Title: The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction - Volume 20, No. 560, August 4, 1832
Author: Various
Language: English
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AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 20, ISSUE 560, AUGUST 4, 1832***


THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.

VOL. 20, No. 560]   SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1832.  [PRICE 2_d_.



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THE ELEPHANTS IN THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS, REGENT'S PARK.


[Illustration: THE ELEPHANT, IN THE ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS, REGENT'S PARK.]

The annexed Engraving will probably afford the reader a better idea of
the Zoological Gardens, than did either of our previous Illustrations.
It is indeed a fair specimen of the luxurious accommodation afforded by
the Society for their animals; while it enables us to watch the habits
of the stupendous tenants in a state of nature, or at least, free from
unnecessary restriction or confinement. It is an opportunity hitherto
but rarely enjoyed in this country; the Elephants exhibited in our
menageries being caged up, and only allowed to protrude the head outside
the bars. The Duke of Devonshire, as our readers may recollect,
possessed an Elephant which died in the year 1829: she was allowed the
range of a spacious paddock at Chiswick, but her docility, intelligence,
and affection, which were extraordinary, were only witnessed by a few
visiters. In the _Jardin du Roi_, at Paris, the Elephant has long
enjoyed advantages proportionate to his importance in the scale of
creation. Six years since we remember seeing a fine young specimen in
the enjoyment of an ample enclosure of greensward, and a spacious bath
has since been added to the accommodations. This example has been
rightly followed in our Zoologicai Gardens.

The Elephant Stable is at the extremity of the northern garden in the
Regent's Park. It is of capacious dimensions, but is built in a style of
unappropriate rusticity. Adjoining the stable is a small enclosure,
which the Elephant may measure in two or three turns. Opposite is an
enclosure of much greater extent, so as to be almost worthy of the name
of a little park or paddock. The fence is of iron, and light but
substantial. Within the area are a few lime-trees, the lower branches of
which are thinned by the Elephant repeatedly twisting off their foliage
with his trunk, as adroitly as a gardener would gather fruit. His main
luxury is, however, in his bath, which is a large pool or tank of water,
of depth nearly equal to his height. In hot weather he enjoys his
ablutions here with great gusto, exhibiting the liveliest tokens of
satisfaction and delight. Our artist has endeavoured to represent the
noble creature in his bath, though the pencil can afford but an
imperfect idea of the extasy of the animal on this occasion. His
evolutions are extraordinary for a creature of such stupendous size. His
keeper had at first some difficulty in inducing him to enter the pond,
but he now willingly takes to the water, and thereby exhibits himself in
a point of view in which we have not hitherto been accustomed to view an
Elephant in this country. The fondness of Elephants for bathing is very
remarkable. When in the water they often produce a singular noise with
their trunks. Bishop Heber describes this habit as he witnessed it near
Dacca:--"A sound struck my ear, as if from the water itself on which we
were riding, the most solemn and singular I can conceive. It was long,
loud, deep, and tremulous, somewhat between the bellowing of a bull and
the blowing of a whale, or perhaps most like those roaring buoys which
are placed at the mouths of some English harbours, in which the winds
make a noise to warn ships off them. 'Oh,' said Abdallah, 'there are
Elephants bathing: Dacca much place for Elephant.' I looked immediately,
and saw about twenty of these fine animals, with their heads and trunks
just appearing above the water. Their bellowing it was which I had
heard, and which the water conveyed to us with a finer effect than if we
had been on shore." The Elephant can also eject from his trunk water and
dust, and his own saliva, over every part of his body, to cool its
heated surface; and he is said to grub up dust, and blow it over his
back and sides, to keep off the flies.

There are two Elephants in the Zoological Gardens. Both are of the
Asiatic species. The larger animal was purchased by the Society about
fifteen months since. It is probably about eleven years old, and is
still growing; and a register of its bulk at various periods has been
commenced. The smaller Elephant was presented to the Society by Sir
Edward Barnes, late governor of Ceylon. It has been stated to be a dwarf
variety, and that its age is not far short of that of the larger
individual; but this assertion is questionable. It is much more
consistent with our knowledge of the species to regard it, in the
absence of all previous knowledge of the history of the individual, as a
young one not exceeding four years old. This specimen will be seen in
the distance of the Engraving.[1]

    [1] The new-born Elephant is about three feet long. Between
    fifteen and twenty years of age, Elephants may be said to be
    adult. In India it is thought that they live three centuries.

The natural history of the Elephant would occupy many pages. A few
points, however, are peculiarly interesting in connexion with the
individuals from India, in the Zoological Gardens. The Indian Elephant
appears, when fully grown, to attain a larger size than the African, the
females commonly measuring from seven to eight, and the males from eight
to ten, feet in height; though we find in old accounts the height of the
Asiatic Elephant stated at fifteen or sixteen feet. The head of the
Indian is more oblong than that of the African Elephant; and the
forehead of the former has a deep concavity, while the head of the
African is round and convex in all its parts. The teeth of the Indian
species consist of narrow transverse bands of equal size, while those of
the African are larger in the middle than at the ends, and are lozenge
shaped. The ears of the Asiatic are smaller, and descend only to his
neck, while in the African species the ears cover the shoulders. The
former has four distinct toes, and the latter but three, on his hind
feet. The Elephants of Ceylon are much prized for size, beauty, and
hardihood. If the small Elephant in the Gardens be a native of Ceylon,
it is by no means a beautiful specimen of the variety.

       *       *       *       *       *


STANZAS ON REVISITING LUDLOW CASTLE.


  Pale ruin! once more as I gaze on thy walls,
  What memories of old, the sad vision recalls,
    For change o'er thee lightly has past;
  Yet what hearts are estrang'd and what bright hopes are fled,
  And friends I erst dwelt with now sleep with the dead,
    Since in childhood I gazed on thee last!

  Thine image still rests on the clear stream beneath,
  And flow'rs as of yore, thy old battlement wreathe,
    Like rare friends by adversity's side;
  Still clinging aloft, the wild tree I behold
  That marks in derision, the spot, where of old
    The standard once floated in pride.

  But the conqueror, Time, hath thy banner o'erthrown,
  And crumbled to ruin the courtyards that shone
    With chivalry's gorgeous array;
  And where music, and laughter so often have rung,
  In thy tapestried halls, now the ivy hath flung
    A mantle to hide their decay.

  Through the hush of thy lone haunts I wander again,
  Where these time-hallow'd relics, familiar remain,
    As if charmed into magic repose;
  The pass subterraneous,--the fathomless well,
  The mound whence the violet peeps--and the cell
    Where the fox-glove in solitude grows.

  In the last rays of sunset thy grey turrets gleam,
  Yet I linger with thee--as to muse o'er a dream,
    That mournful truths soon will dispel;
  My pathway winds onward--life's cares to renew,
  And I feel, as thy towers now fade from my view,
  'Tis for over--I bid thee farewell!

E.L.J.

       *       *       *       *       *



THE NOVELIST.


       *       *       *       *       *


THE HUNTSMAN.

_A Traditionary Tale: by Miss M.L. Beevor._


  "The merciful man is merciful to his beast."
  "The worm we tread upon will turn again."

Charles, the chief huntsman of Baron Mortimer, was undeniably a very
handsome young man, the _beau ideal_ of the lover, as pictured by the
glowing imagination of maidens, and the beau _real_ of a dozen villages
in the vicinity of Mortimer Castle. Yet, was his beauty not amiable, but
rather calculated to inspire terror and distrust, than affection and
confidence: in fact, a bandit may be uncommonly handsome; but, by the
fierce, haughty character of his countenance, the fire which flashes
from his eyes, and the contempt which curls his mustachoed lip, create
fear, instead of winning regard, and this was the case with Charles.
One, however, of those maidens, unto whom it was the folly and vanity of
his youth to pay general court, conceived for him a passion deep and
pure, which in semblance, at least, he returned; but how far to answer
his own nefarious purposes, for Charles Elliott was a godless young man,
we shall hereafter discover.

Annette Martin was the daughter of a small farmer who resided about a
mile and a half from the Castle; but, being the tenant of Lord Mortimer,
had not only frequent occasion to go thither himself with the rural
produce of his farm, (for which the Castle was a ready market,) but also
to send Annette. Thus then commenced that innocent girl's acquaintance
with the Baron's chief huntsman, not long after Elliott's induction into
that office, by the resignation of his superannuated predecessor.

Strange rumours were afloat respecting the conduct of Charles; none of
which, it is to be presumed, met the Baron's ears, or assuredly the
deprivation of his office would have followed. But Lord Mortimer was a
young man, paying his addresses to a lady who lived at some distance
from the Castle, and consequently much absent from it. And, what said
pretty Annette to the rumours which failed not to meet _her_ ear, of her
lover's misconduct? "I don't believe a word of them! Charles may be
fonder of pleasure than of business, but he is a young man; by and by he
will see and feel the necessity of steady application to the duties of
his situation, and become less wild and more manly." "NEVER!" would be
solemnly enunciated by Annette's auditors. "As to the charge," would she
undauntedly continue, "brought against him of cruelty to the dogs under
his care, it is an abominable falsehood; Elliott may be passionate, I
don't say he is not, but he is generous and humane. _I_ have never seen
him scourge the hounds, as you tell me he does, until blood drops from
their mangled hides; _I_ have never heard the cries which, you say,
resound from their kennels day and night; cries of pain and hunger."

