere epulis spectacula dira Certantum ferro, sæpe et super ipsa cadentum Pocula, respersis non parco sanguine mensis.

Time would fail us were we to illustrate the various horrors which attended these amusements, designed to entertain the most refined population of Rome. Time would fail us were we to enumerate the various classifications in the art of murder on the stage, the signals which were made by the multitude in token of relenting clemency, the more usual signal, made by virgins and matrons, demanding the continuance of the combat unto death. Do we not call Titus the delight of the human race? Do we not praise his commonplace puerility, perdidi diem, the exclamation of conceit, rather than of manliness? And yet it was this philanthropist, this favourite of humanity, who caused the vast amphitheatre to be erected, as it were a monument to all ages of the barbarous civilization of the capital of his empire. And as to the numbers who appeared on these occasions, do we suppose it was a pair? or a score? We will not ask after the horrors commended and consummated by a Tiberius or a Caligula. Was not Trajan a moderate prince? Was he not disposed to introduce habits of a reasonable industry? Yet the active Trajan kept up a succession of games to cheat the population of Rome of ennui, during a hundred and twenty-three days, in which time ten thousand gladiators were decked for sacrifice.

Thus the vehemence of this passion is evident from the atrocity of the resources by which its cravings are satisfied. We may also remark, that superstition itself, interwoven as it is with all the fears and weaknesses of humanity, subjects the human mind to a bondage less severe and less permanent than that of the terrific craving after something to dissipate the weariness of the heart. At Rome the sacrifices to the heathen deities were abolished before the games of the gladiators were suppressed; it was less difficult to take from the priests their spoils, from the altars their victims, from the prejudices of the people their religious faith, than to rescue from ennui the miserable wretches whose lives were to be the sport of the idle. The laws already forbade the offering the bull to Jove, when the poet still had to pray that none might perish in the city under the condemnation of pleasure,

Nullus in urbe cadat, cujus sit poena voluptas.

Philosophy itself offers no guarantee against the common infirmities of listlessness. Many a stoic has resisted the attacks of external evils with an exemplary fortitude; and has yet failed in his encounters with time. Strange indeed that time should be an encumbrance to a sage! Strange indeed, that, when life is so short, and philosophy boundless, and time a gift of the most precious nature, dealt out to us in successive moments, a possession which is most coveted, and can the least be hoarded, which comes, but never returns, which departs as soon as given, and is lost even in the receiving,--strange indeed that such a gift, so precious, so transient, so fleeting, should ever press severely upon a philosopher!

And yet wisdom is no security against ennui. The man who made Europe ring with his eloquence, and largely contributed to the spirit of republican enthusiasm, wasted away for months in a state of the most foolish languor, under the idea that he was dying of a polypus at his heart.[4] Nay, this philosopher, who presumed to believe himself skilled in the ways of man, and an adept in the character of women, who dared to expound religion and proposed to reform Christianity, who committed and confessed the meanest actions,--and yet, as if in the presence of the Supreme Arbiter of life and before the tribunal of Eternal Justice, arrogated to himself an equality with the purest in the innumerable crowd of immortal souls,--he, the proud one, would so far yield to ennui, as to put the final and eternal welfare of his soul at issue on the throw of a stone. La Harpe, no correct writer, nor sound critic, affirms, that Rousseau undertook to decide the question of a Superintending Providence by throwing stones at a tree. That would have been not merely an imbecile but a blasphemous act. As the case stood, Jean Jacques must be acquitted of any charge worse than that of excessive and even ridiculous weakness. "Je m'en vais," he says to himself, "je m'en vais jeter cette pierre contre l'arbre qui est vis-a-vis de moi: si je le touche, signe de salut; si je le marque, signe de damnation."

But Jean Jacques passes for an inspired madman. What shall we say to the temperate Spinoza, whose life was not variegated by the brightness of domestic scenes, and who, being cut off from active life and from social love, necessarily encountered a void within himself. It was his favourite resource against the visits of ennui, to catch spiders and teach them to fight; and when he had so far made himself master of the nature of these animals, that he could get them as angry as game cocks, he would, all thin and feeble as he was, break out into a roar of laughter, and chuckle to see his champions engage, as if they, too, were fighting for honour.

Poor Spinoza! It may indeed be questioned, whether his whole philosophy was not a sort of pastime with him. It may be, that after all he was ingenious because he could not be quiet, and wrote his attacks on religion from a want of something to do. At any rate it has fared strangely with his works. The world had well nigh become persuaded, that Spinoza was but a name for a degraded atheism, and now we have him zealously defended, and in fact we have seen him denominated a saint.[5] So near are extremes: the ridiculous borders on the sublime; and the same man is denounced as a parricide of society, and again extolled as a model of sanctity.

But we have a stronger example than either of these. The very philosopher, who first declared experience to be the basis of knowledge, and found his way to truth through the safe places of observation, gives in his own character some evidences of participation in the common infirmity. He said very truly, that there is a foolish corner even in the wise man's brain. Yet, if there has ever appeared on earth, a man possessed of reason in its highest perfection, it was Aristotle. He had the gift of seeing the forms of things, undisturbed by the confusing splendour of colours; his mind, like the art of sculpture, represented objects with the most precise outlines and exact images; but the world in his mind was a colourless world. He understood and has explained the secrets of the human heart, the workings of the human passions; but he performs all these moral dissections with the coolness of an anatomist, engaged in a delicate operation. The nicety of his distinctions, and his deep insight into the nature of man, are displayed without passion, while his constant effort after the discovery of new truth, never for one moment betrays him into mysticism, or tempts him to substitute shadows for realities. One would think, that such a philosopher was the personification of self-possession; that his unruffled mind would always dwell in the serene regions of intelligence; that his step would be on the firm ground of experience; that his progress to the sublime temple of truth and of fame, would have been ever secure and progressive; that happiness itself would have blessed him for his tranquil and dispassionate devotedness to exalted pursuits.

But perhaps the clear perception of the realities of life is not the secret source of contentment. Many a scholar has shrunk from the contest of transient interests, and sought happiness rather in the world of contemplation; and perhaps the studies of antiquity derive a part of their charm, from their affording us a place of refuge against the clamours and persecutions which belong to present rivalries. If the view of human nature, adopted by a large portion of our theologians, is a just one, the heart must recoil with horror from the true consideration of the human world in its natural unmitigated depravity, and throw itself rather into the hopes that belong to the future, and the mercies that attach to the Supreme Intelligence, for relief against the apathy which so cold a contemplation of unmingled evil might naturally produce.

In the mouth of Pindar, life might be called a dream, and it would but pass for the effusion of poetic melancholy. But when the sagacious philosopher asserts it, that all hope is but the dream of waking man, a latent discontent broken from the concealment of an unsatisfied curiosity, a baffled pursuit; when his mind had arrived at that state, nothing but its remarkable vigour could have preserved him from settled gloom.

Again the venerable sage examined into the sources of happiness. It does not consist, he affirms, in voluptuous pleasures, for they are transient, brutalizing, and injurious to the mind; nor in public honours, for they depend on those who bestow them, and it is not felicity to be the recipient of an uncertain bounty; nor yet does happiness consist in riches, for the care of them is but a toil; and if they are expended, it is plainly a proof, that contentment is sought for in the possession of other things. In the view of the Stagyrite, happiness consists in the pursuit of knowledge, and in the practice of virtue, under the auspices of mind, and nature, and fortune. He that is intelligent, and young, and handsome, and vigorous, and rich, is alone the happy man. Did the world need the sublime wisdom, the high mental endowment of the Stagyrite, to learn, that neither the poor, nor the dull, nor the aged, nor the sick, can share in the highest bounty of the Universal Father? When it is remembered that Aristotle was favoured above all his contemporaries in intellectual gifts, we ask the reader to draw an inference as to the state of his mind, which still demanded the beauties of personal attractions, and the lavish liberality of fortune.

When asked what is the most transient of fleeting things, the philosopher made but a harsh answer, in naming "gratitude;" but his mind must have been sadly a prey to ennui, when he could exclaim, "my friends! there are no friends."

He could not be content to sit or stand, when he gave lessons in moral science, but walked to and fro in constant restlessness; and, indeed, if tradition reports rightly, he could not wait the will of Heaven for his release from weariness, but in spite of all his sublime philosophy, and all his expansive genius, he was content to die as the fool dieth.

But ennui kills others beside philosophers. It is not without example, that men have committed suicide, because they have attained their utmost wishes. The man of business, finding himself possessed of a sufficient fortune, retires from active life; but the habit of action remains, and becomes a power of terrific force. In such cases, the sufferer sits away listless hours of intense suffering; the mind preys upon itself, and sometimes madness ensues, sometimes suicide is committed.

Saul went out to find his father's asses. With the humble employment he seems to have been reasonably pleased, and probably made search with a light heart and an honest one. But, seeking asses, he found a kingdom; and contentment fled when possession was full. In him, the reproofs of conscience and discontent with the world produced a morbid melancholy, and pain itself would have been to him a welcome refuge from ennui.

We detect the same subtle spirit at work, in the slanders in which gossips find relief. Truth is not exciting enough to those who depend on the characters and lives of their neighbours for all their amusement; and if a story is told of more than common interest, ennui is sure to have its joy in adding a few embellishments. If time did not hang heavy, what would become of scandal? Time, the common enemy, must be passed, as the phrase is, and the phrase bears its own commentary; and since the days of gladiators are passed, where can be the harm of blackening the reputation of the living? To the pusillanimous and the idle, scandal is the condiment of life; and while back-biting furnishes their entertainment abroad, domestic quarrelling fills up the leisure hours at home. It is a pretty general rule, that the médisante is a termagant in her household; and, as for our own sex, depend upon it, in nine cases out of ten, the evil tongue belongs to a disappointed man. In the tenth case, the man is an imbécile.

Fashion, also, in its excess, is but a relief against ennui; and it is rather strong evidence of the universal prevalence of listlessness, that a change in dress at Paris, can, within a few months, be imitated in St. Louis. Yet, in the young and the fair, a milder sentiment influences conduct. In them, the latent consciousness of beauty, the charm of an existence that is opening in the fulness of its attractions, the becoming loveliness of innocence and youth, the simple cheerfulness of inexperience, lead to a modest and decorous display. Broadway, the unrivalled Broadway, is not without its loungers; yet the young and the gay are not discontented ones. They move in the strength of their own beauty, like the patriot statesman, neither shunning, nor yet courting admiration; and tripping along the brilliant street, half coveting half refusing attention,

"They feel that they are happier than they know."

From Broadway we pass to the crowded haunts of business. Is there ennui there? Do the money changers grow weary of profits? Is business so dull that bankers have nothing to do? Are doubtful notes so uncommon, that there is no latitude for shaving? Have the underwriters nothing at sea to be anxious about? Do the insurers on life omit to look after those who have taken out policies, and exhort them to temperance and exercise? These are all busy enough; too much engaged, and too little romantic to be much moved by sentimental regrets. But there are those, who plunge headlong into affairs from the restlessness of their nature, and who hurry into bold speculations, because they cannot endure to be idle. Now, business, like poetry, requires a tranquil mind. But there are those, who venture upon the career of business, under the impulse of ennui. How shall the young and haughty heirs of large fortunes rid themselves of their time, and acquit themselves in the eye of the public of their imagined responsibilities? One writes a tale for the Souvenirs, another speculates in the stocks. The former is laughed at, yet hoards an estate; the latter is food for hungry sharks. Then comes bankruptcy; sober thought repels the fiend that had been making a waste of life, or the same passion drives its possessor to become a busy body and zealot in the current excitement of the times; or absolute despair, ennui in its intensity, leads to insanity.

For the mad house, too, as well as the debtor's gaol, is in part peopled by the same blighting power, and nature recovers itself from a state of languid apathy, only by the terrific excitement of frenzy. Or a passion for suicide ensues; the mind revels in the contemplation of the grave, and covets the aspect of the countenance of death as the face of a familiar friend. The mind invests itself in the sombre shades of a melancholy longing after eternal rest--a longing which is sometimes connected with unqualified disbelief, and sometimes associates itself with an undefined desire of a purely spiritual existence.

We might multiply examples of the very extensive prevalence of that unhappy languor of which we are treating. Let us aim rather at observing the limit of its power.

It was a foolish philosophy, which believed in ennui as an evidence and a means of human perfectibility. The only exertions which it is capable of producing, are of a subordinate character. It may give to passion a fearful intensity, consequent on a state of moral disease; but human virtue must be the result of far higher causes. The exercise of principle, the generous force of purified emotions, cheerful desire, and willing industry, are the parents of real greatness. If we look through the various departments of public and of intellectual action, we shall find the mark of inferiority upon every thing which has sprung from ennui. In philosophy, it might produce the follies of Cynic oddity, but not the sublime lessons of Pythagoras or Socrates. In poetry, it may produce effusions from persons of quality, devoid of wit, but it never could have pointed the satire of Pope. In the mechanic arts it may contrive a balloon, but never could invent a steam-boat. In religion, it stumbles at a thousand knotty points in metaphysical theology, but it never led the soul to intercourse with heaven, or to the contemplation of divine truth.

The celebrated son of Philip was a man of exalted genius; and political wisdom had its share in his career. Ennui could never have produced Macedonia's madman, but it may well put in its claim to the Swede. Or let us look rather for a conqueror, who dreamed that he had genius to rival Achilles, and yet never had a settled plan of action. The famous king of Epirus has seemed to be an historical puzzle, so uncertain was his purpose, so wavering his character. Will you know the whole truth about him? Pyrrhus was an ennuyé.

When a painter, in the pursuit of his vocation, is obliged to give a likeness of a person that has neither beauty nor soul, he may perhaps draw figures in the air, or spoil his picture by an inconsiderate flourish of his pencil. He dislikes his task, and his work will show it.

When a poet writes a song for hire, or solely to be sung to some favourite air, it is more than probable his verses will be languid, and his meaning doubtful. Thus, for example,--

"The smiles of joy, the tears of wo Deceitful shine, deceitful flow."

This is sheer nonsense. Joy smiles in good earnest, and many an aching heart knows too well the deep truth of distress.

The fervent eloquence of true piety springs from conviction, and reaches the heart; but we have sometimes listened to a dull sermon, which proceeded from weariness more than from zeal, and belonged to ennui more than to the stirring action of eloquent religion. The lawyer, too, is sometimes overborne in his plea by disgust with his work, and in his tiresome repetitions you may plainly see how he loathes--

"To drudge for the dregs of men, And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen."

The life of Napoleon, in its busiest period, presents a remarkable instance of ennui. While the allies were collecting around him in their utmost strength, he was himself wavering in his purposes, and reluctant to decide on the retreat to Leipsic. Strange, that at such a time he should have given way to an overwhelming and almost childish languor. Yet an eyewitness relates, "I have seen him at that time, seated on a sofa, beside a table on which lay his charts, totally unemployed, unless in scribbling mechanically large letters on a sheet of white paper." Such was the power of ennui over Napoleon, at a time, when, in his own language, nothing but a thunderbolt could save him.

It is dangerous for a man of superior ability to find himself thrown upon the world without some regular employment. The restlessness inherent in genius being thus left undirected by any permanent influence, frames for itself occupations out of accidents. Moral integrity sometimes falls a prey to this want of fixed pursuits; and the man who receives his direction in active life from the fortuitous impulse of circumstances, will be very apt to receive his principles likewise from chance. Genius, under such guidance, attains no noble ends; but resembles rather a copious spring, conveyed in a falling aqueduct; where the waters continually escape through the frequent crevices, and waste themselves ineffectually on their passage. The law of nature is here, as elsewhere, binding; and no powerful results ever ensue from the trivial exercise of high endowments. The finest mind, when thus destitute of a fixed purpose, passes away without leaving permanent traces of its existence; losing its energy by turning aside from its course, it becomes as harmless and inefficient as the lightning, which, of itself irresistible, may yet be rendered powerless by a slight conductor.

These remarks apply perhaps in some measure even to Leibnitz, whose sublime intelligence and mental activity were the wonder of his age. He attained a celebrity of reputation, but hardly a contented spirit; at times he descended to the consideration of magnitudes infinitely small, and at times rose to the belief that he heard the universal harmony of nature; for years he was devoted to illustrating the antiquities of the family of a petty prince; and then again he assumed the sublime office of defending the perfections of Providence. Yet with all this variety of pursuit, the great philosopher was hardly to be called a happy man; and it almost fills us with melancholy to find, that the very theologian who would have proved this to be absolutely the best of all possible worlds, died after all of chagrin.

Yet the name of Leibnitz is one which should rather excite unmingled admiration; for the rich endowments of Heaven distinguished him as one of the most favoured in that intellectual superiority which is the choicest gift of God. Our subject is more fully illustrated in the case of a less gifted, though a notorious man; one whose qualities have been recently held up to admiration, yet for whom we find it impossible to conceive sentiments of respect. We mean Lord Bolingbroke.

His talents as a writer have secured to him a very distinguished place in the literature of England; and his political services, during the reign of Queen Anne, have rendered him illustrious in English history. But though he was possessed of wit, eloquence, family, wealth, and opportunity, he never displayed true dignity of character, nor real greatness of soul. He seemed to have no fixed principles of action; and to have loved contest more than victory. Wherever there was strife, there you might surely expect to meet St. John; and his public career almost justifies the inference, that apostacy (if indeed a man who has no principles can be called an apostate) would have seemed to him, after his defeat, a moderate price for permission to appear again in the lists. But as he had always coveted power with an insatiable avidity, he never could rest long enough to acquire it. On the stormy sea of public life, he was for ever struggling to be on the topmost wave; but the waves receded as fast as he advanced; and fate seemed to have destined him to waste his life in fruitless efforts and as fruitless changes.

In early life he sought distinction by his debaucheries; and from the accounts of his biographer, it would seem, that he succeeded in becoming the most daring profligate in London. Tired of the excess of dissipation, he attempted the career of politics, and found his way into Parliament under the auspices of the whigs. When politics failed, he put on the mask of a metaphysician. Tired of that costume, he next attempted to play the farmer. Dissatisfied with farming, he wrote political pamphlets. Still discontented with his condition in the world, he strove to undermine the basis of religion.

He began public life as a whig; but as the tories were in the ascendant, he rapidly ripened into a tory; he ended his political career by deserting the tories and avowing the doctrines of staunch and uncompromising whigs. He tried libertinism, married life, politics, power, exile, restoration, the House of Commons, the House of Lords, the city, the country, foreign travel, study, authorship, metaphysics, infidelity, farming, treason, submission, dereliction,--but ennui held him with a firm grasp all the while, and it was only in the grave that he ceased from troubling.

To an observer who peruses his writings with this view of his character, many of his expressions of wise indifference and calm resignation, have even a ludicrous aspect. The truth breaks forth from all his attempts at disguise. The philosopher's robes could not hide the stately wrecks of his political passions. They say, that round Vesuvius, the lava of former eruptions has so entirely resolved itself into soil, that vineyards thrive on the black ruins of the volcano; and that the ancient devastation could hardly be recognised, except for an occasional dark mass, which, not yet decomposed, frowns here and there over the surrounding fertility. Something like this was true of St. John; he believed his ambition extinct, and attempted to gather round its ruins all the beauties and splendour of contented wisdom; but his nature was still ungovernably fierce; and to the last, his passions lowered angrily on the quiet scenes of his literary retirement.

There is no clue to his character, except in supposing him to have been under the influence of ennui, which was perpetually terrifying him into the grossest contradictions. He could not be said to have had any principles, or to have belonged to any party; and to whatever party he rallied, he was sure to become utterly faithless. He was not less false to the Pretender than to the King, to Ormond than to Walpole. He was false to the tories and false to the whigs; he was false to his country, for he attempted to involve her in civil war; and false to his God, for he combated religion. He was not swayed by a passion for glory, for he did not pursue it steadily,--nor by a passion for power, for he quarrelled with the only man by whose aid he could have maintained it. He was rather driven to and fro by a wild restlessness, which led him into gross contradictions "for his sins." Nor was his falsehood without its punishment. What could be more pitifully degrading, than for one who had been a successful British minister of state, and had displayed in the face of Europe his capacity for business and his powers of eloquence, to have finally stooped to accept a seat in the Pretender's cabinet, where pimps and prostitutes were the prime agents and counsellors?

There exists a very pleasant letter from Pope, giving an account of Bolingbroke's rural occupations, during his country life in England, after the reversal of his attainder. He insisted on being a farmer; and to prove himself so, hired a painter to fill the walls of his parlour with rude pictures of the implements of husbandry. The poet describes him between two haycocks, watching the clouds with all the apparent anxiety of a husbandman; but to us it seems, that his mind was at that time no more in the skies than when he quoted Anaxagoras, and declared heaven to be the wise man's home. His heart clung to earth, and to earthly strife; and his uneasiness must at last have become deplorably wretched, since he could consent to pick up stale arguments against Christianity, and leave a piece of patchwork, made up of the shreds of other men's scepticism, as his especial legacy to posterity, in proof of the masterly independence of his mind.

Thus we have endeavoured to explain the nature of that apathy which is worse than positive pain, and which impels to greater madness than the fiercest passions,--which kings and sages have not been able to resist, nor wealth nor pleasures to subdue. We have described ennui as a power for evil rather than for good; and we infer, that it was an absurd philosophy which classed it among the causes of human superiority, and the means of human improvement. It is the curse pronounced upon voluptuous indolence and on excessive passion; on those who decline active exertion, and thus throw away the privileges of existence; and on those who live a feverish life, in the constant frenzy of stimulated desires. There is but one cure for it: and that is found in moderation; the exercise of the human faculties in their natural and healthful state; the quiet performance of duty, in meek submission to the controlling Providence, which has set bounds to our achievements in setting limits to our power. Briefly: our ability is limited by Heaven--our desires are unlimited, except by ourselves--ennui can be avoided only by conforming the passions of the human breast to the conditions of human existence.

In pursuing this investigation, which we now bring to a close, we have not attempted to exhaust the subject; we refer it rather to the calm meditations of others, who will find materials enough within themselves. And lest the impatient should throw aside our essay with the disgust of satiety, or the persevering should by our prolixity be vexed with the very spirit which we would rather teach them to exorcise, we here take a respectful leave, with our sincerest wishes, that life may be to the reader a succession of pleasant emotions, and death a resting place neither coveted nor feared.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Iliad, ix. 187-190.

[2] Iliad, ix. 310-320.

[3] Iliad. Pope renders this--Alike regretted in the dust he lies. But it is an expression of discontent with destiny, which sets a common limit to life, and not to men, whose regrets may be unequal.

[4] Jean Jacques Rousseau. Confessions, p. 1. l. vi.

[5] We remember perfectly well the beginning of an apostrophe to the Jewish philosopher; "Du heiliger Spinoza." Herder, too, has a good deal to say in defence of him.

ART. III.--Travels in Kamtchatka and Siberia; with a Narrative of a Residence in China. By PETER DOBELL. 2 vols. 12mo. 1830.

Mr. Dobell, the author of these volumes, is an American gentleman, who formerly resided in the city of Philadelphia, where he was known as an enterprising and intelligent merchant. Commercial business led him to make several voyages, beyond the Cape of Good Hope; and circumstances at length induced him to prolong his residence in Asia. He established himself at Canton, where he lived for some years, and undertook, from time to time, trading expeditions to various ports on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. In the course of these, frequent opportunities were afforded of noticing the manners, country, and state of society in China, superior to such as occur to ordinary travellers; and much too of the remote people of Eastern Russia, who are very little known to those inhabiting the civilized portions of the world. These voyages were succeeded by more than one journey across the country to St. Petersburg, in which he observed, with an attentive eye and inquisitive disposition, the extensive regions forming the penetralia of that vast empire. His intelligence and exertions were noticed and rewarded by the confidence of the government, who conferred on him the office of Consul at some Eastern port, and he was subsequently raised to the post of "Counsellor of the court" of his Imperial Majesty, a rank which he still retains, having probably relinquished the intention of returning to his own country.

The account of China, which, in the natural order, would form the first portion of his narrative, is comprised in a sort of supplement to the travels in Siberia, and contains in a more compendious form, a good sketch of the manners and state of society in that singular country. The means of observation, and of obtaining information, are indeed greatly diminished, by the well known jealousy of the Chinese towards strangers, and the extreme vanity and exaggeration with which they speak of themselves and their country; but the pursuits of Mr. Dobell, together with the recurrence of the opportunities by which he profited, give to his account a considerable degree of novelty, and certainly entitle it to more than ordinary confidence.

On his first arrival at Canton, he was struck with the new and interesting scene that presented itself. Islands, hills, canals, and rivers, were scattered around. The verdure was lively, the population excessive, the vegetation and general appearance of the country totally different from those he had elsewhere beheld, and the waters glittered with innumerable fleets of boats of various sizes and descriptions. The boatmen and pilots addressed him in a language which he afterwards found to prevail extensively at Canton, and which was called English; it is, in truth, a bad dialect of that language, the composition and pronunciation of which are so curious and difficult, that a residence of a year or two is necessary for its acquisition. None of the Chinese, rich or poor, understand those who speak plain English. The first intercourse of a foreigner with the natives, displays that imposition and venality which are more strongly exhibited, during every month of his residence among them. He is at once surrounded by persons, called compradors, who offer their assistance in supplying him with provisions of every description; they serve him without wages, although they are obliged to pay the Mandarins for the privilege of affording their generous aid to strangers; the consequence is, they take especial care to remunerate themselves handsomely at the expense of those to whom they extend their kindness. Besides this, as they bribe the custom-house officers, they are able to offer many facilities, and to carry on an extensive contraband commerce. Those officers are sent to a vessel immediately on her arrival, and their boats, called hoppoo-boats are constantly attached to her stern while she remains in port; their consciences, however, are easily satisfied by the liberality of the comprador, and they pass their time in smoking, sleeping, and playing at cards; indeed, if any extraordinary smuggling is desired to be accomplished, they protect the offender against the officious interference of other officers: they keep shops on board of their boats, where they exercise their expertness in cheating, and, as every thing is sold by weight, it is necessary to weigh for yourself what you buy, to avoid the tricks which they always endeavour to play.

Undoubtedly, the venality of the Chinese has been increased by the introduction of commerce from beyond the Cape of Good Hope; but there is no doubt also, that its existence is of very old date, and that it is owing to the nature and conduct of the government, more than to the character of the people. There are so many prohibitions and enormous duties to tempt their prevailing passion, avarice, that vast numbers engage in the contraband trade, as being the most profitable; moderate duties, and freedom of importation, would destroy the temptation, and render smuggling dangerous and unprofitable; at present it has become an organized system of plunder, protected by the Mandarins themselves.

"The opium trade," says Mr. Dobell, "with the exception of ten chests of that pernicious drug, that are allowed to be imported into Macao, for medicinal purposes, is entirely conducted by smugglers. In defiance of an annual edict from the Emperor, making it death to smuggle opium, the enormous quantity of nearly four thousand chests is imported every year to Macao and Whampoa; the greater part, however, goes to the former place. When I inform my readers that each chest weighs a pecul, that is to say, 133-1/3 English pounds, and that it sells for twelve to fifteen hundred, and sometimes two thousand Spanish dollars a chest, they may form some judgment of the value and extent of smuggling in China. It is a business that all the inferior Mandarins, and some of the higher ones, their protectors, are engaged in; so that opium is carried through the streets of Macao, in the most bare-faced manner, in the open day. The opium dealers at Whampoa, formerly took it away by night, but latterly I have seen them go to the ship, with the linguist of the Whampoa custom-house officer, and take it out in the day time. Sixty Spanish dollars is the bribe paid for each chest of opium sold at Macao; and if it goes to Canton, it pays sixty more on its arrival there. Large boats armed, and having from thirty to forty men, called opium boats, ply between Macao and Canton, when that market offers an advantage in price. These boats carry this drug, and are sanctioned by the custom-house officers, who, of course, receive for this business likewise, a good bribe."

The only attempts made to suppress this practice, are on the initiation into office of new foo-yunes, or governors, who have not yet perfectly learned the established usages, or who have not been propitiated by the necessary gratuities. In these cases, a terrible revolution occurs in the peaceful and quiet frauds of the smugglers; their shops are broken up, their property confiscated without mercy, and all the terrors of the law invoked upon the persons of such, who indeed are few, as have not alertness and foresight enough to keep out of the way. This excess of virtue does not endure long however; and the liberal generosity of the traders generally contrives, in a month, to overcome the scruples of the most resolute.

"During my residence, however," says Mr. Dobell, "a foo-yune arrived, who proved incorruptible, and he almost destroyed the smugglers, as well as the profits of his colleagues; which latter, becoming tired of his persecutions, united together, and by their intrigues had him advanced to a much higher station. Being a man of talent, he got another step again in a short time, and at length came back to Canton as Tsan-tuk or viceroy. The opium dealers and smugglers were greatly alarmed, shut up their shops, and secreted themselves for some time. It appeared their fears were groundless. This artful man, who formerly persecuted them from political motives, to insure his advancement, was now as mild and propitious as possible. Having arrived at an elevated station, with the certainty of rising still higher, he sought to enrich himself, in order to be more sure of gratifying his ambition. Accordingly, he proved kind to his colleagues, and polite to Europeans; and by his affability of deportment, contrived to amass the largest fortune that ever fell to the share of a viceroy of Canton. He was afterwards made a member of the emperor's council at Pekin."

The robbery of the government, if conducted with sufficient skill and boldness, seems to be as successful as smuggling--indeed, it is a maxim with those in power, never to risk a defeat, and that it is best to accomplish their ends, by a crafty and cautious delay until a favourable moment for executing them arrives. The salt trade is one of the most lucrative, important, and extensive, and is conducted entirely under special licenses from Mandarins, appointed by the crown. Some years since, the pirates on the coast intercepted the salt-junks, and compelled the monopolists to negotiate with them, and pay a certain sum for the safe passage of every vessel. After a while, this intercourse led to a regular trade, by which the captains of the salt-junks supplied the pirates with arms and ammunition, and the government discovering it, an entire stop was put to the salt trade. The pirates, however, were not to be so easily frightened or defeated; their admiral, Apo-Tsy, forthwith commenced an offensive warfare; assembled an immense fleet of junks and a force of upwards of twenty thousand men, invaded the country near Macao, cut all the ripe rice, and carried it off, as well as a great number of women, whom he presented to his followers. In vain did the viceroy attack the piratical fleet,--he was defeated in every engagement, and the affair was only terminated by making Apo-Tsy governor of the province of Fokien, and pardoning all his followers! Matters however did not stop here; in some of his battles, Apo-Tsy had taken prisoner an admiral nearly related to the heir to the crown, and cut off his head; as soon as the relative ascended the throne, he despatched a polite message to the governor of Fokien, to say, that the laws of the empire required blood for blood, and that his excellency's head was therefore required instead of the admiral's. There was no excuse to be made, and the twenty thousand pirates were no longer at hand, so that Apo-Tsy's head was conveyed to Pekin.

This salt trade is very extensive; no less than twenty thousand tons of shipping being occupied in it alone. Indeed the great commerce of the Chinese appears to be that carried on by their own junks to the Indo-Chinese islands. One of these vessels will carry a cargo of from three to five thousand dollars value, in earthenware, silks, nankeens, ironmongery, tea, and other productions and manufactures of the Chinese. They have settlements on all these islands, and are certainly invaluable colonists, as they have sufficiently proved wherever they are established. They work the mines, plant cotton, make indigo and sugar, and acquire large fortunes among the slothful and careless Malays. Though they intermarry with these people, they never adopt their habits or religion, but remain, as well as their descendants, a distinct race; and wherever found, their settlements present a complete miniature picture of China. It is indeed a gross error to consider China a country wholly agricultural and manufacturing; on the contrary, the Chinese are one of the most commercial nations of the globe. It is true, they affect themselves to hold the trade which they carry on with distant nations, as comparatively unimportant, and assert that with the contiguous islands to be infinitely more lucrative; yet this is to be ascribed to their habit of decrying other countries; and it is not to be doubted that the revenue derived from the commerce they thus contemn, is very great. The importations into Canton from England, America, Holland, France, Sweden, Denmark, Manilla, and India, in European and American ships, in money and merchandise, must be annually from thirty to forty millions of dollars. The bad policy which occasions the immense contraband trade in opium, deprives the government of duties, annually, to the amount of four or five millions of dollars. Their commercial system with foreigners, shows a great deal of deep cunning, but it is repulsive to wisdom and good policy, and by no means calculated to afford them the advantages they might derive from that intercourse.

The highly wrought principles and moral maxims, which abound in the writings of the lawgivers and philosophers of China, have been sometimes cited to prove the existence of a superior system of institutions and laws. Theoretical speculations, vanity, and self adulation, are one thing; wise administration, and practical justice, are another. The doctrines of Confucius are worthy to be placed with those of Solon; the rescripts of the celestial emperor, abound in common-places of unbending integrity and the sternest equity; but notwithstanding all this, the morals of the people are debased, the very foundations of virtue are sapped by bribery and corruption, with all their concomitant vices; the sword of justice is arrested; and license is widely given to the violation of public and private rights. Some instances of this unblushing venality are mentioned by Mr. Dobell.

"By the law of homicide, life must atone for life; and, if a person dies suddenly, the master of the house is treated in the same manner as if he had been guilty, until he proves the fact. This keeps the Chinese always on their guard, and ready to deceive the mandarins, or to bribe them, if necessity should require. A person of my acquaintance related to me, that he had a large garden, where there were some nice fruits, which were often stolen; and although his servants had frequently watched, they could not detect the offender. He therefore determined to watch with them; and, having armed himself with a pike, accompanied his two servants in the night, to try and detect the thief. Not long after he had placed himself at his post, he saw a naked man approach the trees near where he stood. He called to him to stand still or he would kill him. The fellow, frightened at this summons, made off with all speed; and the master of the house, seeing him about to escape, threw his pike at him, which killed him on the spot. He was much alarmed at the accident; but recollecting himself, he promised his servants a handsome present to keep the affair secret; and with their assistance, threw the dead body over the wall, into his neighbour's garden. This, too, was managed in so careful manner, as to render it impossible to discover whence the body came. His neighbour, who was a very rich tea-merchant, felt no less alarmed than astonished, on the following morning, when his servants informed him that a dead man had been found in the garden, who to all appearance had been murdered. The story soon reached the mandarin of the district, who proceeded, in all due form, to execute the duties of his office, and examine the body; not a little delighted to have to deal with such a man as the rich tea-merchant. A corpse found in this way cannot be touched or removed until the police-mandarin of the district comes and inquires into the manner of the person's death; and if there is any thing suspicious, he will not suffer the dead man to be taken away, before he has had some satisfactory proofs of the cause of his death. As none such could be elicited from the merchant, who, conscious of his innocence, thought the mandarin could do him no harm, the latter commenced a regular process, and made him daily visits, besides sending for him frequently, and thus perplexed him exceedingly. All this time the dead man was left in the garden, which being near the house, and the body beginning to putrefy, such an odour was caused as became almost insupportable. At length, the merchant, overpowered by the bad smell, and alarmed by the measures the mandarin was preparing to prove him culpable, was happy to compromise the affair, and have the dead body removed, on paying the sum of four thousand five hundred Spanish dollars!"

Nor was this the end of the adventure, which reminds one of the story of the Little Hunch-back, in the Arabian Nights Entertainments:--

"A few years after, the person who put the dead man into the merchant's garden, had himself a disagreeable affair, though it cost him less trouble and money to get rid of it. In the street where he lived, and not far from his house, was an eating house for the lower classes. A beggar, who had been half-starved, receiving from some compassionate person enough to purchase himself a very ample repast, repaired to this eating house, and called for several things at the same moment, which he ate most voraciously. The owner of the eating house requested him to stop a while before he ate again, as he perceived it must have been some time since he had satisfied his hunger. The beggar, however, would not listen to reason; he demanded food for his money till it was all expended, and then dropped down dead. This happened towards evening; and when the host perceived that it was dark, he and his servants took up the dead mendicant, and placed him at the door of the person before mentioned. On the following morning, the beggar-mandarin of the district came to him, and was very troublesome, declaring the beggar had been killed by some of his family, and that he should institute a process against him immediately. The accused, however, had the good fortune to find a witness, who had seen the keeper of the eating house and his servants put the body at his door. Although the beggar-mandarin could now do nothing against him in law, he refused to take the corpse away; and he was obliged to pay him two hundred dollars to have it removed before it became offensive. No doubt he got a good fee likewise from the master of the eating house."

The accounts we have of the population of China, greatly exaggerate it in the opinion of Mr. Dobell. The persons by whom these statements are given, have been generally ambassadors, missionaries and others, who were, from political motives, as well as convenience of travelling, conducted in boats on the canals and rivers which intersect the richest, best cultivated and most populous parts of the empire. But it is ridiculous to calculate the number of inhabitants, by assuming, as the basis, the population of a square league so settled, and to imagine that all the land is equally well cultivated. The truth is, that all the rice grounds of the empire--and the whole population eats rice--would be utterly insufficient to afford the necessary quantity, for any thing approaching to the numbers which it is currently asserted to contain.

The system of husbandry, too, is defective, though the cultivators of the soil are industrious; about Canton and Macao, they transplant every stalk of rice by hand with great regularity, and make two crops in the year; one in July, the other in October. In the cultivation of vegetables of all sorts, they are not surpassed by any nation of the globe. Rents are usually paid in cattle, hogs, fowls, rice, and the various productions of the soil, and the tenure is a species of feudal one, derived primarily from the emperor, who is considered theoretically as the actual proprietor of all the soil.[6] Fruits are so plentiful, that there is less attention paid to them than in colder climates; almost every month of the year has its peculiar fruits; but those most esteemed are the oranges, mangoes, and lichees. Of the productions of the soil, however, that most prized by foreigners, as well as most used and esteemed in China, is tea. To the history of this celebrated plant, Mr. Dobell has devoted a whole chapter, but we confess that we have found it less perspicuous, except as to the commercial value of the various qualities offered for sale, than we desired or expected, after the opportunities of observation which he possessed. We infer, that he agrees with the prevailing opinion, that there is but one species of the tea plant. He speaks of four stocks, by which he seems to mean the varieties arising from a difference of cultivation, soil, or temperature. These four stocks are Bohea, Ankay, Hyson, and Singlo--names derived from the places in which they are particularly cultivated. From the two former are prepared what we call black teas, from the two latter green teas. According to the season at which the leaves are gathered, and the manner in which they are subsequently prepared, is the excellence of each kind. Of black teas, the Bohea kinds are superior to the Ankay; thus, the simplest or commonest sort of the first, sells at Canton for twelve to fourteen taels per pecul,[7] of the other for eight to ten; and the finest sort of the first, Bohea Pecho, brings from forty to one hundred and twenty taels; but of the latter, Ankay Pecho, only thirty-two to forty-two taels. In like manner of green teas, the Hyson kinds are superior to the Singlo; thus the commonest sort of the first, called Hyson Skin, sells for twenty-six to thirty taels, while that of the latter, called Singlo Skin, sells at twenty-two to twenty-five taels; and the finest sort of the first, or Hyson Gunpowder, brings eighty to one hundred and twenty taels, while Singlo Gunpowder brings only fifty to eighty taels. As the subject is one of considerable interest, we have condensed into a short table the comparative qualities and values of the different kinds of teas, so far as we can do so from the remarks of Mr. Dobell:--the value is reduced to our own currency, and the quantity to our own weights; the price is that of the Canton market.