"And have you never seen," would ask some well-meaning tale-bearer, "any
of those poor brutes, whose wealed and mangled coats, proclaimed how
savagely they had been treated?"

"I have indeed seen," would answer Annette, "dogs lacerated by the wild
boars with which the Castle forests abound."

"And have you never observed the miserable skin-and-bone plight of my
lord's hounds?"

"They are not thinner, Charles says, than most hounds in good training:
when dogs get fat, they become lazy, lose the faculty of finding game,
and the inclination of bringing it down."

"Dogs it is true, ought not to be pampered and surfeited, but they ought
to be _fed_." Upon this, Annette would vehemently maintain that fed they
were, and amply, as she had seen Elliott cut up their meat; whilst the
friendly newsmonger would charitably hint, that her intended knew as
well as most men how to turn an _honest_ penny, by cheating the dogs of
their food, and selling it elsewhere.

Annette cared little for inuendos which she attributed chiefly to malice
and ill-nature. None are so difficult to convince as those who are
obstinately deaf to conviction, and there is an idolatry of affection
which sometimes burns fonder and deeper, as its object is contemned and
despised by the world. Annette had also some idea, that these, and other
reports to the prejudice of Charles, originated with an unsuccessful
rival, though poor William Curry, amiable, single-minded, and
good-humoured as he was, never breathed in her presence, a syllable to
the disparagement of Elliott.

Time sped, and upon an occasion when Lord Mortimer returned for a week
or two to his Castle, the conduct of his chief huntsman was reported to
him; but Charles with consummate art, so vindicated himself, and so
contrived to disgrace his accusers, that when the young baron again left
home, he stood higher perhaps than ever, in his confidence and favour.

It was the bright summer-time, the period when rural folks make holiday,
(at least they did so then, but times have strangely altered of late in
once _merry_ England,) the woods put on their brightest green, and the
people their finest clothes, for there were wakes, fairs, and rustic
meetings innumerable in the vicinity of the Castle. Charles the huntsman
might, as usual, be seen at these _fêtes_ for nothing, but after his
late victory, he carried his head higher, assumed a swaggering gait, and
looked his neighbours out of countenance with impudent defiance.

The village feasts were not yet over, when late one night, a cavalier,
passing through one of the great forests which surrounded Mortimer
Castle, beheld, (for it was a moon-light night,) a female form slowly
sauntering about the bridle-way in which he was riding, and uttering
heavy moans and sobs. At first, taking this figure for something
supernatural, the traveller was startled, but quickly recovering
himself, he rode boldly up to, and addressed, the object of his idle
fears:--"I have been waiting here for hours," replied the young woman,
for such indeed she was, "and my friend is not yet come; I am sadly
afraid, sir, some accident may have happened to him."

"_Him!_" quoth the stranger laughing, "O my good girl, if you be waiting
for a _gentleman_, no wonder you're disappointed. He has played you
false, rely upon it, and won't come to night,--so you'd better go home."

"O sir! O my Lord!--I cannot--I dare not! What would father and mother
say? and what could I say?"

"Ay--Annette,--Annette Martin,--what _could_ you say?"

"Only the _truth_, your lordship;" replied the poor girl sobbing, and
curtseying, "and then they'd turn me out of doors, for they do so hate
Charles,--Charles Elliott, your honour,--that they've as good as sworn,
as they'll never consent to my marrying him, and so--and so--I was just
a waiting here to-night for him to come as he promised he would, and
take me away to the far off town, and"--

"And there marry you, I suppose, without your father and mother's
consent:--eh, Annette?"

"Yes, my lord, an please you," replied the poor girl with another rustic
dip.

"No, Annette," replied the young baron, "it does not quite please me;
and Charles, at any rate, unless some very unforeseen circumstance
should have detained him, shall know what _I_ think of his present
conduct to you. But come,--mount behind me,--I am unexpectedly returning
to the Castle, Dame Trueby shall there make you comfortable for
to-night, your parents and friends shall never know but that your
absence from home was occasioned by a regular visit to her, and your
marriage in two or three days, with _my_ sanction, Annette, will, I
think, completely settle matters."

The urbane young baron alighting, assisted Annette to mount his noble
steed, who, though overwhelmed by his kindness, refused to listen to all
the consolation, or banterings, with which he endeavoured to cheer her
on her way to Castle Mortimer, choosing rather to believe that some
dreadful accident had befallen her lover, than that carelessness, or
perfidy, caused his absence. Dame Trueby's account was little calculated
to soothe Annette's anxiety, or to satisfy Lord Mortimer respecting
Elliott's proceedings.

"I have not seen Charles," said she, "since early this morning, when I
heard him say he was going to feed the hounds, poor creatures! and time
enough that he did, I think, considering that he left them without a
morsel for a whole day and night, whilst he was capering away at
Woodcroft Feast; and then,--the beast!--what does he, but comes back so
dead drunk that we were forced to carry him up to bed; meanwhile, the
hungry brutes, poor dumb souls, just ready to eat one another, have been
fit to raise the very dead with their barking, and ramping, and
yowling!"

"A sad account is this, Margery."

"A very _true_ one, please your lordship," replied the old housekeeper,
testily.

"I don't doubt it," returned Lord Mortimer, "but cannot at this time of
night, dame, with Charles absent, and this young woman, his intended
wife, wanting some refreshment and a bed (for which indeed I have ample
need myself), make any inquiry into the affair. Let Elliott call me in
the morning instead of More, do you meanwhile make this young woman as
comfortable as you can, and _recollect_, Mrs. Trueby, _that she is come
to the Castle upon a visit to you_."

Margery curtseyed, and "yessed," and "very welled," with apparent
submission, but though she dared not express her thoughts, it was easy
to read in her ample countenance, sad suspicions relative to the honour
of her noble master, and of the forlorn damsel thus thrust upon her
peculiar hospitality. "And," continued Lord Mortimer, "Charles, you are
sure, fed the dogs this morning?"

"Don't know, my lord, I'm sure," replied the old housekeeper, doggedly,
"I suppose he did, and belike beat 'em too; I only know they've been
quiet all day, which, it stands to reason, they wouldn't have been
without _wittals_; but Master Elliott, I've not seen since."

"Not since early this morning, and 'tis now midnight! Where can he be?"

"The Lord knows, sir! after no good I doubt, for he's a wild lad, and
these fairs and dances, fairly turn his brain."

Little further passed that night between the young lord and his
housekeeper; after taking some refreshment he retired to rest, and poor
Annette also sought, under the auspices of circumspect Mistress Margery,
repose in Castle Mortimer, little anticipating the singularly dreadful
disclosure of the ensuing morning. Charles, in fact, not having
returned, one of the inferior serving-men,--who durst not, now that his
master was at home, stand upon the punctilio of "_not my business_,"
undertook soon after dawn to "see to the hounds," in his stead; when
upon opening the door of the large enclosure in which they were kept, he
there beheld, to his unutterable consternation and horror, _the mangled
remnants of the careless and cruel Huntsman_: these consisted of his
clothes, torn into strips, and dyed in blood, with fragments sufficient
of flesh and bone to attest the hideous fact, that the ravenous brutes,
had, after their last long fast, sprung upon their tormentor, (awful
retribution!) even at the very moment when he appeared amongst them with
their long delayed meal, torn him in pieces, and devoured him!

Lord Mortimer, though, he could not in conscience blame his canine
favourites, nor forbear regarding his huntsman's fate as a signal
instance of the retributive justice of Providence, felt himself obliged
to destroy the whole pack, after their ferocious banquet on human flesh;
and with tears in his eyes, he forced himself to witness their
execution, lest the cupidity or misjudging kindness of any of his
retainers, should induce them to mitigate the culprits' doom. The horrid
story spread far and wide, and one of its earliest results was the
appearance at Castle Mortimer of a poor woman and three young children,
who stated in an agony of grief, that _she_ was the lawful _wife_ of the
deceased Charles Elliott, whom he had maintained in a distant town, unto
whom his visits, when off duty at the Castle, and absent without leave,
were sometimes paid, and who, with her children, being suddenly bereaved
by his awful demise of their sole hope and support, now humbly threw
themselves upon the benevolence of Lord Mortimer for employment and
subsistence!

The grief and confusion of poor Annette Martin, upon this discovery of
black villany meditated against her by the unprincipled huntsman, and
upon its miraculous and awful frustration, may be imagined: yet had it
also its beneficial influence; for, whilst shuddering at the fearful end
of the wretch who had plotted her destruction, her once fond affection
was converted into bitter hatred; and, ere long, blessing and thanking
God for her miraculous preservation, and casting the very memory of the
deceiver from her heart, she was without much difficulty persuaded to
become the wife of William Curry, her once rejected, but really worthy
and amiable admirer.

       *       *       *       *       *



MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.


       *       *       *       *       *


PORTUGAL.

(_Abridged chiefly from the Rev. Mr. Kinsey's "Portugal Illustrated."_)


_Spaniards and Portuguese._--"Strip a Spaniard of all his virtues, and
you make a good Portuguese of him," says the Spanish proverb. I have
heard it said more truly, "Add hypocrisy to a Spaniard's vices, and you
have the Portuguese character." These nations blaspheme God by calling
each other natural enemies. Their feelings are mutually hostile; but the
Spaniards despise the Portuguese, and the Portuguese hate the
Spaniards.--_Southey._

_Portugal._--Situated by the side of a country just five times its size,
Portugal, but for the advantageous position of its coast, the good faith
of England, and the weakness of its hostile neighbour, impassable roads,
and numerous strong places, would long since have returned to the
primitive condition of an Iberian province; but its separate existence
as a nation has been preserved to it by the strength of the British
alliance being brought into a glorious co-operation with all its own
internal means of defence.--_Kinsey._

_Column of Disgrace._--About the middle of the last century, the Duke of
Aviero was detected in a conspiracy with the Jesuits in Portugal, and
accordingly executed. His house, at Belem, was levelled to the ground at
the time of the Duke's decapitation, and on the site was erected _a
column of disgrace_, which still remains, though some shops have been
erected beside it to hide the inscription; a just symbol of the conduct
of the nation on this subject, for what they cannot alter they strive to
conceal.

Over the proscenium of the opera-house at Lisbon is a large clock placed
rather in advance, whose dexter supporter is old Time with his scythe,
and the sinister, one of the Muses playing on a lyre.

_A Lisbon Dandy._--A small, squat, puffy figure incased within a large
pack-saddle, upon the back of a lean, high-boned, straw-fed,
cream-coloured nag, with an enormously flowing tail, whose length and
breadth would appear to be each night guarded from discolouration by
careful involution above the hocks. Taken, from his gridiron spurs and
long pointed boots, up his broad, blue-striped pantaloons, _à la
Cossaque_, to the thrice-folded piece of white linen on which he is
seated in _cool_ repose; thence by his cable chain, bearing seals as
large as a warming-pan, and a key like an anchor; then a little higher
to the figured waistcoat of early British manufacture, and the
sack-shapened coat, up to the narrow brim sugar-loaf hat on his
head,--where can be found his equal? Nor does he want a nose as big as
the gnomon of a dial-plate; and two flanks of impenetrable, deep, black
brushwood, extending under either ear, and almost concealing the
countenance, to complete the singular contour of his features.

_A Lisbon Water-carrier_ earns about sixpence per day, the moiety of
which serves to procure him his bread, his fried sardinha from a cook's
stall, and a little light wine perhaps, on holidays,--water being his
general beverage, nay, one might almost say, his element. A mat in a
large upper room, shared with several others, serves him in winter as a
place of repose for the night; but during the summer he frequently
sleeps out in the open air, making his filled water-barrel his pillow.

_Vanity._--A young Lisbon dandy hearing an Englishman complain of the
intolerable filth and stench of his metropolis, retorted that, for his
part, when he was in London, it was the absence of that filth, and the
want of the smells complained of, that had rendered his residence in our
metropolis so disagreeable and uncomfortable to him. "No passion," as
Southey says, "makes a man a liar so easily as vanity."

_Dogs._--In Lisbon dogs seem to luxuriate under the violence of the
heat, and to avoid the shady sides of the streets, though the
thermometer of Fahrenheit be at 110 degrees; and scarcely an instance of
canine madness is ever known to occur. When the French decreed the
extinction of the tribe of curs that infest the streets, no native
executioner could be found to put the exterminating law in force; nay,
the very measure excited popular indignation.

_Golden Sands._--Perhaps originally it was the fabled gold of the Tagus
which attracted Jews to Lisbon in such numbers, and the general
persuasion indeed is, that the yellow sands of this royal river did
actually once produce sufficient gold to make a magnificent crown and
sceptre for the amiable hands of that patriot sovereign, the good king
Denis.

_A Dinner._--A dish of yellow-looking bacalhao, the worst supposable
specimen of our saltings in Newfoundland; a platter of compact, black,
greasy, dirty-looking rice; a pound, if so much, of poor half-fed meat;
a certain proportion of hard-boiled beef, that has never seen the
salting pan, having already yielded its nutritious qualities to a
swinging tureen of Spartan soup, and now requiring the accompaniment of
a satellite tongue, or friendly slice of Lamego bacon, to impait a dull
relish to it; potatoes of leaden continuity; dumplings of adamantine
contexture, that Carthaginian vinegar itself might fail to dissolve;
with offensive vegetables, and something in a round shape, said to be
imported from Holland, and called cheese, but more like the unyielding
rock of flint in the tenacity of its impenetrable substance; a small
quantity of _very small_ wine; abundance of water; and an awful army of
red ants, probably imported from the Brazils--the wood of which the
chairs and tables are made, hurrying across the cloth with
characteristic industry;--such are the principal features of the quiet
family dinner-table of the Portuguese.

_The Dockyard_ of Lisbon is scarcely as extensive as many of the largest
of our private ship-builders on the banks of the Thames and the Avon.

_Funerals._--In Portugal the corpse is placed in an open coffin, and the
head and feet are left bare. A vessel filled with holy water is placed
at the foot of the bier, which the priests and relatives of the deceased
sprinkle on the body. The service being concluded, the corpse is
followed by the relatives down into the vaults below the church, where
vinegar and quick lime having been poured upon the body, the falling lid
of the coffin is closed and _locked_, and the key delivered to the chief
mourner, who proceeds immediately from the funeral, with his party of
friends who have witnessed the interment take place, to the house of the
defunct, where the key being left with the nearest relative, and the
complimentary visit being paid, the rite is considered as terminated. No
fire is lighted in the house of a deceased person upon the day of his
funeral, and the relatives, who live in separate houses, are in the
habit of supplying a ready-dressed dinner, under the supposition that
the inmates are too much absorbed in grief to be equal to giving any
orders for the preparation of food. During the course of the ensuing
week, the chief mourners receive their several relatives and friends at
tea. The assembly is sorrowful and dull. It has been asserted, though
not corroborated, that such is the poverty and disregard of decorum on
the part of the Portuguese government, that when a person dies without
leaving behind sufficient to defray the expenses of his funeral, the
dead body is laid on the pavement of the most public street, with a box
upon the breast, into which passers-by drop copper or silver coin, until
sufficient has thus been obtained to defray the expense of interment;
and that a soldier stands at the head of the body to see that no money
is abstracted; for, in Portugal, even the sacred purpose for which it is
intended would not secure it without his protection.

There is no pardoning _soi-disant liberaux_, who prove, by their acts,
the greatest enemies of the sacred dignity of liberty.

       *       *       *       *       *


PUNISHMENT OF DEATH.


_Decollatio_, or beheading, was a military punishment among the Romans.
In early times it was performed with an axe, and afterwards with a
sword. It is worthy of remark, that in all countries where beheading and
hanging are used as capital punishments, the former is always considered
less ignominious. Thus, in England, beheading is the punishment of
nobles, when commoners for the same crime are hanged. The crime of high
treason is here punished with beheading. Commoners, however, are hanged
before the head is cut off, and nobles also, unless the king remits that
part of the punishment. In Prussia, formerly a nobleman could not be
hanged; and if his crime was such that the law required this punishment,
he was degraded before the execution. At present, hanging is not used in
that country, and since so many instances have occurred of extreme
suffering, on the part of the criminal, caused by the unskilfulness of
the executioner in beheading with the sword, this mode of execution has
been abolished. Beheading in Prussia is now always performed with a
heavy axe, the sufferer being previously tied to a block. In France,
during the revolutionary government, beheading by means of a machine,
the guillotine, came into use, and still prevails there, to the
exclusion of all other modes of capital punishment. A person who has
murdered his father or mother, however, has his right arm cut off the
moment before he is guillotined. In the middle ages, it was, in some
states, the duty of the youngest magistrates to perform the executions
with the sword. In China, it is well known that beheading is practised,
sometimes accompanied with the most studied torments. In the United
States of America, beheading is unknown, the halter being the only
instrument of capital punishment. In many European countries, beheading
with the sword still prevails.

P.

       *       *       *       *       *


PRICE OF BLOOD.--WERE AND WERELADE.


Were, or _Wera_, in our old law books, signifies what was anciently paid
for _killing a man_. When such crimes were punished with pecuniary
mulets, not death, the price was set on every man's head, according to
his condition and quality.