Black Teas.

Common Bohea, 21 dollars per 133-1/3 pounds Bohea Congou, 33 " " " Bohea Campoi, 34 " " " Bohea Souchong, 60 " " " Bohea Pecho, 133 " " " Common Ankay, 15 " " " Ankay Congou, 27 " " " Ankay Campoi, 38 " " " Ankay Souchong, 41 " " " Ankay Pecho, 61 " " "

Green Teas.

Hyson Skin, 46 dollars per 133-1/3 pounds Hyson Young-hyson, 63 " " " Hyson, 91 " " " Hyson Gunpowder, 166 " " " Singlo Skin, 39 " " " Singlo Young-hyson, 47 " " " Singlo Hyson, 78 " " " Singlo Gunpowder, 108 " " "

Tea is the common beverage of all classes, and is always drunk warm, even in the hottest weather, and at all hours of the day. It is prepared by putting a small quantity of the leaves in a fine porcelain cup; boiling water is then poured on it, and it is covered immediately with another cup fitting closely: as soon as the flavour of the tea is slightly extracted, it is sipped hot, as it is, great strength being avoided; the cup is then filled again with boiling water, until all the flavour of the herb is exhausted. Mechanics and labourers, who cannot afford to drink it in this manner, draw it in a large block-tin tea-pot, cased with wood, and having cotton wool put between the wood and the vessel to preserve the warmth longer. The extreme heat of the tea, as preferred by the Chinese, is one of the causes, perhaps, that tend to produce the relaxation, weakness of digestion, and languor of nerve, with which they are much afflicted.

The perfection of many of the mechanic arts in China, which cannot be denied in some instances, results less from any scientific skill, than from the laboured experience of ages brought slowly to a certain point. Beyond that, no discoveries of modern knowledge have led them. Thus, the brightness and permanence of colouring in their silk manufactures, are not produced by any secret mordents or process, but derived from a very nice experience of the climate, and certain concurrent circumstances. For instance, great numbers of persons are employed, so that great rapidity in the execution of the process is assured. The north wind, called Pak-fung, is the only period at which the silks are dried. And when they are packed up for exportation, great care is taken to avoid a time when there is the slightest dampness.

Nothing has ever been more exaggerated, than the state of civilization and social advancement among the Chinese. They are, in general, a frugal, sober, and industrious people; but the accounts of their government, sciences, religion, public institutions, and improvement in morals and arts, are both false and ridiculous. The administration of public affairs, is such as would disgrace any country on the globe; and the code of laws which is expressed in such high flown metaphors, and boasts such wonderful wisdom in its doctrines, serves, in truth, but as a cloak to hide injustice and oppression. In former times, the mandarins or nobles were said to be chosen from amongst the best of the nation, by wise men sent for that purpose by the emperor; at present, money wins its way more easily than talent or virtue, to the hearts of these electors. The poorer classes live in a state of extreme wretchedness; their houses are low, confined, and filthy, and they crowd together in great numbers; on the coasts, those who live in boats,--and they are stated to amount at Canton to sixty or eighty thousand souls,--have much cleaner and more commodious habitations. There is said to be more deformity among them than among any other people; and all classes are subject to the complaints which result from debauchery and the use of opium. In the latter, they appear to find an almost inexpressible delight. The Chinese have no surgeons, and are almost totally ignorant of anatomy; the first physicians of Canton, have none but the most confused notions of the circulation of the blood; they believe it flows differently on the right and left sides of the body, and they therefore feel both pulses when they visit a patient.

At Canton, during the summer months, the thermometer varies from 82° to 92°. There is but little frost in winter, and not much rain. The streets are only made for foot passengers. The mandarins ride in sedan-chairs of large size, with glass windows, carried on the shoulders of four, six, ten, or twelve men; several fellows run before with whips, which they apply without mercy to any one obstructing the way; others beat gongs to warn the crowd; whilst some cry out, with a shrill voice, like the howling of dogs. The Chinese, indeed, though supposed to be a grave nation, are remarkably fond of personal display; few countries abound more with fops. The dress of an exquisite is very expensive, being composed of the most costly crapes or silks; his boots or shoes are of a particular shape, and made of the richest black satin of Nankin, with soles of a certain height; his knee caps are elegantly embroidered; his cap and button are of the neatest cut; his pipes elegant and high-priced; his tobacco of the best manufacture of Fokien; an English gold watch; a tooth-pick hung at his button, with a string of valuable pearls; and a fan from Nankin, scented with chulan flowers--such are his personal appointments. He is attended by servants in costly liveries; and, when he meets an acquaintance, his studied manners and ceremonial are as carefully displayed, as the airs of the most accomplished dandy in Christian countries.

All amusements are anxiously sought after. Theatrical exhibitions constantly take place after dinner in the houses of the rich. Cards and dice abound every where. Besides these, they have many other sports and games of chance, peculiar to the country. Cricket fighting and quail fighting are very common. To make two male crickets fight, they are placed in an earthen bowl, about five or eight inches in diameter; the owner of each, tickles his cricket with a feather, which makes them both run round the bowl different ways, frequently jostling one another as they pass. After several meetings in this way, they at length become exasperated, and fight with great fury until they literally tear each other limb from limb.

Quails for fighting are prepared with great care. Every one has a separate keeper, who has his bird confined in a small bag, which he carries with him wherever he goes. The poor prisoner is rarely permitted to see the light, except when he is fed, or it is deemed necessary for his health; he is then held by the keeper on his hand, sometimes for hours. When two quails are brought to fight, they are placed in a thing like a large sieve, in the centre of a table, round which the spectators stand to witness the battle and make their bets. Some grains of millet seed are put into the sieve, and the quails are taken from the bags and placed near it, opposite to each other. If they are birds of courage, the moment one begins to eat he is attacked by the other, and they fight hard for a few minutes. The quail that is beaten flies up, and the conqueror remains to eat the seed. The best fights seldom last more than five minutes. Immense sums of money are lost and won on them, for they are very uncertain; sometimes one quail has been known to win several hundred battles, and then suddenly to be beaten by a new and untutored bird.

Next to quail fighting, the flower-boats occupy most of a Chinese gentleman's leisure hours. They are the residence of women, generally of agreeable conversation and lively manners, but not of the purest character. The vessels are so called, from having the sides, windows, and doors, carved in flowers, and painted green and gilded. They are divided into rooms, which are well ventilated and fitted up with verandas, galleries, and all the conveniences of comfort, luxury, and dissipation. The gentlemen go to them in the afternoon; parties are formed; they all sit round a large table, well furnished, and eat, drink, sing, and play, until morning. It is said that from forty to fifty thousand dollars are spent daily in the flower-boats of Canton. By an ancient custom, the Hong-merchants there, when making their contracts for tea, (which is generally done a year in advance,) are obliged to invite the persons with whom they wish to contract, to partake of a repast in one of those boats. The bargain is always easy in proportion to the sumptuousness and splendour of the supper, during which it is concluded; and although very expensive, is fully repaid by the advantages gained in the contract.

When a Chinese gives a ceremonious dinner, it is done with great splendour. Several days before, a large red paper is sent to the guests, on which the invitation is written in the politest terms of the language. On the day preceding the party, another invitation is sent on rose coloured paper, to remind them of it, and to ascertain whether they are coming. Again, on the next day, a short time before the hour appointed, the invitation is repeated, to inform them that the feast is prepared and awaits them. A great number of dishes are served on small ebony tables, and dressed in the most piquant manner; there are several courses; and, in addition to various wines, cordials of a fiery nature are offered from time to time. When two persons wish to pledge one another, they leave the tables, go into the middle of the room, and take care to place the cups to their lips exactly at the same instant. They are not apt to become intoxicated. Between the courses they rise from the table and walk about. The most expensive delicacy they can offer is birds' nest soup, with pigeons' or plovers' eggs floating on it. The birds' nests, so used, are formed of a mucilage supposed to be collected from certain weeds floating on the sea, by the swallows of the Indian, Chinese, and Pacific oceans; some of the best come from Batavia and the Nikobar Islands; they are sold by weight, and a catty (one pound and three quarters) of the best parts, sells for the enormous price of forty-five to sixty dollars.

The Chinese do not appear to be governed by fixed and solid principles of religion, such as the Christian faith, produced by conviction or reason. They have a superstitious reverence for certain ceremonies, rights, and ancient customs, which have prevailed for ages; and these serve, in many respects, to cover various vices and habits which are prevalent. They seem, however, to believe in a Supreme Being, called the Great Joss, or Yook-Chee, represented only to the mind, and not allowing his image to be made on earth; and they say, should any one be rash enough to make a statue of him, he would be immediately struck dead. He is, however, described on paper, holding the little finger of his right hand across the first joint of the middle finger, the fore-finger resting on the point of the little finger, and the third finger bent round it, whilst the thumb is also bent upwards, a very curious and difficult position to place the fingers in. They believe that when he opens his hand, the world and mankind are to be destroyed; and they consider all the other deities and spirits, to whom, however, they do not pay a very great adoration, as sent by him to the world. These are supposed to preside over rain, crops, dreams, &c., and have various attributes, which it would require volumes to explain. The Chinese have no regular priesthood, supported by the government; it depends on voluntary contributions and endowments of the rich; it has its monasteries, where numbers of both sexes devote themselves to celibacy; but, in general, it seems, as a body, to have less influence than in most countries. In all rich families, there is a shing-shang, or astrologer, who is consulted on all occasions; he is the tutor, and generally the writer; and thus becomes a man of much importance. The funerals are objects of great attention; and, where it is possible, great expense is bestowed on them; every care is taken to choose a lucky spot for interment, and the tombs are made very splendid.

These are a few of the facts we have noted with regard to the Chinese, in perusing Mr. Dobell's volumes; and but a very few. Those who are desirous to obtain a fuller account of the country, manners, and state of society of that singular people, than our limited space will permit us to give, may turn to them with great profit. He has evidently devoted much attention to the collection of information; and, resulting as it does, from the observations of a number of years, with an opportunity of correcting and comparing accounts and impressions, received at various times and under various circumstances, we believe that just and great reliance may be placed on it. We must now leave China, however, and follow him on his expedition to the north of Asia.

Leaving Canton, and proceeding along the western shore of the Pacific ocean, he landed at the harbour of St. Peter and St. Paul, on the 25th of August, 1812. He describes the bay of the Avatcha, which forms the port, as forty versts in circumference, encompassed by forest-covered mountains and extensive meadows. It is so capacious and safe, that large fleets may securely lie there; and it affords a combination of picturesque beauty, grandeur, and security, rarely equalled in other parts of the globe. Immense tracts of low ground extend along the outlet of the river Avatcha, which present the appearance of having been banked out in former times, to prevent their being overflowed. So numerous, indeed, are these embankments, and so far beyond the necessities or ability of such a population as the present, to erect, that they are by many of the inhabitants supposed to be natural mounds. This conjecture, however, Mr. Dobell was convinced was incorrect, from repeated observation.

"Evident marks remain," he observes, "where the earth has been dug out and thrown up; the holes, which were very deep, are now ponds, whilst the shallower ones have been filled up with soft mud, and have a thick surface of turf upon them, resembling what is called a shaking bog. There is no doubt of their being the work of man; but when and how it was performed was what I could not discover. The Kamtchatdales themselves could have had no inducement to undertake such a laborious task; as, when they were first known, they had neither horned cattle nor horses. They were probably made after the conquest of that country by the Russians, when domestic animals were introduced; as they are evidently intended to preserve the low lands for hay and pasture. This has been so well accomplished, that the greater part of them are still actually in good order."

After passing a few days at Avatcha, and gratifying the inhabitants with a ball on board of his vessel, Mr. Dobell set out, on the first of September, for Nijna Kamtchatsk, a town seven hundred and fifty miles distant, the residence of the governor, whom it was necessary for him to see, in order to make the commercial arrangements he desired. He ascended the Avatcha river, the banks of which are for the most part composed of fine meadow land, or hills thickly covered with birch. Early on the following day, the party left their boats, and proceeded on horseback over two or three very steep mountains, and amid clouds of mosquitoes, which tormented them exceedingly. The houses at which they stopped, from time to time, were in general black, smoky, and dirty, but the inhabitants kind and hospitable beyond measure, though poor. The universal food is fish--men, dogs, bears, wolves, and birds of prey, all live upon them, and indeed they abound, in quantities fully sufficient to supply all; they are seen in the streams sporting about by thousands, and even the shores are covered with dead ones thrown up by the current.

The dwelling of the Kamtchatdales is of two kinds--for the summer and the winter. The former, which is called a ballagan, is a building of a conical form, composed of poles fourteen or fifteen feet long, laid up from the edge of a circle, ten or twelve feet in diameter, the tops meeting at the centre, and tied there by ozier twigs or ropes. The outside of these is covered with birch or pine bark, over which there is sometimes a thatching of coarse grass, fastened down by other poles and oziers. This kind of hut is generally erected in the centre of a square platform, elevated ten or twelve feet, upon large posts planted deep in the ground. Poles are again placed in rows under the building and between the posts, where they dry their fish, which the hut serves to cover from the weather, as well as to store and preserve them when dried. The door of the ballagan is always opposite to the water; the fire-place on a bed of earth outside, at one corner of the platform. A large piece of timber, with notches cut in it instead of steps, and placed against the platform at an angle of forty-five degrees, is the method of ascending and descending, particularly unsafe and inconvenient for those not accustomed to so uncouth a staircase.

The winter house, or jourta, is a sort of subterranean dwelling. It generally consists of a frame of timber, put into a square hole four or five feet deep, and within the frame a quantity of stakes are set close together, inclining a little inwards, and the earth thrown against them. The stakes are left round on the outside, but hewn within, and the top is framed over in the same manner and arched and supported by stanchions. In the centre of the roof is a square hole, which serves the double purpose of a door and a chimney, the inhabitants passing in or out by means of a piece of timber with notches cut in it, such as we have before described. The top and sides of the jourta are covered outside with a quantity of earth and sodded. At one end, there is a large hole with a stopper to it, which is opened when the oven is heating, to force the smoke out at the door. When once heated, and the stopper closed, jourtas are warm, and, were it not for the smoke, would be comfortable. The description of such subterranean habitations, and of the lives led by these rude people during their long and bitter winters, cannot be read without reviving in the memory those lines of Virgil, which describe a race similar in all respects--even to the acid liquors they distil; but dwelling in regions far less remote from the warm skies of Italy.--

"Ipsi in defossis specubus secura sub altâ Otia agunt terrâ; congestaque robora, totasque Advolvêre focis ulmos, ignique dedêre. Hic noctem ludo ducunt, et pocula læti Fermento atque acidis imitantur vitea sorbis. Talis hyperboreo septem subjecta trioni Gens effræna virûm Riphæo tunditur Euro Et pecudum fulvis velantur corpora setis."

The increase of civilization, wealth, and intercourse with other nations, has however effected a great change in the mode of life among this remote people. Cottages, made generally of logs, are substituted for these ruder mansions, especially in the neighbourhood of the sea-ports; and a traveller occasionally meets with much that reminds him of fairer climes, and a state of society less primitive.

"On reaching Sherrom, a cottage was pointed out to us as the habitation of the Toyune, the outward appearance of which was too engaging not to excite anticipations of good cheer within. As it was a low building, I put my head into one of the windows that was open, and was quite surprised to see so neat and clean a dwelling in that country. The name of the owner, who was Toyune of Sherrom, was Conon Merlin. He and his wife were absent fishing, but we were not less hospitably received by his daughter and daughter-in-law, two clean dressed pretty young women, who welcomed us with their smiles, and made us imagine, that, instead of Kamtchatka, we had got into the land of enchantment. Every thing about them seemed in unison with their appearance. The tables and stools were of poplar white as snow; no vermin was to be seen on the walls, which were hewn smooth and whitened; and the whole presented a picture of neatness, cleanliness, and comfort, such as we had not yet seen in Kamtchatka. In fifteen minutes after our arrival, a refreshing cup of tea was prepared, with fresh butter, cream, and milk; and their being served up in so neat a manner, made them taste more delicious than usual. Our hostess being a well-behaved young woman, we requested her to do the honours of the table, which she performed with the utmost cheerfulness and politeness, just as if she had been bred in a city. In the evening the old Toyune and his wife returned from fishing, and seemed quite overjoyed to see us, as such guests, they said, were not common; and they certainly took uncommon pains to treat and to please us. The old man appeared between sixty and seventy years of age, with a long white beard and moustachios, which, added to a mild, sensible, and prepossessing countenance, gave him a most sage and respectable appearance, and personified to my imagination the wise enchanter whose name he bore. Conon Merlin had been educated by the famous Mr. Evashkin, a Russian nobleman, who was banished to Kamtchatka during the reign of Catharine II., and is since dead; but who was well known to former travellers in Kamtchatka. Our Toyune, therefore, could write and read Russian well, knew most of the dialects of Kamtchatka, and was certainly the most intelligent man I ever met among the natives."

On the morning of the 13th, soon after leaving the village of Klutchee, they beheld the majestic volcano of Klootchefsky, rearing its awful and flaming head far above the clouds. This huge mountain, towering to the skies, is a perfect cone, decreasing gradually from its enormous base to the summit; its top is whitened by perpetual snow, and the flame and smoke, for ever issuing from its crater, are seen shading the sky at the distance of many miles. Sometimes quantities of ashes are thrown out, so fine as to impregnate the atmosphere, and be inhaled in breathing; and, it is said, that occasionally a white clammy substance, resembling, perhaps, the honey dew elsewhere observed, has flowed from the crater, sweet to the taste, and very adhesive when touched. Altogether, this mountain is one of the most picturesque and sublime of the volcanoes described by travellers, though from its remote situation it has been, and probably long will be, visited but by few.

Mr. Dobell reached Nijna Kamtchatsk on the 14th of September, and was most kindly received and treated by the governor, General Petrowsky, with whom he made all the arrangements he desired, and, after a visit of six days, returned to St. Peter and St. Paul. He describes the town of Nijna Kamtchatsk as one of eighty or ninety houses, and between four and five hundred inhabitants. Its situation is not good, the ground being low and moist. It is on the bank of the river Kamtchatka, about thirty-five versts from the sea. Since the period we allude to, the seat of government has been removed to St. Peter and St. Paul, and the town has lost nearly all its population, there being but five or six families left there.

On his way back he again visited his kind host, the Toyune of Sherrom, whom he found laying in his winter stock of provisions, which offered a good example of the economy, wants, and supplies of a Kamtchatdale family. He assured Mr. Dobell that himself and his sons had killed twelve bears, eleven mountain sheep, several reindeer, a large number of geese, ducks, and tiel, and a few swans and pheasants. "In November," said he, "we shall catch many hares and partridges; and I have one thousand fresh salmon, lately caught, and now frozen for our winter's stock. Added to this, in my cellar there is a good supply of cabbages, turnips, and potatoes, with various sorts of berries, and about thirty poods of sarannas, the greater part of which we have stolen from the field mice, who collect them in large quantities for the winter." In the spring, the Kamtchatdales supply themselves with the skins of the hair seals and other sea animals, from whose fat also they obtain oil. The hunting of these is therefore a matter of no small importance, and carries many of the Kamtchatdales down to the coast. It is accompanied with great fatigue and occasional risk.

"The Toyune of Malka," says Mr. Dobell, "related to me a curious adventure that occurred to him and two of his friends. They repaired in the latter part of April to their usual hunting place, where they found the sea still covered with ice for a considerable extent. Each had a sledge and five dogs, and although the wind blew strongly off shore, they did not hesitate to go on the ice in search of seals, as it seemed firmly attached to the shore, and they observed some Kamtchatdales hunting on it farther up the coast. They discovered some seals at a considerable distance out, and repaired thither to kill them. Already had they killed two, and were preparing to tie them with thongs on their sledges, when one of the party, who staid a little behind, came to them of a sudden, crying that the ice was moving, and that all the other Kamtchatdales had gone to the shore! This news alarmed them so much, that they left their seals on the ice, and seating themselves on their sankas or sledges, pushed their dogs at full speed to regain the shore. Unfortunately they arrived too late; the ice had already separated from the land to the extent of a hundred yards; and as it began to break into pieces, they were obliged to return to the part that appeared to them the strongest and thickest. As the wind now blew extremely hard, they were soon driven out to sea, where the swell being very heavy, the ice began to break again all round them, leaving them at last on a solid clump, from forty to fifty feet in circumference, that was of great thickness and kept entire. They were now out of sight of land, driven before a gale of wind and a heavy sea, and their icy vessel rolled so dreadfully that they had much difficulty to keep themselves on its surface. However, being furnished with ostals, (poles pointed with iron,) they made holes and planted them firmly in the ice; and then tied themselves, their dogs, and sankas, fast to them. Without this precaution, the Toyune said they would all have been thrown into the sea. They were sea-sick and disheartened; but nevertheless, said Spiridon, (the Toyune,) 'I had hopes, and I told my comrades I thought we should be thrown on some coast.' It was now two days they had been at sea, and towards evening the wind abated a little, the weather cleared off, and they saw land not far off, which one of them, who had been formerly at the Kurile islands, knew to be Poromochin, and they now fully expected to be drifted on its shores. However, as the night approached, the wind changed to the very opposite direction, and blew even more violently than before. The clump of ice was tossed about in a most uneasy manner, and several times the ostals and the thongs were in danger of being broken by the violent concussion of the waves against the ice.

"All that night and all the next day the storm continued with unceasing violence. On the morning of the fourth day, before daylight, they found that their clump had been driven amongst other cakes of ice, and was closely surrounded on all sides. When the day broke, how great was their joy and astonishment to perceive themselves near the land, and within about twenty versts of the place whence they had been driven! They had suffered much from thirst, as they found the ice salt as well as the water. Not having either eaten or drunk during all the time, they found themselves so weak that they had the greatest difficulty in preparing their sledges, and in getting from the ice to the land. The moment they landed, they offered up their prayers and thanks to God. Spiridon charged his companions not to eat snow or drink much water at a time, although they were almost dying with thirst; as they could soon get to an ostrog that was only about twenty or thirty versts distant. They had not proceeded far before Spiridon saw the tracks of some reindeer; he therefore made his companions stop, and, taking his gun, walked gently round a high bluff on the coast, whither the deer had gone, and had the good fortune to shoot one of them. His companions no sooner heard the noise of the gun than they came to him. They cut the throat of the deer immediately, and drank his blood while warm. Spiridon said that they felt their strength revived almost immediately after drinking the blood. Having given some of the meat to the dogs, they rested themselves about an hour, and then set off for the ostrog, where they arrived safely. One of them, who indulged too much in eating at first, died a short time after; the other two survived; but Spiridon said he had ever since been afflicted with a complaint in his breast and shortness of breath."

On the 21st of October the winter set in, and made the travelling much more difficult and uncomfortable. The cold, however, in Kamtchatka, is by no means so severe as is generally supposed. About the sea coast, the thermometer rarely passes 15° to 20° of Reaumur, and in the interior, seldom exceeds 20° to 25°; and even this but for a short time. The ordinary cold is about 8° to 10°.

After remaining nearly three months at St. Peter and St. Paul, Mr. Dobell set out on his expedition to Russia. He left the former place on the 15th of January, with the determination to proceed along the Aleuters or north-east coast of the peninsula of Kamtchatka, thence cross over to Kammina at the head of the sea of Ochotsk, and proceed along the eastern shore of that large bay to the town of Ochotsk itself. He was accompanied by two Chinese servants, and proceeded in sledges drawn by dogs. He had frequent occasions to confirm the sentiments he had previously entertained of the hospitable and honest character of the inhabitants of the peninsula of Kamtchatka; and he found the climate and natural resources of the country far superior to what he had been led to expect. He combats the opinion, long prevalent, that it is a barren and desolate country, depopulated of the aborigines through the extreme poverty of its resources; and contends that few parts of the world would more amply repay the industry of the inhabitants, if well peopled and wisely governed.

The dogs displayed all the sagacity, perseverance, and swiftness for which they have been celebrated by travellers in northern regions, and he had frequent opportunities of observing the instinct or skill with which they pursued their way in the midst of the most violent storms, when every trace of the road had disappeared. He gives them a decided preference over the reindeer, though he states that the latter are more fleet, when put to their full speed. They are not docile however. When the snows are deep, and the roads difficult, if the reindeer be pressed to exert himself he becomes restive and stubborn, and neither beating nor coaxing will move him. He will lie down and remain in one spot for several hours, until hunger presses him forward; and if at the second attempt he is again embarrassed, he will lie down and perish in the snow for want of food. Reindeer consequently require a great deal of care and management, and should never be treated too roughly, or they become totally unmanageable. Besides, great attention must be paid to them in summer, and their pastures often changed, or they contract diseases and die fast.

At Veyteway, the most northern point on the eastern coast visited by Mr. Dobell, he found a Toyune who had come a hundred and fifty versts, from motives of curiosity, to meet him. Though he had never before seen any one adopting the customs of civilized life, he behaved with great propriety, and did not seem in the least embarrassed. Some of the trunks which were covered with lackered leather and full of brass nails, excited his astonishment, and indeed proved a fund of amusement for the natives on all the road. Bets were made constantly as to the number of nails on each trunk, and they were counted over and over, a hundred times, with the greatest care. From this point Mr. Dobell struck across the peninsula, and reached Kammina, at the head of the sea of Ochotsk, on the 24th of March.

In proceeding southwardly along the coast, the hardiness of his dogs was strongly put to the test. An insufficient supply of provisions had been laid in, and some time before they reached Igiga, the first town where a fresh stock could be obtained, they were reduced to an allowance of half a fish each, daily. When the dried fish were consumed, they were fed on reindeer meat and biscuit, of which but a very small supply was left; but it refreshed and strengthened them, so that one of the party, whose dogs were strongest, was enabled to go on more rapidly to Igiga, to beg from the commandant assistance and food for the rest of the party. When the poor creatures who were left perceived the dogs coming to assist them, nothing could exceed their joy. They sprang into the air, barked aloud, and set forward with such eagerness to meet them, that restraint was impossible. When they came up, they jumped and fawned upon them, and licked them with an expression of pleasure and satisfaction which it was impossible to mistake. As they approached the town, it was utterly in vain to hold them back, they set off at full speed, and if it had not been for the assistance of several of the inhabitants, who ran and caught hold of them, the sledges would have been upset, and every thing broken to pieces.

Leaving Igiga, Mr. Dobell continued his journey by Yamsk and Towisk, through the country of the Tongusees. He found these people active, persevering, and obliging; those whom he employed performing every sort of service with cheerfulness. They are men of small stature, slightly made, and resembling the northern Chinese in features. Their countenances generally were indicative of a tractable mild disposition, and bore a strong Asiatic cast of character, which is indeed found amongst all the natives throughout Siberia. Their fidelity, however, was not on an equality with their other good characteristics, as our travellers had soon an opportunity of learning, by an event which placed their lives in most imminent peril. The provisions laid in at Towisk were nearly consumed, and the time at which they should have reached the next town had arrived, when the native guides confessed that they had mistaken the road, and there was every prospect of the whole party perishing in the desert. What were the feelings of Mr. Dobell, when awaking one morning, in this situation, he found that the Tongusees were no longer with him; the rascals had gone off in the night, not leaving a single deer for food, and deserting a party of five in number, all strangers, on one of the highest mountains of Siberia, in a wild and uninhabited country! In this emergency Mr. Dobell displayed great firmness, resolution, and all the energy and resources of an experienced traveller; indeed the portion of his volumes which contains the account of his escape from the perilous situation in which he was left, and of the sufferings he endured, and the expedients to which he was obliged to resort, is peculiarly and highly interesting. With the aid of a partial map of Kamtchatka, and a pocket compass, he set out to regain the sea coast, from which they were, as he supposed, not very far distant. Leaving all their clothes, and every article with which they could possibly dispense, they put the rest of their baggage on two sleds, which they dragged with them. They limited their nourishment to the least possible quantity of food, drinking tea, of which they had a small supply, twice in twenty-four hours, and in the morning taking some thin rice water, with a small lump of chocolate each, to make it palatable. They were obliged to construct bridges of logs over numerous rivulets, swelled with the snows, which crossed their path, and they were exposed to a succession of furious storms. On the twentieth day they arrived at what they supposed a long narrow lake, and determined there to pass the night. Having left his companions to make what preparations for so doing their wretched situation afforded, Mr. Dobell went to examine the lake. On approaching the bank, he discovered two small ducks, quite near the shore, and had the good fortune to shoot them both at one shot. "Running to the water to pick them up," he says, "God only knows the inexpressible joy that filled my heart, at beholding the water move, and finding that we were on the banks of a large river." They all set to work actively the next day, and had soon completed a raft on which they embarked, and trusted themselves to the current to reach the ocean, so long and eagerly desired.

"We had" says Mr. Dobell, "a most unpleasant time, but anxious to arrive at the ocean, would not lie by--particularly as the stream increased greatly in rapidity, and hurried us along with considerable swiftness. About one o'clock on the 10th of June, although we were nearly in the middle of the river, which was here upwards of a verst wide, we were suddenly seized by a whirlpool, and in spite of our utmost efforts, having nothing but poles to guide the raft, were drawn violently towards the left bank, and forced under some large trees which had been undermined by the water and hung over the surface of the stream, the roots still holding them fast to the shore. I perceived the danger to which we were exposed, and called out to every one to lie flat on his face and hold fast to the baggage. The branches were so thick it was impossible for all to escape, and there being barely room to admit the raft under them, they swept off the two Chinese, the Karaikee, my tin-box with all my papers and valuables, our soup-kettle, &c. Nothing now remained but a small tea-kettle, and a few other things that happened to be tied fast with thongs. The Karaikee and one of the Chinese seized hold of the branches that swept them off, and held their heads above water, but the youngest of the Chinese having floated away with the current, the Cossack and myself had the greatest difficulty in paddling the raft up to him. We came just in time to poke our poles down after him as he sunk for the third time, which he fortunately seized, and we drew him upon the raft half drowned. As the current was running at the rate of six or seven miles an hour, we were carried more than half a verst down before we gained the shore; the other Chinese and the Karaikee crying out for assistance. I ran up the shore as quickly as possible, taking a long pole with me, and leaving the Cossack to take care of the raft and the young Chinese. When I arrived at the spot, my Chinese cook informed me he had seized my tin-box with one hand, and was so tired of holding with the other, that if I did not come soon to his assistance he must leave it to the mercy of the current. Whilst I attempted to walk out on the body of the tree whose branches they were holding, one of the roots broke and very nearly separated it from the shore; I was therefore obliged to jump off and stride to one that was nearly two feet under water, hauling myself along by the branches of the others, and at length I got near enough to give the Chinese the pole. He seized fast hold and I pulled him between two branches, enabling him to get a leg over one and keep his body above water. Thus placed he tied the tin-box with his handkerchief to the pole, and I got it safely ashore. I was now obliged to return and assist the Karaikee, who held by some branches far out, and where there were no others near enough for him to reach in order to draw himself in. After half an hour's labour I got them both on the bank, neither of them knowing how to swim, and both much exhausted by the cold, and the difficulty of holding so long against a rapid current."

They continued for several days longer buffeting with the stream, and exposed to all the inclemencies of the weather. Their food depended on the scanty supplies of wild fowl they could shoot, and their stock of cooking utensils was reduced to a small tea-kettle and the lid of the tin box saved by the Chinese.

Between two and three o'clock in the afternoon of the seventh day since they had embarked on board their frail vessel, and nearly a month since they had been deserted on the mountains by the treacherous Tongusees, they found themselves in a fine wide channel, with a moderate current, and on a beach not far below descried a man and two boys mending a canoe. The effect the sight of human beings had upon them was deeply interesting. Every soul shed tears of joy, and when the natives approached to assist them in landing, they were unable for some minutes to reply to their inquiries, and could only answer by hasty signs. The elder person proved to be a Yakut who had seen Mr. Dobell before; as soon as he recognised him, he sprung into the raft, clasped him in his arms, and shed tears in abundance, exclaiming "thank God, thank God! you are all saved!" He informed them that the Tongusees having returned and confessed their treachery, an old chief living near Towisk had despatched his son with a party in search of them, but that every one there had given them up for lost, knowing how difficult it was to procure food on those deserted plains and mountains in the spring of the year. The miraculous escape of the party, after having been left in such a wilderness, was indeed a matter of surprise to every one; and they had particular reason to rejoice in having taken the route they did, as they found on inquiry that had they pursued any other they must infallibly have perished.

After remaining three days with the hospitable people whom they so fortunately encountered, and recovering their baggage which had been left on the mountain, by means of the party sent in search of them from Towisk, they resumed their journey, and reached Ochotsk without further accident, on the 4th of July.

Ochotsk, the capital of the Russian province of the same name, which embraces the most easterly portion of that vast empire, is a town composed of between two and three hundred houses, and about two thousand inhabitants. It is situated in north latitude 59° 20' 22", and east longitude from Greenwich 143° 20' 23", on a small island or sand bank, three versts and three hundred paces in length, and two hundred in breadth, where the town stands. The admiralty, marine stores, magazines, and workshops, were examined by Mr. Dobell, and found to be disposed in perfectly good order, and prepared for service in the best possible manner. In the admiralty, there are a school, and shops for coopers, turners, and blockmakers. There are also large forges, ropewalks, and all the establishments necessary for a complete naval arsenal. Whilst Mr. Dobell was there, a large cable was prepared for the frigate Diana, in the course of four or five days, and appeared quite as well made as a European cable. The flour magazines are large, and well supplied by Yakut convoys, which constantly arrive and discharge their loads there. These convoys consist generally of ten to thirteen horses, having seldom more than two men to take care of them. Each horse carries on his back six pood weight of rye flour, packed in two leathern bags, called in Russian sumas, impenetrable to all sorts of weather, and extremely convenient for carriage, hanging one on each side of the horse. These bags are of green hide, without the hair; the flour is forced as tightly as possible into them while they are damp, and when dry the surface is as hard as stone. On opening them, the flour, for about half an inch deep, is attached in a hard cake to the bag, and, if originally good, is preserved in a very perfect state, and will keep for a great length of time. Some of them have been known to remain all the winter under the snow without being damaged; nor does it seem possible to carry over land this important article of life, by any other method so safely and conveniently as in sumas. Notwithstanding, however, all the attention which is thus exhibited on the part of the Russian government to make Ochotsk a complete and valuable naval station; and the care paid to its arrangement and furnishing supplies, there yet exists an insuperable obstacle to all their efforts, from the fact that it has not a good port. No vessel of any great burthen, carrying guns, can enter or be wintered there, without incurring the risk of being bilged by the ice of the river Ochota, which flows into or forms the harbour.

On the 19th of July Mr. Dobell left Ochotsk. He now turned inland, and leaving the shores of the Pacific ocean, directed his course westerly to Yakutsk, which was distant six hundred and fifty miles. He was accompanied a short distance by a young officer named Ivan Ivanovitch Kruz, who was forest-master at the first station called Maitah, fifty-four versts off. Such a companion was not less unexpected than agreeable, in so remote a corner of the world. He was a very good botanist, and understood French and Latin; a modest, sensible, genteel young man, and what must appear a little singular, perfectly happy and satisfied with his situation. Even in those wild regions he filled up his leisure hours with study and the chase, and said that he never found the time hang heavy on his hands.

On the road they met many convoys of horses carrying provisions to Ochotsk; and were obliged to keep a strict watch, in order to guard against the depredations of the Yakuts, by whom they were conducted. These people are in the habit of stealing horses for food, whenever a good opportunity offers on the road, being fonder of horse flesh than of any other. When they get possession of a horse, they contrive to decamp suddenly, and ride several versts off, where they kill the animal, bury his bones, and conceal the flesh in their bags, before the person robbed discovers the theft. They are men generally of small stature, light, and very active when they choose to exert themselves; indefatigable on the road, and surpassing every other people in conducting and taking care of horses. In features they resemble strongly the Chinese of Nankin. The Tongusees, on the other hand, bear a striking resemblance to the Tartars who conquered China. The Yakuts and Tongusees however wear very much the same costume. The hair of the women, which hangs in two or three braids behind, is stuck over with small copper or silver plates, more or less rich in proportion to the fortune of the wearer. Sometimes a silver or copper plate is placed on the forehead. They occasionally wear a close cap, adorned likewise with plates and beads, and often ornament their boots with beads of various colours, having much the appearance of the work on the wampum belts of our Indians. The dress of the Tongusee men is a close coat, fitting tight round the body, with skirts reaching half way down the legs, and resembling a frock coat. It is composed of deer or dog skin, with the hair inward. In very cold weather they wear a shorter coat over this, as well as parkas and kokclankas or riding coats, which are nothing more than loose jackets or cloaks of skin, with sleeves reaching below the knees. The Yakut dress is made in the same way, but usually of horse or cow hide.

On the 25th, the party crossed the ridge of mountains which extends from the great central chain of Asia, towards the north-east, and divides the waters falling into the sea of Ochotsk, from those flowing through the more central parts of Siberia, towards the west and the north. On the western side of the ridge they passed a large lake, the source of the river Udama, surrounded by mountains, and three or four versts in length. The Udama is a fine river, and though not abounding either with fish or water in summer, is plentifully supplied with both in spring and autumn, and then navigable for boats of a considerable size. It falls into the Maia; the Maia into the Aldan; the Aldan into the Lena, one of whose branches ascends to within three hundred and fifty versts of Irkutsk, and which flows into the Northern ocean. A navigation is thus afforded through the very centre of Siberia for more than two thousand miles. It is also well adapted to the introduction of steam navigation; and flat bottomed boats drawing little water might be successfully used on most of these streams during a considerable portion of the year. The adoption of such a system would tend immensely to the improvement of a vast country, where the population is thin, but of which the natural resources and advantages are very great. It is a mistake to suppose, as is usually done, that it is an ungrateful wilderness, fit only for the reception of criminals, or the home of wandering savages; no where is nature more profusely grand and magnificent than in Siberia; and she has offered many attractions to human industry and improvement in those remote regions. It cannot be denied that there are some parts totally incorrigible, owing to the severity of climate, bad soil, and other causes; but there is ample testimony that by far the largest portion of that country possesses resources, soil, and climate, very superior to what is generally believed, and that it would advance rapidly if well governed and better peopled.