_Werelade_, among the Saxons, was the denying of a homicide on oath, in
order to be quit of the fine, or forfeiture, called _were_. If the party
denied the fact, he was to purge himself, by the oaths of several
persons, according to his degree and quality. If the guilt amounted to
four pounds, he was to have eighteen jurors on his father's side, and
four on his mother's: if to twenty-four pounds, he was to have sixty
jurors, and this was called _werelade_.

_Weregild_, or _Weregeld_, was the price of a man's head; which was paid
partly to the king for the loss of his subject, partly to the lord whose
vassal he was, and partly to the next of kin.

"In the same manner (says Blackstone,) by the Irish brehon law, in case
of murder, the brehon or judge, compounded between the murderer and the
friends of the deceased, who prosecuted him, by causing the malefactor
to give unto them, or to the child or wife of him that was slain, a
recompense, which they called _eriach_. And thus we find in our Saxon
laws, particularly those of King Athelstan, the several _weregilds_ for
homicide, established in progressive order, from the death of the ceorl
or peasant, up to that of the king himself."

The _weregild_ of an archbishop, and of an earl, was 15,000 thrismas;
that of a bishop or alderman, 8,000; that of a general or governor,
4,000; that of a priest or thane, 2,000; that of a king, 30,000; half to
be paid to his kindred, and the other half to the public. The weregild
of a ceorl was 266 thrismas.

P.T.W.

       *       *       *       *       *


LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR OF ENGLAND.


The second great officer of the crown is the Lord High Chancellor, or
Keeper of the Great Seal, which are the same in authority, power, and
precedence. They are appointed by the King's delivery of the Great Seal
to them, and by taking the oath of office. They differ only in this
point, that the Lord Chancellor hath also letters patent, whereas the
Lord Keeper hath none.

He is an officer of very great power; as no patents, writs, or grants,
are valid, until he affixes the Great Seal thereto.

Among the many great prerogatives of his office, he has a power to
judge, according to equity, conscience, and reason, where he finds the
law of the land so defective as that the subject would be injured
thereby.

He has power to collate to all ecclesiastical benefices in His Majesty's
gift, rated under 20_l_. a year in the King's books.

In ancient times, this great office was most usually filled by an
ecclesiastic. The first upon record after the Conquest, is Maurice, in
1067, who was afterward Bishop of London.

Nor do we find an elevation of any Chancellor to the Peerage, until the
year 1603, when King James I. delivered a new Great Seal to Sir Thomas
Egerton, and soon after created him Baron of Ellesmere,[2] and
constituted him Lord High Chancellor of England. But until of late
years, the custom never prevailed, that the Lord High Chancellor of
England should he made an hereditary Peer of the realm. He performs all
matters which appertain to the Speaker of the House of Lords, whereby he
maybe said to be the eye, ear, and tongue of that great
assembly.--_Manual of Rank and Nobility._

    [2] From him descended the late Dukes of Bridgewater of that
    surname.

       *       *       *       *       *



NEW BOOKS.


       *       *       *       *       *


LETTERS ON NATURAL MAGIC.


(This is certainly one of the most ingenious books of the season, and
independently of its place as a volume of the _Family Library_, it has
substantive claims which we trust will not he overlooked. It is from the
graceful pen of Sir David Brewster, who possesses, in a high degree, the
peculiar talent of investing scientific inquiries with the charm of
popular delight; in short, of making science easy, and often conveying
in a single chapter what others labour to effect in a volume. He, in
truth, teaches us the sweet uses of science.

The present work appears to be the suggestion of Sir Walter Scott, to
whom it is addressed in letters. We can give but a faint idea of the
extent and interest of its subject, which ranges from the magic of the
ancients to the intoxicating gas of the moderns; yet the purpose of the
work is mainly to trace the connexion of those prodigies of the material
world which are termed Natural Magic, with scientific causes. Thus, in
the introductory letter, the writer observes on the resources of ancient
magic:--)

The secret use which was thus made of scientific discoveries and of
remarkable inventions, has no doubt prevented many of them from reaching
the present times; but though we are very ill informed respecting the
progress of the ancients in various departments of the physical
sciences, yet we have sufficient evidence that almost every branch of
knowledge had contributed its wonders to the magician's budget, and we
may even obtain some insight into the scientific acquirements of former
ages, by a diligent study of their fables and their miracles.

(In the second letter, upon Ocular Illusions, is the following beautiful
passage on the Eye:--)

This wonderful organ may be considered as the sentinel which guards the
pass between the worlds of matter and of spirit, and through which all
their communications are interchanged. The optic nerve is the channel by
which the mind peruses the hand-writing of Nature on the retina, and
through which it transfers to that material tablet its decisions and its
creations. The eye is consequently the principal seat of the
supernatural. When the indications of the marvellous are addressed to us
through the ear, the mind may be startled without being deceived, and
reason may succeed in suggesting some probable source of the illusion by
which we have been alarmed. But when the eye in solitude sees before it
the forms of life, fresh in their colours and vivid in their outline;
when distant or departed friends are suddenly presented to its view;
when visible bodies disappear and reappear without any intelligible
cause; and when it beholds objects, whether real or imaginary, for whose
presence no cause can be assigned, the conviction of supernatural agency
becomes under ordinary circumstances unavoidable. Hence it is not only
an amusing but an useful occupation to acquire a knowledge of those
causes which are capable of producing so strange a belief, whether it
arises from the delusions which the mind practises upon itself, or from
the dexterity and science of others.

(The Optical phenomena, as might be expected, are most abundant, as they
include the subject of spectral illusions and apparitions, and natural
phenomena marked with the marvellous. The properties of Sound are next
in interest; among them we find explained the wonder of singers breaking
glasses with their great power of voice; the automaton flute-player,
talking engines, echoes, &c. The Mechanical causes are less numerous:
among them we are glad to see _noticed_ the feat of lifting heavy
persons, which we ourselves have often seen accomplished; but Sir David
Brewster does not supply the cause. As the matter may be new to many
readers, we quote the two relating pages.)

One of the most remarkable and inexplicable experiments relative to the
strength of the human frame, which you have yourself seen and admired,
is that in which a heavy man is raised with the greatest facility, when
he is lifted up the instant that his own lungs and those of the persons
who raise him are inflated with air. This experiment was, I believe,
first shown in England a few years ago by Major H., who saw it performed
in a large party at Venice under the direction of an officer of the
American Navy. As Major H. performed it more than once in my presence, I
shall describe as nearly as possible the method which he prescribed. The
heaviest person in the party lies down upon two chairs, his legs being
supported by the one and his back by the other. Four persons, one at
each leg, and one at each shoulder, then try to raise him, and they find
his dead weight to be very great, from the difficulty they experience in
supporting him. When he is replaced in the chair, each of the four
persons takes hold of the body as before, and the person to be lifted
gives two signals by clapping his hands. At the first signal he himself
and the four lifters begin to draw a long and full breath, and when the
inhalation is completed, or the lungs filled, the second signal is
given, for raising the person from the chair. To his own surprise and
that of his bearers, he rises with the greatest facility, as if he were
no heavier than a feather. On several occasions I have observed that
when one of the bearers performs his part ill, by making the inhalation
out of time, the part of the body which he tries to raise is left as it
were behind. As you have repeatedly seen this experiment, and have
performed the part both of the load and of the bearer, you can testify
how remarkable the effects appear to all parties, and how complete is
the conviction, either that the load has been lightened, or the bearer
strengthened by the prescribed process. At Venice the experiment was
performed in a much more imposing manner. The heaviest man in the party
was raised and sustained upon the points of the fore-fingers of six
persons. Major H. declared that the experiment would not succeed if the
person lifted were placed upon a board, and the strength of the
individuals applied to the board. He conceived it necessary that the
bearers should communicate directly with the body to be raised. I have
not had an opportunity of making any experiments relative to these
curious facts; but whether the general effect is an illusion, or the
result of known or of new principles, the subject merits a careful
investigation.

(In connexion with walking along the ceiling is noticed the beautiful
contrivance of the foot of the house-fly and gecko, and the head of the
sucking-fish. To the next portion, Chemistry has supplied fewer wonders
than we expected: they occupy but fifty pages.

The examples in this book are the most quotable portion, but the
majority of them would be new to few readers: who, for instance, is
unacquainted with the feats of Topham, the strong man, or the Invisible
Girl. The explanations are not so easily transferable, since they are
generally accompanied by illustrations.

By the way, how many of these wonders are recorded in the early volumes
of the Philosophical Transactions, with all the gravity of the FF.R.S.
whose zeal, industry, and emulation rendered the early years of the
Society peculiarly brilliant. The very titles of some of the early
papers would make a "wonderful museum;" as Four Suns observed in
France--Worms that eat Stones and Mortar--which are almost as marvellous
as one of Sir David Brewster's lines--a coach and four filled with
skeletons. The Royal Society has now existed a century and
three-quarters: in their early Transactions are inquiries relative to
the tides--observations on the darting threads of spiders--"experiments
about respiration"--"of red snow seen at Genoa," &c.; yet scores of
philosophers, at the present moment, are controverting these very
subjects.)

       *       *       *       *       *


PILGRIMAGE THROUGH KHUZISTAN AND PERSIA.


(This is not just so good a work as its full title-page may lead the
reader to expect. It runs thus "Fifteen Months' Pilgrimage through
untrodden tracts of Khuzistan and Persia, in a journey from India to
England, through parts of Turkish Arabia, Persia, Armenia, Russia, and
Germany." Now, there is attractive promise in the word "untrodden," and
it may be said to apply to the Asiatic tour of the author, or his first
volume, but is not appropriate to the second, which owes its main
interest to his interview with Skryznecki, the illustrious Pole. Neither
is the term pilgrimage characteristic of the journey, which has the
sketchiness and levity of a flying tour rather than the observant
gravity of a patient pilgrimage. Nevertheless, the work is altogether
full of vivacity and interest, and the author, Mr. J.H. Stocqueler, must
be as pleasant on his travels, as his book will be in our hands.

Crossing from Bombay, the author reached Muscat in eleven days. Here,
with his host, Reuben, he paid his respects to his highness the Imaum,
whose court is a curiosity.)

The Imaum's palace was close to the water's edge in front of the town,
and his highness received Reuben and myself in an arbour or veranda open
to the sea. At the entrance to the veranda stood several well dressed
Arabs armed with sword, spear, and dagger, and half a dozen dirty
looking Abyssinians clothed somewhat like the sepoys in our Indian army,
and equipped much after the same fashion. These latter, as I understood,
were paraded in honour of my visit; and indeed generally form the _garde
du corps_ on occasions of an Englishman's presentation at the _Court of
Muscat_. The Imaum rose on our entrance and accommodated us with chairs,
and after we had been served with some insipid sherbet, addressed
himself to me on the subject of my journey, its object and direction;
and then touched on the politics of Europe.

Our interview closed by his highness offering me the use of his horses,
his houses, and his ships of war, the cabins of which afforded excellent
accommodation, and which were generally occupied by English visiters.

The Imaum of Muscat is passionately fond of horses, and devotes
considerable time and attention to their breeding. Of some of the finest
horses in his stud, the Imaum makes presents to the governors of the
Indian presidencies, and deserving officers in his own service. Horses
likewise form an article of trade between Muscat and India, and yield,
as I have been told, a considerable profit.

(Intellect is not on the march at Bushire. It contains a small school
founded by the famous Joseph Wolff, and supported by the British
residents in Persia. Mr. Wolff projected much; but Mr. Stocqueler says:)

The school possessed, while I was at Bushire, no more than thirteen
pupils, who were struggling through the rudiments of the Persian and
Armenian languages, under the guidance of a sleepy old Armenian.

(At Koete, our author visited three brothers, "all dressed alike and so
much resembling each other in feature, and in the total loss of the left
eye, that it was difficult to discover my friend the supercargo, who had
accompanied us from Bombay."

Koete is about a mile long, and a quarter of a mile broad. The houses
are built of mud and stone, and flat roofed with the trunk of the date
tree. Around it is a wall, beyond which nothing is to be seen but a vast
sandy plain, extending more than sixty miles. Within the walls, it is
equally sterile, it literally yields _nothing_; here, "all _is_ barren,"
and the water is far from sweet, yet 4,000 souls live, though the sheikh
keeps up no standing army. Mr. S. sails thence into the _Shut-ul-Arab_,
[River of the Arabs,] the banks of which are more delightful than those
of the Thames at Richmond.

At Bussorah--a _bain à la Turque_.)

Entering the hummaum, I found myself suddenly in an apartment resembling
a vaulted cellar, dimly lighted by small apertures, and glazed
sky-lights in the dome. Stone and brick benches, covered with cloths and
coarse carpets, were ranged along the walls, and there was a fireplace
where coffee and chibouks were prepared, and cloths dried. Having been
required to strip, and a cloth tied round my waist, I was led into a
second apartment filled with steam, and of so high a temperature, that
in one instant I lost my breath, and in the next was streaming from
every pore. I anticipated a speedy dissolution of my "solid flesh;" but
on reaching a third apartment, (all vaulted and lighted, or rather
darkened alike,) I had become somewhat relieved. In this apartment were
four cisterns nearly level with the floor, into which the hot water was
drawn by cocks placed in the wall above. As soon as I had decided that
the water was hot enough, I was placed by the side of one of the
cisterns, and then the operation commenced.

_Act_ 1.--Deluged with hot water from the hands of a stout Persian.
_Act_ 2.--Conducted by said Persian to a stone ottoman in the centre of
the room, and caused to sit down. _Act_ 3.--My whole body kneaded by the
fists of the aforesaid; joints cracked, ears pulled, mustachoes dyed,
limbs rubbed with a hair-cloth glove. _Act_ 4.--Enveloped in warm
towels, and served with a pipe. _Act_ 5.--Wiped dry; led into the outer
apartment dressed and--_Exit_.

(Starting from Bussorah, the author is towed up the Euphrates as
follows.)

As soon as we had got out of the creek, we found both wind and tide had
set against us. The _mallahs_, or trackers, immediately stripped,
placing their clothes on their heads, and sprang on shore. A rope was
passed from the mast-head to a girdle round their respective bodies, and
off they set along the banks; sometimes, on reaching creeks, irrigating
channels, or unequal projections, plunging up to their necks, and wading
or swimming with their burthen, as the depth or shallowness of the water
required. In this way all the communication up the Tigris and Euphrates
is carried on when the wind blows down those rivers. The business of
tracking as may be conceived, is extremely fatiguing and dangerous: in
fact, so excellent a test does it furnish of the muscular powers and
courage of man, that the heads of the Mallah tribes require that each
Mallah should make three trips to Bagdad, as a tracker, before he can be
qualified for the married state and the care of a family.

(The plague rages at Bagdad, and he returns to Bussorah. On his way he
escapes a storm on the Euphrates.)

The river, which does not ordinarily rise until the month of June, now
rose with inconceivable rapidity, preceded by a violent storm, and in a
few hours inundated the whole Irâk. Numberless villages of matted huts
were swept away; men, women, and children, were in a moment rendered
houseless; numerous cattle and sheep were drowned; date trees torn up by
the roots, and boats swamped or stranded. The artificial banks of the
river, which had governed our progress upwards, were now overflowed, and
it was with the greatest difficulty we could discover the river's bed
and escape getting aground.

(At Bussorah.)

Intelligence of the approach of the plague had spread consternation
throughout the city, and had sent thousands of its inhabitants into
retreat. The shops were closed--trade at a stand--the streets
deserted--houses tenantless--the oft busy creek had scarcely a boat
moving on its surface--the mosques were filled with the dismayed
Moslems, whom poverty or self-interest had kept in the town--the
Christian churches held the few Armenians and Chaldeans whom fear had
driven to pray with sincerity. Here might be seen a cluster of Zobeir
Arabs, meditating rapine: and there a straggling Jew, ruminating on the
losses he had sustained by the flight of the panic-stricken slaves of
his usury.

Aga Pharseigh had lost all his confidence and self-sufficiency. He had
sent off his family to Bushire; he was himself to sink into the humble
office of clerk to the resident; and he was (which he esteemed the most
distressing event of the three) to encounter face to face those who had
just left the "city of the plague." I had told him of the circumstances
under which I had met the resident, (coming from Bagdad,) and that there
were three cases of plague on board. The Armenian, whose only notions
regarding _cases_ were acquired in the course of his mercantile
transactions, and who believed a plague case and a six dozen champagne
case to be much about the same article, ejaculated, "Three _cases_ of
plague! Merciful heavens!--if the major wanted to preserve such
abominable virus, could he not have brought a smaller quantity? Three
cases! If it _should_ run out, how it might spread about the town!"

(The "divinity" of the sheikh of the Chabeans is worth record. He was
pleased with Mr. Stocqueler's medical zeal, and more so with a box of
ointment which he laid "at his feet as a certain remedy for the
_impaired vision_ of his left eye. He had been stone blind from his
childhood, but he held it disrespectful to be told so."

The levee of the sheikh of Fellahi is amusing.)