On the 5th of August Mr. Dobell reached the river Aldan, one of the principal tributaries of the Lena, and found it a very deep stream, about a verst and a half wide, abounding with fish. On the western shore he saw several jourtas beautifully situated, and on inquiry was informed they contained a colony of banished men, sent there by order of the government. They appeared very well off, having comfortable houses, with cattle, an abundant supply of fish, and good pastures, so that they could never suffer from want, unless too indolent to secure the necessaries of life. They call themselves Possellencies or colonists, but are stiled Neshchastnie Loodie, or unfortunate people, by the natives, who avoid, even by a name, to remind them of their unhappy fate.

"Banishment, then," remarks Mr. Dobell, "to such a country as Siberia, is certainly no such terrible infliction, except to a Russian, who, perhaps, of all beings upon earth, possesses the strongest attachment to the soil on which he grows--taking root like the trees that surround him, and pining when transplanted to another spot, even though it should be a neighbouring province, better than his own. Too much praise cannot be bestowed on the humane system adopted by the Russian government in saving the lives of criminals without distinction, and transporting them to Siberia, to augment the population of a fine country, much in want of inhabitants, where their morals are strictly watched, and where they soon become useful, good people. Death, in fact, is so transitory a punishment, that unless a man has religion, and a perfect idea of rewards and penalties in a world to come, it may have no terrors for him, nor will its anticipation ever prevent the commission of crimes so well as the idea of banishment and long suffering. I would not be thought to be the advocate of cruelty; on the contrary, I warmly espouse the principle of producing a perfect contrition and change of sentiments and actions in the criminal, ere we send him into the presence of his God. To bring about this in an effectual manner, and be satisfied it springs from a thorough conviction of his error, we must not confine him in chains, with a priest praying at his side, until the moment he is launched into eternity. He should be made, as he generally is in Siberia, so far a free agent, as to have the power of again doing wrong; else his firmness and resolution are never put to the test; nor can that repentance be called sincere, which springs from the imperious necessity of immediately making his peace with his offended God, before whose awful tribunal his merciless government sends him suddenly to appear, with all his crimes fresh upon him. There are certainly instances in Siberia, where convicts have again committed crimes, and some of them even murder, and such are confined to the mines for life; but there are few examples of this sort, and the majority of the convicts acquire habits of industry and good conduct superior to the same class of people in Russia. Having seen the good effects of the Russian penal code, what I say on the subject is no more than what truth and justice demand; and I wish, that for humanity's sake, so bright an example, which sheds a ray of unsullied glory on her sovereignty, may be followed with equal success by every nation of the earth."

The route of Mr. Dobell continued to lead him through the country of the Yakuts, a pastoral and industrious people, sufficient in numbers to relieve his mind from the painful idea that so fine a country should be destitute of inhabitants. Their whole attention is turned to the rearing of horned cattle and horses. Milk, prepared in various ways, is their principal sustenance; fish and water-fowl they obtain in abundance, except in the depth of winter; but pigs, sheep, or poultry, are never seen. On the 14th of August, he descended into an immense and fertile plain, through which he beheld the noble Lena flowing along, and reached the town of Yakutsk early in the evening.

This town was, at that time, composed of two hundred and seventy houses, and two thousand five hundred Russian inhabitants, besides a very considerable population of Yakuts, in and about it; since then, however, it is much increased and improved in every way. As regards climate, it is in winter the coldest spot in all Siberia, the frost often exceeding 40° of Reaumur; the average heat of summer is not beyond 16°, though there are periods at which it is as hot as in the torrid zone. The public buildings are well constructed, and kept in excellent order. There is an ancient citadel of wood, built by the Cossacks nearly two hundred years ago, which still forms a strong and good defence; and affords evidence of the courage, perseverance, and intelligence, of the conquerors of Siberia, who, with a handful of men, could erect such a fortress in the heart of an enemy's country, and during their daily attacks.

At Yakutsk, Mr. Dobell fell into the track of the carrying trade over land, which is pursued to so immense an extent through the Russian empire. The equipage, consisting of the pack-saddles, mats, girths, &c., is the manufacture of the Yakuts themselves, for the most part, and though exceedingly light, is not so constructed as to enable the horse to carry his burthen with ease. From this circumstance, great numbers of horses are lost in their long journeys. The Yakuts, however, are themselves excellent grooms, and, in general, kind and attentive to their animals. They seldom beat them, and many instances are exhibited of strong attachment between them. It is so much so, that a herd of horses will not proceed without their master, should he stop and leave them. They are turned out to feed at night, and are always collected in the morning by hallooing to them. Should any of them get out of hearing, the Yakut jumps on one of the others, who is sure to find his companions in a very short time. When the Yakut calls, the first horse that hears answers by neighing, and immediately the whole herd begin to neigh and run to the keeper.

Mr. Dobell speaks of the society of Yakutsk as hospitable, kind, and gay. He was at several balls; found the belles well-mannered, and their dress, like that of their fair countrywomen farther west, an object of peculiar study. He describes the ceremonies of a Siberian wedding, which may amuse the votaries of Hymen, whose matrimonial customs are varied by half the circumference of the globe.

"In the evening, the Governor waited on me, and invited me to accompany him to a house, to see a ceremony performed, previously to a wedding that was to take place the next day. We repaired to the house, where we found a large party of gentlemen and ladies assembled. The bride and her attendants occupied one end of the room, near a large table, on which were placed fruits, cakes, wines, &c. Tea and coffee were then served. Afterwards, I was called to look at a procession from an opposite building or store, called in this country an anbar, where every sort of provisions, effects, &c. are kept. I saw several low, four-wheeled vehicles, each drawn by a single ox, loaded with furniture, bedding, clothing, &c. &c. for the new married couple. Lights were carried before them, and a number of young girls, assembled near the door of the anbar, sang in concert, as each vehicle was loaded with the effects of the bride. This ended, the party returned to the house, when dancing commenced, and was kept up with spirit the whole night. Before quitting the house, the parents of the young bridegroom requested me to come the following morning, and witness the ceremony of his taking leave of them, previously to his going to church. At twelve o'clock, on the 22d, we attended at the father's house, where a number of the friends of the bridegroom were collected: several large tables were laid for dinner, and at the principal one, near the images, which in a Russian house are always at the eastern corner of the room, sat the bridegroom and his attendants. A female relative, representing the bride, was placed in the chair on the left hand of the bridegroom; and the father and mother sat at the opposite side of the table. Three dishes of cold meat were placed before the principal attendant, and wine and watky being at the same time handed round, he cut a large cross on the first one, placing it aside; then the second, then the third, in the same way; and, at the cutting of each, wine and watky were handed round to the company, who rose, and drank to the wedding party. Nothing was eaten, this being merely a ceremony to prepare the feast for the young couple when they should return from the church. After this, the bridegroom went round to the opposite side of the table, holding the image of the Virgin in his hand, and crossed himself on his knees, and bowed his head three times to the ground, before his father, who, when he rose, took the image from him, kissed him, and crossed him with it on his head. The same homage was paid to his mother, on which she delivered the image to another person, who preceded the bridegroom and his party to the church, where they met the bride and her attendants; and the couple were then led to the altar, and united in the holy bands of wedlock, by the Protopope, or Chief of the Clergy. The ceremony resembles that of the Catholic church, except that, towards the close, the priest places a hymeneal crown on the heads of the man and woman, and they walk three times round a table, where lie the cross and the Bible. This part of the proceeding is regarded as alternately binding them in strict allegiance to each other during the rest of their lives. There are also two rings used, which are exchanged, from the man to the woman, during the ceremony. The whole party now returned to the house of the bridegroom's father, where a repast was prepared for them, resembling all large entertainments of this sort. The healths of the principal persons of the place were drunk, and followed by a salute of three guns after each toast. The evening was crowned with an illumination, and a ball, at which, as a stranger, I had the honour of leading off the bride."

At Yakutsk Mr. Dobell embarked in a large covered boat on the Lena, which he ascended on his way to Irkutsk. He left the former place on the 29th of August, being drawn by horses, with the assistance of six peasants, whom he hired to go fifteen hundred versts to Kiringee, and who were employed at places where it was difficult for the horses. The banks of the river were varied and picturesque; sometimes steep cliffs and uncouth heaps of rock, in the most fantastic shapes, rose to a great height; sometimes the shores sloped away into mountains covered with thick forests of pine and spruce.

On the 5th of October he arrived at Olekma, a town six hundred versts above Yakutsk, in latitude 60° 22', and east longitude 89° 15' from St. Petersburg. He found it to contain four or five hundred inhabitants. It was, in former times, the place whence the Cossacks set out, when they waged their wars against the Chinese, and carried their depredations as far as the Amour. It is said, that three hundred and fifty of these barbarian warriors were once besieged in a fortress by twenty-two thousand Chinese, and held out against them a whole year, until a capitulation was agreed upon, at a period when their force was reduced to one hundred and fifty men.

At Olekma, the season had become so cold, and there was so much floating ice in the Lena, as to render it impossible to proceed any longer by water. The road lay along the shores of the river, frequently obstructed by half frozen torrents rushing into it, and occasionally cut off by points and precipices which compelled the party to venture on the ice.

"At Matcha, I found a clean, comfortable dwelling, and a hospitable reception from the hostess, an old woman, who said she had been seventeen years in Siberia, having been sent by the Government from Archangel, to assist in increasing the population; but she thanked God, at the same time, that she had not been banished for misconduct. She told me she had always lived much better than she did in Russia, and had been so happily situated as to have never felt a wish to return. Having received from her a fine fat fowl, some cream, vegetables, &c. I asked her in the morning what I must pay for them. She replied, 'a little tea and sugar, a piece of soap, and above all, a few glasses of watky--though I would not have you suppose I am addicted to liquor, for I only take a little now and then to preserve my health.' Her emaciated frame and sallow countenance belied her assertion. Complying with her request, I begged her to preserve her health by using as little of the spirit as possible, as it often had the opposite effect to that of assisting the health. She laughed, and drinking a bumper to my advice, wished me a safe journey."

Passing Veeteem and Kiringee, two considerable towns on the Lena, Mr. Dobell found the country improve gradually, and the post-houses throughout comfortable, clean, and convenient; much more so than could have been expected in remote Siberia. The horses were also furnished with great alacrity, and the inhabitants generally were kind and hospitable. On the 30th of October he passed Katchuk, the place where all the merchandise is embarked in the spring for Yakutsk and other towns on the Lena. The river is generally free enough from ice by the 5th to the 12th of May, and but fourteen days are required for the voyage. From Katchuk to Irkutsk, the road leaves the Lena, and passes through a fine extensive plain, bounded on either side by well cultivated hills, and having villages and farm houses dispersed over it in all directions. This plain is principally inhabited by a horde called Burettas, who are, for the most part, Christians, and have taken to agriculture with a great deal of industry and zeal. The richer class live in log houses, but the great part dwell in cabins, similar to the winter jourtas of the more eastern hordes. Their clothing consists of a pelisse of dressed goat or sheep skin, with the wool inside, trimmed with fur, and painted in black and white stripes round the shoulders.

Irkutsk, the capital of eastern Siberia, is in latitude 52° 16' 41", and east longitude from St. Petersburg, 73° 51' 48". It is built on the margin of the river Angarra, and contains a population now probably exceeding twenty thousand souls. The markets are good, the society is pleasant, and a traveller finds in the very heart of Siberia almost all the luxuries of life. In visiting the public works, the governor took Mr. Dobell to an immense brick building, where he found the workshops of the exiles.

"In that large range, one sees joiners, carpenters, carriage-makers, saddlers, blacksmiths, and in short, all sorts of tradesmen, busily occupied, and all provided with comfortable apartments, clean clothing, and wholesome food. From this we passed to the cloth factory, the contemplation of which afforded me much pleasure, when I recollected that those beings before me, who were once the victims of depravity, exhibited no longer any thing to inspire me with the idea of their having been criminals. All was gaiety and cheerfulness. There I saw men, women, and children, all industriously employed in weaving, spinning, carding, picking wool, &c. They were arranged in several large, clean, warm, and comfortable apartments; and they really appeared as contented as any labourers I ever saw; for they looked fat and healthy.

"The cloth is made from the wool and hair of the Buretta sheep, camels, and goats. It stands the Government in about a rouble the arshin, and sells for two roubles. This profit, after paying the expenses of the manufactory, leaves a surplus that is used to furnish the hospitals, and for other laudable purposes. Such an institution does honour to any country; nor can there be a more praiseworthy application of the industry of those exiles than that which operates to relieve the sick, the fatherless, and the widow.

"There is every reason to conclude, from the examples which have been furnished by those countries which have adopted this system, that the idea of confinement and hard labour is a more powerful preventive of the commission of crimes than the fear of death."

At the public ship yard, Mr. Dobell saw a brig on the stocks, destined to navigate the Baikal. The vessels generally used on that sea are built on its shores, on account of the difficulty of ascending against the current of the Angarra. Those belonging to the government are employed principally to carry convicts and stores to Nerchinsk, where there are mines of silver, gold, and precious stones, as well as a fine grain country. The neighbourhood of Irkutsk is fertile and prolific, and the population increasing. The climate is the mildest of Siberia, the thermometer of Reaumur seldom exceeding 30° to 34° of cold, and that but for short intervals.

On the 25th of November, having taken leave of his hospitable acquaintances, Mr. Dobell left Irkutsk on his journey towards St. Petersburg. He had fresh occasion to notice the kindness and simplicity of the people, which his subsequent visits to the country tended to confirm. On one occasion, at the village of Krasnoyesk, in this province, he took, at the recommendation of the governor, instead of the usual Cossack guides, two soldiers, one a grenadier of the guards of the regiment of Moscow, and the other of the Semenofsky, who, having been allowed a certain time to go and see their friends in Siberia, from whom they had been absent eleven years, were anxious to return to St. Petersburg, and had not money to hire a conveyance.

"They had travelled from Russia on foot, near five thousand versts, to see their relations. The elder of the two had a wife and two children. He related to me that when he returned to his family, his wife, who knew him immediately, was so frightened that she fell into a swoon; and it was nearly an hour before she recovered her senses. His parting with his wife and children again affected us exceedingly; but he seemed to bear it with firmness, and said, 'God bless you, put your trust in God: I shall return to you.' Both those men, but particularly the married one, were the most faithful, obedient, well-behaved men I ever saw, and proved of infinite service to me on the road, as I travelled not with the post-horses, but with those of the common peasants. This gives me an opportunity of expatiating again on the moral and religious character of the Siberians, as well as their intelligence, generosity, and hospitality. I found on the road, even amongst the peasants, a sympathy, a kindness and attention to the wants of my family and myself, and a disinterestedness, that I have no where else experienced. Many times it occurred that we lodged in a house for the night, were furnished with bread, milk, cream, and a supper for four servants, and I had a difficulty to make the man of the house accept of a couple of roubles. The demand was fifty to seventy kopeks; and sometimes payment was refused altogether. I met a carrier who was conveying goods from Tumen to Tomsk, a distance of about one thousand five hundred versts, for two and a half roubles per pood! On questioning him, how he could possibly afford to take merchandise at so cheap a rate, he said, 'the people of my country are kind and hospitable. I live about Tomsk, so that I must return thither; and I get a man and a horse found a whole day for fifteen kopeks.' The grenadier also assured me that the only expense his journey on foot to see his family had cost him, was about twenty-five roubles; and those were spent between St. Petersburg and Ecatherineburg. 'After getting fairly into Siberia,' said he, 'no one would ever receive a kopek from me for either food or lodging.'

"After we got into Russia, and began to suffer certain impositions which are put upon travellers on the great roads in every country, he would often exclaim, 'God be with me and my beloved Siberia! There people have their consciences and their hearts in the right place!'"

Tomsk is fifteen hundred versts from Irkutsk, and four thousand five hundred from St. Petersburg, being in latitude 56° 29' 6", and longitude 54° 50' 6" from the latter place. Its population is about ten thousand. It has many manufactories, and a number of handsome houses, with a pleasant though small society. After leaving it, the traveller passes the vast and fertile plain of Baraba, where he is whirled along at the rate of two hundred and seventy versts a day.

The first place of importance which he reaches after crossing it, is Tobolsk, the chief town of the province of that name, and formerly of Siberia. Its latitude is 55° 11' 14", and its longitude 37° 46' 14" east from St. Petersburg, from which, and from Irkutsk, it is distant three thousand versts. Fourteen years ago its population amounted to thirty thousand inhabitants, since when it has in all probability very much increased. Its manufactories are numerous; its society is agreeable, and gives evidence of the same hospitality which is witnessed so generally and so gratefully by the traveller, in those remote regions; but has it not in its very name a charm to the reader who peruses an account of it, in its connexion with those incidents, fictitious or true, which have been formed into one of the most simple, beautiful, and touching tales, that have ever flowed from the imagination or the heart?

From Tobolsk, Mr. Dobell passed rapidly through the surrounding district of the same name, visited Ecatherineburg, where he admired, so far beyond the ordinary limits of the arts, works in marble, agate, and precious stones, which would have done honour to Italian artists; and arriving at the geographical boundary that divides Siberia from Russia, closes the narrative of his travels, which we would willingly have seen continued to the gates of the imperial capital of the north.

"I assure the reader," he says at the close of his truly interesting account, "that in my humble attempt to describe what I have seen and experienced, I have been governed by no partial motives whatever. On the contrary, I have laboured to represent every object faithfully as it has affected my senses. I am, however, conscious at the same time, that it requires an abler pen than mine to delineate adequately the sublime and majestic works of nature in the regions I have been describing, and to portray them to the imagination in all their simplicity, beauty, and grandeur. Siberia does not possess the climate of Italy, nor the luxurious productions of India; but she possesses a fertile soil, a climate much better than is generally believed, and natural resources of the highest value; and she presents to the traveller such a magnificent picture of natural objects, as is no where to be equalled except on the immense continent of America. There is no longer any doubt but the greater part of her territory is susceptible of high cultivation, having a strong fertile soil, covered with superb forests, and intersected by fine rivers, or watered by numerous lakes, many of which may fairly be called seas.

"The race of men produced there, are uncommonly tall, stout, and robust; certainly the best looking people I have ever seen, particularly those of the Western parts. My readers will now, I am sure, agree with me, that this country, hitherto considered the Ultima Thule, or the finis mundi, has been highly gifted by its Creator, and only wants population and improvement to render it the most valuable portion of his Imperial Majesty's dominions."

FOOTNOTES:

[6] The old English lawyers puzzled themselves greatly in tracing the origin of the feudal tenures. The truth is, they may be found in the incipient stages of society in nearly every nation. They existed, in fact, in Hindostan, China, and many other countries, for centuries before the time of the comites of the German princes, mentioned by Tacitus, who are supposed to have founded them. The services of the tenant varied according to the character and condition of the people--the principle was every where the same.

[7] The tael is $1.66; the pecul, 133-1/3 pounds.

ART. IV.--Précis de la Geographie Universelle ou Description de toutes les parties du Monde, sur un plan Nouveau D'aprês les grandes divisions Naturelles du Globe, &c. Par MALTE-BRUN: Bruxelles, 1829.

We place at the head of our article, which we mean to devote to Physical Geography, the title of the latest edition that we have seen of the great work of Malte-Brun. This, which has already become well known to our American public in translation, has received some additions from its Belgian editors, but has not been fully brought up to the present state of Science, nor does it contain all the new discoveries which have been made in that part, namely, physical geography, to which our attention is more immediately directed. We shall, however, endeavour to supply these deficiencies so far as lies in our power.

Physical geography stands in immediate connexion with subjects which have already been presented to the readers of this journal, namely with Celestial Mechanics,[8] and with the Phenomena of our Atmosphere.[9] It shall be our endeavour to proceed from the facts laid down in the first of the two articles to which we have referred, to the more particular consideration of the state, the structure, and the condition of the globe we inhabit.

The earth is a planet of the solar system, the third in distance from the sun, revolving upon its own axis, and around that central body attended by a satellite; circumstances which affect in a most important manner the phenomena that are observed upon its surface. Composed of material substances that mutually attract each other, each particle of which has a greater or less centrifugal force in proportion to its distance from the axis of rotation, it has a figure that is consistent with a state of equilibrium under the joint action of these two forces, and which is such as would have been assumed by a fluid body actuated by them. The figure that fulfils these conditions is an oblate spheroid, the axis of the generating ellipse coinciding with the polar diameter of the body. Had the earth a figure absolutely spherical, or less flattened than is consistent with the conditions of equilibrium, the ocean, by which so large a part of its surface is covered, would have arranged itself in a meniscoid zone around its equatorial regions; were the figure, on the other hand, one of greater oblateness, the waters would have been divided and accumulated at either pole, leaving the equatorial regions dry. But did its figure fulfil the conditions of equilibrium, the fluid mass would tend to distribute itself equally over the whole surface, unless prevented by irregularities in the solid mass. The last is the actual state of things; the ocean occupies a bed formed of cavities, lying below the mean surface of the spheroid, and the land presents to us those asperities and elevations, which rise, although to a comparatively small height, above the general level.

Was then the earth originally in a fluid state, and has it assumed its present form under the strict action of mechanical laws, on a body of that class? are the bed of the ocean and the continents merely crusts formed upon the surface of a liquid globe? Does the interior still remain liquid, or has the induration proceeded until the whole internal mass has become solid? Nay, may not the interior be hollow, as we have recently seen gravely maintained, and heard sage legislatures recommend to the public attention?

Mathematical investigations of incontrovertible evidence, show us that were the earth of equal density throughout, the flattening at the poles would be 1/234 of the equatorial diameter; that in the hypothetical case of infinite density at the centre, and infinite rarity at the surface, the flattening would be no more than 1/578; while, were the surface more dense than the interior, or did a cavity exist within, the oblateness must be greater than 1/234. Actual measurements of portions of the surface, the variation in the length of the pendulum which beats seconds in different latitudes, and the effect of the earth's figure on the lunar motions, show us that the earth cannot be flattened more than 1/289, nor less than 1/312, or may, at a mean, be considered as a spheroid, whose polar and equatorial diameters are in the relation of 299 to 300.

Astronomers have ascertained the deflection of plumb lines from the vertical, by the action of mountains. The attraction of a projecting mass of known bulk and density, with one whose bulk alone is known, is thus determined, and hence the density of the latter may be calculated.

Even comparatively small masses of matter may be placed under such circumstances at the surface of the earth, that their mutual action can be observed uninfluenced by the preponderating attraction of the earth, and thus a new means of comparison obtained.

The pendulum whose vibrations ought to vary according to a definite law, as we recede from the surface of the earth, has that law affected by the elevated ground on which it is placed, and here again a comparison may be instituted between the general and local attractions.

All these modes of investigation concur in, and confirm the general result, that the mean density of the earth is about five times as great as that of water. Now as a great portion of the surface is composed of that fluid, and as the general density of the land is little more than twice as great as that of water, it follows incontestably that the interior of the earth is far more dense than its outer covering.

All material substances are capable of assuming, under proper modifications of latent heat, either the solid, the liquid, or the gaseous form; yet all are beyond doubt composed of atoms, solid, hard, and incapable of further division. Under their own mutual attraction these particles tend to unite, and cohere in solid masses, and to this attractive force the repulsive power of heat is constantly opposed, tending to prevent their aggregation, and retaining them, according to its intensity, in the gaseous or liquid form.

The heat necessary to maintain these states of existence in bodies, may be produced in various ways. Our usual experience leads us to consider it as more generally arising from two causes, radiation from the sun, and the chemical action causing combustion. The former could never have produced the temperature known to exist at present upon the surface of the globe, for the earth radiates as well as the sun, and is constantly throwing off heat into the surrounding space. We know that these two actions have for twenty centuries exactly balanced each other, and that the mean temperature of the earth has neither increased nor diminished in all that period. Had the solar radiation been, previously to that epoch, in excess, it must at the more recent periods, counted backwards, have been but slightly so, and ages unnumbered must have elapsed, before the state of equilibrium which now exists could have been reached. The earth too, at distant periods, must have been colder than at present, while that the contrary is true is shown by numerous observations.

Neither could chemical action have had any great agency in establishing the present temperature of the earth. The substances which burn are but a small portion of the crust of the earth, and their combustion, if all fired at a time, would cause no perceptible effect on the sensible heat of the surface of our globe. Were combustible bodies even infinitely more abundant, the supporters are insufficient to keep up their combustion for any length of time, without sensible diminution, and this would be the case, even were the whole of the oxygen that now exists as a component of the waters of the ocean added to their present amount. It is indeed possible that the outer shell of the earth, which is no more than a crust of oxidated matter, may have existed at first in the metallic state, but that crust has long intervened, and prevented any contact between the air or ocean, and the metallic bases of the earths, that in this case must lie beneath.

In spite of these obvious objections to their theory, some geologists have madly fancied to themselves a great internal fire, maintained by actual combustion, a fancy but little more rational than that which seeks, in the present order of things, precipitation from some vast quantity of a liquid menstruum, every trace of whose existence has now vanished.

There is, however, yet another source of heat, if indeed solar heat be not a mere case of its general action, far more general and universal, which has its origin in the bodies themselves, and has no reference to any extrinsic cause. All bodies are sensibly heated when condensed, and lose sensible heat when they expand, so that their temperatures vary with the greater or less distance of their particles. The atmosphere of the earth furnishes a marked illustration of this fact. Of nearly uniform chemical composition throughout, its elastic nature, conflicting with its gravity, renders it more dense in its lower than in its higher regions. The former are in consequence warmer than the latter, and the mean temperature of our climates is in fact due to this character of our atmosphere. But this mean temperature could not be maintained, were not that of the earth itself in harmony with it. The surface might, no doubt, be cooled or heated by the adjacent air, but the heat, if given out from an earth warmer than the atmosphere, would be rapidly replaced from within, and a constant accumulation ensue in the air, while, if the earth were cooler, a diminution, equally constant, of the temperature of the atmosphere, must take place. The earth is, however, itself subject to the same law. All the materials of which it is composed, are capable of compression, in a greater or less degree, and of being heated by compression. The tendency of all material substances to the centre of attraction, loads the parts nearest to that centre with the whole weight of the superincumbent mass. And in the depth of four thousand miles, which intervenes between the centre and the surface, the heat must be far more than equal to that obtained by the compound blow-pipe or galvanic deflagrator, under whose intense energies the most refractory substances liquefy. Hence it may be inferred as a fact, as certain as any in physical science, that the interior of the earth is at present in a state resembling igneous fusion, not produced, however, by any of the more familiar sources of heat, but by the intense pressure the upper masses exert upon those nearer to the centre.

Here, then, we find the reason of the earth's having assumed a figure consistent with the equilibrium of a fluid mass, whose particles are endued with a mutual attraction, and which has a motion around an axis.

Let us suppose all the particles which now constitute the earth, to have been originally disseminated throughout a vast space, and to have approached their common centre of gravity by the force of mutual attraction; the consideration thus caused would have produced the state of intense heat that is now kept up within by pressure; and the conducting power of the bodies would have propagated the heat nearly equal throughout the mass. The surface would then have existed in a liquid state as well as that beneath. But as the radiation from the surface of a heated body is in exact proportion to its temperature, this cause of cooling would have been intense, and a crust must soon have formed upon the outer surface; this crust would have increased in thickness so long as the heat thrown off by radiation exceeded that received from the sun. When this state of equilibrium was finally attained, all the great phenomena which a body thus heated could exhibit, would cease, and the subsequent changes would become due only to forces such as we now see acting upon the surface, or would be the completion of actions commenced during the previous state.

We know, from astronomical investigations, that this state of equilibrium has existed for upwards of twenty centuries, while analogy would lead us to infer that it must have been attained at no long period after the last great catastrophe to which our planet was subjected.

Let us now see whether the fact of the interior of the globe being more intensely heated than its surface, can be inferred in any other manner than from the course of reasoning whose principles are here cited. The feeble power of man, feeble at least compared to the size of the globe he inhabits, has been able to penetrate to but small depths in its outer shell, but even at these small depths, an increase of temperature has been remarked, and so frequently and carefully observed, as to leave no doubt of its being a general law. This increase, too, appears exactly consistent with that which it might be inferred ought to take place. But we, even to the present day, occasionally see the igneous fluid from beneath forced up to the surface, and spreading from volcanic craters over great regions. Observation shows us that at remote epochs such phenomena were much more frequent than at present. We want no more positive proofs that the interior of the earth is still intensely heated, and that the bed of the ocean and the solid land are mere crusts formed upon the surface of a mass in a state analogous to that of igneous fusion.

Were the surface, as we have inferred it must have been, ever itself intensely heated, the volatile and gaseous matters which now constitute our atmosphere and oceans, must have united to form an atmosphere of far greater extent than it is at present. The aqueous matter rising into regions where the rarity of the air would cause cold sufficient to condense it, would have been in a state of constant motion, boiling in the lower regions, being precipitated in the higher, and acting most energetically to promote the general cooling. And so soon as the surface became cooler than 212°, the water would begin to settle upon its surface, forming at first lakes in its basins or cavities, and finally extending itself into one vast ocean, covering the whole or parts of the solid crust according to its greater or less degree of uniformity.

The conversion of the igneous liquid surface into solid matter, could only have taken place in successive shells or concentric layers; hence would arise a stratified character. And as the cooling proceeded, lowering the mean temperature of the whole mass, a consequent diminution of bulk must have taken place, according to the well known law of expansion by heat and contraction on cooling. Such diminution in bulk must have broken the strata into fragments, through the fissures of which, according to the laws of hydrostatics, the fluid mass beneath would rise until the equilibrium of rotation would have been obtained, and the strata, originally concentric, would be dislocated and turned in every possible direction, pierced with veins and dikes of all possible magnitude, from slender threads to mountain masses, caused by the cooling and consolidation of the rising fluid, and occasionally spreading in overlying currents, congealed and fixed in ridges and chains. These veins and dykes would present different characters, according to the dates of their elevation. If raised at a period when the surface was still of high temperature, they must have crystallized slowly, and in a perfect manner; at diminished temperatures, the crystallization would be less complete; if raised into the mass of ocean, they would assume one character; if coming in contact with air, another. A breaking of the bed of the ocean, and bringing its waters in contact with the liquid mass beneath, might produce consequences extending in their action to districts of the globe, the most remote from those in which the convulsion occurred; for the water, rising into vapour, would tend to extend itself in one uniform atmosphere over the whole surface of the globe, and might be precipitated in unusual abundance wherever causes of condensation existed. Thus, partial, or even total deluges, may have occurred, great portions of the ocean being hurried in vapour from its bed, and precipitated upon the land whose temperature is not affected by the distant catastrophe.

The waters might, in some cases, flow directly back to the ocean, in others might accumulate in basins and form lakes, fresh at first, and gradually becoming saline. These in turn might burst their bounds, carrying ruin and devastation in their course, or might by evaporation be dried up, and be again filled by a recurrence of the original cause of supply.

Such violent and rapid action would finally be exhausted by the gradual cooling of the earth, but the outer crust would still press on the igneous fluid beneath, and although far less liable to rupture, its fluid action might yet enable it to force its way occasionally to the surface, but at distant intervals, and with diminished energy. Now, a new series of phenomena must occur, similar to the more familiar of those we see acting at present; at first more intense, but finally, when the state of equilibrium of temperature is reached, exactly such as we now find them both in kind and in energy.

To see how far such a view of what might have occurred, under the action of well known causes, in case of a certain original order of things, is correct, let us examine the appearances our globe actually presents.

To a systematized and general examination, it presents the appearance of a great ocean, covering about three-fourths of its whole surface, and surrounding two great, and a number almost infinite of smaller islands. The two great islands are the old and the new continents; the largest of those that remain is New-Holland. To exhibit this great ocean in its most general aspect, take an artificial globe, raise the south pole 50° above the horizon, and bring New-Zealand to the meridian. The hemisphere above the horizon will now be wholly of water, with the exception of the southern part of South America on the one side, and New-Holland, with the Indian archipelago, on the other. These bear, when united, but a small proportion to the entire hemisphere. The opposite hemisphere contains more land than water; and when it is in its turn placed above the horizon, the Atlantic will be seen lying almost wholly on the western side of the meridian, and forming, with the Arctic ocean, a species of channel, narrowing from the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope towards the northern pole, and communicating with the great ocean which lies principally in the opposite hemisphere by Behring's straits. On this hemisphere are also seen parts of the Pacific and Indian oceans, which are considerably more than equal in surface to the lands which project into the opposite one.

If we turn our attention to the land, we find it unequal in its surface; and although compared with the whole diameter of the earth, the inequalities be very small, yet, compared with our own stature, they often present an imposing magnitude. These greater elevations are mountains; and we find them sometimes united in chains, sometimes isolated, and at other times uniting to form elevated plains or table lands. These table lands sometimes slope outwards, at others they are surrounded by eminences that prevent the efflux of the waters, or only admit them to pass through apertures made by their own action. Upon our continent, table lands of the latter description are to be found of great magnitude, entering as parts of the great system of the Cordilleras or Andes; in Europe they are rare, but in Tartary, Persia, and in central Africa, they occur, forming regions of great extent. In general, the greater part of the mountains of a continent appear to have a connexion more or less obvious; it has even been conceived that they form the skeleton upon which the rest of the land has been deposited, and which has determined the form of the continent. Thus we speak habitually of chains of mountains. Mountains, however, do not always present a continuous ridge, from which the peaks or more elevated summits rise, but occasionally, the groups we call chains, are composed of separate mountains divided by valleys; such are the mountains of Scotland, of Sweden, and Norway; and such is the general structure of the chain of mountains called in the state of New-York the Highlands, of whose connexion and grouping we shall hereafter speak.

This being understood, namely, that by a chain or ridge of mountains we do not necessarily intend a continuous elevation, the term may be conveniently used in order to express the configuration of mountains. These chains surround or border upon greater or less basins, which are each distinguished by the name of the principal stream that conveys its surface waters to the ocean, or they may, as has been stated, envelop a table land, whence there is no issue for the waters, or no more than a mere passage sufficient to afford them an outlet. Even if a map contain no expression of the position of mountains, we can, by mere inspection of the courses of rivers, determine the lines in which the chains are directed, and, from the size of the rivers, judge in some measure of the elevation of the district. Thus, on inspection of the map of Europe, we find four of its greatest rivers rising at no great distance from each other, the Rhine, the Rhone, the Danube, and the Po; here, then, we might infer a great elevation, and here we accordingly find its highest mountains, the Alps. In another part of this continent, we see the Dwina, the Nieper, and the Volga, diverge from points not far distant from each other, and here accordingly we find an elevated table land, two hundred miles in length by fifty in breadth, marked however by no mountain summits. In central Asia, we see a vast space inclosed by lines joining the sources of a number of mighty rivers, the Indus, the Ganges, the Barrampooter, the Irrawaddy, the Houng Ha, and Kiang Ku, the Amour, the Lena, the Yermisir, and the Oby; accordingly, here we find the greatest table land surrounded by the highest mountains of the globe. Still, however, the instance we have cited of the rivers of Russia shows, that the land whence great rivers take their rise, is not necessarily mountainous; in this case the ascent is almost imperceptible, and the summit offers the aspect of a level and marshy plain. Such also occurs in the famous boundary between the United States and Canada, where the highlands that figured in two successive treaties have disappeared, and in their supposed place has been found a series of swamps.

Attempts have been made to arrange the chains of mountains into connected systems. Of these the most successful is that of Malte-Brun.

"If we draw a line from the centre of Thibet, across Chinese Mongolia towards Ochotsk, and thence towards Cape Tchutscki, the eastern promontory of Asia, this line will in general coincide with a great chain of mountains which runs from the south-west to the north-east, and which every where descends rapidly towards the Indian and Pacific oceans, while on the contrary, it extends itself towards the Frozen ocean in high plains and secondary hills. It is probable that we may some day refer to the same rule the chain of Lapata, called the backbone of the world, in Africa; at any rate this chain runs from the Cape of Good Hope to that of Gardafui, in a direction south-east and north-west, and therefore in nearly the same direction as the great chain of Asia, but we are ignorant of the disposition of the slopes of these mountains. We may regard the mountains of the Happy Arabia, which are both steep and lofty, as the link that connects the mountains of Lapata with the table lands and mountains of Persia, which proceed from the mountains of Thibet.

"If we follow the western coasts of America, from Behring's straits, which hardly form a sensible interruption, to Cape Horn, we find an uninterrupted chain of mountains. From time to time this chain retires a little into the interior, but more frequently it immediately borders upon the great ocean, in immense cliffs, and often by frightful precipices. On the other side of it, the manner in which the lakes discharge themselves, and the direction of the great rivers, show sufficiently, that the surface of America inclines gently towards the Atlantic ocean.

"It results from a combination of these observations, that the greatest chains of mountains on our globe, are ranged in an arc of a circle around the great ocean, and the sea of India; that they seem to present rapid descents towards the immense basin they surround, and gentle slopes on their opposite sides; in fine, from the Cape of Good Hope to Behring's straits, and thence to Cape Horn, the eye of the most timid observer cannot fail to see some trace of an arrangement, as surprising from its uniformity, as from the vast extent of ground which it embraces.

"Let us pause for an instant to consider this great fact of physical geography. If we conceive ourselves placed in New South Wales, with our face turned towards the north, we have America on our right hand, Africa and Asia on our left. These continents, which we hardly before ventured to approach in our imagination, considered in this point of view, form a consistent system, whose structure, as far as we are acquainted with it, presents in its great features an astonishing symmetry. A chain of enormous mountains surrounds an enormous basin; this basin, divided into two by a vast collection of islands, often bathes with its waves the feet of this great primary chain of the earth."

In this chain lie the greatest mountains of the globe. One peak of the Himmalayah rises nearly five miles above the level of the sea; another has a height of 25,500 feet; and a third of 22,217 feet. In South America are Soratu, in height 25,250 feet.

Illimani, 24,000 Chimborazo, 21,400

not to mention Antisana, Mauflos, Chillau, Cotopaxi, all of which exceed in height any mountains that do not lie in this great system. Nay, did not the great Volcano of Owyhee enter into the order with a height of 18,000 feet, the list of those surpassing the other mountains of the globe, might be very much extended.

We shall have occasion hereafter to speak of the volcanic energies still exerted in this vast stony girdle, and shall therefore confine ourselves strictly to mere external form.