He was in a spacious veranda in front of his harem, looking out on the
palace court, above which it was raised for about three feet. Three or
four beautiful hawks were perched near the sheikh, and he was patting a
couple of favourite greyhounds. Below, in the court, stood a
considerable guard, and about the sheikh's person were a number of
subordinate sheikhs. Those of the highest rank merely bowed and took
their places, others advanced and kissed the sheikh's hand while the
humblest officers knelt on one knee to perform the same ceremony. I
observed, however, that great respect was always paid to age in this
little court, for when the head of a village, far advanced in years,
limped up to the _nummud_, the sheikh rose and embraced him, though he
held but a trifling post, and was a man of little personal merit. My own
reception was most flattering. "Ah, ha! khoob! khoob! shahbas!" (good,
good, admirable!) exclaimed Mobader Khan, in Persian--"you are now
yourself. It is long since I looked upon an Englishman, but I do not
forget that they are a great nation." He then discoursed with me about
my plans for the future prosecution of my journey, and gave me some
instructions for going through the Chab territory. Talking of hunting,
and more especially of falconry, he told me that his deserts abounded
with game, and that if I would stay with him, I should see herds of
antelopes fall to his noble hawks. He was curious about our field
sports, but showed very little interest in more important matters;
because, said he, "I am already well informed in all that concerns
Europeans and their empires."

The sheikh is held in great veneration by all the tribes, who fly to
Fellahi at his summons, bringing their own _materiel_ of war. In this
way he can command the services of six or seven thousand cavalry, and
above fifteen thousand infantry, independently of the wandering
Illyauts, who inhabit the deserts of Chab.

(At Bebuhan are some interesting notes.)

The Khans and Meerzas of Bebuhan are considerable consumers of coffee,
but not after the fashion of Turks, Arabs, or Europeans. It is with them
a kind of _bon-bon_ eaten in a powdered and roasted state, without
having had any connexion with hot water. When Meer Goolam Hussein called
on me, he was always accompanied by his coffee-bearer, who carried about
the fragrant berry in a _snuff-box_, and handed it frequently to the
company present. The first time it was brought to me, deceived by its
colour and quality, and strengthened in the delusion by its singular
repository, I took a _pinch_ of the coffee and applied it to my nose,
amidst the roars of laughter and looks of surprise of all the party.

(A _vestry dinner_ in Persia must be one of our _selections_.)

At the convent of Julfa the governing bishop and his confreres have
ample room, plenty of society, and a well furnished table. I dined once
with his lordship and the churchwardens, and found that vestry honours
and vestry appetites are not exclusively English characteristics. The
dinner was spread as usual on the ground, on a large white cloth, around
which the guests assembled. Placed opposite each guest was a plate,
knife, fork, spoon, and glass, a piece of cheese, two or three feet of
bread, and a hard boiled egg. The feast commenced by each person
drinking a dram of aniseed; then came in quick succession mutton chops,
boiled fowls, boiled kidneys, sour curds, tea, apricots, apples, and
grapes, sweetmeats, and salt fish; to each of which laymen and churchmen
did equal justice, finishing the feast with a sacrifice to Bacchus.

       *       *       *       *       *



THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.


       *       *       *       *       *


BOYHOOD OF CRANMER--SCHOOLS BEFORE THE REFORMATION.


Cranmer received his early education from a parish-clerk. This may seem
singular, for he was of gentle blood, and was entered at Cambridge
amongst "the better sort of students." But probably such shifts were not
unusual before the Reformation. The monasteries indeed had schools
attached to them in many instances. In Elizabeth's time a complaint is
made by the Speaker of the Commons, that the number of such places of
education had been reduced by a hundred, in consequence of the
suppression of the religious houses. Still it must often have happened
(thickly scattered as the monasteries were) that the child lived at an
inconvenient distance from any one of them; mothers, too, might not have
liked to trust less robust children to the clumsy care of a fraternity;
and probably little was learned in these academies after all. Erasmus
makes himself merry with the studies pursued in them; and it is
remarkable that no sooner did the love of learning revive, than the
popularity of the monasteries declined. For thirty years before the
Reformation, there were few or no new religious foundations, whilst
schools, on the other hand, began to multiply in their stead; a fact
which sufficiently marks the state of public opinion with regard to the
monasteries as places of education--for education began now to be the
desire of the day. Schools, therefore, in the present acceptation of the
term, in Cranmer's boyhood there were scarcely any; and it was the
crying want of them in London that induced Dean Colet to establish that
of St. Paul's, which, under the fostering care of Lily, the first
master, not only became so distinguished in itself, but set the example,
and prepared the way, by its rules and its grammar, for so many others
which followed in its wake. Edward VI.; with the natural feeling of a
boy fond of knowledge, and himself a proficient for his years, was aware
of the evil, and projected the remedy. Colet might be his model--but he
was embarrassed in his means by courtiers, who were for ever uttering
the cry of the horse-leech's daughters; and, besides, his days were soon
numbered. Cranmer, who perhaps remembered the obstacles in his own way,
and who certainly foresaw the great calamity of an ignorant clergy,
pressed for the establishment of a school in connexion with every
cathedral--a school, as it were, of the prophets--where boys intended
for holy orders might be brought up suitably to the profession they were
about to adopt, and where the bishops might ever find persons duly
qualified to serve God in the church. But Cranmer was overruled, and a
measure, which might have helped to catch up the church before it fell
into that abyss of ignorance which seems to have immediately succeeded
the Reformation, (the natural consequence of a season of convulsion and
violence,) was unhappily lost. It was not till the reign of Elizabeth
that the evil was at all adequately met, nor fully indeed then, as the
deficiency of well-endowed schools at this day testifies. Still much was
at that time done. The dignitaries and more wealthy ecclesiastics of the
reformed Church bestirred themselves and founded some schools. Many
tradesmen, who had accumulated fortunes in London, (then the almost
exclusive province of commercial enterprise,) retired in their later
years to the country-town which had given them birth, and gratefully
provided for the better education of their neighbours, by furnishing it
with a grammar-school. And even the honest yeoman, a person who then
appears to have appreciated learning, and often to have brought up his
boy to the church, united in the same praiseworthy object. In such cases
application was usually made to the Queen for a charter, which was
granted with or without pecuniary assistance on her own part; and
whoever will examine the dates of our foundation schools, will find a
great proportion of them erected in that glorious reign.

Thus it came to pass (to revert to our text), that Cranmer was sent to
college in his fourteenth year, Oxford and Cambridge being at that time
the substitutes for the schools which have succeeded them, and being
considered the two great national receptacles for all the boys in the
country. There they were subjected to corporal punishment. The statutes
were framed with a reference to the habits of mere boys; it is
forbidden, for instance, in one of the Cambridge statutes, to play
marbles on the senate-house steps; and the number of the students was so
enormous (still for the same reason), that Latimer, in one of his
sermons, speaks of a decrease in those of his own time, to the amount of
no less than ten thousand.--_Quarterly Review_.

       *       *       *       *       *


A TRUE STORY OF MAGIC IN THE EAST.


M. ----, a Perote, one who knew "the difference between alum and
barley-sugar,"[3] if ever man did, a good catholic, a conscientious
person, a dragoman, and as such necessarily attached to truth, and never
telling a lie, save in the way of business, was himself the hero, or the
witness rather of the story he narrated. He was sent one morning from
the European palace of ----, at Pera, on business in Constantinople. He
was in a great hurry, but as he reached the Meytiskellesi, or wharf of
the dead, and was about stepping into his cäik to be rowed across the
harbour of the Golden Horn, either a nail in one of the rough planks of
the wooden quay caught his slipper, or a post on it his robe, I forget
which--but the dragoman turned round, and saw standing close by him, a
tall and very notorious African magician, who had long been practising
at the capital, and was known to every body as one of the lions of the
place. To do a civil thing, and perhaps to keep well in this world with
one who had intercourse with the spirits of the next, the dragoman
naturally supposing he was waiting there on the water's edge only to
cross over from the suburb to the city, very politely invited him to
take a passage in his cäik. The tall African made no verbal reply, but
smiled, and waved his hand to decline the high honour.

    [3] A Turkish saying, much in use.

The dragoman then concluding, that instead of waiting to cross over
himself, he was expecting the arrival of some one from the opposite side
of the Golden Horn, stepped into his cäik, which instantly glided from
the quay and shot across the port. The boats at Constantinople are all
very light and sharp, and go with astonishing speed, even when propelled
with one pairs of oars; but people of high consideration, like
dragomans, generally have two pairs to their cäiks, and at this time M.
---- being in a very great hurry, told his two rowers to pull as fast as
they could.

When about half way on his short aquatic journey, M. ---- turned his
head and looked back, and then he saw at the end of the quay, just where
he had left him, the tall African standing starch and motionless, like a
granite statue before an Egyptian temple.

The dragoman's boat continued to cleave the waves; it neared the
opposite shore--no cäik had passed him on his way--when lo! as his own
came in concussion with the wooden piles of the Divan-kapi-iskellesi,
and he rose from his seat to step on shore, he saw the identical African
wizard standing there before him, and gazing calmly over to the opposite
quay where he had just left him, and whence it was impossible he could
have proceeded by mortal agency!