The arms and branches of mountain chains enclose as has been seen, basins marked by rivers which convey their surface waters to the ocean. The rains which fall on the sides of mountains and hills, unite in torrents and streams, which follow the lines of most rapid slope in their course to the sea.

The greater rivers mark the lowest part of a principal basin, on each side of which, at a greater or less distance, are to be found rising grounds, themselves hollowed out into lateral secondary basins, containing courses of water less considerable than the first, into which they cast themselves, and whose branches they are. The borders of these secondary basins are again hollowed out into basins of a third order, whose slopes also contain water courses less considerable than the preceding, into which they in turn discharge themselves. This ramification continues until we reach the smallest ravines of the boundary mountains, and the map appears, as it were, covered with a net work of rivers and lesser streams. The great valley of the Mississippi and Missouri, forms perhaps the most striking instance of this sort, upon the surface of our globe.

Rivers and streams are constantly exerting a mechanical action on the surfaces over which they run; abrading and tearing off fragments even of the hardest rocks, they roll them in their course until the velocity becomes insufficient to transport them farther. At diminished velocities they move fragments of less size, down to the smallest pebbles; at still less velocities, they transport sand, and finally earthy matter, in the most minute division. These are deposited in succession in positions corresponding to the rapidity of the stream, and hence the beds of rivers present at each of their different sections, materials of magnitude and quality corresponding to the rate at which the stream usually flows. The increase in the magnitude of streams, due to violent rains and the melting of the snows, changes the position of the substances that compose their bed, and the more easily suspended materials are often held until the stream actually meets the ocean. In such sudden increases, the streams often overflow their usual banks, and make their deposits laterally, until the constant succession of such deposits raises the adjacent ground high enough to set bounds to the further spreading of the stream. This deposit is remarkable for its taking place in greatest quantity close to the usual bed of the stream; and thus it speedily opposes natural dykes to its own redundant waters. This action is most conspicuous at points where marked changes take place either permanently or periodically in the rapidity of running water: when streams descend from mountains into lines of less descent, a deposit uniformly takes place, forming flats or intervals, as they are styled in the United States, of which we have such beautiful instances in the valleys of the Connecticut and Mohawk, and that part of the Hudson near Albany; again, where rivers meet the sea, they are interrupted in their course by the rise of the tides of the ocean, and here again deposits take place, sometimes forming shoals and banks in the ocean itself; at other times, bars and obstructions at their own mouths; and again, deltas of solid land, constantly encroaching upon the sea. This action, which is continually going forward, is called alluvial. The delta of greatest fame, and from which the others have derived their generic name, is that of the Nile; this we have evidence, almost historic, to prove to be wholly the gift of the river. And if it no longer increase as rapidly as in former ages, the cause is obvious, for the alluvion has been pushed so far forward as to meet a strong current that sweeps along the African coast, and must carry off much of the earth the Nile discharges into the Mediterranean. The great rivers of Asia and of America carry still greater quantities of solid matter, but we have not the same distant traditions to refer to for the amount of the increase they have caused; still, however, we know that the mouth of the Mississippi has been advanced into the Gulf of Mexico several leagues since the settlement of Louisiana; and that islands of great extent are frequently formed, in the course of a single year, by the deposits of the Ganges.

We however find traces of aqueous action far more extensive and powerful than those which are now taking place under our eyes by fluviatile action. There is no part of the globe that has been examined, which does not show that it has been subjected to the action of water, in floods far more powerful than any we now are in the habit of seeing. Every where, except in the case of rocky cliffs, and steep mountains, or where we see obvious evidence of a recent elevation, we find the surface strewn with the deposits of water: boulders of greater or less size, beds of gravel, sand, and clay, form the present outer coating of the greatest part of the land. These deposits were long confounded with the alluvial, but have at length been proved, by incontrovertible evidence, to be the results of an action, which if not contemporaneous, must have been universal. We have seen an able attempt to show that this species of deposit did not take place at one and the same period, but was merely the general consequence of similar causes acting at different epochs. Our impression, we must however confess to be, that the action was not only co-extensive with the globe, but contemporaneous. It at any rate exhibits proofs the most satisfactory, that the last great and extensive change which our earth has undergone, was effected by the agency of water, in a state of rapid and violent motion. Ascribing this deposit to a single flood, it has been styled diluvial.

There are cases where alluvial deposits rest upon the diluvium, and from the depth of these it has been attempted to calculate the time that has elapsed since the former of these actions was resumed. The diluvium has also been found in caverns lying upon an ancient stalagmite, and covered again with a new formation of that modification of carbonate of lime. The thickness of the latter deposit has also been made the basis of a calculation, and although neither of these methods is to be considered as approaching to an accuracy more perfect than some hundreds of years, the two methods confirm each other in the general result, which is, that, at a date not more remote than fifty or sixty centuries, there must have taken place a total submersion of all the land, except, perhaps, the tops of high mountains, did they then exist. We have in the sacred volume, a record of such a catastrophe, the flood of Noah, and from that time to the present, no convulsion, equally extensive in its influence, has devastated the globe. Have not then the geologists who have seen in these indications the convincing evidence of that occurrence, been warranted in their inference, of the identity of an event pointed out by undeniable physical evidence, with one recorded in a history to which one of the most confirmed sceptics has recently admitted the merit of truth?

The diluvial deposits are found not only in the lower grounds, but on the tops and sides of lofty mountains; we have ourselves noted them distinctly characterized at high elevations upon the Kaatskills; they are found among the Alps at Valorsine, 6000 feet above the level of the sea, and in another place at more than 7000 feet. The excavations made in the extension of the city of New-York at Corlaer's Hook, have laid open a vast mass of diluvium, and afforded means for studying it with great facility. It in fact presented the appearance of a great cabinet of specimens of primitive and transition rocks, and it was possible in many cases to determine the very mountain whence the fragments had been torn. The most remarkable boulder, for instance, of a weight of at least an hundred tons, was distinctly recognisable as identical in every respect with the granitic syenite of Schooley's mountain, distant at least forty miles. Others had no known type nearer than Connecticut, in the opposite direction, while the gneiss and mica slate of the island of New-York, with their various embedded minerals, the serpentine and many of the magnesian minerals of Hoboken, with sandstone and trap of the Pallisadoc range, were distinctly recognisable. In this great excavation, where a region of a mile square was wholly removed, to a depth, in many places, of thirty feet, no animal remains, as far as can be learnt, were detected; thus marking a most important difference between these deposits and those of the Old continent. Such is the remark of an intelligent geologist, whom we are proud to reckon as our collaborateur, and to whom that branch of Natural History is under no small obligations.

"Fragments of granite and other primitive rocks, cast here and there upon stratified formations, and interpersed in diluvium,[10] present a fact as certain as it is astonishing. All the chains of Mount Jura, all the mountains that precede the Alps, the hills and plains of Germany and Italy, are strewn with blocks of granite, often of a great dimension, and always of a composition as pure, and as perfect a crystallization, as the granites of the higher Alps. The same phenomenon is repeated in the plains of Russia, of Poland, of Prussia, of Denmark, and of Sweden. From Holstein to Eastern Prussia, diluvial[11]grounds, sand and clay, are covered with an immense number of blocks of granite. Near the island of Usedom, several points of granite rock rise from the bottom of the Baltic. We see in like manner, Scania and Jutland so filled with these fragments, that they construct of them enclosures, houses and churches. In the Lymfiord, a gulf of Jutland, and at some places on the western side of that peninsula, great points of granite rise from the bottom of the waters. But what is still more remarkable, is to see immense masses of granite lying on the tops of Roeduburg and Osmond, which are more than 6000 feet in height, and are therefore among the highest mountains in the North of Europe."

Beneath the diluvial deposit, we find beds and strata of substances of different character, and which appear on a cursory view to be involved in inextricable confusion. Long and careful examination has at length been efficient in ascertaining that in this apparent disorder are to be seen the traces of an order, as perfect as that of any other mechanism of nature, and of a succession of changes by which the earth has been finally fitted for the habitation of man. These strata have been finally arranged into five distinct classes, differing in their characters and position. These have been so fully described in a former article in this Journal, by the distinguished associate whom we have already quoted, that no more remains for us to say, than what is merely necessary to keep up the connexion of our subject.

These stratified rocks or formations are remarkable for the regular order in which they succeed and overlie each other, furnishing distinct and indisputable evidence of their having been formed in succession. The first set of strata, which are never covered by any of the others, and hence are conceived to be of most recent formation, lie inclined at a small angle to the horizon. In many cases they do not assume the character of rocks, but although distinctly stratified, are often soft and friable, presenting beds of marle and clay, and thick deposits of sand. In some cases their appearance is so similar to diluvial or even alluvial deposits, that they might be mistaken for them, were it not for their more regular stratification. These are the tertiary formations of the German school, the superior order of Coneybeare and Philips.

Issuing from beneath these, and forming in their turn a considerable portion of the surface of the earth, rising occasionally into considerable hills, are strata of less uniform and regular inclination, forming basins and cavities in which the tertiary deposits are often found to lie, curved to conform to the bottoms of these basins.

The third and fourth series issue in their turn from beneath the preceding, as does the fifth from beneath the fourth. Each is marked in succession, by a greater degree of confusion or distortion in the stratification, until the last, which is apparently upheaved and thrown about without any regularity, its strata being occasionally found in positions almost vertical. Not only is the succession of the five different orders of rocks constant, but so is that in which the several rocks of each series overlie each other. This regularity of succession is, however, subject to this law; namely, that rocks of particular orders, or even the whole order itself, may be wanting in particular districts; thus, tertiary formations may be directly upon the lower order, and the second, third, and fourth, may not be present; or any one of the higher orders may lie directly upon any one of those we have stated to be inferior to it; but it has never been observed that the arrangement itself has been inverted, or that a rock which is in one place inferior, becomes, in its turn, superior in another.

The fifth, or inferior order, is uniformly found beneath one or all of the others; and, we may infer, that it in fact underlies the whole surface of the globe, forming not only the foundation of the solid land, but the original bottom on which the present bed of the sea is deposited. The rocks that compose this series are all highly crystalline in their character, are mostly composed of substances wholly or nearly insoluble in water, are wholly devoid of organic remains, and are in fact such substances as might be supposed to have been formed by slow cooling, from a state of igneous fusion. Is it then assuming too much to infer, that they are in fact the crust which has been first formed upon the surface of the earth, intensely heated by its own condensation, under the action of the gravitating force, that, communicated to it by the hand of the Creator, determined its figure, and still maintains its equilibrium. We do not include in this class, as is usually done, the crystalline rocks not stratified, as we conceive them to have been formed in another manner, to which we shall hereafter refer. All the four higher series of strata show, in the most evident manner, that their formation has been due to the action of water; the grauwacke is, perhaps, the only rock that exists among them, in which the question could, even on simple inspection of specimens, appear doubtful; but this rock lies at the base of the old red sandstone, and upon the limestone of the submedial order, or transition, as it is styled by the Wernerians, and is equally regular in its stratification with either; we cannot, therefore, admit any other cause of its formation than what is common to them.

Some of these strata are obviously mechanical, others chemical deposits; thus, the sandstones and conglomerates are certainly the products of the disintegration of older rocks by a violent abrasion of running water, and have settled when the currents have ceased to flow; all calcareous rocks, except the limestones of the inferior or fifth order, the primitive of Werner, on the other hand, appear to have been products of chemical precipitation; while there are a few cases, as in the beds of rock salt, where the deposit must have been due to evaporation.

Of all these rocks and formations, the primitive, as has already been stated, and the sandstones, are wholly devoid of organic remains. And even the last rule is to be received as not wholly free from exception; for vegetable impressions have been found, as we are credibly informed, in sandstone, at Nyack on the Hudson, and near Belleville in New-Jersey, besides some other similar cases we shall hereafter note. All the other strata present a greater or less abundance of the traces of the organic kingdoms, from the slate, which lies lowest of the fourth order, to the most recent beds of the tertiary, and to so much of the diluvium as has been examined in the old continent. And although in the isolated case of the diluvium at New-York, no fossil remains have been found, we are yet unprepared to admit this as more than an exception, and are inclined to think that the remains of the mastodon, for instance, must be diluvian, or pre-diluvian. In this opinion, however, we know that we are opposed by high authority, and therefore do not express it without hesitation.

"Organized fossil remains belong to three different classes: the remains that have preserved their natural state, at least in part; petrifactions; and impressions.

"The remains of the first class are principally bones, and even entire skeletons, which, after having been stripped of the skin and flesh that covered them, have remained, some buried in the earth, others hidden in deep caverns. They are, sometimes, calcined in whole or in part, without having lost their configuration; they at others preserve, not only their texture, but even some traces of their hair and skin. They are also occasionally seen covered with a calcareous crust.

"Petrifactions, to use this word in its familiar sense, include all stony bodies that have the figure of an organized body. There are cases in which a strong solution has penetrated into a cavity formed by an organic body that has disappeared. Then the strong substance has occupied the cavity that has been left empty, and has taken the external form of the body that formerly existed there. If this body were, for instance, a branch or trunk of a tree, the stone will have at its surface its knots and asperities; but within, it will present all the characters of a true stone; it will be no more, to use the language of Hauy, than the statue of the substance that it has replaced.

"At other times, a vegetable or animal substance, while undergoing decomposition in a successive manner, and by obvious degrees, is pressed by the petrifying liquid that already surrounds it. As soon as an organic particle has disappeared, its place is occupied by one of stone."

* * * * *

"Metallized bodies, and those which have been changed into bitumen or carbon, belong to this system of formation; thus, the turquoises, for instance, are the teeth of a great marine animal; a metallic substance has penetrated them, and has gradually replaced the softer parts of the bones.

"Impressions are often found between the plates of slaty rocks; they are relievos or intaglios representing the skeletons of animals, particularly fish, leaves, seeds, and entire plants, of which the most common kind belong to the forus."

The impressions of vegetables are most abundant in the shales that accompany coal formations; those of leaves and branches are the most common, but there are a few instances in which they retain the delicate structure of the flowers. All analogy leads to the inference, that those now found in temperate climates, are of such a character as could only exist in tropical regions; and when, as in some of the newer formations, the species are identical with those which now exist, the living type is only found within the torrid zone. A still more curious fact, is their identity in similar formations in different parts of the world. At the present day, the same soil in Pennsylvania and England produces plants of very different characters, and those which are native to each are of wholly distinct genera and species, while the fossils that accompany the coal in the two countries are precisely similar. But even those brought by Parry from the polar region of Melville island, are identical with those of England, and of course with those of this distant part of the same hemisphere in which the former are formed, although the character of the climate is so diverse. At the epoch of the coal formation, there existed plants, of genera, which, in temperate climates, at present rarely rise to more than a few inches in height, and which were at that remote period of enormous size. Thus, the forus must have attained the height of from fifty to sixty feet. At present, the forus assume the size of a tree only in the very warmest climates, and even there, are far inferior in magnitude to those of the coal formation. Now, it is well known, that the large size of the living species is due to great and constant heat, and copious moisture. Hence we may fairly infer that similar circumstances existed even at Melville island, where, at the present time, for the greater part of the year, the thermometer is below the freezing point.

As further instances of the same kind, we may quote the following facts. Faujas St. Fond found, in a marly slate, covered by lava, in France, the tree cotton, the liquid amber styrax, the cassia fistula, and other plants of tropical regions. The same observer found the fruit of the arcea palm near Cologne. The elastic bitumen of Derbyshire in England, is identical with the caoutchouc, which now grows only in the warmer parts of South America; and the amber of Prussia appears to be a fossil gum, similar to the Copal.

Among the more recent in formation of fossil vegetables, are the bituminized woods; these are often buried to great depths by diluvian action, but are never found in perfect rock. The most remarkable instance of this kind is at Bovey-Heathfield, in England, and beneath is found the retinasphaltum, that seems to be no more than the expressed viscorous juice of the trees. Coal is a similar formation, but due to a more ancient period. The mines of Pennsylvania occasionally furnish specimens, in which the fibre of the wood is as distinctly visible as in recently prepared charcoal. However these vast beds may have been formed, no doubt whatever can exist in respect to their vegetable origin.

Among animal remains found in the fossil state, shells and zoophytes are the most abundant. They form the principal parts of rocks which often occupy considerable districts. They are most frequent in calcareous strata, from the transition limestones to the highest of the marles. A remarkable fact is observed in respect to these shells, and the other fossils which accompany them; those which are found in the oldest, or transition formations, are more different from those that now exist, than those in the more modern deposits. Thus the transition limestones and slates contain terrebratulites, with encrinites, pentacrinites, and trilobites; in those of the submedial and medial series we find belemnites and the cornu ammonis; many of which are extinct genera, and some of which are of families that are no longer found living on our globe, while even where the genus is now to be met with, the species at least has become extinct; while in the latest of the tertiary or superior formations, we find ostracites, pectinites, buccinites, chamites, and many other genera that are still abundant, and even types of living species.

By far the greater part of the animals whose remains are found in the older strata are aquatic, and the vast extents over which they are distributed, show, that the waters must at one time have covered a very great proportion of what is now dry land. Nor has this change been produced by any gradual subsidence, for we find no coincidence in the levels of those portions of the land that contain similar fossils; some for instance are still lower than the level of the present ocean; others, again, of similar character, rest upon the tops or sides of the highest mountains. In Europe, the tops of the highest of the Pyrenees, rising 11000 feet above the level of the sea, are of limestone, containing numerous fossil remains, while Humboldt found a rock, similarly characterized, among the Andes, at the height of 14000 feet.

The ancient philosophers, who, in other departments of physical science, were far behind the moderns, seem in this alone to have pursued a process of inductive reasoning, which led to results far more accurate than any attained by the moderns, until within a very few years. The dogmatism which determined to find in every fossil aquatic remain a proof of the particular Noachic deluge, and the timidity of those whose researches had made them better informed, left the world wholly in the dark as to the real inferences to be drawn from a study of the structure of the earth; but what modern geologist could better express what are now admitted opinions, than the words which the Roman poet puts in the mouth of Pythagoras.

"Vidi ego, quod quondam fuerat solidissima tellus, Esse Fretum. Vidi factas ex æquore terras: Et procul a pelago conchæ jacuere marinæ; Et vetus inventa est in montibus anchora summis. Quodque fuit campus, vallem decursus aquarum Fecit: et eluvie mons est deductus in æquor: Eque paludosa siccis humus aret arenis; Quæque sitim tulerant, stagnata paludibus hument. Hic fontes Natura novos emisit, at illie Clausit: et antiquis concussa tremoribus orbis Flumina prosiliunt; aut exæcata resident."

The order in which fossil remains are found to succeed each other in the successive formations that are to be traced from the oldest rocks to the diluvial deposit, are well illustrated in the words of a late distinguished philosopher, whom we shall quote.

"In those strata which are deepest, and which must consequently be supposed to be the earliest deposited, forms, even of vegetable life, are rare; shells and vegetable remains are found the next in order; the bones of fishes and oviparous reptiles exist in the following class; the remains of birds, with those of the same genera mentioned before, in the next order; those of quadrupeds of extinct species in a still more recent class; and it is only in the loose and slightly consolidated strata of gravel and sand, and which are usually called diluvial formations, that the remains of animals such as now people the globe are found, with others of extinct species. But in none of these formations, whether called secondary, tertiary, or diluvial, have the remains of man, or any of his works, been discovered: and whoever dwells upon this subject, must be convinced that the present order of things, and the comparatively recent existence of man as the master of the globe, are as certain as the destruction of a former and different order, and the extinction of a number of living forms, which have types in being. In the oldest secondary strata there are no remains of such animals as now belong to the surface; and in the rocks which may be regarded as most recently deposited, these remains occur but rarely, and with abundance of distinct species;--there seems, as it were, a gradual approach to the present system of things, and a succession of destructions and creations preparatory to the existence of man."

We have stated that the zoophytes and shell-fish have left the most numerous fossil remains. Those of other families are not however rare. Fish, for instance, are found in great abundance, near Glarus in Switzerland, in clay slate; in Germany, at Papenheim, in a slaty marle, in the cupriferous slate of Eisleben, in the fetid limestone of Oehningen. They are also found in Egypt, and we have specimens of the same sort from Lyria, in a limestone apparently belonging to the oolitic or Jura formation. China and the coast of Coromandel have also fossils of this sort, but by far the greatest quantity have been procured from Mount Bolea, near Verona. A splendid suite from the last locality are to be seen in the Gibbs' Cabinet at New-Haven. Besides the impressions of entire fish, separate portions are very abundant, and perhaps the most frequent of these are the teeth of sharks, which are sometimes of a magnitude vastly greater than those of any living species. Animals of the class of amphibia appear not to have existed until after the æra that gave birth to fish. The oldest are probably the tortoises, of which a specimen has been found in sandstone near Berlingen. They have also been found in England, in the Netherlands near Brussels, at Aix in Provence, and in the quarries near Paris. The most remarkable fossils of this class belong, however, to the lizard family. Of these the most remarkable are the plesiosaurus, the megalosaurus, the iguanodon, and the crocodile of Maestricht, all belonging to extinct species.

The marine animals that are met with in a fossil state, are in great part foreign to the climates in which they are found buried. It has been shown that the fish of Bolea have their nearest living prototypes in the seas of Otaheite. The perpites of Gothland have been supposed to be petrifactions of the medusæ of India. The madrepores, so abundant in Russia and in the frozen deserts of Siberia, only live now in seas within the tropics. Shells analogous to a great part of those found fossil in England, are only to be seen in the Atlantic, in a living state, on the coasts of Florida and Cuba. A shell-formed fossil at Havre is only to be met with recent at Amboyna.

Of the shells found in Italy, fossil in the sub Appenine hills, many are common to the Mediterranean and the Indian oceans. But while those in the fossil slate and the recent specimens from the tropics correspond in size, individuals of the same species from the Mediterranean are dwarfish and degenerate.

Thus then the remains of aquatic and amphibious animals appear to confirm the conclusion drawn from vegetable fossils, that a climate of temperature as elevated as that now found in the tropics, once extended into high northern latitudes. It has been seen that the fossil remains and impressions of shells have been found at great heights upon the sides, and even upon the tops of mountains; and that in the older of the strata no trace is to be found of any but aquatic animals. Thus before our existing mountains and the minerals they contain had arisen above the general surface; before diluvial and alluvial deposits, or even the great formations of sandstone and conglomerate had arisen from their disintegration, the globe was covered, in a great degree, and as it appears from considerations we have not space to enter into, by various successive eruptions, with waters, sometimes fresh, sometimes saline. These waters have, it could be readily made to appear, often rested long on the surface in a quiet state, after having been in violent agitation; and long ages of tranquillity have been succeeded and closed by convulsions of the most violent character.

In all the regularly stratified formations, animals of the mammiferous or cetaceous classes are wholly wanting; at least we have no proof that can be relied upon of any having been found in formations which took place prior to the last great deluge, that covered so much of the land with diluvium. In this last formation, however, they are often found in great abundance. Some of them are of recent, others of extinct species. Among the most remarkable of the latter are, the palæotherium, and anoplotherium, found near Paris; the megalonyx, an animal of the sloth genus, but of the size of an ox, found in Virginia; a still larger sloth, called the megatherium, found near Buenos Ayres; the fossil elephant, as different from the living elephants of India or Africa, as the horse is from the ass, and which has been found in Europe, in Asia, and in America. The mastodon, of which several species have been discovered on the banks of the Hudson, in Kentucky, in Louisiana, in the plains of Quito, in France, and finally on the borders of the Irrawaddy.

The bones of rhinoceroses, bears, elephants, and hyænas, have been found mixed in confusion in caverns; and it has been shown by Buckland that the latter animal had inhabited these caverns, and drawn thither the carcasses of the others as his prey, in one of the most perfect inductive arguments which has been produced, since Bacon propounded the rules of that species of reasoning.

"The moveable earths that fill the bottoms of valleys, and which cover the surface of great plains, have furnished us in the above two orders, of pachidermata and elephants, the bones of twelve species, to wit: one rhinoceros, two hippopotami, two tapirs, an elephant, and six mastodons. All these twelve species are now absolutely extinct in the climates in which their bones are found. The mastodons alone may be considered as forming a separate genus, now unknown, but closely approaching to the elephant. All the others belong to genera now existing in the torrid zone. Three of these living genera are now found only in the ancient continent, to wit: the rhinoceros, the hippopotami, and the elephant; the fourth, that of the tapirs, only exist in the new. The distribution of the fossil species is different; the tapirs have been found only upon the old continent, while elephants have been discovered in the new."

The fossil species, although belonging to known and existing genera, are essentially different in species from those which now live upon the earth. The former are not mere varieties, but have marked specific differences. This at least is beyond all doubt in respect to the smaller of the hippopotami, and the gigantic tapir, as well as the fossil rhinoceros, and is extremely probable in respect to the elephant and the smaller tapir. If there be any question of the fact, it is only in respect to the greater hippopotamus.

"These different bones are buried in all different places in beds that resemble each other. They are often mixed indiscriminately with those of other animals, identical with those which exist at present. These beds are generally moveable, sandy, or marly, and always within a short distance of the surface. It is therefore probable that these bones have been enveloped by the last catastrophe of the globe. In a great number of places, they are accompanied by the accumulated spoils of marine animals; in other places, but these are less numerous, the remains of marine animals are not found, and sometimes the sand or marle that covers them contains only fresh-water shells. Although a small number of shells attached to fossil bones indicate that, they have remained some time under water, yet is there no authentic account of their having been found covered with regular stony beds, filled with marine remains, nor, in consequence, is there any proof of the sea having made a long and peaceable stay above them.

"The catastrophe that has covered them, would appear then to have been a great marine inundation, of no long duration, were it not that they are found upon the tops of high mountains, whither the waters of our present ocean could never have reached in their most violent agitations. On the other hand, these bones presenting no appearance of having been rolled, being occasionally only fractured, as the remains of our present domestic animals may occasionally be, and being sometimes found in entire skeletons, and accumulated as if in a common cemetery, demonstrate that the living beings to which they have belonged, must have met their fate in the very parts of the globe in which we now find the fossil monuments of their existence."

All the animals of which we have particularly spoken, are of genera now only found in the torrid zone, and the abundance of food which their great size would have caused them to require, renders their existence in numbers only possible in a warm climate. Their remains are, however, found in almost polar regions, whence we obtain a third link in the chain of evidence, that before the last great catastrophe to which the globe was subjected, its surface must have been warmer than at present.

We have seen in a former place, that such a change of temperature may have gradually occurred in consequence of a cooling of the external surface of the globe by an excess of its radiation above the quantity of heat received from the sun. The final cooling of its solid crust, down to the mean temperature at which we now find it, might, as is obvious, have been effected by a great irruption of waters, like that of which we have distinct evidence in the diluvial deposits, and the animal remains upon its surface. From that time, a state of equilibrium in the action of solar and terrestrial radiation having been attained, while the mean temperature still continues to depend upon the internal structure and nature of the globe, the distribution of heat upon the surface, and the vicissitudes of the seasons, have been solely influenced by the varying relation between these two radiations, which if equal to each other in their total amounts, differ in every different latitude, for every successive day in the year, and during each varying hour of the day.

It has been attempted to explain this change that has unquestionably taken place in the temperature of climate, by conceiving a change in the situation of the earth's axis. This hypothesis, however, is shown to be untenable by the calculations of physical astronomy: no other cause then remains but an actual change in the condition of the earth itself.

The most remarkable of all the phenomena which the earth presents, are the great changes of weight that have taken place in identical formations which must have arisen from the prevalence of water, and therefore nearly if not exactly upon the same level. The primitive or lowest stratified rocks, probably had not water for their cause; still, however, they must have been in the fluid state, and these are not only found beneath all other rocks, and in the lowest places to which the industry of man has penetrated, but they also rise and form the greatest part in bulk of many of the highest mountains; indeed, if we except volcanic mountains, of all the more elevated masses. The transition and secondary formations are subject to similar although less changes of level, rising, as has been seen, to the tops of the Pyrenees, and to even a greater height on the sides of the Andes. The tertiary or superior formations are found in Italy and Sicily, forming mountains several thousand feet in height, while the latest of all, the diluvial with its embedded mammalia, exists in the lofty table land of Quito. The inference is irresistible, that we do not now find these deposits at the levels where they were left by the ocean, as in the case of the primitive rocks by their own crystallization from a fluid state, but that they have been altered in their positions by actions of a character totally distinct from that by which they were originally formed.

This inference is still further confirmed by the great and sudden changes of level that are frequently to be seen in similar strata, faults, as they are styled by miners, in which the same bed has its level sometimes changed hundreds, nay even thousands of feet. These faults, if in greatest abundance in the more ancient rocks, are to be found even in the newest, and sometimes affect several formations incumbent on each other, of ages the most different. Thus, then, we have distinct and conclusive evidence, that as we inferred from theory, the solid crust of the globe has been shattered and fractured repeatedly, and at all the different epochs of its history. This fracturing and cracking we have shown, must, in conformity with strict mechanical laws, have been attended with the rise of the molten liquid from beneath, which ought in some cases to have formed veins and dykes, in the places where the fractures occurred. It is however possible, that the rise of the fluid from beneath, may not have taken place where the pressure occurred; but it would then have been compelled by hydrostatic pressure, to issue at some other point, breaking and tearing the weaker parts of the solid crust, in order to afford itself a vent.

The latter class of phenomena are still in action, and we have evident traces of their occurrence in all the different stages of the world's existence; of the former it will also be seen there is conclusive evidence.

The visible effects of a subterranean heat, are most frequently met with at the present day in the form of volcanoes. Of these, there are not only a great number in activity, but there are still more that have been certainly active since the last great change that the surface of the earth has undergone.

That part of the great group of mountains which we have before described, which lies in the new continent, contains many active volcanoes, and others but recently extinct. Terra del Fuego, as its very name imports, is the seat of many; Chili has several; in Peru are to be noted Arequipa, Pichinca, and Cotapaxi; while Chimborazo is obviously one that has become extinct at a period not remote. Passing the Isthmus of Panama, we find the volcanoes of Guatimala and Nicaragua almost infinite in number. In Mexico, are Orezaba, Popocatepetl, and Jorullo; the last of which first rose from beneath the surface in 1759. California has five active volcanoes; and we know, from the observations of La Perouse and Cook, that they also exist along the north-western coast of America. Mount St. Elias, in particular, was seen in a state of eruption. These mountains connect those of Mexico with the volcanoes of the Aleutian islands and of the peninsula of Alaska, which continue the system towards Kamtschatka, in which peninsula there are three of great violence. We have seen some proofs, that there are active volcanoes to the north-west of China, but none now exist in Thibet; and the action that once took place there has sought new vents, in regions more near to the present bed of the ocean. Thus, Japan has eight volcanoes, Formosa several, and, in proceeding to the south, the land of volcanic action widens, and becomes of immense extent. It embraces the Philippine, Marian, and Molucca islands, Java, Sumatra, Queen Charlotte's islands, and the New-Hebrides. The active volcanoes of Europe and western Asia are few in number; but those that are extinct form a great system, in which the active ones are included, and which seems to spread in the form of a belt, from the Caspian sea to the Atlantic. Volcanic action still occurs on the shores of the Caspian. In the chain of Elburg is a lofty mountain that still emits smoke, and around whose base are several distinct craters. Syria and Palestine abound in volcanic appearances, of which the great crater that has swallowed up the waters of the Jordan, and forms the Dead sea, is the most remarkable. Greece and the Grecian Archipelago have been, almost within historic times, the seat of a volcanic action, of great extent and violence, and which has not wholly exhausted itself. In Sicily, Ætna has burnt for 3300 years, and is yet surrounded by extinct craters of more ancient date. The Lipari islands are wholly volcanic. Vesuvius, that had long before intermitted its eruptions, and broke forth again in the great one that destroyed Herculaneum and Pompeii, is not the only volcanic mountain of Naples. An extinct one of much greater size is to be found near Roccafina. The catacombs of Rome are excavated in lava, and Tuscany contains strong evidences of volcanic action. Volcanic indications can be traced near Padua, Verona, and Vicenza, extending into Dalmatia. A district of Hungary was suspected of containing the seeds of subterranean fire, and the suspicion has been confirmed by an actual eruption. Germany and Bohemia contain a great number of extinct volcanoes, as does the south of France, and particularly Auvergne. In Spain, too, the proofs of a volcanic agency are clear and decisive.

Greenland and Iceland present a third group of volcanoes; in the latter island, a single volcano was in a state of continuous eruption for five or six years. The Azores, the Canaries and Madeiras, also contain numerous volcanoes, both active and extinct, as do the Caribbean islands.

In comparing together volcanoes that are in present activity, and others in which the crater and the streams of emitted lava are too distinct to permit a doubt of their having arisen from the same cause, differences are observed that only have arisen from great differences in the circumstances under which the eruption has taken place. In many of the ancient volcanoes, we find the emitted streams are arranged in prismatic forms, constituting basalt, and frequently passing into what under other circumstances would be styled trap by the Wernerians. Now, we know that when streams of lava enter the sea, they spontaneously assume the prismatic structure. Hence we may infer, that these ancient volcanoes originally gave vent to their craters beneath the level of the sea, at a time when the rocks through which they penetrated, and over which their streams have passed, were beds of the primitive ocean. The trap rocks themselves may have been formed in a similar manner, by upward pressure of the igneous fluid beneath, through the veins and fissures formed on the breaking of the solid crust. Trap traverses, in dykes of unknown depth, many formations, and is occasionally seen forming beds between successive strata. It frequently occurs in faults, and sometimes in extensive overlying masses. Close observation, and a just course of analogy, lead to the irresistible conclusion, that all the trap rocks, however situated or arranged, grow out of the same great cause, the rising of the liquid interior of the earth to its surface. An action sometimes taking place through veins and fissures in the solid crust, and sometimes by the eruption of volcanoes, both occurring during the pressure of water upon the surface. One of the most extensive groups of trap-rocks is to be seen in the north-eastern part of the state of New-Jersey. The Hudson is bordered for nearly forty miles by a great ridge of columnar rock, lying upon sandstone. When this is surveyed with an eye to its analogy to volcanic action, it appears as if it were the outpourings of a crater, whose basin is now occupied by the lake in which the Hackensack river takes its rise, and whence a great stream of lava has run over the sandstone rock, as far as the strait that separates Staten Island from the main land. The two Newark mountains are ridges of the same description, of even greater extent; other smaller ridges of the same kind are also distinctly visible, and the whole of this last system appears to have proceeded from a crater now filled by the alluvion of the Passaic, but which is bordered by a ridge still occupying two-thirds of a circle, and showing conclusive marks of igneous action, that goes by the name of the Hook mountain. The phenomenon of a dyke of trap is well exhibited in the quarries near Hartford in Connecticut, where this rock has been laid bare for a considerable depth, as it rises through a sandstone rock, instead of overlying it, as it is seen to do on the Hudson.

The trap-rocks, which are, generally speaking, of the character called by mineralogists greenstone, vary in this district of New-Jersey, from a compact basalt of homogeneous structure, to one of regular and distinct crystallization, not distinguishable in hand specimens from primitive syenite. A rock of this last character is to be found in the mountain that extends from Morristown to Mount Kemble, which is columnar in its structure, but almost identical, in mere external characters, with stratified rocks of gneiss containing hornblende, that are found in the primitive ridges within a few miles.

Thus then the older volcanic rocks gradually pass in character into those which, under the general name of granitic, form the apparent nucleus of gneiss and mica slate mountains, and penetrate them, and the primitive limestones, in veins. One of the best instances of veins of granite with which we are acquainted, are those which occur in the quarries of white marble at Kingsbridge, which are traversed in every direction by thin veins of a rock, principally composed of a white fetid felspar, mixed with spangles of silvery mica, and small grains of quartz, interspersed with occasional masses of tourmaline. The famous locality of chrysoberyl, beryl, and other interesting minerals, at Haddam, in Connecticut, is said to occur in a granitic vein passing through strata of gneiss.

In all these cases we cannot fail to see evidence of igneous eruptions, taking place, however, under circumstances widely different from those of our present terrestrial volcanoes, or of the submarine craters of more remote dates, but which can be readily explained by supposing, either that the penetration took place when the surface of the earth was so intensely heated as to admit of the injected veins being slowly cooled, and therefore more perfectly crystallized; or that the issuing mass was so great as to retain its heat for a great length of time.

It might at first sight appear difficult to explain how volcanic energies should still continue in activity, now that the mean temperature of the earth has become constant, and the outer crust can be no longer subject to the shrinking, and consequent cracking which it must have undergone while cooling. The phenomena that attend volcanic eruptions furnish a full explanation of this, for they are attended in almost all cases with the evolution of great quantities of gaseous matters, and steam, which must therefore exist in a state of intense compression, and at elevated temperatures, in the mass whence the volcanic flood issues. Their elastic energies are sufficient to account for all the striking effects that attend the action of volcanoes.

The earthquake is a phenomenon connected with volcanic eruptions, and arising from the same great cause; but while the latter are confined to certain mountains, and restricted within narrow limits at the present day, an earthquake is sometimes found to prevail over a very large portion of the earth's surface. To omit the more usual phenomena of earthquakes, we shall speak of but one, which has in some cases been observed, that throws a great light upon the manner in which the stratified rocks have had their levels changed, and been dislocated and distorted in the manner we now find them. We allude to the sudden raising of countries of greater or less extent. Of this we shall quote three several instances from a paper of Arago's.

"During the night of the 28th September 1759, a district of three or four square miles, situated in the Intendency of Valladolid, in Mexico, was raised up, like an inflated bladder. The limits where the elevation ceased may still be determined at the present day, by the fracture of the strata. At these limits the elevation of the ground above its primitive level, or that of the surrounding plain, is no more than thirty-seven feet; but towards the centre of the lifted district, the total elevation is not less than five hundred feet.

"This phenomenon had been preceded by earthquakes that lasted nearly two months; but when the catastrophe occurred, all seemed tranquil; it was announced only by a horrible subterranean noise, that took place at the moment when the ground was lifted. Thousands of little cones, of from six to ten feet in height, called by the natives ovens, arose in every direction; finally six great projections were suddenly formed along a great crevice lying in a north-east and south-west direction, all of which were elevated from 1200 to 1600 feet above the adjacent plains. The greatest of these small mountains has become a true volcano, that of Jorullo, and vomits forth lava.

"It will be seen that the most evident and well characterized volcanic phenomena accompanied the catastrophe of Jorullo; that they were perhaps its cause; but this did not prevent an extensive plain, old and well consolidated, upon which the sugar-cane and indigo were cultivated, from being, in our own days, suddenly raised far above its primitive level. The escape of inflamed matter, the formation of the ovens and of the volcano of Jorullo, far from having contributed to produce this effect, must on the contrary have lessened it; for all these openings must have acted like safety valves, and permitted the elevating cause to have dissipated itself, whether it were a gas or a vapour. If the ground had opposed a greater resistance; if it had not given way in so many points, the plain of Jorullo, instead of becoming a simple hill five hundred feet in height, might have acquired the relief of the neighbouring summits of the Cordilleras.

"The circumstances that attended the formation of a new island near Santorin, in the Greek Archipelago, seem to me also well fitted to prove that subterranean fires not only contribute to elevate mountains by the aid of ejections furnished by the craters of volcanoes, but that they also sometimes lift the already consolidated crust of the globe.

"On the 18th and 22d May 1707, there were slight shocks of an earthquake at Santorin.

"On the 23d, at sun-rise, there was seen between the great and little Rameni (two small islands) an object that was taken for the hull of a shipwrecked vessel. Some sailors proceeded to the spot, and on their return reported, to the great surprise of the whole population, that it was a rock that had risen from the waves. In this spot the sea had formerly a depth of from 400 to 500 feet.

"On the 24th, many persons visited the new island, and collected upon its surface large oysters that had not ceased to adhere to the rock. The island was seen sensibly to increase in size.

"From the 23d May until the 13th or 14th June, the island gradually increased in extent and elevation, without agitation and without noise. On the 13th June it might be about half a mile in circuit, and from 20 to 25 feet in height. Neither flame nor smoke had issued from it.

"From the first appearance of the island, the water near its shores had been troubled; on the 15th June it became almost boiling.

"On the 16th, seventeen or eighteen black rocks rose from the sea between the new island and the little Rameni.

"On the 17th they had considerably increased in height.

"On the 18th smoke arose from them, and great subterranean noises were heard for the first time.

"On the 19th all the black rocks had united and formed a continuous island, totally distinct from the first; flames, columns of ashes, and red-hot stones arose from it.

"The volcanic phenomena still continued on the 23d May 1708. The black island, a year after its appearance, was five miles in circuit, a mile in breadth, and more than 200 feet in height.

"On the 19th November 1822, at a quarter past ten in the evening, the cities of Valparaiso, Melipilla, Quillota, and Casa Blanca, in Chili, were destroyed by a terrible earthquake that lasted three minutes. The following day several observers discovered that the coast, for an extent of thirty leagues, had been visibly elevated, for upon a coast where the tide never rises higher than five or six feet, any rise in the land is easily detected.

"At Valparaiso, near the mouth of the Coucon, and to the north of Quintero, rocks were seen in the sea, near the bank, that no person had before perceived. A vessel that had been stranded on the coast, and whose wreck had been visited by the curious, in boats, at low water, was left, after the earthquake, perfectly dry. In traversing the shore of the sea, for a considerable distance near Quintero, Lord Cochran, and Mrs. Maria Graham, found that the water, even at high tide, did not reach rocks, on which oysters, muscles, and shells still adhered, the animals inhabiting which, recently dead, were in a state of putrefaction. Finally the whole banks of the lake of Quintero, which communicates with the sea, had evidently mounted considerably above the level of the water, and in this locality the fact could not escape the least attentive observers.

"At Valparaiso the country appeared to be raised about three feet, near Quintero about four. It has been pretended, that at a distance of a mile inland, the rise had been more than six feet; but I do not know the particulars of the measures that led to this last inference.

"In this case there was no volcanic eruption, no lava poured forth, no stones or ashes projected, into the atmosphere, and unless it be maintained that the level of the ocean have fallen, it must be admitted that the earthquake of 19th. November 1822, has raised the whole of Chili. Now the last consequence is inevitable, for a change of level in the ocean would have manifested itself equally along the whole extent of the coast of America, while nothing of the kind was observed in the ports of Peru, such as Paytu and Callao.

"If this discussion had not already carried us so far, the preceding observations, from which it results, that in a few hours, and by the effect of a few shocks of an earthquake, an immense extent of country rose above its former level, might have been compared with those which show, that there exists in Europe, a great country (Sweden and Norway) whose level is also rising, but in a gradual manner, and by a cause that acts unceasingly, but which cause is unknown."

Thus, then, to whatever portion of the earth's surface we turn our eyes, we find the proofs of igneous action; our existing volcanoes, protruding themselves through the newer stratified formations, and even the diluvium, being in some cases more recent in their origin than the last great catastrophe to which the earth has been subjected; those of more ancient date forcing their way through the upper and lower secondary and transition formations, which are also cut and intersected by dykes of trap, while granite from the size of mountain masses down to their veins, has upheaved and penetrated the oldest stratified rocks. We also find great extents of country rising, sometimes gradually, sometimes suddenly, above their former level.

Mountains, then, are not the nucleus on which our continents and islands have been deposited, but are of subsequent origin, and have in their rise elevated the land to such a height as to be no longer accessible to the waters of the ocean. We may, even by examining through what strata the mountains have been raised, or those which compose their sides and crests when the elevating agent has not pierced through to the surface, infer the geological age which gave them birth. A research of this sort has been recently attempted and conducted with great ability by M. E. De Beaumont.

We shall quote an abstract of his reasoning from the "Annuaire," for 1830, in the words of Arago, which will also serve to illustrate various other points upon which we have touched.

"Among the formations of so many different kinds that form the crust of our globe, there is a class which has been called sedimentary (terrains de sediment). Those formations to which this name is properly applied, are composed wholly, or in part, of detritus, carried by water like the mud of our rivers, or the sands of the beaches of the sea. These sands, in a state of greater or less division, and agglutinated by siliceous or calcareous cements, form the rocks called sandstones.

"Certain calcareous formations may also be reckoned in the same class, even when they are wholly soluble, as is however rare, in nitric acid; for the fragments of shells which they contain, show, in another and perhaps better manner, that their formation has also taken place in the bosom of the waters.

"Sedimentary formations are always composed of successive layers, that are very distinctly marked. The more recent of them may be arranged into four great divisions, which, in the order of their antiquity, are

"The oolitic series or limestone of Jura;

"The system of greensand and chalk;

"The tertiary series; and finally

"The diluvian deposits.

"Although all these formations have been deposited by water, and although they may all be found in the same locality lying upon each other, the passage from the one to the other is never made by insensible gradations. A sudden and marked change is always to be perceived in the physical nature of the deposit, and in that of the organized beings whose remains are found in it. Thus it is evident, that between the epoch at which the limestone of Jura was deposited, and that of the precipitation of the system of greensand and chalk which covers it, there has been upon the surface of the globe a complete change in the state of things. The same may be said of the epoch that separates the precipitation of the chalk from that of the tertiary formations; as it is also evident that in every place the state or nature of the liquid, whence the earths were precipitated, must have changed completely between the time of the formation of the tertiary strata, and that of the diluvium.

"These considerable variations, sudden, and not gradual, in the nature of the successive deposits formed by the waters, are considered by geologists as the effects of what they call 'The Revolutions of the Globe.' And even although it is very difficult to say exactly in what these revolutions consisted, their occurrence is not the less certain on that account.

"I have spoken of the chronological order in which these different sedimentary strata have been deposited: I must therefore state that this order has been determined by following, without interruption, each different formation, to those regions in which it could be ascertained beyond question, and over a great horizontal space, that some particular layer was above some other. Natural excavations, such as the cliffs that border the sea, common wells, and Artesian fountains, with the excavation of canals, have furnished powerful aid in this inquiry.

"I have already remarked, that all these sedimentary formations are stratified. In level countries, as might be expected, the disposition of the layers is nearly horizontal. In approaching mountainous countries, this horizontality, generally speaking, ceases; finally, on the sides of mountains, some of these layers are very much inclined; they even sometimes attain a vertical direction.

"May not the inclined deposits that we see upon the slopes of mountains, have been deposited in inclined or vertical positions? Or is it not more natural to suppose, that they originally formed horizontal beds, like the contemporaneous beds of the same nature with which the plains are covered, and that they have been lifted up and assumed new directions at the moment of the elevation of the mountains on whose sides they rest?

"As a general principle, it does not appear impossible that the crests of mountains may have been incrusted in place, and in their actual position, by sedimentary deposits, since we daily see the vertical sides of vessels, in which waters charged with sulphate of lime evaporate, covered with a saline crust, whose thickness is continually augmented; but the question before us does not present this general aspect, for it is merely required to determine whether the known sedimentary formations can have been thus deposited. To this question we must reply in the negative, as can be shown by two species of considerations, wholly different from each other.

"Incontestable geological observations have shown, that the calcareous layers which constitute the summits of Buet in Savoy, and Mount Perden in the Pyrenees, elevated 11,000 or 12,000 feet above the level of the sea, have been formed at the same time with the chalk of the cliffs that border the British channel. If the mass of water whence these strata were precipitated had risen 11,000 or 12,000 feet, the whole of France would have been covered, and analogous deposits must have existed upon all heights not exceeding 9,000 or 10,000 feet; now, it is found, on the contrary, that in the north of France, where these deposits appear to have undergone little change, the chalk never reaches a height of more than 600 feet above the level of the present sea. They present precisely the disposition of a deposit formed in a basin filled with a liquid whose level has never reached any points that are at the present day elevated more than 600 feet.

"I pass to the second proof, borrowed from Saussure, and which appears even more convincing.

"Sedimentary formations often contain pebbles rounded by attrition, and of a figure more or less elliptical. In the places where the stratification is horizontal, the longer axes of these pebbles are all horizontal, for the same reason that an egg cannot stand upon its point. But where the strata are inclined at an angle of 45°, the greater axes of many of these pebbles form this same angle with the horizon; and when the layers become vertical, the greater axes of many of the pebbles become vertical also.

"This observation, in respect to the position of the axes of the pebbles, demonstrates, that the sedimentary formations have not been deposited in the position they now occupy; they have been raised in a greater or less degree, when the mountains, whose sides they cover, have arisen from the bosom of the earth.

"This being proved, it is evident that these sedimentary formations, whose strata present themselves upon the slopes of mountains, in inclined or vertical directions, existed before these mountains arose. The formations of the same class that are prolonged horizontally, until they meet the same slopes, must be on the contrary of a date posterior to the formation of the mountain; for it cannot be conceived, that, in rising from the mass of the earth, it should not have elevated at the same time all previously existing strata.

"Let us introduce proper names into the general and simple theory which we have developed, and the discovery of M. de Beaumont will be announced.

"Of the four species of sedimentary formations that we have distinguished, three, and these are the uppermost, the nearest to the surface of the globe, or the most modern, extend in horizontal layers, from the Cote d'Or and from Forez, to the mountains of Saxony; and only one, which is the oolite or limestone of Jura, shows itself elevated within this district.

"Therefore the Hartz, the Cote d'Or, and Mount Pilus of Forez, have risen from the globe since the formation of the Jura oolite, and before the deposit of the three other formations.

"On the slopes of the Pyrenees and Appennines, two of the formations are raised up, namely, the oolite and the greensand and chalk; the tertiary formations, and the diluvium that covers them, have preserved their primitive horizontality. The Pyrenees and Appennines are, therefore, more modern than the limestone of Jura, and the greensand which they have raised, and more ancient than the tertiary strata and the diluvium.

"The western Alps, and among them Mount Blanc, have, like the Pyrenees, raised the limestone of Jura, and the greensand, but, in addition, they have also raised the tertiary formations; the diluvium is alone horizontal in the vicinity of these mountains.

"The date of the elevation of Mount Blanc must, therefore, inevitably be placed between the epoch of the formation of the tertiary strata and the diluvium.

"Finally, upon the sides of the central Alps, (Mount St. Gothard,) and of the mountains of Ventorix and Liberon, near Avignon, no one of the sedimentary formations is horizontal; all the four have been raised up. When these mountains arose, the diluvium itself must have already been deposited."

"The sedimentary formations appear, from their nature, and the regular disposition of their layers, to have been deposited in times of tranquillity. Each of these formations being characterized by a particular system of organized beings, both vegetable and animal, it is indispensable to suppose, that between the epochs of tranquillity, corresponding to the precipitation of two of these overlying formations, there must have been a great physical revolution upon the globe. We now know that these revolutions have consisted in, or at least been characterized by, the raising of a system of mountains. The two first liftings-up pointed out by M. de Beaumont, not being by any means the greatest of the four he has succeeded in classing, it will be seen that we cannot infer that the globe, in growing older, becomes less fit to experience this species of catastrophe, and that the present period of tranquillity may not be terminated like those that have preceded it, by the elevation of some immense mountain chain."

M. de Beaumont next attempted, by a fancied arrangement of zones and parallels to great circles, to classify the mountains he had not an opportunity of examining, with those in respect to which he had obtained the above satisfactory conclusions. We fear, however, that he has proceeded to theorize too speedily, and before he had obtained a sufficient number of facts. We are certain, that in respect to the great Alleghany group of the United States, which he classes with the Pyrenees and Appennines, he must be mistaken, for no formations later than the transition limestone are to be found in their vicinity. In respect to the highlands of the state of New-York, and their branch of primitive rocks, which extends along the Hudson to the island of New-York, the sandstone of New-Jersey appears to continue horizontally until it reaches their bases, and no rocks appear to have been raised on the south-eastern side of the highlands, which are the easternmost of the five parallel ridges of the Alleghanies, older than the slate; but on their north-western side the transition limestone appears to have been raised. They therefore are older than any mountains examined by M. de Beaumont, and were we to hazard a conjecture, we should class them with the Grampians of Scotland, and the mountains of Wales, in both of which slate is the only rock of the transition series that appears to have been elevated.

To complete our subject, it would be necessary that we should enter into a discussion of the manner in which the ocean is now acting, by its currents and tides, to distribute and deposit in its bed the sediment which rivers and streams are constantly hurrying into it; and that we should form some estimate, from what occurs within our reach, of the effects produced in these deposits by the vast number of organized beings that must people them, the deposits of vegetable matter, and the exuviæ, of animals. Such discussion would, however, be in a considerable degree purely conjectural, and we therefore shall not enter into it. It is sufficient to say, that formations analogous to those which the elevation of the continents has exposed to our view, must be now taking place in the bed of the ocean, whence they may be in their turn raised, to task the ingenuity of future races of reasoning beings.

* * * * *

Inquiries into the history of the changes which our earth has undergone, as they lead with infallible evidence to the proof of an existence of this globe at a period almost infinitely more remote than that at which man became its inhabitant, have been stigmatized as impious. The intolerant theologian, adhering with pertinacity to his own system of interpretation, fulminates anathemas against all who find in natural appearances convincing evidence, that the earth was not suddenly and by a single fiat called into existence in the exact, state in which we now find it. Timid geologists have bent to the storm, and have endeavoured to reconcile natural appearances with the arbitrary interpretations that have been deduced from scripture. But neither is the inquiry itself less holy than any of those which consider natural phenomena, exhibiting in their progress convincing proofs of infinite wisdom and power in the Creator, justifying the ways of God to man; nor is any one of the results of the inquiry in the slightest degree opposed to the texts of the sacred volume. The impiety rests with the interpreter, and not with the physical inquirer. The former unwisely links to his spiritual belief an interpretation at variance with natural appearances; and the latter, if he do not inquire for himself, and believe on the evidence of the former, that the truth or falsehood of the two distinct propositions are inseparably connected, must, as he sees the one to be inconsistent, hesitate with respect to the other. Some geologists, then, may have been sceptics; but could the secrets of the heart be laid open, we cannot help believing, that those who have most earnestly endeavoured to reconcile the phenomena we know to exist, with the interpretation of scripture, from which they appear to vary, have been at bottom the least sincere in their religious faith.

For ourselves, we see no difficulties, no discrepancies between the record of direct revelation, and the sublime passages of the book of nature. We believe that "in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth;" that he called at once into existence the whole material world; but we also believe that he then impressed matter with laws, under the action of which that material world must maintain its existence, and secure its permanence, until the same almighty power shall annihilate it. We are not of those who judge of the works of the Deity from the conditions of the works which can alone be effected by the power of man. However perfect or complete be human mechanism, it can only move by the application of some power inherent in matter; did not an elastic spring expand itself after being coiled, the chronometer would be a dead and lifeless mass; did not fluids obey the force of gravitation, and currents in the atmosphere the expansive power of heat, the water-wheel and wind-mill would be useless; did not water form vapour at elevated temperatures, and condense when cooled, the still more powerful agency of steam would be wanting. Not only are machines of no value unless impelled by natural agents, but they themselves are subject to rapid decay, and require perpetual attention. Such is not the case with the machinery of the universe; its motions are perpetually varying, but yet in their variations invariable; continually oscillating on each side of mean rates, yet never losing or gaining in intensity. Such too is the case on the surface of our globe; the seasons alternately clothe the forests with verdure, and strip them of their leaves; seed time and harvest recur with invariable precision; the whole of existing vegetables perish, and animals die and decay, yet the race is perpetuated. Shall we set bounds to the exertion of almighty power, and say, that races, that families, that species and genera, nay that whole natural kingdoms may not in their turn decay and die, after providing for the repeopling of the earth by new inhabitants? The catastrophes of our planet are not yet at an end; the time will and must come, as we may guess from natural appearances, and as we find predicted in scripture, when the heavens shall be rolled up like a scroll, and the earth shall melt with fervent heat; and in the new system of appearances, the new heaven and earth shall succeed--the corruptible bodies that are now sown in dishonour, shall be raised in honour and incorruptible.

The present surface of our globe is to our limited views slowly changing; to him who compares time with the immeasurable duration that has preceded and must succeed our existence, it is rapidly hastening to apparent ruin. The waters raised from the ocean, falling in greatest abundance on the land, tear and wear away the surface, and deposit it in the bed of the sea. Deltas form at the mouths of rivers by this action; the basin of the ocean is gradually elevated, and, in addition, islands and archipelagos are raised from its bed. The surface of the sea is for the present lessening under the influence of these causes, but the time must come, unless it be prevented by some catastrophe, when the ocean must in its turn encroach upon the land, when the plains and valleys shall become bays and gulfs, or even unite in continuous expanses of water, and the greater mountains alone, diminished in bulk by continued abrasion, shall stand as islands in the vast abyss. The earth would then again be without form and void of inhabitants, as it was before the creation of man. Such, however, will not be the termination of the present order of things; we are taught to look for this in an igneous eruption, the source of which now slumbers almost quiescent beneath our feet.

Not only does revelation, but science, teach us that the earth must have been covered with water, and void of animate life, previous to its becoming the habitation of man. But they read their scriptures differently from us who think that this state of things was the actual beginning. There is no necessary connexion between the first verse of Genesis and the succeeding. The beginning of the existence of matter, and the state of vacuity and darkness whence the present order of things emerged, may have been, so far as the text is concerned, and were, as we know from appearances, separated from each other by unnumbered ages.

Neither is it necessary that we accept the literal meaning of the passage, and conceive the Deity speaking with human voice, and calling creation forth by audible fiat. The voice of the Deity is that unheard and silent command which nature hears and obeys throughout all his works. The pious and sincere believer sees an overruling providence preserving him in kindness when it saves him from shipwreck, or chastening him in mercy when it deprives him of friends or relations, as distinctly as if he beheld the prince of the air stayed in his furious course, or the angel of destruction taking his visible stand beside the pillow of departing life. No miracles are necessary to him who sees in the rising and setting of the sun, in the order and beauty of the universe, in the absolute perfection of its mechanical laws, in his own fearful and wonderful structure, the evidence of infinite wisdom in design, and infinite power in execution; and the examination of the structure and character of our globe, is as well calculated as any other physical study to exhibit in full and brilliant light these attributes of the Deity.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] See American Quarterly, Vol. V.

[9] See American Quarterly, Vol. III.

[10] Our author has "alluvion."

[11] Alluvial in our author.

ART. V.--AUTO-BIOGRAPHY OF THIEVES.

1.--The American Trenck; or the Memoirs of Thomas Ward, now in confinement in the Baltimore Jail, under a sentence of ten years' imprisonment for robbing the United States Mail. Baltimore. 18mo: 1829.

2.--Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux, a Swindler and Thief, now transported to New South Wales, for the second time, and for life. Written by himself. London. 18mo: 1829.

3.--Memoirs of Vidocq, principal Agent of the French Police, until 1827, and since, Proprietor of the Paper Manufactory at St. Maudé. Written by himself. Translated from the French. London. 4 vols. 18mo: 1829.

"One half of the world does not know how the other half lives:"--so says the adage, and says truly. Men of reading, however, who direct their attention to biography, and especially to auto-biography, and who combine with their reading attention to the varied pursuits of mankind, may attain tolerably correct notions of the habits, modes of reasoning, and peculiarities of others, though living in evidently different stations, and engaged in occupations the most various. In this view, the volumes above announced are valuable. They furnish a remarkably clear insight of the ways and actings of professional thieves, and of the men with whom they often become connected,--police officers and jailers. But what assurance have we, it may be inquired, that they speak the truth? How can the evidence of such characters be received? These queries must be answered by considering several particulars. In the first place, then, the verity of a narrative may be partly established by its coherence and probability. When the events related have a manifest correspondence with each other, and are such as may be credited, we necessarily attach to them a degree of belief, which we cannot extend to those of an opposite character. The evidence from this source is, however, exceedingly imperfect, since many narratives, almost entirely fictitious, appear so natural, as to impose upon the reader with all the strength of unvarnished truth. Robinson Crusoe has deceived thousands, and Damberger's Travels in Africa were not suspected to be otherwise than true, for a considerable time after their publication; but they were at length proved to be a complete fabrication. Accordingly, in judging of doubtful works, we must resort to additional means; one of which is a comparison of works of a similar description with each other.

When an account appears to be too wonderful for credence, we are, of course, disposed to rank the author with romance-writers; but when we find that divers accounts, equally extraordinary, are related by others as happening under similar circumstances, we then begin to suppose that we may have judged erroneously. Captain Riley's Narrative of his Captivity in Africa was rejected by many as half-fictitious: his sufferings were greater than human nature could bear, and the Arabs of the desert could never lead the life described. But since it has been found that the sufferings undergone by the crew of the French frigate, the Medusa, were no less horrible, and of the same kind, and that Clapperton and others who have subsequently crossed the Sahara, confirmed his statements respecting the Arabs,--he has been regarded very differently. And it may be supposed, that if Sir Walter Scott had known of the remarkable confirmation given by Benyouski, to Drury's account of Madagascar, he would not have expressed his doubts of the latter's veracity.[12] When writers, unacquainted with each other's productions, are found, by incidental allusions, to agree in minute particulars, the evidence is almost irrefutable. Paley has made an admirable use of this species of proof in his Horæ Paulinæ.

Another mode of judging of an author's credibility is sometimes furnished, by learning whether any of his alleged facts have been contradicted by persons acquainted with them, especially if they are such as these persons would be glad to contradict. If a person is charged with being an accomplice in a crime, and he fails to rebut the accusation, we may infer that he is unable to do so. Or, if the narrator give place and date to certain memorable transactions, which, if false, might easily be shown to be so, a similar inference may be deduced, when it can be shown that others are interested in such exposure.

Now, on bringing the works under notice to these different tests, we shall have tolerably strong presumptive evidence of their being, in the main, worthy of credence. Vaux's Memoirs contain nothing that may not be credited on the score of probability, while the circumstances detailed are remarkably coherent; they seem to arise naturally from each other. Vidocq's, on the contrary, contain so many marvellous escapes from prisons, so many perils from contests with ruffians and bravoes, and such varied turns of fortune, that the reader is necessitated to ask,--can this be true? Here, however, both Vaux and Ward offer him some assistance; the similarity of their accounts, though destitute of so many wonders, corroborating the probability of his. The three narratives are quite in keeping. We find in each the same restlessness, the same blind passion impelling to deeds of vice and desperation, and the same proofs of treachery amongst their companions. Each, too, has furnished so many means of detection, by names of persons, dates, and places, that,--no attempt at refutation having been made by persons implicated,--we are to believe that they must, at any rate, contain much that is true. Neither Ward's nor Vidocq's Memoirs are so connected as Vaux's; but in Ward's case, this may be attributed to a want of scholarship, as he is evidently an ignorant man; and in Vidocq's, to a fondness for the marvellous, in consequence of which he has introduced many episodes. These episodes, accordingly, detract from the merit of the work, considered as a veritable narrative, they being garnished with more of the romantic than the regular account of his own performances.

After all, a degree of suspicion will attach to each of them, from the consideration that they are all avowed liars. If, indeed, there was proof, either external or internal, that they had become reformed characters, and, of course, abhorrers of deceit, we might value their self-condemnation as evidence of truth; for what man of moral feeling would proclaim that he had been an habitual liar, except conscious that the avowal was incumbent on him to substantiate the truth? This was done by Bunyan, the author of the Pilgrim's Progress, and by Cowper, the truly Christian poet:--they are respected accordingly. But in these narratives, except a little cant in Ward's, we find nothing approaching to a sense of shame or remorse. Vidocq, like Homer's Ulysses, has a lie ready for every occasion, and appears, like that hero, to regard himself as "the man for wisdom's various arts renowned." Vaux is almost equal to him in this respect, and exults in the success of his deceptions. If cunning were wisdom, Ulysses, Vidocq, and Vaux, would form a trio of eminently wise men. But this sort of wisdom, how much soever valued by pagans, must be regarded by Christians, enlightened by the Gospel, as utterly unjustifiable, even when employed as a means for the attainment of some good; since they are never to do evil that good may come. Accordingly, those persons who make lies their refuge, must be liable to be doubted, even when they speak the truth. Still, it is possible, that a man's conscience may be so obdurate, as not to perceive the pravity of mendacity, when exercised for his supposed benefit, while he yet retains a regard for truth when engaged in relating his exploits to others. This, we think, is partly the case with our heroes. Their acknowledgment of their disregard of truth, while prosecuting illegal measures, is, indeed,--so inconsistent is human nature,--some guarantee for the fidelity of their narratives. A solitary vice is a thing unknown; as Lillo expresses it, in his tragedy of George Barnwell,--"One vice as naturally begets another, as a father begets a son." Who, then, could believe a practised villain, if he professed himself untainted by mendacity? But if, after a plain avowal of his constant resort to it, we find nothing contradictory in his relation, we may reasonably yield a qualified assent to it; since, as Lord Bacon remarks in his Essays, which "come home to men's business and bosoms," a liar had need possess a good memory to prevent his contradicting himself. Where he is consistent throughout a long narrative, the natural deduction is, that he has mainly depended on his memory, rejecting, for the occasion, his temptation to beguile.[13]

After these preliminary considerations, the relevancy of which is obvious, we proceed to furnish our readers with a few extracts; not doubting, that to such of them as lead domestic, retired lives, it will afford gratification to learn something of the ways of others, who are entirely opposite in their habits,--as opposite as the two electric poles, and, like them, "repelling and repelled." One of the most observable points in these volumes, is the contamination of jails. When men are thrown together in a place where reputation is valueless, they have no inducement to conceal their vices. What is the consequence? They delight in recounting to each other their nefarious exploits: thus conscience is more and more corrupted, and the young and inexperienced are initiated into the skilful manoeuvres of adepts. Whoever has read the first edition of Ellwood's Life, (for the subsequent editions do not contain the passage,) may remember the amusing account he has given of the state of the common side of Newgate in the reign of Charles II. Ellwood was imprisoned in that persecuting reign, for adherence to his religious convictions as a Quaker, and had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the ordinary behaviour and conversation of thieves in jail. He saw and lamented the evils incident to a promiscuous assemblage of old and young, of hardened villains and juvenile delinquents; but the remedy was reserved for the present age. That the remedy ought not to have been so long deferred, will be evident to every one who attends to Vaux's account of his first incarceration.

"On entering the gates of the gloomy receptacle to which I was now consigned, and which, on many accounts, has not been unaptly named the Bastile, the sensations I felt may be more easily felt than described. Besides that this was the first prison I had ever entered, every thing around me had an air of unspeakable horror. After being viewed and reviewed by the surly Cerberuses of this earthly Hell, I was conducted up some stairs to a long gallery, or passage, six feet wide, having on either side a number of dismal cells, each about six feet by nine, formed entirely of stone, but having a small grated window near the roof, at the further end, which admitted a gloomy light, and overlooked a yard, in which other prisoners were confined; there was also a similar grate over the door; but, owing to their height, both these apertures were very difficult of access. The cells on the other side the passage were exactly similar, but overlooking another yard, and the doors were immediately opposite to each other. The only furniture of these dreary apartments was an iron bedstead, on which were a bed, blanket, and rug, but all of the coarsest kind. My conductor having given me a pitcher of water, without vouchsafing a word, locked the door, and left me in utter darkness.

"In order to amuse my mind during this solitary week, I climbed up to the grated aperture over the door of my cell, and listened to the conversation of the neighbouring prisoners; and, from their discourse, I acquired a more extensive knowledge of the various modes of fraud and robbery, which, I now found, were reduced to a regular system, than I should have done in seven years, had I continued at large. I was indeed astonished at what I heard; and I clearly perceived that, instead of expressing contrition for their offences, their only consideration was, how to proceed with more safety, but increased vigour, in their future depredations. And here I was struck with the fallacious notions entertained by the projectors of this prison, which was reputed to be upon the plan of the benevolent and immortal Howard, who had recommended the confinement of offenders in separate cells, in order to prevent the effects of evil communication among persons who had not all attained an equal degree of depravity. This object, however, was not effected here; for, being within hearing of each other, they could, by sitting up over the door as I have described, converse each with his opposite neighbour, and even form a line of communication, where the discourse became general, from one end of the gallery to the other. As a proof of what I have advanced, I knew several of the prisoners, then confined with me in this passage, who were at that time but striplings, and novices in villainy, and who, after several years continuance in their evil courses, at length became notorious offenders, and, having narrowly escaped a shameful death, are now prisoners for life in this colony."

As this subject is of great importance, we shall give a few more extracts connected with it. Crime, as Mr. Buxton has shown in his valuable Inquiry, is promoted, instead of being repressed, by such indiscriminate association. Corruption spreads by it, as surely as decomposition is assisted by heat and moisture. Ward thus describes the Baltimore jail:--

"About this time, I was ordered by the sheriff to be put into the criminal apartment, along with untried prisoners, hardened offenders, debtors, and among characters of the most abandoned and vicious stamp;--men of all nations and all colours. Among this mass of vile and depraved men, I had to take up my abode. There was no example of moral rectitude here exhibited but that of my own! No restraint was put by our keepers, on their profane and vile language and conduct. Every one indulged to an excess in every species of the most disgusting practices, profaning and scandalizing every thing holy."

Vidocq's description of the Bagne at Brest, corresponds with the above:--

"The Bagne is situated in the bosom of the bay; piles of guns, and two pieces of cannon, mounted at the gates, pointed out to me the entrance, into which I was introduced, after having been examined by the two guards of the establishment. The boldest of the condemned, however hardened, have confessed, that it is impossible to express the emotions of horror, excited by the first appearance of this abode of wretchedness. Every room contains twenty night camp couches, called bancs (benches,) on which lie six hundred fettered convicts, in long rows, with red garbs, heads shorn, eyes haggard, dejected countenances, whilst the perpetual clank of fetters conspires to fill the soul with horror. But this impression on the convict soon passes away, who, feeling that he has here no reason to blush at the presence of any one, soon identifies himself with his situation. That he may not be the butt of the gross jests and filthy buffoonery of his fellows, he affects to participate in them; and soon, in tone and gesture, this conventional depravity gets hold of his heart. Thus, at Anvers, an ex-bishop experienced, at first, all the outpourings of the riotous jests of his companions; they always addressed him as monseigneur, and asked his blessing in their obscenities; at every moment they constrained him to profane his former character by blasphemous words, and, by dint of reiterating these impieties, he contrived to shake off their attacks. At a subsequent period, he became the public-house keeper at the Bagne, and was always styled monseigneur, but he was no longer asked for absolution, for he would have answered with the grossest blasphemies."

To complete the picture, we shall now transcribe Vaux's account of his being on board a prison-ship, with what he witnessed there.--

"I had now a new scene of misery to contemplate; and, of all the shocking scenes I had ever beheld, this was the most distressing. There were confined in this floating dungeon, nearly six hundred men, most of them double ironed; and the reader may conceive the horrible effects arising from the continual rattling of chains, the filth and vermin naturally produced by such a crowd of miserable inhabitants, the oaths and execrations constantly heard amongst them; and above all, from the shocking necessity of associating and communicating more or less with so depraved a set of beings. On arriving on board, we were all immediately stripped, and washed in large tubs of water; then, after putting on each a suit of coarse slop-clothing, we were ironed and sent below; our own clothes being taken from us, and detained, till we could sell, or otherwise dispose of them, as no person is exempted from the obligation to wear the ship-dress. On descending the hatchway, no conception can be formed of the scene which presented itself. I shall not attempt to describe it; but nothing short of a descent to the infernal regions, can be at all worthy of a comparison with it. I soon met with many of my old Botany Bay acquaintances, who were all eager to offer me their friendship and services; that is, with a view to rob me of what little I had; for, in this place, there is no other motive or subject for ingenuity. All former friendships and connexions are dissolved; and a man here will rob his best benefactor, or even messmate, of an article worth one half-penny. If I were to attempt a full description of the miseries endured in these ships, I could fill a volume; but I shall sum up all by stating, that, besides robbery from each other, which is as common as cursing and swearing, I witnessed, among the prisoners themselves, during the twelvemonth I remained with them, one deliberate murder, for which the perpetrator was executed at Maidstone, and one suicide."

These horrible accounts must, we suppose, convince every one of the necessity of keeping criminals separate from each other. In vain do you hope by classification, labour, discipline, and moral instruction, to reclaim men from their vices in prison, so long as you allow them to associate freely together. No compromise will do, short of preventing their conversing with each other. Whether solitary confinement, as practised in Pennsylvania, or public labour in silence, as in New-York, be the better mode of punishment, may admit of argument; but that either is incomparably superior to promiscuous intercourse, is unquestionable. And we do conjure magistrates and legislators in every part of the United States, to rouse themselves from apathy on this momentous subject. It is due to their country and to posterity, to strive to remove an evil, which, like the Upas, extends its pestiferous influence in every direction. Let them reflect that the object of punishing criminals is to protect society. This object may be promoted by the reformation of the transgressor; but if he is placed in a situation where contagion is inevitable, the punishment, however severe, is not conducive to that result. A severe punishment may, indeed, be influential in deterring others from pursuing similar courses; but if he, on obtaining his release, instead of being disposed to conform to regularity of conduct, is only determined to practise more skilfully the very crime that was the cause of his commitment; or if, from his moral sense being deadened, in consequence of having heard others boast of their villainous exploits, he is ready to engage in new and more desperate attempts, the influence which his punishment may have had on others, is in danger of being overbalanced. What, in such a case, does society gain by the severity of the law? Is it not clear, that all the expense, trouble, and loss of time attendant on the prosecution, are almost fruitlessly bestowed? And here, it is impossible not to lament the accumulated evils arising from the slow operation of law. A man is charged, perhaps innocently, with petty larceny. The tribunal before which he is to be arraigned is not in session; accordingly, unable to procure bail, he is committed to jail, there to lie for three, or perhaps six months, and all the time uncertain whether he is to be acquitted or condemned. In the mean time, his character has deteriorated while his enjoyment has been abridged. Can such a method be consistent with civilization? Would it not be preferable, at the hazard of some injustice, to revert to the summary process of barbarism? Can it be right, that a magistrate shall be empowered to incarcerate a man for months, while he is debarred from pronouncing definitively on his guilt or innocence? There is an incongruity in all this, of which savages might be ashamed. We trust that the time is approaching when a better system will be established. Consolatory is it to consider, that in various countries of Europe, as well as in America, the subject of prison discipline, and of criminal jurisprudence, occupies the attention of philanthropists and statesmen to a degree never before witnessed, as from their simultaneous exertions much good may be anticipated. One of the causes assigned by Dr. Robertson and other historians, for the resuscitation of Europe from the intellectual degradation of the middle ages, is the discovery at Amalfi, in the twelfth century, of the Pandects of Justinian. Would it not then be irrational to conclude, that the improvements now taking place in law, will not be followed by a correspondent amelioration in society, since it is obvious that a much higher degree of civilization is attainable by man, than any country has yet exhibited?

To those who wish for information on the subject of prison discipline, we recommend a perusal of the correspondence between Mr. R. Vaux of Philadelphia, and Mr. Roscoe of Liverpool; also of the account of the Auburn prison contained in Captain Hall's travels in the United States. In reference to the latter work, it gives us satisfaction to say, that the chapter referred to is unexceptionable. We wish we could say as much for the rest.

We now proceed to furnish some specimens of the modes of life which thieves and swindlers fall into, that our honest readers may have an opportunity of contrasting them with their own. In so doing, they will doubtless congratulate themselves on the possession of moral principle, satisfied that predatory propensities would have disturbed that calm which belongs only to virtue. The following is Ward's account of his first act of dishonesty.--

"Finding it impossible, as I thought, to withstand the impetuosity of my inclinations and desires for freedom and pleasure, I resolved, even against my better judgment, to leave Mr. Pusey and seek my fortune. My hopes were raised to the highest and most pleasing prospects of independence, ease, and affluence; and having in my earliest life cultivated the principle, that in all cases which require secrecy, we should never divulge to a friend what we wish to conceal from an enemy, I concealed my intentions from every body, determining to embrace the first opportunity favourable for prosecuting my first, long-cogitated, and, as I thought, exceedingly cunning plan. Accordingly, during the autumn of 1806, on a Sabbath afternoon, I determined to execute my scheme. Near home, there was a store kept by Mr. Kinsey, in copartnership with Mr. Pusey. I was on terms of the greatest harmony and friendship with Mr. Kinsey; and, taking advantage of this confidence, I had ascertained where his cash was kept. I entered the store, and found no difficulty in obtaining every cent. All the family being from home, I concluded to let the house take care of itself, as, having done thus much, I must inevitably make my departure. Having saddled Mr. Pusey's best horse, I mounted, and, with saddle-bags and clothing, started from the house. Being certain I should be pursued as soon as the robbery was discovered, I thought it would be proper to take a course, on which I could most advantageously travel by night as well as by day. I accordingly took my way towards Lancaster; but about four miles from home, I was seen by some person who knew me. Now I was likely to be defeated in all my calculations. At dark, I arrived at Witmer's Bridge, within two miles of Lancaster, having ridden sixteen miles in two hours. I stopt there only a few minutes to water and feed my horse, and, remounting, I rode to near daylight next morning, when I arrived at Anderson's Ferry on the Susquehanna. There I was detained some time by the negligence of the boatmen; and I had not proceeded more than half way across the river, when I heard the horn blow as a signal for them to hurry back. Although I trembled at the dread sound and alarm of the approach of my pursuers, I vainly hoped it was impossible for them to be so close after me. However, I determined now that I would give them every trouble, let them take me or not. I did not stop for breakfast, and as I had ridden the whole night, my horse became fatigued and slow, so that about noon I was overtaken by another horseman, whom I found to be my own cousin. He desired me to stop immediately and return, he himself having been suspected of the very act I had committed. As my horse was tired down, I sprang with all my might, to secure myself by taking to the woods. Here again my hopes were frustrated; for my foot caught in the stirrup, and I was forced to yield to superior strength. On our way back, he explained the cause of his overtaking me. Having ridden his horse down, he had hired fresh ones at regular distances. This mode of pursuit I had not thought of; but, alas! I was told of it now, when it was too late! Every measure that I had thought most fitly adapted for my clearance, seemed now only to aggravate my folly. Shame for my guilt filled my mind with the keenest remorse.