The dragoman rubbed his eyes, as well he might; but there was the
Maugrabee, with his large leaden eye gazing across the Golden Horn, and
fixed on the wharf of the dead, just as he had been left behind there
gazing at the Divan-kapi-iskellesi. M. ---- felt a sort of
flesh-shivering at this undeniable proof of the wizard's power; he
remained for better than a minute in the position he was, when the tall
African first struck his eye, spell-bound as it were, with one foot on
the edge of the boat, and the other on the edge of the quay; but
recovering himself, he drew up his hinder leg, and then crossing himself
like a good catholic, and _salaaming_ his acquaintance, like a polite
Turk, he stepped along the quay, touching the necromancer as he passed
him, and thus completely assuring himself, it was no deception of
vision. Mr. ---- thinking more about this wonderful occurrence than the
business of the ---- nation he was going upon went his way, and having
discharged his duty, hurried back to Pera, where he told this story,
where it was universally believed from the veracity and character and
dignity of the narrator, and where the narrator himself is still living.
Very possibly, while I am writing he is telling his rencounter with the
wizard, for he tells it to every stranger--_Metropolitan_.

       *       *       *       *       *



NOTES OF A READER.


       *       *       *       *       *


PRECIOUS STONES.

(_From Part 15, of Knowledge for the People--Mineralogy and Geology_.)


_Why was crystal so named?_

Because it was probably the first substance ever noticed as occurring in
a regular form, and the ancients believing it to be water permanently
congealed by extreme cold, from its transparency, called it
_Krustallos_, signifying ice; but in time the word became used without
attention being paid to its original meaning, and was applied to all the
regular figures observed in minerals.

_Why are the fine crystals of quartz used as a substitute for glass in
spectacles?_

Because, from their superior hardness, they do not so readily become
scratched as glass: they are then termed pebbles.

_Why is the stone Cairn Gorm so called?_

Because it is found in great beauty in the mountain of Cairn Gorm, in
Scotland. It consists of brown and yellow crystals of quartz, and is
much admired for seal stones, &c.; it is sometimes improperly termed
topaz.

_Why is quartz the constituent of so many gems?_

Because the tinges it receives from metals are sufficient to produce
these varieties. Thus, _amethyst_, or purple quartz, is tinged with a
little iron and manganese. _Rose quartz_, or false ruby, derives its
colour from manganese. _Avanturine_ is a beautiful variety of quartz, of
a rich brown colour, which, from a peculiarity of texture, appears
filled with bright spangles. Small crystals of quartz, tinged with iron,
are found in Spain, and have been termed _hyacinths of Compostella_.
Flint, chalcedony, carnelian, onyx, sardonyx, and bloodstone, or
heliotrope, and the numerous varieties of agates, are principally
composed of quartz, with various tinging materials.

_Why is opal among the most beautiful productions of the mineral world?_

Because the colours are not occasioned by any particular tinge of the
substance, but by its peculiar property of refracting the solar rays. It
is a compound of about 90 silica, and 10 water. The finest specimens
come exclusively from Hungary. There is a variety of opal called
_Hydrophane_, which is white and opaque till immersed in water; it then
resembles the former.

_Why is the sapphire genus so highly prized?_

Because, after diamond, it is the hardest substance in nature. It forms
also the most valuable gems, as the oriental ruby and the topaz. The
blue variety, or sapphire, is harder than the ruby. It is infusible
before the blowpipe. It becomes electrical by rubbing, and retains its
electricity for several hours; but does not become electrical by
heating. It occurs in alluvial soil, in the vicinity of rocks belonging
to the secondary or floetz-trap formation, and imbedded in gneiss. It is
found at Rodsedlitz and Treblitz in Bohemia, and Hohenstein in Saxony;
Expailly in France; and particularly beautiful in the Capelau mountains,
twelve days from Sirian, a city of Pegu. Next to diamond it is the most
valuable of gems. The white and pale blue varieties, by exposure to heat
become snow-white; and when cut, exhibit so high a degree of lustre,
that they are used in place of diamond. The most highly prized varieties
are the crimson and carmine red; these are the oriental ruby of the
jeweller; the next is sapphire; and the last is sapphire, or oriental
topaz. The asterias, or star-stone, is a very beautiful variety, in
which the colour is generally of a reddish violet, with an opalescent
lustre. A sapphire of ten carats weight is considered to be worth fifty
guineas.--_Jameson_.

The blue topaz, or Brazilian sapphire, is of recent introduction. The
white topaz considerably exceeds rock crystal in lustre, and in Brazil
is called _mina nova_.[4]

    [4] The pink topaz is made from the yellow, which, when of
    intense colour, is put into the bowl of a tobacco pipe, or small
    crucible, covered with ashes or sand: on the application of a
    low degree of heat, it changes its colour from a yellow to a
    beautiful pink. It contains fluoric acid, which may be the means
    of this change.--_Mawe_.

_Why is ruby of such a brilliant colour?_

Because a sixth of it is chromic acid, while other gems, as the garnet,
are coloured by oxide of iron. The most esteemed, and at the same time,
rarest colour, of the oriental ruby, is pure carmine, or blood-red of
considerable intensity, forming, when well polished, a blaze of the most
exquisite and unrivalled tint. It is, however, more or less pale, and
mixed with blue in various proportions; hence it occurs rose-red and
reddish white, crimson, peach-blossom red, and lilac blue--the latter
variety being named oriental amethyst. A ruby perfect both in colour and
transparency, is much less common than a good diamond, and when of the
weight of three or four carats, is even more valuable than that gem. The
king of Pegu, and the monarchs of Siam and Ava, monopolize the rarest
rubies; the finest in the world is in the possession of the first of
these kings: its purity has passed into a proverb, and its worth when
compared with gold, is inestimable. The Subah of the Deccan, also, is in
possession of a prodigiously fine one, a full inch in diameter. The
princes of Europe cannot boast of any of a first rate magnitude. Mr.
Mawe, from whose interesting work we abridge these particulars,
considers the oriental sapphire to rank next in value to the ruby. Among
the British crown jewels is an inestimable sapphire; it is of the purest
and deepest azure, more than two inches long, and one inch broad. The
finest ruby among these gems is more treasured for its antiquity than
intrinsic value, it being the one worn at Cressy and Agincourt, by the
Black Prince and Henry V.: this is worn on the back cross, and the
sapphire on the front, of the imperial crown upon state occasions.

_Why are garnets often found of a reddish brown tinge?_

Because of the excess of oxide of iron which they contain; a small
proportion being sufficient to colour them entirely, without injuring
their play and splendour. In fact, the perfection of all gems depends
less on the quality of their component principles, than on their
complete solution and intimate combination. The alkalized earths, as
lime, magnesia, and still better, pot-ash, seem to intervene as
solvents, for alumina, completely dissolved, acquires, as we have shown
from Klaproth, a crystallization, of which, by itself, it is not
susceptible.

The garnet is found in Bohemia, Ceylon, and other countries; but the
chief mart formerly being Sirian, the capital of Pegu, the best are
often denominated Sirian garnets. The colour most esteemed is blood or
cherry red, mixed often, however, with blue, forming tints of crimson,
purple, and reddish violet; or orange red and hyacinth brown. The Sirian
garnet is of a violet colour, which, in some rare specimens, makes it
compete with the amethyst, from which it is to be discriminated by the
disadvantage of losing its brilliancy, and acquiring an orange tint by
candlelight. Distinct from all other garnets, it preserves its colour
unmixed with the common black tinge, unassisted by foil, even when
thick. _Course garnets_ are used as emery for polishing metals, and by
lapidaries. They are found in Ireland, in Norway, and many other
countries.

       *       *       *       *       *


GEOLOGICAL CHANGES EFFECTED BY THE SEA.

(_From the preceding work_.)


_Why are certain formations called marine?_

Because they result from continual deposits of shingle and sand, as may
be seen on the flat coast of our eastern counties. In this manner, at
Lowestoffe-Ness, as well as at Yarmouth, the sea has erected a series of
natural embankments against itself. The present extent of land thrown up
by the sea, and out of the reach of the highest tides, is nearly three
miles long, projecting from the base of the original cliff to the
distance of 660 yards at the Ness. The respective lines of growth are
indicated by a series of small embankments, perfectly defined. Several
of these ridges have been formed within the memory of men now living. A
rampart of heavy materials is first thrown up by a violent gale from the
north-cast. Sand is subsequently blown over, and consolidates the
shingle, and the process is completed by marine plants taking root and
extending their fibres in a kind of net-work through the mass. In
process of time the surface becomes covered with vegetable mould, and
ultimately, in many cases, is productive of good herbage.[5]

    [5] From a Communication to the _Philosophical Magazine_, by Mr.
    R. Taylor.

_Why are shingle beaches formed by heavy gales?_

Because every breaker is more or less charged with the materials
composing the beach; the shingles are forced forward as far as the
broken wave can reach, and, in their shock against the beach, drive
others before them that were not held in momentary mechanical suspension
by the breaker. By these means, and particularly at the greatest height
of the tide, the shingles are projected on the land beyond the reach of
the retiring waves: and this great accumulation of land upon beach being
effected at high water, it is clear, the ebb tide cannot deprive the
land of what it has gained. Smaller lines are formed in moderate
weather, to be swept away by heavy gales: hence it would appear, that
the sea was diminishing the beach; but attention will show that the
shingles of the lines so apparently swept away, are but accumulated
elsewhere. How often has our observation of these changes realized the
homely simile of Shakspeare:--

  Like as the waves make towards the pebble shore,
    So do our minutes hasten to their end;
  Each changing place with that which goes before,
    In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

_Why is this progressive march of beaches far from rapid?_

Because it can only take place in proportion to the greater power or
duration of one wind to another: moreover, the pebbles become comminuted
in their passage, and thus, the harder can only travel to considerable
distances. Works are sometimes constructed to arrest beaches, either to
protect land behind, or to prevent their passage round pier-heads into
artificial harbours, and thus engineers are practically aware of their
travelling power in direction of certain winds.

_Why are sandy-beaches formed more rapidly than shingle?_

Because the breakers have the same tendency to force sand upon the land
as in the case of shingles; but being so much lighter than the latter,
sand can be transported by coast-tides or currents whose velocity would
be insufficient to move shingles. On the other hand, however, smaller
bodies and forces of water can throw sand on the shore. The _spray_ that
could not transport a pebble can carry sand, and thus it is conveyed far
beyond situations where the reflux of a wave can be felt. This may be
witnessed on some parts of the Sussex coast, as at Worthing. In rough
weather too, the spray of the sea, with heavy rain, carries much sand,
which it deposits on the fronts of houses, as may be seen upon the
return of moderate weather: this effect may be witnessed on the splendid
terraces of the Brighton cliffs, and its destructive working on their
plaster fronts is very evident.

       *       *       *       *       *


INNKEEPERS.


The inn-keeper of former times seems to have been a person of less
humble station than now--he shared his calling with the monastery and
with the village-pastor. Travellers had to choose (as they still have in
Roman Catholic countries) between the refectory of the monk, the
parsonage of the minister, and the tavern of mine host--payment for the
night's lodging, where he was in a condition to pay, being expected of
him, in one shape or other, at all. The keeper of the Tabard in the
Canterbury Tales appears to be upon a level with his guests, both in
rank and information, and to play the part of one who felt that he was
receiving his equals, and no more, under his roof; yet his company was
not of the lowest; and in those times it seems to have been usual for
the landlord to preside at the common board, and act in every respect as
the hospitable master of the house, save only in exacting the shot; as
indeed is the custom in many parts of Germany at the present day. When
the system of lay impropriations had begun to take effect, it was by no
means an uncommon thing for the minister himself to be also the
tavern-keeper, a circumstance, however, which, it must be confessed, may
be thought to argue the extreme impoverishment of the church, which
drove the clergy to such expedients for a living, rather than the
respectability of the calling to which they thus betook
themselves.--_Quarterly Review._

       *       *       *       *       *


EFFECTS OF FRUIT AS REGARDS CHOLERA.


We have seen rather a curious document, drawn up by some of the chief
growers of fruit and vegetables in the villages round London. It is
stated on the authority of twenty-one such persons, whose names are
appended, that up to July the 24th (when it is dated,) of 1,010
labourers of either sex employed in their gardens, one only was
indisposed, and not one had had cholera. Their inference is that fruit
and vegetables are not favourable to the production of that disease; but
it does not appear to us that the premises warrant the conclusion. Is it
the fact that those labourers eat a larger portion of fruit and
vegetables than others? It is notorious, with regard to pastrycooks,
confectioners, and such persons, that they do not consume more--if so
much--of their commodities as others; and certainly persons so situated
as the thousand and ten abovementioned are much less likely than others
to commit any excess in regard to the articles in question. It is not
against the use, but the abuse of "the kindly fruits of the earth," that
we protest; and we are quite sure that many cases of cholera have been
produced by unripe fruit and raw vegetables (as cucumbers,) taken even
in moderate quantity; and that great caution is necessary in this
respect, notwithstanding the declaration of the growers.--_Medical
Gazette._

       *       *       *       *       *



THE GATHERER.


       *       *       *       *       *

_Olive Oil._--The amount of duties paid on olive oil imported into the
United Kingdom, from January 5, 1831, to April 5, 1832, was £76,962. The
quantity of this oil imported in that period was 2,286,629
gallons--_Med. and Surg. Journal._

_Coffee._--The duty on raw coffee is now 6_d_. per lb. on colonial, and
9_d_. on foreign; the retail price is 2_s_. to 4_s_.

_The Irish Bar._--Mr. Dundas, a keen, sarcastic man, who loved his
bottle nearly as well as Sir Hercules Langreish, invited the baronet to
a grand dinner in London, where the wine circulated freely, and wit kept
pace with it. Mr. Dundas, wishing to procure a laugh at Sir Hercules,
said, "Why, Sir Hercules, is it true that we Scotch formerly
_transported_ all our criminals and felons to Ireland?" "I dare say,"
replied Sir Hercules; "but did you ever hear, Mr. Dundas, of any of your
countrymen _returning to Scotland_ from transportation."

_Lord Byron's opinion of Earl Grey._--"Madame de Stael was forcibly
struck by the factitious tone of the best society in London, and wished
very much to have an opportunity of judging of that of the second class.
She, however, had not this opportunity, which I regret, as I think it
would have justified her expectations. In England, the raw material is
generally good; it is the over-dressing that injures it; and as the
class she wished to study are well educated, and have all the refinement
of civilization without its corruption, she would have carried away a
favourable impression. Lord Grey and his family were the personification
of her _beau ideal_ of perfection, as I must say they are of mine,"
continued Byron, "and might serve as the finest specimens of the pure
English patrician breed, of which so few remain." _His_ uncompromising
and uncompromised dignity, founded on self-respect, and accompanied by
that certain proof of superiority--simplicity of manner and freedom from
affectation, with _her_ mild and matron graces, her whole life offering
a model to wives and mothers--really they are people to be proud of, and
a few such would reconcile one to one's species.--_From Lady
Blessington's Conversations--New Monthly Magazine._

_Cats Horticulturists._--Cat Mint is a species of _Nepeta_. It is
covered with a very soft, hoary, velvet-like down, and has a strong,
pungent, aromatic odour, like penny royal or valerian, that is
peculiarly grateful to cats, whence its specific and English names.
These animals are so fond of it, that it is almost impossible to keep
them from it, _after being transplanted_. Ray and Miller, both assert,
however, that cats will never meddle with such plants as are raised from
seed. Hence the old saying,

  "If you set it,
  The cats will eat it;
  If you sow it
  The cats don't know it."

P.T.W.

_Beef-eaters_, or yeomen of the guard, are stationed by the sideboard at
great royal dinners. The term is a corruption from the French
_buffetiers_, from _buffet_, sideboard.

_A Lion Killer._--Lions abound in the west of India. A gentleman assured
Captain Skinner that he had, in one season, killed forty-five in the
province of Hissar, alone. None of them were large, but he mentioned
having met with one of uncommon beauty; its skin was of the usual tawny
colour, but its mane a rich glossy black, as was also the tuft on the
tail.

_Vultures._--On passing the carcass of a bullock (says Captain Skinner,)
we had a proof of the keenness of the vulture's scent. An hour before
not one was seen; nor was the place, being so wild and far removed from
all habitations, likely to be haunted by them: yet now they thronged
every tree in the neighbourhood. There could not have been less than
four or five hundred.

_Jackalls._--In some parts of India the howling of innumerable jackalls
is never out of your ear, from the minute night falls to the first dawn
of day. Captain Skinner says, until he became familiar to the screaming
sound, he used to start from his sleep, and fancy some appalling
calamity had driven the inhabitants of a neighbouring town to rash forth
in fear and madness from their homes. Such frightful clamour might
attend an earthquake or a deluge. The animals come up close to your very
doors in large packs, and roar away without any apparent object,
frequently standing a longtime in one place, as a dog does when "baying
the moon."

_Narrow Streets._--In grand Cairo, if you unfortunately meet a string of
masked beauties upon donkies, you must make a rapid retreat, and resign
yourself to be squeezed to a mummy against the wall for daring to stand
in their course, if your curiosity should tempt you to do so.

_Mussulman and Hindoo Religion._--"Where the same village is inhabited
by people of both religions, they occupy opposite portions of it: and
the circumstance may always be known by there being a well at each end
of it; for the Hindoos would not draw water from the same fountain as
the Mahomedans, for all the wealth of this world."

_The only Favour._--At the battle of Spires, a regiment had orders not
to grant any quarter; an unhappy enemy, wounded and disarmed, begged
hard for his life from one of its officers, who touched with his
situation, replied, "I pity your misfortune, and--ask anything else but
that, and upon my honour I will grant your request."

       *       *       *       *       *

Printed and published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset House,)
London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic; G.G. BENNIS,
55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers.





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