Mr. Pusey sent for a constable, and informed me I must go to jail. Attended by the constable, and another as an assistant, I started with a heavy heart. We travelled on foot, and very slowly, so that when night came on, we had eight or nine miles yet to go. The constable being negligent, permitted me at times to be twenty or thirty yards from him; and of these opportunities I designed to avail myself. Accordingly, on reaching a place where the road made a short turn, I dashed from them into the bushes, where I hid myself. After they had passed me unnoticed, I cut a large club, and travelled my own way a short distance, when I met a man who eyed me in a scrutinizing manner. I immediately asked him, whether he had seen a fellow running that way from the constables who were taking him to jail? He answered that he had, and that he believed I was the very fellow! 'Well,' said I, 'if you think so, you are welcome to take me.' But fearing my large club, he left me to pursue my journey. Travelling a little distance, I came to a tavern, and looking through the window, saw the constable and his assistant eating their supper. Their horses resting under a shed, I was about to take one; but seeing a barn at a short distance from me, I abandoned my intention. I went into it, and retired to rest for the night. I arose next morning after a refreshing sleep, and pursued my journey to my father's, and arrived at Strasburgh about breakfast time. On entering the tavern, I saw an elderly lady who had lived with Mr. Pusey. She asked me how I was, and where I was going? I told her to visit my parents. She answered, that she really believed I was running away! Apprehensive of danger, I resumed my journey towards my father's, and on the road I met him. From my relation of the affair, he gave it as his opinion that it would be imprudent in me to return again; for he had not the least doubt that I should be arrested, and dealt with according to my offence; so, after remaining at his house a short time, I bent my course to Reading. I confidently believe, to this very day, that if I had not escaped punishment for this crime, I never should have committed another in my whole life."

Another of his escapes we shall here insert, premising that he had been apprehended for stealing a horse.

"He brought with him a blacksmith, who had a load of chains upon his shoulder. The smith put a collar round my neck, and shackles on my ankles. Between these was a small chain for the purpose of making me fast to any thing by a padlock. Mounted on horseback, this chain was passed to the one attached to my collar, and there locked; besides this I was hand-cuffed. Thus equipped, we repaired towards Georgia, through a country mostly inhabited by Indians. On arriving within two days' journey of home, we took lodging at a public house, the first we had seen. Dismounting, my chain was in part wrapped round one of my legs, and the others around my neck. In this situation we took supper with the family, and sat a considerable time after the table was removed. As it was determined we should remain here for the night, which was dark and rainy, I had hopes that I could some way or other make my escape. Having called to a servant to bring me a basin of water to wash my feet, I took care to wind the chain closely around my leg. I then asked her to open the front door for me, as though I intended only to throw out the dirty water; this I did, and finding there were no fears of my going out, I walked a few times across the floor. This gave me a chance to put on my hat unnoticed, when, taking the advantage of a minute, I dashed out and jumped the yard fence; but in so doing, I lost my hat. Having no time to lose, I made a straight course from the house. I soon heard them all in confusion, and saw some of them out of doors with a light. The landlord having a large dog, they brought him in pursuit of me. He took my track, and had nigh taken me when I just reached a creek, into the waters of which I waded some distance, turning with the stream from the place I entered at. Here I stood, leg deep, for some time, hearing all their conclusions respecting me. Thinking I had crossed there, they gave me up, and returned to the house again. I immediately made my retreat from a place surrounding and threatening me with so many dangers. After running and walking about four miles, fatigued and lost, I lay down and slept till morning. I then steered my course across the country, avoiding houses and settlements, hoping to see some slaves in the fields to help me to take off my irons, but could see none. Near noon, I came in sight of an old house which I discovered was inhabited. I approached it at the side where there was no window. I went to a wagon, and taking from it an iron bolt and a linchpin, I made to the woods, where, with much difficulty, I succeeded in extricating myself from my collar and chains. I placed them in a pile at the root of a large tree, near which I lay down and slept till evening, being afraid to travel in the day-time. At dark I arose, and made my way towards South Carolina, walking the whole night, and by morning was thirty miles from where I started. My greatest difficulty was having no hat. Coming, however, to a river, I saw a bridge that crossed it a little below me. I went on it, and stood leaning over its wall, till I saw a traveller coming the other way. As soon as he approached me, I told him, with much concern, that I had met with bad luck; for I had just been looking over the wall when my hat fell off, and went rapidly down the stream, the sides of which were so dangerous I could not possibly get it again:--would he be so kind as to tell me where I could buy another? He told me he would conduct me to a store; I went with him and purchased one."

The life of a thief is one of perpetual anxiety, yet with many it becomes a sort of passion. The earnings of honest industry, even when sufficient to keep them in comfort, are not sufficient to keep them satisfied. The recollection of dangers escaped, the chance of similar fortune again, the prurience of activity,--all urge to a renewal of their lawless pursuits; and as a thoroughbred sportsman despises the practice of catching game by snares, deeming it unworthy of a skilful marksman, so, we suspect, do thieves regard the reward of industry, when compared with the booty of a dangerous encounter. In Vaux's Memoirs we find much to lead us to this conclusion. Several times was he well settled in the way of obtaining, not only an honest livelihood, but of participating in elegancies, luxuries, and agreeable society. Still, as if impelled by destiny, he continually risked the loss of all, to gratify his bad propensity. Ward, on the contrary, had been perpetually unfortunate in realizing his visionary hopes; he was entreated by his wife to forsake his evil courses; but it was all in vain. "Resorting occasionally," he says, "to the company of some adepts in crime, it seemed to afford me pleasure." And in the narratives of the other two, we find evident delight manifested at the success of a hazardous, fraudulent undertaking, while the guilt of the action, and the pain and misery it may have occasioned, are overlooked or lightly regarded, just as a military hero, exulting in a victory, laments the loss of neither friends nor foes. Human happiness, in truth, is connected in the minds of different persons with the most opposite deeds and qualities. Diogenes in his tub, and Alexander at the head of an army, was each pursuing his gratification; and who shall decide which was the more successful? Hume, in one of his Essays, remarks, that there is no question that a boarding-school miss has often experienced as exquisite delight on finding herself the idol of a ball-room, as an orator when receiving the rapturous applauses of a delighted audience; and Colley Gibber says, that on hearing an old actor express admiration at one of his early performances on the stage, he felt so proud of the commendation, that he doubted whether "Alexander himself, or Charles XII., when at the head of their first victorious armies, could feel a greater transport in their bosoms." After reading this, some may perhaps think that Pope's epigram on Cibber[14] was not unmerited; but when they consider that thieves feel a similar exultation, they may rather be inclined to pity poor human nature. In exemplification of what we have advanced, we request attention to the following extract from Vaux. Some of his acquaintances in Newgate had informed him that Mr. Bilger, a jeweller and goldsmith, was a good flat.

"About 5 o'clock in the evening, I entered his shop, dressed in the most elegant style, having a valuable gold watch and appendages, a gold eye-glass, &c. I had posted my old friend and aid-de-camp, Bromley, at the door, in order to be in readiness to act as circumstances might require, and particularly to watch the motions of Mr. Bilger and his assistants on my quitting the premises. On my entrance, Mrs. Bilger issued from a back parlour behind the shop, and politely inquiring my business, I told her I wished to see Mr. Bilger; she immediately rang a bell, which brought down her husband from the upper apartments. He saluted me with a low bow, and handed me a seat. I was glad to find no other person in the shop, Mrs. Bilger having again retired. I now assumed the air of a Bond-street lounger, and informed Mr. Bilger, that I had been recommended by a gentleman of my acquaintance to deal with him, having occasion for a very elegant diamond ring, and requested to see his assortment. Mr. Bilger expressed his concern that he happened not to have a single article of that description by him, but if I could without inconvenience call again, he would undertake in one hour to procure me a selection from his working-jeweller, to whom he would immediately despatch a messenger. I affected to feel somewhat disappointed; but, looking at my watch, after a moment's reflection, I said, 'Well, Mr. Bilger, I have an appointment at the Cannon coffee-house, which requires my attendance, and if you will, without fail, have the articles ready, I may probably look in a little after six.' This he promised faithfully to do, declaring how much he felt obliged by my condescension; and I sauntered out of the shop, Mr. Bilger attending me in the most obsequious manner to the outer door. After walking a short distance, Bromley tapped me on the shoulder, and inquired what conduct I meant next to pursue; for he had viewed my proceedings through a glass-door in the shop, and saw that I had not executed my grand design. I related to Bromley the result of my conversation with Mr. Bilger, and added that I meant to retire to the nearest public-house, where we could enjoy a pipe and a glass of negus, until the expiration of the hour to which I had limited myself. We accordingly regaled ourselves at a very snug house, nearly opposite Bilger's, until about half after six, when I again repaired to the scene of action, leaving Bromley, as at first, posted at the door. Mr. Bilger received me with increased respect, and producing a small card box, expressed his sorrow that his workman had only been enabled to send three rings for my inspection, but that if they were not to my taste, he should feel honoured and obliged in taking my directions for having one made, and flattered himself he should execute the order to my satisfaction. I proceeded to examine the rings he produced, one of which was marked sixteen guineas, another nine guineas, and the third six guineas. They were all extremely beautiful; but I affected to consider them as too paltry, telling Mr. Bilger that I wanted one to present to a lady, and that I wished to have a ring of greater value than the whole three put together, as a few guineas would not be an object in the price. Mr. Bilger's son, who was also his partner, now joined us, and was desired by his father to sketch a draught in pencil of some fancy rings, agreeable to the directions I should give him. The three rings I had viewed, were now removed to the end of the counter next the window, and I informed the young man that I wished to have something of a cluster, a large brilliant in the centre, surrounded with smaller ones; but repeated my desire that no expense might be spared to render the article strictly elegant, and worthy a lady's acceptance. The son having sketched a design of several rings on a card, I examined them with attention, and appeared in doubt which to prefer, but desired to see some loose diamonds, in order to form a better idea of the size, &c. of each ring described in the drawing. Mr. Bilger, however, declared he had not any by him. It is probable he spoke truth, or he might have lost such numbers by showing them, as to deter him from exhibiting them in future. Without having made up my mind on the subject, I now requested to see some of his most fashionable brooches, or shirt-pins. Mr. Bilger produced a show-glass, containing a great variety of articles in pearl, but he had nothing of the kind in diamonds. I took up two or three of the brooches, and immediately sunk a very handsome one, marked three guineas, in my coat sleeve. I next purloined a beautiful clasp for a lady's waist, consisting of stones set in gold, which had the appearance and brilliancy of real diamonds, but marked only four guineas. I should probably have gone still deeper, but at this moment a lady coming in, desired to look at some ear-rings, and the younger Mr. Bilger immediately quitted his father to attend upon her at the other end of the shop. It struck me that now was my time for a decisive stroke. The card containing the diamond rings, procured from the maker, lying very near the show-glass I was viewing, and many small articles irregularly placed round about them, the candles not throwing much light on that particular spot, and Mr. Bilger's attention being divided between myself and the lady, to whom he frequently addressed himself, I suddenly took the three rings from the card, and committed them to my sleeve, to join the brooch and lady's clasp; but had them so situated, that I could, in a moment, have released and replaced them on the counter, had an inquiry been made for them. I then looked at my watch, and observing that I was going to the theatre, told Mr. Bilger that I would not trouble him any further, as the articles before me were too tawdry and common to please me, but that I would put the card of draughts in my pocket-book, and if I did not meet with a ring of the kind I wanted, before Monday or Tuesday, I would certainly call again, and give him final directions. I was then drawing on my gloves, being anxious to quit the shop while I was well; but Mr. Bilger, who seemed delighted with the prospect of my custom, begged so earnestly that I would allow him to show me his brilliant assortment of gold watches, that I could not refuse to gratify him, though I certainly incurred a great risk by my compliance. I therefore answered,--'Really, Mr. Bilger, I am loath to give you that unnecessary trouble, as I have, you may perceive, a very good watch already, in point of performance; though it cost me a mere trifle, only twenty guineas; but it answers my purpose as well as a more valuable one. However, as I may probably, before long, want an elegant watch for a lady, I dont care if I just run my eye over them.' Mr. Bilger replied, that the greater part of his stock were fancy watches, adapted for ladies, and he defied all London united, to exhibit a finer collection. He then took from his window a show-glass, containing about thirty most beautiful watches, some ornamented with pearls or diamonds, others elegantly enamelled, or chased in the most delicate style. They were of various prices, from thirty to one hundred guineas, and the old gentleman, rubbing his hands with an air of rapture, exclaimed,--'There they are, sir,--a most fashionable assortment of goods; allow me to recommend them; they're all a-going, sir--all a-going.' I smiled inwardly at the latter part of this speech, and thought to myself,--'I wish they were going, with all my heart, along with the diamond rings.' I answered, they were certainly very handsome, but I would defer a minute inspection of them till my next visit, when I should have more time to spare. These watches were ranged in exact order, in five parallel lines, and between each watch was placed a gold seal or other trinket appertaining to a lady's watch. It was no easy matter, therefore, to take away a single article without its being instantly missed, unless the economy of the whole had been previously deranged. I contrived, however, to displace a few of the trinkets, on pretence of admiring them, and ventured to secrete one very rich gold seal, marked six guineas. I then declared I could stay no longer, as I had appointed to meet a party at the theatre; but that I would certainly call again in a few days, and lay out some money in return for the trouble I had given. Mr. Bilger expressed his thanks in the most respectful terms, and waited upon me to the door, where he took leave of me with a low congé, à la mode de France, of which country he was a native. I now put the best foot foremost, and having gained a remote street, turned my head, and perceived Bromley at my heels, who seized my hand, congratulating me on my success, and complimenting me on the address I had shown in this exploit; for he had witnessed all that passed, and knew that I had succeeded in my object, by the manner in which I quitted the shop. He informed me that Mr. Bilger had returned to his counter, and without attending to the arrangement of the articles thereon, had joined his son, who was still waiting upon the lady, and that he, Bromley, had finally left them both engaged with her."

Who can fail to perceive, in the above narrative, the satisfaction of the author in displaying his adroitness? His vanity seems to be as much gratified, as if he had been relating some performance meriting approbation. The feeling of shame is altogether alien to him. And thus, by Vidocq's account, it always is with thieves, they glorying as much in detailing their successful exploits, as if no ignominy could attach to them. Amongst his confederates too, and all of the same class, his reputation is proportionate to his daring and skill. Of this, take the following instance related by Vidocq.--

"The incredible effrontery of Beaumont, almost surpasses belief. Escaped from the Bagne at Rochefort, where he was sentenced to pass twelve years of his life, he came to Paris, and scarcely had he arrived there, where he had already practised, when, by way of getting his hand in, he committed several trifling robberies, and when, by these preliminary steps, he had proceeded to exploits more worthy of his ancient renown, he conceived the project of stealing a treasure. No one will imagine that this was in the Central Office, now the Prefecture of Police!! It was already pretty difficult to procure impressions of the keys, but he achieved the first difficulty, and soon had in his possession all the means of effecting an opening; but to open was nothing; it was necessary to open without being perceived, to introduce himself without fear of being disturbed, to work without witnesses, and go out again freely. Beaumont, who had calculated all the difficulties that opposed him, was not dismayed. He had remarked that the private room of the chief officer, M. Henry, was nigh to the spot where he proposed to effect his entrance; he espied the propitious moment, and wished sincerely that some circumstance would call away so dangerous a neighbour for some time, and chance was subservient to his wishes. One morning, M. Henry was obliged to go out. Beaumont, sure that he would not return that day, ran to his house, put on a black coat, and in that costume, which, in those days, always announced a magistrate, or public functionary, presents himself at the entrance of the Central Office. The officer to whom he addressed himself, supposed of course that he was at least a commissary. On the invitation of Beaumont, he gave him a soldier, whom he placed as sentinel at the entrance to the narrow passage which leads to the depôt, and commanded not to allow any person to pass. No better expedient could be found for preventing surprise. Thus Beaumont, in the midst of a crowd of valuable objects, could, at his leisure, and in perfect security, choose what best pleased him; watches, jewels, diamonds, precious stones, &c. He chose those which he deemed most valuable, most portable, and as soon as he had made his selection, he dismissed the sentinel and disappeared.

"This robbery could not be long concealed, and the following day was discovered. Had thunder fallen on the police, they would have been less astonished than at this event. To penetrate to the very sanctuary! The holy of holies! The fact appeared so very extraordinary, that it was doubted. Yet it was evident that a robbery had taken place, and to whom was it to be attributed? All the suspicions fell on the clerks, sometimes on one, sometimes on another, when Beaumont, betrayed by a friend, was apprehended, and sentenced a second time. The robbery he had committed might be estimated at some hundred thousand francs, the greater part of which were found on him.

"Beaumont enjoyed amongst his confraternity a colossal reputation; and even now, when a rogue boasts of his lofty exploits,--'Hold your tongue,' they say, 'you are not worthy to untie the shoe-strings of Beaumont!' In effect, to have robbed the police was the height of address."

We now proceed to make the reader acquainted with the habits and exertions of police-officers, who perform exploits equal in craft and danger to those of thieves. In order to detect the latter, they often resort to the vilest places, and associate with the vilest of mankind; assume various characters and occupations; and sometimes, perhaps,--stimulated by the hope of reward,--lead others to commit crimes in order to entrap them. Vidocq, however, professes in every case to have acted without any desire to entice. He says that he himself never proposed any scheme of robbery; but took care to concur in such as were proposed by others. This declaration must, we suppose, be received with some qualification, as without an occasional suggestion, he would probably have been suspected in his designs. Be that as it may, he was eminently successful in securing villains; for having practised villainy himself, he knew their ways and devices, thus verifying the propriety of the maxim,--"Set a thief to catch a thief." Some of the convicts at Botany Bay make the best police-officers. Of this we have an instance in Barrington, the famous London pick-pocket, who rendered such essential services to the colony, that in his old age he was pensioned by the government. By what means Vidocq, after all his devotion, came to lose his office, he has not mentioned; an omission rather singular, which lays his character open to suspicion, especially as he has given the circumstances that first led him to offer himself to the police. These circumstances it may be proper to glance at, as they exhibit a view of the dangers attendant on a lawless course of life.

"At this period, it seemed as if the whole world was leagued against me; I was compelled to draw my purse-strings at every moment, and for whom? For creatures who, looking on my liberality as compulsory, were prepared to betray me as soon as I ceased to be a certain source of reliance. When I went home from my wife's, I had still another proof of the wretchedness affixed to the state of a fugitive galley-slave. Annette and my mother were in tears. During my absence, two drunken men had asked for me, and on being told that I was from home, they had broke forth in oaths and threats, which left me no longer in doubt of the perfidy of their intentions. By the description which Annette gave me of these two individuals, I easily recognised Blondy, and his comrade, Deluc. I had no trouble in guessing their names; and besides, they had left an address, with a formal injunction to send them forty francs, which was more than enough to disclose to me who they were, as there were not in Paris any other persons who could send me such an intimation. I was obedient, very obedient; only in paying my contribution to these two scoundrels, I could not help letting them know how inconsiderately they had behaved. 'Consider what a step you have taken,' said I to them; 'they know nothing at my house, and you have told them all. My wife, who carries on the concern in her name, will perhaps turn me out, and then I must be reduced to the lowest ebb of misery.'--'Oh! you can come and rob with us,' answered the two rascals. I endeavoured to convince them, how much better it was to owe an existence to honest toil, than to be in incessant fears from the police, which, sooner or later, catches all malefactors in its nets. I added, that one crime generally leads to another; that he would risk his neck who ran straight towards the guillotine; and the termination of my discourse was, that they would do well to renounce the dangerous career on which they had entered. 'Not so bad!' cried Blondy, when I had finished my lecture, 'not so bad.' 'But can you, in the mean time, point out to us any apartment that we can ransack? We are, you see, like Harlequin, and have more need of cash than advice;' and they left me, laughing deridingly at me. I called them back, to profess my attachment to them, and begged them not to call again at my house. 'If that is all,' said Deluc, 'we will keep from that.'--'Oh yes, we'll keep away,' added Blondy, 'since that is unpleasant to your mistress.' But the latter did not stay away long: the very next day, at night-fall, he presented himself at my ware-house, and asked to speak to me privately. I took him into my own room. 'We are alone?' said he to me, looking round at the room in which we were; and when he was assured that he had no witnesses, he drew from his pocket eleven silver forks, and two gold watches, which he placed on a stand. 'Four hundred francs for this would not be too much--the silver plate and the gold watches.--Come, tip us the needful.'--'Four hundred francs!' said I, alarmed at so abrupt a total,--'I have not so much money.'--'Never mind; go and sell the goods.'--'But if it should be known!'--'That's your affair; I want the ready; or if you like it better, I'll send you customers from the police-office;--you know what a word would do;--come, come,--the cash, the chink, and no gammon.' I understood the scoundrel but too well: I saw myself denounced, dragged from the state in which I had installed myself, and led back to the Bagne. I counted out the four hundred francs."

Considering the danger in which Vidocq was placed, his offer to serve the police was judicious. What could be more trying than to lie at the mercy of rascals? Obliged to be continually supplying them with hush-money, and yet always afraid of being betrayed by them, he was in perpetual torment; but, his services once accepted by the police, all this was at an end. He must have felt himself like a man escaped from a wreck, and from the horrors of contending elements; like Ulysses, to whom we have before compared him, when, having accepted the mantle offered him by Leucothea, he reached the friendly shore of Pheacia. Like him, too, his toils were to be renewed. He had enemies to cope with and subdue, and who required to be encountered with as much subtlety and resolution as Penelope's suitors. The following is his account of his first capture.--

"One morning I was hastily summoned to attend the chief of the division. The matter in hand was to discover a man named Watrin, accused of having fabricated and put in circulation false money and bank-notes. The inspectors of the police had already arrested Watrin, but, according to custom, had allowed him to escape. M. Henry gave me every direction which he deemed likely to assist me in the search after him; but, unfortunately, he had only gleaned a few simple particulars of his usual habits and customary haunts. Every place he was known to frequent was freely pointed out to me; but it was not very likely he would be found in those resorts, which prudence would call upon him carefully to avoid: there remained, therefore, only a chance of reaching him by some bye-path. When I learnt that he had left his effects in a furnished house, where he once lodged, on the boulevard of Mont Parnasse, I took it for granted, that, sooner or later, he would go there in search of his property; or, at least, that he would send some person to fetch it from thence; consequently I directed all my vigilance to this spot; and after having reconnoitred the house, I lay in ambush in its vicinity, night and day, in order to keep a watchful eye upon all comers and goers. This went on for nearly a week, when, weary of not observing any thing, I determined upon engaging the master of the house in my interest, and to hire an apartment of him, where I accordingly established myself with Annette, certain that my presence could give rise to no suspicion. I had occupied this post for about fifteen days, when, one evening, at eleven o'clock, I was informed that Watrin had just come, accompanied by another person. Owing to a slight indisposition, I had retired to bed earlier than usual; however, at this news I rose hastily, and descended the staircase by four stairs at a time; but whatever diligence I might use, I was only just in time to catch Watrin's companion; him I had no right to detain, but I made myself sure that I might, by intimidation, obtain further particulars from him. I therefore seized him, threatened him, and soon drew from him a confession, that he was a shoemaker, and that Watrin lived with him, No. 4, Rue des Mauvais Garçons. This was all I wanted to know: I had only time to slip an old great coat over my shirt, and, without stopping to put on more garments, I hurried on to the place thus pointed out to me. I reached the house the very instant that some person was quitting it: persuaded that it was Watrin, I attempted to seize him; he escaped from me, and I darted after him up a staircase; but at the moment of grasping him, a violent blow, which struck my chest, drove me down twenty stairs. I sprung forward again, and that so quickly, that, to escape from my pursuit, he was compelled to return into the house through a sash-window. I then knocked loudly at the door, summoning him to open it without delay. This he refused to do. I then desired Annette, who had followed me, to go in search of the guard; and, whilst she was preparing to obey me, I counterfeited the noise of a man descending the stairs. Watrin, deceived by this feint, was anxious to satisfy himself whether I had actually gone, and softly put his head out of the window, to observe if all was safe. This was exactly what I wanted. I made a vigorous dart forwards, and seized him by the hair of his head: he grasped me in the same manner, and a desperate struggle took place: jammed against the partition-wall which separated us, he opposed me with a determined resistance. Nevertheless, I felt that he was growing weaker; I collected all my strength for a last effort; I strained every nerve, and drew him nearly out of the window through which we were struggling; one more trial, and the victory was mine; but in the earnestness of my grasp, we both rolled on the passage floor, on to which I had pulled him. To rise, snatch from his hands the shoemaker's cutting knife with which he had armed himself, to bind him and lead him out of the house, was the work of an instant. Accompanied only by Annette, I conducted him to the prefecture, where I received the congratulations, first of M. Henry, and afterwards those of the prefect of police, who bestowed on me a pecuniary recompense."

The next account we shall transcribe, is one of his freeing the community of a receiver of stolen goods. This man had been long watched by the police; but all attempts to convict him had failed. Accordingly M. Henry was desirous that Vidocq should use his endeavours, which he readily did as follows.

"Posted near the house of the suspected dealer in stolen property, I watched for his going out; and, following him when he had gone a few steps down the street, addressed him by a different name to his own. He assured me I was mistaken; I protested to the contrary; he insisted upon it I was deceived; and I affected to be equally satisfied of his identity, declaring my perfect recognition of his person, as that of a man who, for some time, had been sought after by the police throughout Paris and its environs. 'You are grossly mistaken,' replied he warmly; 'my name is so and so, and I live in such a street.' 'Come, come, friend,' said I, 'excuses are useless; I know you too well to part with you so easily.' 'This is too much,' cried he, 'but, at the next police station, I shall probably be able to meet with those who can convince you, that I know my own name better than you seem to do.' This was exactly the point at which I wished to arrive. 'Agreed,' said I, and we bent our steps to the neighbouring guard-house. We entered, and I requested him to show me his papers; he had none about him. I then insisted upon his being searched, and, on his person, were found three watches, and twenty-five double Napoleons, which I caused to be laid aside till he should be examined before a magistrate. These things had been wrapped in a handkerchief, which I contrived to secure, and, after having disguised myself as a messenger, I hastened to the house of this receiver of stolen goods, and demanded to speak with his wife. She, of course, had no idea of my business, or knowledge of my person, and seeing several persons besides herself present, I signified to her, that my business being of a private nature, it was important that I should speak to her alone; and in token of my claims to her confidence, produced the handkerchief, and inquired whether she recognised it? Although still ignorant of the cause of my visit, her countenance became troubled, and her whole person was much agitated, as she begged me to let her hear my business. 'I am concerned,' replied I, 'to be the bearer of unpleasant news; but the fact is, your husband has just been arrested, every thing found on his person has been seized, and, from some words which he happened to overhear, he suspects he has been betrayed; he therefore wishes you to remove out of the house certain things, you are aware would be dangerous to his safety if found on the premises. If you please, I will lend you a helping hand, but I must forewarn you that you have not one moment to lose.' The information was of the first importance. The sight of the handkerchief, and the description of the objects it had served to envelope, removed from her mind every doubt as to the truth of the message I had brought her; and she easily fell into the snare I had laid to entrap her. She thanked me for the trouble I had taken, and begged I would go and engage three hackney coaches, and return to her with as little delay as possible. I left the house to execute my commission, but on the road, I stopped to give one of my people instructions to keep the coaches in sight, and to seize them, with their contents, directly I should give the signal. The vehicles drew up to the door, and, upon re-entering the house, I found things in a high state of preparation for removing. The floor was strewed with articles of every description; time-pieces, candelabra, Etruscan vases, cloths, cachemires, linen, muslin, &c. All these things had been taken from a closet, the entrance to which was cleverly concealed by a large press, so skilfully contrived, that the most practised eye could not have discovered the deception. I assisted in the removal, and, when it was completed, the press having been carefully replaced, the woman begged of me to accompany her, which I did; and no sooner was she in one of the coaches, ready to start, than I suddenly pulled up the window, and, at this previously concerted signal, we were immediately surrounded by the police. The husband and wife were tried at the assizes, and, as may be easily conceived, were overwhelmed beneath the weight of an accusation, in support of which there existed a formidable mass of convicting testimony."

We must extract one more account from Vidocq, to show the desperate hazards which police-officers sometimes run, in capturing criminals; hazards which, when surmounted, they naturally exult in. Information had been received at the police-office, that one Fossard, who had several times effected escapes from jail, was living with his mistress in a certain district of Paris; that the windows of his apartment had yellow curtains; and that a hump-backed seamstress lived in the same house. This was very indefinite; for neither the street, nor the number of the house was known, and curtains might be changed. However, Vidocq was not deterred from undertaking a search; accordingly, disguised as an old-fashioned gentleman, he began the enterprise. He went from street to street; ascended staircase after staircase till his limbs ached; called at the doors of scores of seamstresses, but no hump-backed damsel appeared;--all were as straight as arrows! Not more ardently, he says, did Don Quixote pant for Dulcinea, than he for Humpina. Days rolled on unsuccessfully: he began to despair. At length he resolved to change his measures, and, instead of clambering up flights of steps, to station himself near the stand of a gossiping milk-woman, and watch her customers. Numbers of women came to buy their milk in the morning, but not one adorned with the delectable hump. At length, in the evening, he caught sight of one whose back had the desired ornament. He followed her from the milk-woman's to the grocer's, from the grocer's to the tripe-shop, and, finally, to her home; but when he got there, no yellow curtains were to be seen. What was to be done? He resolved to speak to her at all events; so, feigning himself to be a deserted husband, he inquired of her whether Fossard and his mistress were occupants of any part of the house? Her reply was disheartening:--they had quitted their lodgings, and were gone, she knew not where. Still, the case did not appear hopeless. He had employed a porter to carry his goods, and might not that porter be found? A new search was requisite, and it terminated successfully, by his tracing Fossard to a vintner's. Considering, then, that it was advisable to have the vintner on his side, he called on him in his usual dress, and informed him, from the police, that his lodgers meditated robbing him. He and his wife were in consternation at the intelligence; but Vidocq having pacified them, arranged his plans. The grand difficulty to be overcome, arose from Fossard's always carrying a loaded pistol in his hand, and which, they knew from his character, he would assuredly discharge at the first man that laid hands on him. Here Vidocq must tell his own tale, we premising, that Fossard's mistress styled herself Madame Hazard.--

"At an early hour, on the 29th of December, I betook myself to my station. It was desperately cold; the watch was a protracted one, and the more painful as we had no fire. Motionless, however, and my eyes fixed against a small hole in the shutter, I kept my post. At last, about three o'clock, he went out. I followed gladly, and recognised him; for, up to that period, I had my doubts. Certain now of his identity, I wished, at that moment, to put into execution the order for his apprehension; but the officer who was with me, said he saw the terrible pistol. That I might authenticate the fact, I walked quickly and passed Fossard, and then returning, saw clearly that the agent was right. To attempt to arrest him would have been useless, and I resolved to defer it. On the 31st of December, at eleven o'clock, when all my batteries were charged and my plans perfect, Fossard returned, and, without distrust, ascended the staircase shaking with cold; and, twenty minutes after, the disappearance of the light indicated that he was in bed. The moment had now arrived. The commissary and gend'armes, summoned by me, were waiting at the nearest guard-house until I should call them, and then enter quietly. We deliberated on the most effectual mode of seizing Fossard, without running the risk of being killed or wounded; for they were persuaded, that, unless surprised, this robber would defend himself desperately. My first thought was, to do nothing till daybreak, as I had been told that Fossard's companion went down very early to get the milk; we should then seize her, and, after having taken the key from her, we should enter the room of her lover; but might it not happen that, contrary to his usual custom, he might go out first? This reflection led me to adopt another expedient. The vintner's wife, in whose favour, as I was told, M. Hazard was much prepossessed, had one of her nephews at her house, a lad about ten years of age, intelligent beyond his years, and the more desirous of getting money, as he was a Norman. I promised him a reward, on condition that, under pretence of his aunt's being taken suddenly ill, he should go and beg Madame Hazard to give him some Eau de Cologne. I desired the little chap to assume the most piteous tone he could; and was so well satisfied with the specimen he gave me, that I began to distribute the parts to my performers. The dénouement was near at hand. I made all my party take off their shoes, doing the same myself, that we might not be heard whilst going up stairs. The little snivelling pilot was in his shirt; he rang the bell;--no one answered: again he rang;--'Who's there,' was heard.--'It is I Madame Hazard; it is Louis: my poor aunt is very bad, and begs you will be so very obliging as to give her a little Eau de Cologne.--Oh! she is dying!--I have got a light.' The door was opened; and scarcely had Madame Hazard presented herself, when two powerful gend'armes seized on her, and fastened a napkin over her mouth to prevent her crying out. At the same instant, with more rapidity than the lion when darting on his prey, I threw myself upon Fossard; who, stupified by what was doing, and already fast bound and confined in his bed, was my prisoner before he could make a single movement, or utter a single word. So great was his amazement, that it was nearly an hour before he could articulate even a few words. When a light was brought, and he saw my black face and garb of a coalman, he experienced such an increase of terror, that I really believe he imagined himself in the devil's clutches. On coming to himself, he thought of his arms,--his pistols and dagger,--which were upon the table; and, turning his eyes towards them, he made a struggle, but that was all; for, reduced to the impossibility of doing any mischief, he was passive."

From the above extracts, a tolerably correct idea may be formed of thieves and police-officers;--men who co-exist in every civilized community, but who lead lives requiring the cunning and personal bravery of savages. The thief exults in the success of a daring exploit, and prides himself on his skill in avoiding the meshes of magistrates and lawyers: the police-officer is no less vain of his skill, in detecting and dragging to justice the man who boasts of his superiority in artifice, while he almost defies the arm of vengeance. In order that the number of such characters may be reduced, all reasonable attempts should be made to reclaim juvenile delinquents; prisons should be not only places of terror, but places where the spread of corruption is effectually prevented, by the prohibition of intercourse amongst the inmates; and, above all, education, founded on a moral and religious basis, should be extended throughout society. Facts bear us out in asserting, that crimes of the greatest magnitude, such as murder, burglary, and arson, considerably diminish with the spread of civilization, which operates, like the circle formed by the pebble thrown into water, in extending its influence in proportion to its circumference. As philanthropists in many different countries are labouring simultaneously to promote this great end, we are justified in considering the present age as the harbinger of a better; and we may rejoice in the anticipation. The progressive improvement of the human family is a delightful subject for meditation, giving us, perhaps, a prelibation of the joys of futurity, and animating us to contribute our aid, trifling as it may be, to the melioration of the condition of our country.

Before closing this article, we can scarcely forbear remarking, that the translator of Vidocq has used various words which have been considered by English writers as Americanisms; such as to progress, to approbate, and lengthy; also chicken-fighting for cock-fighting. Whether he is an American or an Englishman we know not; but certain we are, that nearly every one of the alleged peculiarities in language, adopted by Americans, may be found either in old English authors, or are known to have been used in one or other of the provincial brogues of England. Captain Basil Hall notices the substitution of fall for Autumn; but he might have known, that though nearly obsolete in England, it is still current in the west of England amongst the vulgar.[15] Even the much laughed at I guess, is in vogue in Lancashire; so that with the exception of to tote for to carry, which, as Dr. Webster remarks, was introduced by the negroes into the southern states, we do not know whether a single word or expression supposed to be peculiar to the United States, may be found, which cannot be traced to Great Britain or Ireland. In the volume on Insect Architecture, issued by the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, we notice the word sparse, which, till then, we had supposed to be of American formation; and a late writer in Blackwood's Magazine says, that the New-England word tarnation, is current in the county of Suffolk in old England. The probability of its being introduced into Massachusetts from that part of England, is confirmed by the great number of towns in Massachusetts bearing the same names as towns in the counties of Suffolk and Essex, and by the correspondence remarked by travellers between the dialects of the two districts. Every one may have observed, that the New-Englanders,--many even of the educated amongst them,--pronounce the participle been, as if written ben; and this peculiarity, we are assured, is prevalent in the part of England just mentioned.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] See the second series of Tales of a Grandfather.

[13] Since the above was written, we have met with an old schoolfellow of Vaux's, and who also knew him in after life; and from him we have learnt that Vaux's Memoirs have strong claim to credence, from the circumstance that the account of his early life appears to be correctly given, as also that part of his subsequent career which is known to our informant. He added, that his manners were quite fascinating.

[14] As many of our readers may not recollect it, we here insert it. Cibber, it should be borne in mind, was poet-laureate.

"In merry old England, it once was a rule, That the king had his poet, and also his fool; But the times are so altered, I'd have you to know it, That Cibber will serve both for fool and for poet!"

Cibber seems so little to have minded this, and the rest of Pope's satire on him in the Dunciad, that he wrote another epigram nearly as pungent on himself! We give the following stanzas as a specimen of it.

"When Bayes thou play'st, thyself thou art; For that by nature fit, No blockhead better suits the part, Than such a coxcomb wit.

In Wronghead, too, thy brains we see Who might do well at plough; As fit for Parliament was he, As for the laurel thou."

[15] See A Summary View of America. By an Englishman. 8vo. London: 1824.

ART. VI.--TOBACCO.

1.--"Counterblaste to Tobacco." By KING JAMES I. of England. Works, fol. from 214 to 222.

2.--A Dissertation on the Use and Abuse of Tobacco. By The Rev. ADAM CLARKE. pp. 32. October: 1798.

3.--Observations upon the influence of the habitual use of Tobacco upon Health, Morals, and Property. By BENJAMIN RUSH, M.D. Essays. p. 263 to 274. 1798.

4.--Notices relative to Tobacco. By DR. A. T. THOMSON. Appendix (Note B) to Mrs. A. T. Thomson's Life of Sir Walter Ralegh. pp. 24: 1830.

The annals of literature furnish abundant examples of authors, who, through wantonness, whimsicality, a desire to say something, where many could say nothing, and few could say much, or from some other impulse, (for which it were now unprofitable to search,) have adopted themes either insignificant in themselves, or repugnant to truth; subjects barren, or improbable, or laborious, or palpably absurd. Thus Homer has celebrated the battle of the Frogs and Mice; Virgil sung of Bees; Polycrates commended Tyranny; Phavorinus sets forth the praises of Injustice; and Cardan pronounced the eulogy of Nero. The Golden Ass of Apulcius is well known; Henry Cornelius Agrippa has employed his wit and learning on an elaborate "Digression in praise of the Asse." Other authors have discovered virtues and excellencies in this animal, though the generality of mankind have agreed in supposing it possessed nothing remarkable but dulness and obstinacy. Lucian exercised his genius on a fly; and Erasmus has dignified Folly in his Encomium Moriæ, which, for the sake of the pun, he inscribed to Sir Thomas More. The subject of Michael Psellus is a Gnat; Antonius Majoragius took for his theme Clay; Julius Scaliger wrote concerning a Goose; Janus Dousa on a Shadow; and Heinsius (horresco referens) eulogized a Louse. This last animal elicited some fine moral verses from Burns; Libanus thought the Ox worthy of his pen; and Sextus Empiricus selected the faithful Dog. Addison composed the Battle of the Pigmies and Cranes; Rochester versified about Nothing; and Johannes Passeratius made a Latin poem on the same subject, which is quoted at full length by Dr. Johnson at the end of his Life of Rochester. The Jeffreidos were written to commemorate the perils to which Sir Jeoffrey Hudson was exposed; Sir William Jones thought Chess worthy of the epopee; and at the foot of this list of egregious triflers, we place Dr. Raphael Thorius, who wrote a much and often praised Latin poem on the Virtues of Tobacco.

Now, to most of our readers, this last theme would seem to offer fewer inducements to the poet's pen than any of those thus enumerated; and genius could scarcely have selected one, which seemed less ennobling in itself, or rather, which at once presented such palpable discouragements, from the coarse associations connected with it, and the cureless vulgarity and nauseousness with which the whole subject appears to be invested. In opposition to so many obstacles and dissuasives, this great man yielded to the impulse of his muse, and obtained an immortality to which no other action of his life would have entitled him. It is with unaffected regret that we are compelled to state, that, to procure a sight of this celebrated poem, we have ransacked our libraries without the least success. How painful is the reflection, that perhaps this work has never yet reached the United States! What a reproach to our republic, that a poem whose object was to celebrate the virtues of the most incomparable of all our native plants, should be totally unknown in that new world, with whose discovery it was nearly contemporaneous! But perhaps our Jeremiad may be premature; for in some obscure corner in Virginia, (the garden of this weed,) a copy of the poem may at this very moment exist, like unobtrusive merit, disregarded and despised. For the honour of our country, we hope this may prove true; since it may lessen the odium with which men habitually load poor republics, a name which has long been the by-word and synonime of ingratitude.

We are fully aware of the contemptuous manner in which Doctor Clarke speaks of this production, and its English translation by the Rev. W. Berwick, declaring them to be "of equal merit, and that they scarce deserve to be mentioned." But to the merit of this work we have testimony infinitely higher than the opinion of the Reverend Doctor. Thus, Howell, in his inimitable "Familiar Letters," a book which cannot be too highly commended, or too often read, says, "if you desire to read with pleasure all the virtues of this modern herb, you must read Dr. Thorius's Potologis, an accurate peece, couched in a strenuous heroic verse, and continuing its strength from first to last; insomuch that for the bignes it may be compared to any piece of antiquity, and in my opinion is beyond [Greek: Batzachomnomachia] or [Greek: Galeômnomachia]."[16] The learned Mr. Bayle speaks of the same production in very commendatory language.[17] Bayle tells an excellent story of Thorius, which, as it illustrates the character of the great tobacco poet, deserves to be read. He was extremely fond of his glass of wine, and had, beside, that hydrophobic distaste, which has been imagined essential to the true poet. Being one day seated at the dinner table, in company with the celebrated Peireskius, in the festivity of the occasion, he was urging the latter to quaff off a bumper of wine, and after the most importunate intreaties, Peireskius at last agreed to do it upon one condition, which was, that Thorius should immediately afterwards drink a bumper himself. No condition could be more acceptable, no penalty more easy; but what was the surprise and horror of Thorius, when his turn came, to find that he was called upon to drink a bumper, not of wine, but of water!--which insipid and unaccustomed beverage, after sundry efforts and awry faces, he contrived to get down, amidst peals of laughter from his hilarious and learned friends.

We classed Thorius's poem among the extravagant vagaries of genius; but the more we reflect upon the subject matter of this poem, the more the conviction fastens upon our minds, that it is by no means a trivial or undignified topic; that considered in what light it may, tobacco must be regarded as the most astonishing of the productions of nature, since, although unsightly, offensive, and, perhaps, in every way pernicious, it has, in the short period of about three centuries, subdued not one particular nation, but the whole world, Christian and Pagan, into a bondage more abject and irremediable than was ever known to tyranny or superstition. Kings have forbidden it; popes have anathematized it; and physicians have warned against it. Even ministers of the gospel have lifted up their voices, and thundered their denunciations from the pulpit; but all has been in vain; its use has increased, is increasing, and will increase, as long as the earth continues to yield this miraculous vegetable to the unnatural appetite of man.

That what is persecuted should thrive the more in consequence of persecution, can excite no surprise in any one at all skilled in the history of human nature; but this is altogether inadequate to account for that preternatural eagerness with which men seek after this wonderful plant. In fact, there appears to be some occult charm connected with it--some invisible spirit, which, be it angel, or be it devil, has never yet been, and perhaps never will be, satisfactorily explained. To those who have never revelled in this habit, and consequently can neither comprehend its nature or strength, the hyperbolical language which most authors use when they speak of tobacco, must appear, in an eminent degree, burlesque and overstrained. "Tobacco," says the Anatomist of Melancholy, "divine, rare, superexcellent tobacco, which goes far beyond all their panaceas, potable gold, and philosophers' stones, a soveraign remedy to all diseases--A good vomit, I confess, a vertuous herb, if it be well qualified, opportunely taken, and medicinally used; but as it is commonly abused by most men, which take it as tinkers do ale, 'tis a plague, a mischief, a violent purger of goods, lands, and health; hellish, devilish, and damned tobacco; the ruine and overthrow of body and soul."[18] So in his valedictory to tobacco, Mr. Lamb is not less extravagant and contradictory. The health of the poet it appears had suffered seriously from the immoderate use of tobacco, which had been in consequence interdicted by his physician. Compelled to surrender his favourite enjoyment, he vents his feelings in a very spirited "Farewell to Tobacco," which exhibits a singular mixture of opposite sentiments, and of violent struggles between his propensity to the habit and his acquiescence in the necessity which severs him from it, together with feeble attempts to curse that, without which, life to the unhappy poet seemed scarcely endurable.

"Stinking'st of the stinking kind, Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind, Africa that brags her foyson, Breeds no such prodigious poison, Henbane, nightshade, both together, Hemlock, aconite---- ----Nay, rather Plant divine, of rarest virtue; Blisters on the tongue would hurt you; 'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee, None e'er prospered who defamed thee."

But tobacco has had enemies of exalted station, whose persecution has been uniform, and whose hatred has been unmixed. Such was James the First of England, who is not less remarkable for his sagacity in discovering the gunpowder plot, and having supported the divine right of kings, than for having written a "Counterblaste to Tobacco."[19] But let the king speak for himself:--

"Tobacco," says he, "is the lively image and pattern of hell, for it hath, by allusion, all the parts and vices of the world whereby hell may be gained; to wit. 1. It is a smoke; so are all the vanities of this world. 2. It delighteth them that take it; so do all the pleasures of the world delight the men of the world. 3. It maketh men drunken and light in the head; so do all the vanities of the world, men are drunkards therewith. 4. He that taketh tobacco can not leave it; it doth bewitch him; even so the pleasures of the world make men loath to leave them; they are for the most part enchanted with them. And, farther, besides all this, it is like hell in the very substance of it, for it is a stinking loathsome thing, and so is hell."

The mythological fable which existed among the Indians as to the manner in which this plant was first bestowed upon mankind, is extremely whimsical, somewhat discreditable, and withal of such a nature as to preclude the propriety of our introducing it in this place to the acquaintance of our readers. But writers are not wanting who have carried the original of tobacco into the Grecian fabulous ages, and attributed to Bacchus the glory of having discovered and disclosed to mortals its virtues. Thorius, as Dr. Clarke tells us, very ominously ascribes the discovery and first use of this herb to Bacchus, Silenus, and the Satyrs, (drunkenness, gluttony, and lust,) and yet, continues the Doctor, with a sneer, this poem was written in praise of it. Mr. Lamb, in the poem before quoted, has the same thought, and he farther adds a belief, that the tobacco plant was the true Indian conquest for which the jolly god has been so celebrated. He moreover intimates, that the Thyrsus of that deity was afterwards ornamented with leaves of tobacco, instead of ivy. Even the name of the plant has been derived from Bacchus. This is particularly mentioned by Mr. Joseph Sylvester, quoted by Dr. Clarke, who wrote a poem on tobacco which he inscribed to Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. The title of this tirade is very quaint, viz. "Tobacco battered, and the Pipes shattered (about their Ears who idly idolize so base and barbarous a Weed; or at least-wise overlove so loathsome a Vanity) by a Volley of holy Shot from Mount Helicon."

"For even the derivation of the name Seems to allude and to include the same; Tobacco as [Greek: tôBakchô] one would say To cup-god Bacchus dedicated ay."

Nor should all this appear so extraordinary, when we consider that Charlevoix, with the utmost seriousness, discusses the question, whether the calumet of the North American Indians was the same as the caduceus of Mercury.[20] It is however beyond all doubt, that tobacco has always been regarded by the Indians with religious veneration, and employed by them in all religious ceremonies. Mr. Stith informs us, that they thought this plant "of so great worth and virtue that the gods themselves were delighted with it; and therefore they sometimes made sacred fires, and instead of a sacrifice, threw in the dust of tobacco; and when they were caught in a tempest, they would sprinkle it into the air and water--upon all their new fishing nets they would cast some of it, and when they had escaped any remarkable danger, they would throw some of this dust into the air, with strange distorted gestures, sometimes striking the earth with their feet in a kind of time and measure, sometimes clapping their hands and throwing them up on high, looking towards the heavens, and uttering barbarous and dissonant words."[21]--Sir Hans Sloan tells us, also, that the Indians employ tobacco in all their enchantments, sorceries, and fortune-tellings; that their priests intoxicate themselves with the fumes, and in their ecstacies give forth ambiguous and oracular responses.[22]

A few words will now be devoted to the subject of the numerous names which have belonged to tobacco; many persons conceiving the title of any thing, to be of equal importance with the christening of a person; and surely where the etymology of a name of either person or thing can throw any light upon their respective histories, the time employed thereon can hardly be looked upon as either lost or misspent. But it unfortunately happens, as is almost always the case in regard to persons and things belonging to mythological eras, that the greatest confusion and perplexity exist in regard to the Indian titles which have been bestowed upon tobacco; and as we frankly confess ourselves utterly unversed in Occidental philology, we shall, with whatever reluctance, be obliged to omit even the mention of many appellations, whose true meaning and value have passed into obscurity, with the languages and nations from which such appellations were derived.[23]

Sir Hans Sloan informs us, that the name was originally picielt, and that tobacco was given it by the Spaniards.[24] Several authors say, that it was called by the inhabitants of the West India islands yoli--but that on the continent they gave it the name of pætum, peti, petunum, or petun.[25] Some say it was sent into Spain from Tabaco, a province of Yucatan, where it was first discovered, and from whence it takes its common name. Pourchot declares, that the Portuguese brought it into Europe from Tobago, an island in North America; but the island Tobago, says another, was never under the Portuguese dominion, and that it seems rather to have given its name to that island. The inhabitants of Hispaniola call it by the name cohiba, or pete be cenuc, and the instrument by which they smoke it tabaco, and hence, say they, it derived its name. Stith, in his History of Virginia, speaks of one Mr. Thomas Harriot,[26] a domestic of Sir Walter Ralegh, a man of learning, who was sent by Ralegh to Virginia chiefly to make observations, which were afterwards published. Now this Harriot, speaking of tobacco, says it was called, by the Indians of Virginia, uppowoc.[27] But the principal names by which this article is now known, either in common parlance or scientific discourse, are three, viz.--pætum, which seems to be its poetical title--tobacco, its vulgar and most intelligible name--and nicotiana, its scientific and botanical name; which latter we will explain more fully hereafter.[28]

The Abbot Nyssens thought it was the Devil who first introduced tobacco into Europe. We do not design to discuss so important a question, concerning which there must needs be a contrariety of opinions; but we cannot forbear to observe, that to give the Devil more than his due, is by no means new or uncommon in ecclesiastical inquiries. We have something parallel to this in the history of Hercules, though springing most probably from a very different source; for to him the ancients were wont to attribute any great action for which they could not find a certain author. We are informed that this plant was first seen smoked by the Spaniards, under Grijalva, in 1518. In 1519, the illustrious Cortez sent a specimen of it to his king, and this was the date of its introduction into Europe. Others say, one Roman Pane carried it into Spain. By the Cardinal Santa Croce it was conveyed to Italy. It should be observed, however, that the ancestors of the Cardinal already enjoyed the reputation of having brought into Italy the true cross, and the double glory which attaches to the Santa Croce family in consequence, is well described in the following Latin lines, taken from Bayle's Dictionary.[29] These verses are valuable in another respect, since they contain a full enumeration of the real or supposed virtues of the herb. They are also copied by the Reverend Dr. Clarke; and the English verses which accompany them, are by the Dr. attributed to M. de Maizeaux.--

"Nomine quæ sanctæ crucis herba vocatur ocellis Subvenit, et sanat plagas, et vulnera jungit, Discutit et strumas, cancrum, cancrosaque sanat Ulcera, et ambustis prodest, scabiemque repellit, Discutit et morbum cui cessit ab impete nomen, Calefacit, et siccat, stringit, mundatque, resolvit, Et dentium et ventris mulcet capitisque dolores; Subvenit antiquæ tussi, stomachoque rigenti Renibus et spleni confert, ultroque, venena Dira sagittarum domat, ictibus omnibus atris Hæc eadem prodest; gingivis proficit atque Conciliat somnum: nuda ossa carne revestit; Thoracis vitiis prodest, pulmonis itemque, Quæ duo sic præstat, non ulla potentior herba. Hanc Sanctacrucius Prosper quum nuncius esset, Sedis Apostolicæ Lusitanas missus in horas Huc adportavit Romanæ ad commoda gentis, Ut proavi sanctæ lignum crucis ante tulere Omnis Christiadum quo nunc respublica gaudet, Et Sanctæ crucis illustris domus ipsa vocatur Corporis atque animæ nostræ studiosa salutis."

We subjoin the following "faithful but inelegant translation," which is given by M. de Maizeaux in his translation of Bayle.

"The herb which borrows Santa Croce's name Sore eyes relieves, and healeth wounds; the same Discusses the king's evil, and removes Cancers and boils; a remedy it proves For burns and scalds, repels the nauseous itch, And straight recovers from convulsion fits. It cleanses, dries, binds up, and maketh warm; The head-ach, tooth-ach, colic, like a charm It easeth soon; an ancient cough relieves, And to the reins and milt, and stomach gives Quick riddance from the pains which each endures; Next the dire wounds of poisoned arrows cures; All bruises heals, and when the gums are sore, It makes them sound and healthy as before. Sleep it procures, our anxious sorrows lays, And with new flesh the naked bone arrays. No herb hath greater power to rectify All the disorders in the breast that lie Or in the lungs. Herb of immortal fame! Which hither first by Santa Croce came, When he (his time of nunciature expired) Back from the court of Portugal retired; Even as his predecessors great and good, Brought home the cross, whose consecrated wood All Christendom now with its presence blesses; And still the illustrious family possesses The name of Santa Croce, rightly given, Since they in all respects resembling Heaven, Procure as much as mortal men can do, The welfare of our souls and bodies too."

It is agreed on all hands, that tobacco was introduced into France by John Nicot, (whence it obtains its common name Nicotiana) Lord of Villemain and Master of Requests of the household of Francis the Second. He was born at Nismes, and was sent as embassador to the Court of Portugal in 1559, from whence, on his return, he brought to Paris this herb. From Nicot, it was also called the embassador's herb. The question, whether it was known in France before it was carried into England, was long agitated, and is perhaps not settled yet, since the precise epocha of its introduction into any particular country, cannot with absolute certainty be fixed. The French writers, generally, are of opinion that Sir Francis Drake conveyed it to England before Nicot made it known in France. Thevet, who has discussed the subject, is thought by them to have settled it in favour of the English. A French writer, Jean Liebault, says tobacco grew wild in France long before the discovery of the New World. Mr. Murray inclines to the belief, that tobacco existed in Europe before the discovery of America, but he thinks it proceeded from Asia.[30] Mr. Savary asserts, that among the Persians it was known at least five hundred years since, but that they obtained it from Egypt, and not from the East Indies, where its cultivation was but recent. But, what has not been said of this extraordinary plant? It has often been called a Nepenthe, and we are under belief that some have even imagined that the tobacco leaf forms a principal ingredient in the wondrous and potent mixture which Helen prepares for her guests in the fourth Odyssey.--

[Greek: "Phazmachon Nêpendes t' acholon te kakôn epilêthon apantôn."]

"Of sovereign use to assuage The boiling bosom of tumultuous rage; To clear the cloudy front of wrinkled care, And dry the tearful sluices of despair."

In the same passage, Homer tells us that Helen learned the nature of drugs and herbs from the wife of Thone, King of Egypt. Now, by considering this latter fact, in conjunction with what is asserted by Mr. Savary, some verisimilitude seems to be imparted to the hypothesis of the tobacco plant having sprung originally from Egypt. We are not aware of any author (though we think it not improbable that such may exist) who has carried matters so far as to assert that tobacco was the tree of Paradise, "whose mortal taste brought death into the world,"--nor would this appear for a moment extravagant, if one only calls to mind the strange traditions which the Rabbinnical writers have handed down upon theological points of far more importance, or the equally absurd and monstrous notions which the modern history of sectarianism furnishes. From what has been said, however, it appears very clear, that Satan has had too much to do with tobacco. If it be verily the tree of knowledge, it must be admitted that he has preserved it with infinite care, as if grateful for the mighty mischief which was wrought in Eden, and as a fit instrument for those injuries in future to the human family, which so many authors assure us it is producing at the present day. How tobacco ever got to America is a difficulty of very little moment, when we remember that writers are not agreed in what manner America was even peopled. Even were we to admit that the aboriginal Americans were not descended from Adam and Eve, still if we concede that Satan has had the especial care of tobacco, we cannot be surprised at his finding the means, if he had the desire, of introducing it into America. We have before alluded to what the Abbot Nyssens says, and if in addition we call to mind what others have uttered about its diabolical nature, and that the American Indians were wont to propitiate the powers of darkness by making offerings to them of tobacco, we cannot help thinking that King James was nearer truth and propriety than he imagined, when he declared that if he were to invite the Devil to dine with him, he would be sure to provide three things,--1. a pig,--2. a poll of ling and mustard,--3. a pipe of tobacco for digestion.

It is not certainly known whether tobacco grew spontaneously in Virginia, or whether it came originally from some more southern region of America. At all events, the English who first visited Virginia certainly found it there, and Harriot is of opinion, that it was of spontaneous growth. Mr. Jefferson thinks it was a native of a more southern climate, and was handed along the continent from one nation of savages to another.[31] Dr. Robertson informs us, that it was not till the year 1616 that its cultivation was commenced in Virginia.[32] However this may be, the gallant and unfortunate Sir Walter Ralegh has the credit of bringing it into fashion in England.[33] It is well known that the colony planted in Virginia by Sir Walter, suffered many calamities, and we are told, that Ralph Lane,[34] one of the survivers who was carried back to England by Sir Francis Drake, was the person who first made tobacco known in Great Britain. This was in the 28th year of Queen Elizabeth, A. D. 1585.[35] Sir Walter himself is said to have been very fond of smoking, and many humorous stories have been recorded concerning it, particularly of a wager he made with Queen Elizabeth, that he would determine exactly the weight of the smoke which went off in a pipe of tobacco. This he did by first weighing the tobacco which was to be smoked, and then carefully preserving and weighing the ashes, and the queen paid the wager cheerfully, being satisfied that what was wanting to the prime weight must have been evaporated in smoke. Every one remembers the story of the alarm of one of Sir Walter's servants, who, coming into a room and beholding his master enveloped in smoke, supposed him to be on fire.

To the devout and genuine worshippers of this weed, it may be satisfactory to know, that a tobacco-box and some pipes, belonging formerly to Sir Walter, are still in existence, and all smokers who may feel so disposed may perform a pilgrimage to them when they visit England, they being in the museum of Mr. Ralph Thoresby of Leeds, Yorkshire.[36] We shall conclude our remarks upon Sir Walter, by a poetical tribute to his memory, which is both apposite and eloquent.

"Immortal Ralegh! were potatoes not, Could grateful Ireland e'er forget thy claim?[37] 'Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot,' Which blend thy memory with Eliza's fame; Could England's annals in oblivion rot, Tobacco would enshrine and consecrate thy name."

We cannot forbear to make a quotation concerning the Virginia colony, at a more flourishing subsequent period, which, as it records a historical fact, cannot fail to be interesting, while at the same time it is sufficiently comic. "The adventurers," says Malte-Brun, "who increased from year to year, were reduced, in consequence of the scarcity of females, to import wives by order, as they imported merchandise. It is recorded, that ninety girls, 'young and uncorrupt,' came to the Virginia market in 1620, and sixty in 1621; all of whom found a ready sale. The price of each at first was one hundred pounds of tobacco, but afterwards rose to one hundred and fifty. What the prime cost was in England is not stated."[38]

In whatever manner tobacco found its way into Europe, it met with a very hostile reception from several crowned heads. Elizabeth published an edict against its use. James imposed severe prohibitory duties, and Charles, his successor, continued them.

"In 1590," says Dr. Thomson, "Shah Abbas prohibited the use of tobacco in Persia, by a penal law; but so firmly had the luxury rooted itself in the minds of his subjects, that many of the inhabitants of the cities fled to the mountains, where they hid themselves, rather than forego the pleasure of smoking. In 1624, Pope Urban VIII. anathematized all snuff-takers, who committed the heinous sin of taking a pinch in any church; and so late as 1690, Innocent XII. excommunicated all who indulged in the same vice in Saint Peter's church at Rome. In 1625, Amurath IV. prohibited smoking as an unnatural and irreligious custom, under pain of death. In Constantinople, where the custom is now universal, smoking was thought to be so ridiculous and hurtful, that any Turk, who was caught in the act, was conducted in ridicule through the streets, with a pipe transfixed through his nose. In Russia, where the peasantry now smoke all day long, the Grand Duke of Moscow prohibited the entrance of tobacco into his dominions, under the penalty of the knaut for the first offence, and death for the second; and the Muscovite who was found snuffing, was condemned to have his nostrils split. The Chambre au Tabac for punishing smokers, was instituted in 1634, and not abolished till the middle of the eighteenth century. Even in Switzerland, war was waged against the American herb: to smoke, in Berne, ranked as a crime next to adultery; and in 1653, all smokers were cited before the Council at Apenzel, and severely punished."[39]

We shall see hereafter what a host of enemies tobacco found also among medical writers. We speak here particularly of the moderns; for many of the older physicians extolled its healing virtues to the skies, and they were giants in knowledge; but as an old author says, "Pigmei gigantum humeris impositi plusquam ipsi gigantes vident." Indeed it must be admitted, as a very powerful argument against the efficacy of tobacco as a medicine, that the physicians of our day have in many cases abandoned its use, and in others adopted some less dangerous succedaneum.

It may not be unamusing to the curious reader to know in what manner this subject is handled by King James. The "Counterblaste" commences by denouncing tobacco, because "the vile and stinking custome comes from the wilde, godlesse, and slavish Indians," by whom it was used as an antidote against the most dreadful of all diseases. Its use was introduced "neither by a king, great conqueror, nor learned Doctor of Physicke, but by some Indians who were brought over;" they died, but the "savage custome" survived. King James contents himself by examining only four of the principal grounds or arguments upon which tobacco is used, two founded "on the theoricke of a deceivable appearance of reason," and two "upon the mistaken practicke of generall experience." Thus, "1. An aphorisme in the Physickes that the brains of all men being naturally cold and wet, all dry and hote things should be good for them." Ergo, this "stinking suffumigation."--2. The argument grounded on a show of reason, is "that this filthy smoke, as well through the heat and strength thereof, as by a natural force and quality, is able and fit to purge both the head and stomach of rhewmes and distillations, as experience teacheth by the spitting and avoiding fleame immediately after the taking of it."--3. That "the whole people would not have taken so general a good liking thereof, if they had not by experience found it very soveraigne and good for them."--4. That "by the taking of tobacco, divers and very many doe finde themselves cured of divers diseases; as on the other hand no man ever received harme thereby." The King after having, as he trusts, sufficiently answered "the most principal arguments" that are used in defence of this "vile custome," proceeds "to speake of the sinnes and vanities committed in the filthy abuse thereof." And 1. As being a sinneful and shameful lust.--2. As a branch of drunkennesse.--3. As disabling both persons and goods. His majesty concludes the "Counterblaste" by calling the smoking of tobacco "a custome loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmeful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the blacke and stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stigian smoke of the pit that is bottomlesse."[40]

Let it not be supposed that tobacco has been without friends, wise, learned, and distinguished; but space forces us to pretermit the mention of many who have ascribed to it as many virtues as were ever ascribed to the grand elixir of Alchemy. We shall content ourselves with two or three miscellaneous testimonies.--Thus Acosta tells us it is a plant, "which hath in it rare virtues, as amongst others it serves for a counterpoison--for the Creator hath imparted his virtues at his pleasure, not willing that any thing should grow idle."[41] Lord Bacon speaks of its "cheering and comforting the spirits," and that it relieves in lassitude.[42] Again he says, "doubtless it contributes to alleviate fatigues and discharge the body of weariness. 'T is also commonly said to open the passages, and draw off humours; but its virtues may be more justly attributed to its condensing the spirits."[43] "It is a good companion," says Howell, "to one that converseth with dead men, for if one hath bin poring long upon a book, or is toiled with the pen, or stupified with study, it quickeneth him, and dispels those clouds that usually oreset the brain. The smoke of it is one of the wholesomest sents that is against all contagious airs, for it oremasters all other smells; as King James they say found true, when being once a hunting, a showr of rain drave him into a pigsty for shelter, where he caused a pipe full to be taken of purpose."[44] It were easy to multiply quotations both in prose and verse, but it is to the latter, most especially, that we must look for the most glowing ascriptions--to poetry which has ever delighted.[45]

"To sing the praises of that glorious weed-- Dear to mankind, whate'er his race, his creed, Condition, colour, dwelling, or degree! From Zembla's snows to parched Arabia's sands, Loved by all lips, and common to all hands! Hail sole cosmopolite, tobacco, hail! Shag, long-cut, short-cut, pig-tail, quid, or roll, Dark Negrohead, or Orinooka pale, In every form congenial to the soul."

Before we proceed to consider the use of tobacco as a habit, which modern physicians are pleased to consider so pestiferous and baleful, let us attend for a few moments to what has been said concerning its culture and manufacture. Mr. Jefferson, in his Notes, says that its culture is productive of infinite wretchedness; that it is found easier to make 100 bushels of wheat than 1000 pounds of tobacco, and that they are worth more when made.[46] Davies, in his History of the Carriby Islands, after giving an account of the culture and preparation of tobacco, adds, "that if the people of Europe who are so fond of it, had themselves seen the poor servants and slaves who are employed about this painful work, exposed the greatest part of the day to the scorching heat of the sun, and spending one half of the night in reducing it to that posture wherein it is transported into Europe; no doubt they would have a greater esteem for, and think much more precious that herb which is procured with the sweat and labours of so many miserable creatures."[47]

Numerous medical writers, of the justest celebrity, have assured us, that endless and dreadful evils are the portion of all who are engaged in the manufacture of tobacco; that the workmen are in general meagre, jaundiced, emaciated, asthmatic, subject to colic, diarrheas, to vertigo, violent headach, and muscular twitchings, to narcotism, and to various diseases of the breast and lungs.[48] They have also declared that some of these evils have befallen families from the fact alone of being in the neighbourhood of a tobacco manufactory.[49] Ramazzini says that even the horses employed in the tobacco mills are most powerfully affected by the particles of the tobacco. Now if these things be true, when we call to mind the countless multitudes employed in this "dreadful trade," what a throng of evils present themselves upon the very threshold of our subject.[50] In this view of the case, one could not pass such a manufactory without an involuntary shudder, regarding it as a charnel house, or rather as a Pandora's box, to those wretched beings who are doomed to work or dwell within its pestilential precincts.[51] But in spite of the various and respectable testimony which has been produced by writers opposed to the use of tobacco, we cannot help regarding their statements as exceedingly exaggerated. We have not space to enter into a more minute examination of this portion of our subject, but to such of our readers as may feel desirous of prosecuting the inquiry, we take great pleasure in recommending a very able memoir by Messieurs Parent-Duchatelet and D'Arcet,[52] in which the whole subject of the effects of tobacco upon the persons connected with its manufacture, is most satisfactorily discussed, and the opinions and assertions of those who have gone so far as to declare that it was even necessary to the public health that the manufactories of tobacco should be removed out of large towns because of their great insalubrity, shown to be either without any just grounds, or the results of prejudice and ignorance.

The fecundity of this plant is marvellous. Linnæus has calculated that a single plant of tobacco contains 40,320 grains, and says that if each seed came to perfection, the plants of tobacco in vegetation in the course of four years, would be more than sufficient to cover the whole surface of the earth. We are elsewhere informed that these seeds preserve their germinative properties for six years and even longer. "Sir Thomas Browne observes," says Mather, "that of the seeds of tobacco, a thousand make not one grain, (though Otto de Guericke, as I remember, says, fifty-two cyphers with one figure would give the number of those which would fill the space between us and the stars,) a plant which has extended its empire over the whole world, and has a larger dominion than any of all the vegetable kingdom."[53] Our readers may very easily amuse themselves by making calculations on the immense consumption and value of this plant. The following account from a French medical writer,[54] will be sufficient. On a rough calculation, the tobacco sold yearly in France amounts to 40,000,000 pounds weight, which at three francs per pound, the ordinary price, will make the enormous annual sum of 120,000,000 francs. One-fourth of the French population use tobacco, so that of 8,000,000 of human beings, each individual consumes annually, in the various forms of snuffing, chewing, and smoking, about six pounds. This quantity may seem too great for some persons, but it should be remembered that there are many who use a dozen or twenty pounds in the course of the year.

If we contemplate man in connexion with tobacco as a necessary, the juxtaposition cannot fail to strike us as exceedingly ludicrous. From the earliest ages of philosophy, it has been a favourite employment of the wise to propose such definitions of man as should fully distinguish him from the rest of animated nature, and yet no definition of ancient times will, we are satisfied, appear so excellently discriminative as one which grows out of our present subject, and which denominates him the only tobacco loving animal, for (to pass over the tobacco-worm) the only creature known beside man, whose nature does not abhor tobacco, is, as Dr. Rush informs us, the solitary rock goat of Africa, one of the wildest and most filthy of animals. "Were it possible," says he, "for a being who had resided on our globe, to visit the inhabitants of a planet where reason governed, and to tell them that a vile weed was in general use among the inhabitants of the globe it had left, which afforded no nourishment; that this weed was cultivated with immense care, that it was an important article of commerce, that the want of it produced real misery, that its taste was extremely nauseous, that it was unfriendly to health and morals, and that its use was attended with a considerable loss of time and property, the account would be thought incredible."[55] It is idle to speak of tobacco, as being "extremely nauseous," that it is the "meanest and most paltry of all gratifications," &c. Had not man discovered in it a delight and comfort which was to be derived from few other sources, the habitual use of tobacco would long since have been neglected. To say man uses tobacco for no other reason but its offensiveness, is a solecism; scarcely would it be more absurd to adopt the habitual use of castor oil as a cordial, or assafoetida as a perfume. On this subject Mr. Chamberet[56] has a very interesting passage, which, as it is so well expressed by the author, we take the liberty of offering to our readers in his own language.

"Observons," says he, "que l'homme, en vertu de son organization a sans cesse besoin de sentir, que presque toujours il est malheureux, soit par les fleaux que la nature lui envoie, soit par les tristes resultats de ses passions aveugles, de ses erreurs de ses prejugés, de son ignorance, &c. Le tabac exercant sur nos organes une impression vive et forte, susceptible d'etre renouvelée frequemment et a volonté, on s'est livré avec d'autant plus d'ardeur a l'usage d'un semblable stimulant qu'on y a trouvé a la fois le moyen de satisfaire le besoin imperieux de sentir, qui caracterise la nature humaine, et celui d'etre distrait momentanément des sensations pénibles ou douloureuses qui assiégent sans cesse notre espèce, que le tabac aide ainsi a supporter l'accablant fardeau de la vie. Avec le tabac, le sauvage endure plus courageusement la faim, la soif, et toutes les vicissitudes atmospheriques, l'esclave endure plus patiemment la servitude, &c. Parmi les hommes qui se disent civilisés, son recours est souvent invoqué contre l'ennui, la tristesse; il soulage quelquefois momentanément les tourmens de l'ambition déçues de ses esperances, et concourt a consoler, dans certains cas les malheureuses victimes de l'injustice."

Dr. Walsh says that tobacco used with coffee, after the Turkish fashion, "is singularly grateful to the taste, and refreshing to the spirits; counteracting the effects of fatigue and cold, and appeasing the cravings of hunger, as I have often experienced. Hearne, I think, in his journey to the mouth of the Coppermine river, mentions his experience of similar effects of tobacco. He had been frequently wandering without food for five or six days, in the most inclement weather, and supported it all, he says, in good health and spirits, by smoking tobacco, &c."[57] Willis, as quoted by Mons. Merat, recommends the use of tobacco in armies, as able to supply the necessaries of life to a great extent, and also as an excellent preventive against various diseases.[58] And Dr. Rush relates that he was informed by Colonel Burr, that the greatest complaints of dissatisfaction and suffering which he heard among the soldiers who accompanied General Arnold in his march from Boston to Quebec through the wilderness, in the year 1775, were from the want of tobacco. This was the more remarkable, as they were so destitute of provisions as to be obliged to kill and eat their dogs.[59]

Tobacco possesses narcotic powers in common with many other substances, of which neither time nor space will permit us to make mention. Narcotics, when used to a due extent, become poisons, and hence tobacco holds a very high rank in toxicology. A thousand experiments, as well as accidents, show that it is a most deadly poison.[60] It has also been called a counterpoison, but those who have asserted this have been contradicted by numerous writers. Dr. Rush affirms that repeated experience in Philadelphia has proved, that it is equally ineffectual in preserving those who use it from the influenza and yellow fever. In the plague, it was said to be useful, but what has been advanced on this subject is now shown to be without much foundation. Still it may be said of tobacco, that though it does not contain any specific antidote to contagion, or possess antiseptic properties, it may nevertheless, as a powerful narcotic, by diminishing the sensibility of the system, render it less liable to contagion. It also moderates anxiety and fear, which we are told quicken the activity of contagion. "Thus," says Cullen, "the antiloimic powers of tobacco are upon the same footing with wine, brandy, and opium."[61]

Dr. Fowler has written a treatise upon the effects of tobacco in the cure of dropsies and dysuries. The Doctor seemed determined to discover virtue in this plant, because he tells us in his preface, that he was nowise discouraged in his inquiries into the medicinal effects of tobacco, although the generality of writers on the materia medica have spoken of it with great caution and reserve, and for the most part have declared it either obsolete, or so uncertain, violent, and deleterious in its effects, as to render its exhibition unadvisable. Dr. Cullen says that he employed tobacco in various cases of dropsy, but with very little success.[62] Even those who advocate the medicinal use of tobacco, admit that it is one of those violent remedies, which nothing but the most skilful management can render beneficial; such as arsenic, prussic acid, and many other deadly poisons, which, if cautiously and properly administered, become excellent medicines. Thus the liniment of tobacco, which has formerly been called one of the best in the dispensatory, is said, in a case mentioned by Mr. Murray, to have caused the deaths of three children, who expired within twenty-four hours in convulsions, in consequence of its application for scald head. Innumerable instances are given of its deleterious effects, even when used medicinally, and with the greatest caution. In some cases it has entirely failed to give the anticipated relief, and in others been followed by the most deplorable consequences. We believe, however, that eminent practitioners still continue to employ it, and find it serviceable in some diseases. We have indeed heard it remarked, by a distinguished physician, that much of the medicinal effect which might otherwise be derived from tobacco, is often lost by the habitual use of the article, which renders the system less sensible to its influence.

As a vulnerary, tobacco was used by the Indians, and physicians say that it promotes the cicatrization and healing of inveterate ulcers. It has been used in most cutaneous disorders, and its smoke has been considered useful in rheumatisms, gout, chronic pains, &c.; but in all these cases its virtue has also been denied, or it has been asserted that many other medicines possess more certain efficacy. As an emetic it is considered dangerous, being extremely violent, and succeeded by too much distress and sickness. That it has been found useful in destroying insects, and in preserving old clothes laid by against the inroads of vermin, there can be no doubt; but on the mosquito and fly, two pests to whose cruel torments we are most exposed, it will be within the painful remembrance of many of our readers, that no quantity of tobacco smoke appears to have the least effect.

Even though we admitted and could prove tobacco to be a useful medicine, still this fact would afford no argument in favour of its habitual use in a state of health. On the contrary, it would be the very reason for its non-use; for the habitual use will in time weaken and destroy its medicinal powers. Many, after finding or fancying relief from its occasional, have fallen into its habitual use, and the remedy has thus virtually proved worse than the disease. Besides, by this course, persons take away the hope of future benefit from the application, in case of a recurrence of their disorder.

That this habit is entirely unevangelical, Dr. Clarke attempts to show with much zeal. Let those who profess to renounce the lusts of the flesh read his tract, and determine, conscientiously, how far his arguments are worthy of attention. That the devout "roll this sin as a sweet morsel under the tongue," is fully evinced by every day's experience; and the following anecdote from Dr. Clarke forms a good illustration of this text.

"An eminent physician," says he, "gave me the following account:--'When I was at L----, in the year 1789, a certain religious people at one of their annual meetings made a rule, or rather revived one which had been long before made and established among them by their venerable founder, but had been in a great measure lost sight of, viz.--That no minister in their connexion should use snuff or tobacco, unless prescribed by a physician. This rule at once showed their prudence and good sense. Towards the conclusion of the meeting, having offered my assistance to as many as stood in need of medical help, several of them consulted me on the subject of taking tobacco in one form or other; and with very little variation their mode of address was as follows:--'Doctor, I am troubled frequently with such a complaint, (naming it,) I take tobacco, and have found great benefit from the use of it; I am sure were I to give it up I should be very ill indeed; and I am certain that you are too wise and too skilful a man to desire me to discontinue a practice which has been so beneficial to me.' After such an address what could I say? It was spoken with serious concern, and was properly argumentum ad hominem: I knew they were sincere, but I knew also they were deceived: however, to the major part of them I ventured to speak thus: 'gentlemen, you certainly do me honour in the confidence you repose in my skill, but you have brought me into a dilemma from which I cannot easily extricate myself; as I find I must either say as you say on the subject, or else renounce all pretensions to wisdom and medical skill. However, I cannot in conscience and honour prescribe to you the continued use of a thing which I know does many of you immense hurt.'"

But the anti-christian nature of this habit is placed in a very strong light, in a curious passage, by Dr. Rush.[63] "What reception," says he, "may we suppose, would the apostles have met with, had they carried into the cities and houses to which they were sent, snuff-boxes, pipes, segars, and bundles of cut, or rolls of hog, or pigtail tobacco?"

The effects of tobacco upon the morals have been often animadverted upon, and in no particular more frequently, and with greater emphasis, than in its obvious tendency to promote temulency. Charlevoix intimates the near connexion which exists between intemperance and smoking, when he assures us, that amongst many nations, to smoke out of the same pipe in token of alliance, is the same thing as to drink out of the same cup.[64]

"Smoking and chewing tobacco," says Rush, "by rendering water and simple liquors insipid to the taste, dispose very much to the stronger stimulus of ardent spirits. The practice of smoking segars has, in every part of our country, been more followed by a general use of brandy and water as a common drink, more especially by that class of citizens who have not been in the habit of drinking wine or malt liquors."[65] "One of the greatest sots I ever knew," says the same author, "acquired a love for ardent spirits by swallowing cuds of tobacco, which he did to escape detection in the use of it; for he had contracted the habit of chewing, contrary to the advice and commands of his father. He died of a dropsy under my care, in the year 1780."[66] On this subject, a very late writer is still more express. "We consider tobacco," says he, "closely allied to intoxicating liquors, and its confirmed votaries as a species of drunkards." Again. "I have observed that persons who are much addicted to liquor, have an inordinate liking to tobacco in all its different forms; and it is remarkable, that in the early stages of ebriety, almost every man is desirous of having a pinch of snuff. This last fact it is not easy to explain; but the former may be accounted for by that incessant craving after excitement, which clings to the system of the confirmed drunkard."[67]

The limits of our article will not allow us to embrace all the considerations which belong to this subject, and which have been bestowed upon it by various writers. We will therefore proceed to the few remarks which we have to make upon the three chief modes of using tobacco, viz., snuffing, smoking, and chewing. Catherine de Medicis, the personage said to have prompted the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew's day at Paris, is commonly regarded as the inventress of snuff-taking. In Russia and Persia the penalty of death was annexed to the use of tobacco in every form except that of snuff. For this lighter offence, the punishment was softened down to simple mutilation, no greater severity being deemed necessary than that of cutting off the nose. We doubt exceedingly whether either penalty would deter the inveterate snuff-takers of the present day. Indeed, we are told somewhere that it was very common among the Persians to expatriate themselves, when they were no longer allowed to indulge in tobacco in their native country. One of the first effects of snuff is to injure the nerves of the nose, which are endowed with exquisite sensibility, and of which an incredible number are spread over the inner membrane of the nostrils. This membrane is lubricated by a secretion, which has a tendency to preserve the sense. By the almost caustic acrimony of snuff, the mucus is dried up, and the organ of smelling becomes perfectly callous. The consequence is, that all the pleasure we are capable of deriving from the olfactory organs, the omnis copia narium, as Horace curiously terms it, is totally destroyed. Similar effects are also produced upon the saliva, and hence it is that habitual snuff-takers are often unable to speak with proper distinctness; and the sense of taste for the same reason is very much obtunded. A snuffer may always be distinguished by a certain nasal twang--an asthmatic wheezing--and a sort of disagreeable noise in respiration, which is nearly allied to incipient snoring. Snuff also frequently occasions fleshy excrescences in the nose, which, in some instances, end in polypi. Individuals have oftentimes a predisposition to cancer in little scirrhous intumescencies, which, if kept easy and free from every thing of an irritating character, will continue harmless, but which the use of snuff sometimes frets into incurable ulcers and cancers. By the use of snuff, tumours are also generated in the throat, which obstruct deglutition, and even destroy life. Dr. Hill saw a female die of hunger, who could swallow no nourishment because of a polypus which closed up the stomach, the formation of which was attributed to the excessive use of snuff. Some portion of the snuff will involuntarily find its way into the stomach, where its pernicious properties soon manifest themselves, being frequently followed by nausea, vomitings, loss of appetite, and impaired digestion. The drain of the juices has a tendency to injure the muscles of the face, to render them flaccid, to furrow and corrugate the skin, and to give a gaunt, withered, and jaundiced appearance to "the human face divine."

We are also informed that it embrowns the complexion, by withdrawing those peculiar secretions which communicate the fine vermillion hue of beauty. In our country, however, women do not abandon themselves to this impure habit, till they are married, and have no farther desire to please, or till they are somewhat passées, and find their faculties of pleasing impaired. What a death-blow does snuffing give to all that romance with which it is the interest of refined society to invest the fair sex! How vulgar the thought "that a sneeze should interrupt a sigh!"--How unpoetical is snuff! The most suitable verses which a lover could address to a snuff-taking mistress, would be imitations of Horace's lines to the Sorceress Canidia. What sylph would superintend the conveyance of this dust to the nostrils of a belle? What Gnome would not take a fiendish delight in hovering over a pipe-loving beauty?

"The only advantage," says Dr. Leake, "of taking snuff, is that of sneezing, which, in sluggish phlegmatic habits, will give universal concussion to the body, and promote a more free circulation of the blood; but of this benefit snuff-takers are deprived, from being familiar with its use." When the stimulus of snuff ceases to be sufficient, recourse is immediately had to certain admixtures, by which the necessary excitement is procured; thus pepper, euphorbium, hellebore, and even pulverised glass, are made use of to give it additional pungency. Snuffing is also a frequent cause of blindness. Nature has appointed certain fluids to nourish and preserve the eye, which, if withdrawn, cause the sight to become prematurely old, impaired by weakness, and sometimes totally destroyed. We are also told that it dries up and blackens the brain, and gives the stomach a yellow hue;[68] that it injures the moral faculties, impairs the memory, and, indeed, debilitates all the intellectual powers, and that it taints the breath "with the rank odour of a tobacco cask." "We read in the Ephemerides des Curieux de la Nature, that a person fell into a state of somnolency, and died apoplectic, in consequence of having taken by the nose too great a quantity of snuff."[69] In fine, snuffing is said to bring on convulsions, promote pulmonary consumption, and to cause madness and death! Napoleon is thought to have owed his death to a morbid state of stomach, superinduced by snuffing to excess. Dr. Rush relates that Sir John Pringle was afflicted with tremors in his hands, and had his memory impaired by the use of snuff; when, on abandoning the habit, at the instance of Dr. Franklin, he found his power of recollection restored, and he recovered the use of his hands.[70]

When the habit of snuffing is once contracted, it becomes almost impossible to divest ourselves of it. It becomes as necessary as food, or any of those first wants of life "quibus negatis natura doleat." The following story we translate from a French medical writer:--

"I recollect, about twenty years since, while gathering simples one day in the Forest of Fontainebleau, I encountered a man stretched out upon the ground; I supposed him to be dead, when, upon approaching, he asked in a feeble voice if I had some snuff; on my replying in the negative, he sunk back immediately, almost in a state of insensibility. In this condition he remained till I brought a person who gave him several pinches, and he then informed us that he had commenced his journey that morning, supposing he had his snuff-box with him, but found very soon he had started without it; that he had travelled as long as he was able, till at last, overcome by distress, he found it impossible to proceed any farther, and without my timely succour he would have certainly perished."[71]

The consumption of time and great expense of this artificial habit, almost surpass belief. "A man who takes a pinch of snuff every twenty minutes," says Dr. Rush, "(which most habitual snuffers do), and snuffs fifteen hours in four-and-twenty, (allowing him to consume not quite half a minute every time he uses the box,) will waste about five whole days of every year of his life in this useless and unwholesome practice. But when we add to the profitable use to which this time might have been applied, the expenses of tobacco, pipes, snuff, and spitting boxes--and of the injuries which are done to the clothing, during a whole life, the aggregate sum would probably amount to several hundred dollars. To a labouring man this would be a decent portion for a son or daughter, while the same sum saved by a man in affluent circumstances, would have enabled him, by a contribution to a public charity, to have lessened a large portion of the ignorance or misery of mankind." But Lord Stanhope makes a far more liberal estimate than Dr. Rush; "Every professed, inveterate, and incurable snuff-taker," says he, "at a moderate computation, takes one pinch in ten minutes. Every pinch, with the agreeable ceremony of blowing and wiping the nose, and other incidental circumstances, consumes a minute and a half. One minute and a half out of every ten, allowing sixteen hours to a snuff-taking day, amounts to two hours and twenty-four minutes out of every natural day, or one day of every ten. One day out of ten amounts to thirty six days and a half in a year. Hence, if we suppose the practice to be persisted in forty years, two entire years of the snuff-taker's life will be devoted to tickling his nose, and two more to blowing it." The same author proposes in a subsequent essay to show, that from the expense of snuff, snuff-boxes, and handkerchiefs, a fund might be formed to pay off the English National debt!

The subject of snuffing having employed more of our time than we anticipated, the two following heads of smoking and chewing will be more briefly noticed. On the subject of smoking, Mr. Beloe has preserved the following old epigram.[72]

"We buy the dryest wood that we can finde, And willingly would leave the smoke behinde: But in tobacco a thwart course we take Buying the herb only for the smoke's sake."

Smoking was the earliest mode of using tobacco,[73] (as might be inferred from the epigram) and for a long time the only mode in which it was used in Europe. Certainly in our day it is the most general, and at the same time the most expensive, and although several rivals contend with Sir Walter Ralegh for the praise of having introduced tobacco into England, yet the "bright honour" of having taught his countrymen to imitate the Indians, in this particular, he "wears without corrival." Almost all the arguments which have been employed against the use of tobacco as a sternutatory, are more or less applicable to it when used in the way of fumigation.[74] Good old Cotton Mather, who was fully aware of the disadvantages as well as sinfulness of this habit, deprecates it with a qualification at which it is impossible to repress a smile. It savours so much of "beating the Devil round a bush." Thus he says--"May God preserve me from the indecent, ignoble, criminal slavery, to the mean delight of smoking a weed, which I see so many carried away with. And if ever I should smoke it, let me be so wise as to do it, not only with moderation, but also with such employment of my mind, as I may make that action afford me a leisure for!"[75]

The effects of smoking on the breath, clothes, hair, and indeed the whole body, are most offensive. What is more overpowering than the stale smell remaining in a room where several persons have been smoking? When the practice is carried to excess, it causes the gums to become lax and flabby, and to recede from the discoloured teeth, which appear long, unsightly, and at length drop out. Dr. Rush, in his "Account of the life and death of Edward Drinker," tells us that that individual lost all his teeth by drawing the hot smoke of tobacco into his mouth. By the waste of saliva, and the narcotic power of tobacco, the digestive powers are impaired, and "every kind of dyspeptic symptoms," says Cullen, "are produced."[76] King James does not forget to note this habit as a breach of good manners. "It is a great vanitie and uncleannesse," says he, "that at the table, a place of respect, of cleanlinesse, of modestie, men should not be ashamed to sit tossing pipes, and puffing of the smoke of tobacco one to another, making the filthy smoke and stinke thereof to exhale athwart the dishes and infect the aire, when very often men that abhorre it, are at their repast."

We come now to the subject of chewing. Whether the rock goat, the filthy animal to which we have before adverted, or the tobacco worm, first taught imitative man to masticate tobacco, we are ignorant. One thing, however, is most certain, that of all modes of using it, chewing seems most vulgar and ungentlemanlike, and it is worthy of particular remark, that in our country it is more used in this manner, among the better class of society, than in any other part of the world.[77] All the worst effects which have been ascribed to it in the two former modes of using it, are, with increased severity, imputed to chewing. But tobacco used in this form is said to diminish hunger. "We have been told," says Dr. Leake, "that tobacco, when chewed, is a preservative against hunger; but this is a vulgar error, for in reality it may more properly be said to destroy appetite by the profuse discharge of saliva, which is a powerful dissolving fluid, essential both to appetite and digestion." In the use of the quid, or cud, accidents sometimes happen from swallowing portions, which must needs be very hurtful. Chewers are often taken by surprise, and rather than be detected in the unclean practice, they will, with Spartan fortitude, endure the horrible agonies of swallowing the juice, and sometimes even the quid itself. But we must close our remarks upon this vile habit, which we do by the following quotation from a French writer. "Quant a la coutume de chiquer le tabac, elle est bornée, je crois, à un petit nombre d'individus grossiers, et le plus souvent voués a des habitudes crapuleuses, du moins si j'en juge par ceux que j'y vois livrés." We take the liberty of referring tobacco chewers to Dr. Clark's treatise, (p. 24,) for a quotation he makes from Simon Paulli, physician to the King of Denmark, who wrote a treatise on the danger of using this herb, and also to a note at the foot of the page, both which we are unwilling to repeat.

We are almost prepared to assert, that there is scarcely a conceivable mode of applying tobacco to the human body, which has not been thought of and practised. In former times, it was used by the oculists. Howell says "that it is good to fortify and preserve the sight, the smoak being let in round about the balls once a week, &c." We have even known snuff to be blown into the eyes to cure inflammation. This latter remedy should be somewhat perilous, if what Sauvages relates be true, that a female was thrown into a catalepsy by a small portion of snuff which had accidentally entered her eye. The Rev. S. Wesley, speaking of the abuse of tobacco, intimates an apprehension that the human ear will not long remain exempted from its application.

"To such a height with some is fashion grown, They feed their very nostrils with a spoon,[78] One, and but one degree is wanting yet, To make their senseless luxury complete; Some choice regale, useless as snuff and dear, To feed the mazy windings of the ear."

Now, as a medicine, at least, it has been used for the ear; for Sir Hans Sloan positively affirms that the "oyl or juice dropped into the ear is good against deafness."[79] Another mode of using tobacco, and not very common we hope, is what is called plugging, that is, thrusting long pellets or rolls of tobacco up the nose, and keeping them there during the night. As a dentifrice it is used in many parts of the world. We have had an opportunity of witnessing this fact in various parts of South America, but especially in Brazil, where respectable women do not scruple openly to use tobacco for this purpose. We have known several very respectable individuals of both sexes in our own country, who use snuff as a tooth powder, and with them its employment was just as much a habit as any other mode of using tobacco. These have been generally West Indians, or persons who have resided much in the West India islands. In some of our southern states, tobacco is much used among the ladies as a dentifrice. Indeed there appears to prevail generally, a very strong opinion, that it is an excellent preservative of the teeth, which is certainly an error; though we think it probable that the stimulus of tobacco, to those who use it in excess, may become in a certain degree necessary to their preservation.

Tobacco is truly a leveller. It equalizes the monarch and the hind, and is acceptable to the sage as well as the sailor. "Its smoke," says Thomson, "rising in clouds from the idolatrous altar of the native Mexican, opened the world of spirits to his delirious imagination," while it has "even assisted in extending the boundaries of intellect, by aiding the contemplations of the Christian philosopher." If we advert to the irrefragable proofs of the virulent properties of this plant, and the various arguments which have been urged against its habitual use, we cannot fail to be struck with the extraordinary fact, that so large a portion of mankind should voluntarily struggle through its repugnant qualities, both of taste and effect, until by habit its stimulus grows pleasurable, and the system becomes mithridated against its poison! It would almost seem as if the use of some substance of this class were necessary to the intellectual and physical economy of man, since no nation nor age, of which we have any account, has been found without. Of the various masticatories which have been in general use, if we except opium, tobacco is unquestionably the most pernicious. Although its moderate use may not shorten life, or prove perceptibly hurtful to health, yet its excessive employment certainly generates many formidable disorders, particularly of the nerves and stomach, and subjects its votary to innumerable inconveniences and sufferings. Our space will not permit us to expatiate any further; and we shall therefore conclude our article by relating from Rush a very interesting anecdote of Dr. Franklin, which places the common-sense view of this matter in the strongest possible light. A few months before Franklin's death, he declared to one of his friends, that he had never used tobacco in the course of his long life, and that he was disposed to believe there was not much advantage to be derived from it, for that he had never known a man who used it, who advised him to follow his example.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] Epistolæ Hoelianæ, p. 405.

[17] Critical and Historical Dictionary, article Thorius.

[18] Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, fol. p. 235.

[19] King James's Works, fol. p. 214.

[20] Hist. North America, vol. i. p. 322.--See also Hennepin's Voyages, p. 93 et seq.

[21] Stith's Hist. of Virginia, p. 19.

[22] Sloan's Nat. Hist. Jamaica, vol. i. p. 147.

[23] This hiatus we are in some measure able to supply from a note in the Appendix to Mrs. Thomson's Life of Ralegh, (Note B. Notices concerning Tobacco by Dr. Thomson,) p. 458. "In the Mexican or Aztuk tongue, it is called yetle; in Algonkin, sema; in the Huron, ayougoua; in the Peruvian, it is sayri; in Chiquito, pais; in Vilela, tusup; Albaja, nalodagadi; Moxo, sabare; Omagua, potema; Tumanac, cavai; Mayhure, jema; and in the Cabre, sena. The other synonymes are, tabac, in French; tabak, in German, Dutch, and Polish; tobak, in Swedish and Danish; tobaco, Spanish and Portuguese; and tobacco in the Italian. In the Oriental languages,--it is tambacu, in Hindostanee; tamracutta, in Sanscrit; pogheielly, in Tamool; tambracco, in the Malay tongue; tambracco, in Javanese; doorkoole, in Cingalese; and bujjerhony, in Arabic."

[24] Nat. Hist. Jam. vol. i. p. 147.

[25] Dr. Tobias Venner, in his "Treatise of Tobacco," at the end of his curious old work, entitled, "Via recta ad longam vitam," says humorously, that petum is the "fittest name that both we and other nations may call it by, deriving it of peto, for it is far-fetched and much desired." p. 386.

[26] This Harriot, or Herriot, was a distinguished mathematician, and the instructer of Ralegh, in whom both himself and the celebrated Richard Hakluyt, the industrious and indefatigable compiler of voyages, found a liberal friend and patron.--Mrs. A. T. Thomson's Life of Sir W. Ralegh, pp. 46 and 48.

[27] Stith, p. 17.

[28] "Le Cardinal de Sainte Croix, nonce en Portugal, et Nicholas Tornabon, legat en France, l'introduisent en Italie ou elle reçut les noms d'herbe de Sainte Croix, et de Tornabonne; elle a encore porté d'autres noms fondés sur des proprietés vraies ou supposées, ou sur la haute idée qu'on avait de ses vertus: c'est ainsi qu'on l'a appelée Buglose ou Panacée Antarctique, Herbe Sainte ou Sacrée, Herbe a tous maux, Jusquiame du Peron," &c. &c. Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales, Art. Tabac, par Mons. Merat.

[29] Article Santa Croce, where they are attributed to Victor Duranti.

[30] M. Merat ut supra.

[31] Jefferson's Notes on Virginia, p. 62.

[32] Robertson's Hist. of America, vol. iv. p. 97.

[33] It is said that Ralegh used to give smoking parties at his house, where his guests were treated with nothing but a pipe, a mug of ale, and a nutmeg.--Thomson's Life of Ralegh, p. 471.

[34] Ralph Lane was lieutenant of the fleet of Sir Richard Grenville, which had been sent to Virginia by Sir Walter Ralegh, in 1585, where he was made governor.--Hakluyt's Voyages, vol. iii. p. 251.

[35] Camden has the following passage: "Et hi reduces," speaking of those survivers who were carried home by Drake, "Indicam illam plantam, quam tabaccam vocant et nicotiam, qua contra cruditates, ab Indis edocti, usi erant, in Angliam primi quod sciam, intulerunt. Ex illo sane tempore usu coepit esse creberrimo, et magno pretio, dum quamplurimi graveolentem illius fumum, alii lascivientes, alii valetudini consulentes, per tubulum testaceum inexplebili aviditate passim hauriunt et mox e naribus efflant; adeo ut tabernæ tabacanæ non minus quam cervisiariæ et vinariæ," beer-houses and grog-shops, we presume, "passim per oppida habeantur. Ut Anglorum corpora (quod salse ille dixit) qui hac planta tantopere delectantur in barbarorum naturam degenerasse videantur; cum iisdem quibus barbari delectentur et sanari se posse credant."--Camdeni Ann. Rer. Anglican. p. 415.

[36] These valuables are thus described in a note to Cayley's Life of Sir Walter Ralegh, vol. i. p. 81. "Among Thoresby's artificial curiosities, we have Sir W. Ralegh's tobacco-box, as it was called, but is rather the case for the glass wherein it was preserved, which was surrounded with small wax candles of various colours. This is of gilded leather, like a muff-case, about half a foot broad and thirteen inches high, and hath cases for sixteen pipes in it.--Ducatus Leodensis, fol. 1715, p. 485."

[37] Ralegh is believed to have introduced the culture of the potato, as well as tobacco, into Ireland. The latter on his own estate at Youghal, in the county of Cork.

[38] Universal Geography, vol. iii. p. 223.

[39] Appendix, p. 466.

[40] King James's Works, fol. from page 214 to 222.

[41] Naturall and Morall Historie of the Indies, p. 289.

[42] Silva Silvarum--Lassitude.

[43] History of life and death. Lord Bacon's Works, vol. iii. p. 377.

[44] Howell's Epist. Hoel. or Familiar Letters, p. 405.

[45] In the TEXNODAMIA or Marriage of the Arts, by Barten Holiday, 1680, there is a singular poem on the subject of Tobacco, where, in successive stanzas, if is compared to a musician, a lawyer, a physician, a traveller, a crittike, an ignis fatuus, and a whyffler. Beloe's Sketches, vol. ii. p. 10.

[46] Notes on Virginia, pp. 278, 279.

[47] Davies' Hist. of the Carriby Islands, fol. p. 192.

[48] Ramazzini also says that the breath of those who labour at tobacco is intolerably offensive, "efficit, ut tabacariarum semper foeteant animæ."

[49] "Tanta enim ex illâ tritura partium tenuim," says Ramazzini, "æstate præsertim, diffunditur exhalatio, ut tota vicinia tabaci odorem, non sine querimonia, et nausea persentiat."

[50] Puellam hebræam novi, quæ tota die explicandas placentas istas ex tabaco incumbens, magnum ad vomitum irritamentum sentiebat, et frequenter alvi subductiones patiebatur, mihique narrabat, vasa hemorroidalia multum sanguinis profudisse, cum super placentas illas sederet.

[51] Tourtel, in his Elémens d'Hygiène tom. ii. p. 410, assures us it is very dangerous to sleep in tobacco magazines. He cites an observation of Buchoz, who says that a little girl, five years old, was seized with frightful vomitings, and expired in a very short time from this sole cause.

[52] This memoir is entitled "Influence du tabac sur la santé des ouvriers," and is published in the "Annales d'hygiène publique et de medecine legale," first volume, April, 1829--p. 169.

[53] Mather's Christian Philosopher, p. 128.

[54] M. Merat.

[55] Rush's Essays, p. 261.

[56] Flore Medicale, tom. six. p. 205.

[57] Journey from Constantinople to England, p. 4.

[58] Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales. Art. Tabac.

[59] Essays, p. 267.

[60] Brodie, Macartney, &c. See also Nancrede's Orfila, p. 289.

[61] Materia Medica, vol. ii. p. 197.

[62] Mat. Med. vol. ii. p. 198.

[63] Essays, p. 271.

[64] Hist. N. America, vol. i. p. 322.

[65] Rush's Works, vol. i. p. 167.

[66] Essays, p. 270.

[67] Macnish's Anatomy of Drunkenness, p. 83.

[68] "Qu'on ne pense pas, malgré l'usage immense et presque general du tabac, qu'il n'y ait aucun inconvenient a s'en servir. Les auteurs rapportent des faits qui prouvent le contraire, et sans ajouter foi a ce que raconte Borrichius (dans un lettre ecrite a Bartholin) d'une personne qui s'etait tellement desséché le cerveau a force de prendre du tabac, qu'aprés sa mort, on ne lui trouva dans le crâne, au lieu d'encephale, qu'un petit grumeau noir; ni meme à ce que dit Simon Pauli, que ceux qui fument trop de tabac ont le cerveau et la crâne tout noirs, nonplus qu'a l'assertion de Van Helmont qui a vu, affirme-t-il, un estomac teint enjaune par la vapeur du tabac; tout le monde sait qu'il affaiblit l'odorat par suite de ses irritations répétées sur la membrane olfactive, qu'il nuit a l'integrité du gout, parce qu'il en passe toujours un peu dans la bouche et jusque sur la langue. Ce que l'on n'ignore pas nonplus c'est qu'il dérange la memoire, la rends moins nette, moins entière; il produit de plus des vertiges, des céphalées et meme l'apoplexie."--Dictionnaire des Sciences Medicales, art. Tabac.

[69] Orfila's Toxicology, p. 291.

[70] Essays, p. 265.

[71] M. Merat.

[72] Sketches of Literature and Scarce books, vol. ii. p. 130.

[73] Mr. Brodigan, in his treatise on the tobacco plant, quotes Herodotus, Strabo, Pomponius Mela, and Solinus, to prove that tobacco was smoked in very ancient times, but the passages merely go to show that the smoking of herbs was common.

[74] Venner gives ten precepts on the manner in which tobacco is to be used, and afterwards summarily rehearses the consequences to all who use it contrary to the order and way he sets down; viz. that "it drieth the brain, dimmeth the sight, vitiateth the smell, dulleth and dejecteth both the appitite and stomach, destroyeth the concoction, disturbeth the humours and spirits, corrupteth the breath, induceth a trembling of the limbs, exsiccateth the wind-pipe, lungs, and liver, annoyeth the milt, scorcheth the heart, and causeth the blood to be adusted. Moreover it eliquateth the pinguie substance of the kidneys, and absumeth the geniture. In a word, it overthroweth the spirits, perverteth the understanding, and confoundeth the sences with a sudden astonishment and stupiditie of the whole body." Via recta ad longam vitam. p. 404.

[75] Christian Philosopher, p. 136.

[76] Materia Medica, vol. ii. p. 196.

[77] In many parts of Europe it is almost impossible for a tobacco chewer to be regarded as a gentleman.

[78] The fashionable snuff-taker was formerly accustomed to dip up the snuff with a little spoon or ladle, "which ever and anon he gave his nose."

[79] Natural Hist. Jam. vol. i. p. 147.

ART. VII.--Voyages and Discoveries of the Companions of Columbus. By WASHINGTON IRVING: Philadelphia: Carey & Lea: 1831.

When we noticed, three years since, a former production of Mr. Irving, we took occasion to express an opinion of its merits, which has been fully confirmed. No work of the present era appears to have afforded more general and unmingled gratification to its readers, than his Life of Columbus; and he has received, in the approbation, not only of his own countrymen, but of Europeans, the most gratifying reward an author can desire. The fame which he had acquired, and that most justly, by the happy works of fiction in which he was introduced to the public, is now changed into one of higher character; and he becomes entitled to take his stand among those writers who have done more than amuse the fancy, or even gratify the heart. He is to be classed with the historians of great events; for if the period of which he has treated is limited, or the persons whose actions he has described are not numerous, yet the one included within it, short as it was, circumstances that have produced an effect which long ages have not always surpassed in importance or wonderful consequences; and the others embrace individuals whose actions have more deeply affected the human race than many of the revolutions of great and populous nations.

Having these feelings in regard to the former work of Mr. Irving, we open the present volume with mingled apprehension and pleasure. We rejoice that we are to follow again the same guide in adventurous voyages among the clustering Antilles; but we almost fear that the narrative may want much of that interest, novelty, and beauty, which make the story of Columbus among the most attractive ever recorded. The followers of the Admiral were, it is true, brave, adventurous, gallant men; the skies beneath which they sailed were as blue, clear, and tranquil as when he first admired their delightful serenity; the islands they visited were as flowery and as fertile as when they first blessed the sight of the enterprising sailor; if the iron hand of Christian civilization had, here and there, broken down the gentle and benevolent spirit of the naked beings who wandered through a life of inglorious bliss, in their remote and peaceful regions, there were yet haunts undiscovered where they might roam in undisturbed security--there were yet bays over which they might dart unobstructed their light canoes--green and shady forests beneath which they might chant their songs, and rich valleys not yet searched for gold. But yet with all this, he, the master spirit, is no longer among the voyagers. There is no longer the novelty of a vast discovery. The way has been opened by the daring pioneer, and we are now only to follow in the plain track his genius conceived, discovered, and marked out. We can merely watch the footsteps of those who followed the triumphal chariot; the hero of the ovation has already passed along, and our eyes are still dazzled with his splendour--our minds are still filled with admiration of his genius, his enterprise, his undaunted and noble spirit. We are to turn from those loftier efforts of human intellect and perseverance, which mark, now and then, a human being, as a beacon in the midst of his fellow men, to the more common, though it is true, the bold and spirited adventures which attend the fortunes of many in the career of life. The story of these adventures is indeed full of interest, but it is an interest less in degree; and we can no more venture to compare it with that which attends the actions and fortunes of him who seeks and finds a new world, than we can compare the patient inquirer, who nightly searches through his telescope for new stars in the vast firmament, with him who proclaimed and proved the theory of the universe--than we can see in every military exploit of Parmenio and Seleucus, the master spirit that planned and effected the subjugation of the world.

Yet the pen which has described with so much felicity the life of Columbus, cannot fail to impart great attraction to an account of those who followed in the career they had commenced with him; who were emboldened by the energy they had witnessed, and the success in which they had partaken; and who completed the discovery of those regions, which he was permitted scarcely to see, and of whose vast extent he had no conception. While they were yet his associates, these voyagers had become acquainted with the pearl fisheries of Paria and Cubaga; they learned to believe that they had approached the confines of the golden regions of the east, described by the ancients in glowing colours; and they had heard something of a vast ocean to the south, in which they expected to find the oriental islands of spice and perfumes. All that they thus collected from tradition or partial observation, they treasured up to form the groundwork of schemes for future adventures, which they might pursue for the purposes of individual gain, or from motives of individual ambition, when no longer sailing under the ensign of their great commander. The more selfish objects of these exploits, their want of connexion with the lofty views that inspired Columbus, the comparatively small scale on which they were conducted, gave to them a sort of daring and chivalrous character, which much resembles the warfare of the predatory nobles of Europe during the middle ages. While they were as far removed from the treacherous rapine of the buccaneers, as the inroads of the armed bands of knights were from the secret attacks of the robber and assassin; they were yet the offspring of personal interest, and were distinguished by innumerable incidents of personal valour. They offered new fields where the burning desire for romantic achievement might be gratified; and the old spirit of Castile, which no longer found scope among the fastnesses of Andalusia, or the rich valleys of Granada, was delighted to embark on the waves of an ocean scarcely known, and to seek beyond it wealth and glory in golden regions, of which the discovery had already made one man the object of unmingled admiration and applause.

Of these voyagers, the first to whom Mr. Irving directs our attention is Alonzo de Ojeda--a man whose daring exploits, enterprising spirit, and headlong valour, cannot be forgotten by those who have already read the History of Columbus. He was his companion in the second voyage, and, it may be remembered, attracted the admiration of the bold cacique Caonabo, who paid that reverence to his undaunted prowess, which he refused to the superior rank of Columbus. Whether his restless and ambitious spirit could not bear the control of a superior, or whether he had formed, during the voyage he had made, some plan of individual enterprise, he did not accompany the admiral in his subsequent expeditions. He could not, however, long endure the irksome life of a courtier; and he could less bear to hear, without desiring to partake of the discoveries which were announced by every returning vessel, of new coasts and islands, abounding with drugs, spices, precious stones, and pearls, said to surpass in size and clearness those gathered in the East. Through the influence of a relative, he obtained the patronage of the bishop Don Juan Rodriguez Fonseca, who had the chief management of the affairs of the Indies, and was permitted to fit out an expedition to visit any territories in the new world, except such as appertained to Portugal, or such as had been discovered in the name of Spain previous to the year 1495. The latter part of the exception being craftily intended to leave open to him the coast and pearl fisheries of Paria, notwithstanding the rights reserved to Columbus. Destitute of wealth, the young adventurer contrived, by his reputation for boldness and enterprise, and by his confident promises of rich rewards, to obtain money from the merchants of Seville. He united with him as associates, Juan de la Cosa, a hardy veteran who had already navigated the new seas with the admiral, and Amerigo Vespucci, who seems then to have been distinguished by little but a roving disposition and a broken fortune, but who is now known from the accident which has forever attached his name to the discoveries of Columbus.

Ojeda sailed from Port St. Mary on the 20th of May 1499; he reached land on the coast of Surinam; thence he steered along the shore of South America, passed and beheld with wonder the mouths of the mighty rivers that there flow into the Atlantic, and first landed among the natives on the island of Trinidad. He then kept his course along the coast of Terra Firma, until he arrived at Maracapana, where he unloaded and careened his vessels, and built a small brigantine. He found the natives hospitable and well disposed, but differing greatly in character from the gentle and peaceful inhabitants of the islands within the gulf. They were tall, well made, and vigorous; expert with the bow, the lance, and the buckler, and ready for the wars in which they delighted to engage. The martial spirit of Ojeda was soon roused, and he readily proffered his aid to the savages, in an expedition against a hostile tribe of cannibals, in a neighbouring island. As soon as his ships were refitted, he attacked and defeated, with great slaughter, the savage warriors, who, decorated with coronets of gaudy plumes, their bodies painted, and armed with bows, arrows, and lances, gallantly met and resolutely fought him on the beach. He then pursued his voyage along the coast, passed the island of Curacoa, and penetrated into the deep gulf to the south. On the eastern shore he found an Indian village which struck him with surprise. The houses were built on piles, and the communication was carried on in canoes. From these resemblances to the Italian city, he called it Venezuela, or little Venice, a name it still bears, and which is now extended to the bay and the province around. The natives made a treacherous attack on Ojeda, but manning his boats, the gallant Spaniard charged among the thickest of the enemy, and soon drove them to the shore, whence they fled into the woods. Not desiring to cause useless irritation, he continued his voyage as far as the port of Maracaibo, which still retains its Indian name. In the territory beyond, called Coquibacoa, he found a gentler race of inhabitants, who received the Spaniards with delight, and solicited them to visit their towns.

"Ojeda, in compliance with their entreaties, sent a detachment of twenty-seven Spaniards on a visit to the interior. For nine days they were conducted from town to town, and feasted and almost idolized by the Indians, who regarded them as angelic beings, performing their national dances and games, and chanting their traditional ballads for their entertainment.

"The natives of this part were distinguished for the symmetry of their forms; the females in particular appeared to the Spaniards to surpass all others that they had yet beheld in the new world for grace and beauty; neither did the men evince, in the least degree, that jealousy which prevailed in other parts of the coast.

"By the time the Spaniards set out on their return to the ship, the whole country was aroused, pouring forth its population, male and female, to do them honour. Some bore them in litters or hammocks, that they might not be fatigued with the journey, and happy was the Indian who had the honour of bearing a Spaniard on his shoulders across a river. Others loaded themselves with the presents that had been bestowed on their guests, consisting of rich plumes, weapons of various kinds, and tropical birds and animals. In this way they returned in triumphant procession to the ships, the woods and shores resounding with their songs and shouts.

"Many of the Indians crowded into the boats that took the detachment to the ships; others put off in canoes, or swam from shore, so that in a little while the vessels were thronged with upwards of a thousand wondering natives. While gazing and marvelling at the strange objects around them, Ojeda ordered the cannon to be discharged, at the sound of which, says Vespucci, the Indians 'plunged into the water like so many frogs from a bank.' Perceiving, however, that it was done in harmless mirth, they returned on board, and passed the rest of the day in great festivity. The Spaniards brought away with them several of the beautiful and hospitable females from this place, one of whom, named by them Isabel, was much prized by Ojeda, and accompanied him in a subsequent voyage."

Leaving these friendly Indians, Ojeda pursued his way along the coast to the westward, until he reached cape de la Vela. During his long voyage he had been disappointed in finding the ready treasures of gold and pearls which he had expected, and now, wearied with his fruitless efforts, and embarrassed by the crazy state of his vessels, he resolved reluctantly to return to Spain. On his way, he stopped, in spite of the clause in his commission, at Hispaniola, to cut dye-wood, but was prevented by the governor, and obliged to set sail. He then cruised among the islands, and seizing the natives, carried them home to sell for slaves. He reached Cadiz in June, 1500, but so unproductive was his expedition, that it is said, after the expenses were paid, but five hundred ducats remained to be divided among fifty-five adventurers.

The private enterprise of Ojeda did not fail to excite the same spirit among other followers of Columbus, who remained in Spain. He had been scarcely a month gone, before Pedro Alonzo Niño, who had been the pilot of the admiral on his first voyage, set out from Palos with Christoval Guerra, the brother of a Sevillian merchant who supplied the outfit. The vessel of these bold adventurers was but a bark of fifty tons, the crew but thirty-three men--yet with the daring spirit of the Spanish sailors of those days, they embarked fearlessly and joyfully to explore barbarous shores and unknown seas. Reaching the coasts of Paria and Cumana, they carried on for some time a profitable commerce with the natives, from whom they obtained pearls and gold in exchange for glass beads and other trinkets; but falling in at length with tribes less peaceful, and not, like Ojeda, enjoying warlike renown as much as profitable traffic, they returned to Spain after an absence of ten months, and making fewer discoveries but more profit than had yet resulted from any voyage across the Atlantic.

In the month of December of the same year, 1499, Vicente, Yañez Pinzon, one of the three brave men of that family who aided Columbus in his first voyage, but who had since remained in Spain, owing to the difference that arose between his brother and the admiral, embarked with