and rock plants of all colours;' now the foliage, which displayed all imaginable hues-scarlet passing to red, a dark-yellow to a bright gold colour, reddish-brown to light-brown, green, white, azure, in a thousand tints more or less faint, more or less bright.' He marked 'striped ducks, blue linnets, cardinal birds, and purple goldfinches glisten amid the verdure of the trees.' He heard the whet-saw imitate the noise of the saw, the cat-bird mew, and the parrots chatter. He saw to the southsavannas studded with groves, and covered with buffaloes;' and the Rapids according as they are illumined by the sun's rays, blown back by the wind, or shaded by clouds, curling up into golden waves whitened with foam, or rolling on in a dark-looking current.' In fine, he entirely forgot his plan of discovery; and in the land of the Natchez imagined Rene,' and wrote Atala' and 'The Natchez,' in which he described so well the manners of the tribes among whom he sojourned. Accident, however, threw in his way a fragment of an English journal. By this he learnt the flight of Louis XVI., his seizure at Varennes, and the intended invasion of France by the emigrants. A native of Brittany, and therefore a thorough believer in the divine right of kings, he felt that honour called him to join the French royalists. He thus abandoned the American wilds and the north-west passage, and returned to Europe, and entered the Prince of Condé's army. When he reached his camp, it was remarked that he came late. 'But I come express from the cataract of Niagara,' replied Chateaubriand. The poet made the campaign with an old damaged musket. Inside his knapsack was the manuscript of Atala,' which fortunately warded off a ball which would other wise have destroyed him. At the siege of Thionville, however, Chateaubriand was wounded in the thigh, and left for dead in the ditch, where the small-pox, which was then ravaging the little army, seized upon him. Some of the Prince de Ligne's followers luckily discovered him, and threw him into a wagon, in which he was taken in an apparently dying state to Ostend. Arrived at Ostend, he was immediately placed on board a small vessel bound for Jersey. It made Guernsey harbour, where he was carelessly put on shore, when the poor sufferer was nearly in extremity. Covered with loathsome sores as he was, a poor fisherman's wife pitied his fate, had him conveyed to her cabin, and tended him with unremitting care until his recovery. We wish we could record the name of this good woman, which is truly worthy of being associated with that of Chateaubriand, who owed nearly as much to her as to his mother. When he had recovered, the unhappy emigrant determined to seek literary employment in London. He arrived in the British metropolis in the spring of 1793, destitute alike of friends and resources, and although freed from the small-pox, yet in indifferent health. Lodged in one of the lowest of London lanes, Chateaubriand earned a petty pittance by teaching French and making translations for the booksellers. His leisure time was more congenially employed in planning and composing his Essay on Revolutions.' This work caused him two years of labour, and was first published in London in 1796. In it his object is to prove by parallels between ancient and modern revolutions-their like rise and similar failure-that violent eruptions of society are incapable of forming phases of positive and permanent progress. If the particular instances in this book are sometimes too strained, and the comparisons too loose, much of the general view of the author may yet be admitted by the candid and liberal reader. The chief fault of the work was the sceptical tone which prevailed in some parts of it. At times its author appeared to doubt Providence-progress itself. This fault, however, was fully redeemed in the believing, trusting pages which he afterwards published in the Génie du Christianisme.' Meanwhile the misfortunes of the emigrant had been aggravated in those of his family. Mademoiselle de Rosambo, the wife of his brother, was executed with her husband and her mother on the same day as her illustrious grandfather, M. de Malesherbes. His mother soon followed them to the grave-his father had previously died. On her deathbed she had charged his beloved sister to write him a letter, appealing to his religious duties. When his sister's letter reached Chateaubriand, she also had died from the effects of imprisonment. This event profoundly affected him. It seemed as if two voices called to him from the tomb. These voices were to him the voices of two saints, and they were thus the inspiration of his 'Spirit of Christianity.' A new scene had, however, occurred in the revolutionary drama of France. Bonaparte arose to power, and opened to the emigrants the gates of their country. Chateaubriand returned to France in 1800, and in connection with M. de Fontanes was employed upon the Mercury.' In this paper, part by part, Atala' first appeared. The worn-out citizen of republican France was delighted with the frank manners and artless simplicity of this wild child of the forests of the Far West. The civilisation of old Europe listened with pleasure to the naïve thoughts of the young savage of the new world. It was a successful work, as it was felt to be as fresh and new as a blackberry from the woods. The publication of the Spirit of Christianity' succeeded the appearance of Atala. After the harsh negatives which had burst asunder the bonds of a bold bigotry, it came with words of consolation to the world, uniting faith and reason, and throwing a holy halo over the internal man. While Napoleon was building up his imperial edifice with circumstances, outward forms, and the shows and shams of things, Chateaubriand on his part pointed to that renovation from within, to that spiritual revolution and empire of the soul, which may indeed be assisted by external reforms, but for which they can never prove the substitute. The Génie du Christianisme' is yet an admired book. To analyse it would be to injure it. Its aim has been indicated, but to be judged of, it should be read throughout. The Spirit of Christianity' was dedicated to the First Consul, and its author was immediately hailed by him who could ever appreciate the use of great minds. Chateaubriand was sent by Bonaparte to Rome as first secretary to the French embassy. He arrives at Rome: he sees the Coliseum, the Pantheon, Trajan's Pillar, the Castle of St Angelo, St Peter's: he watches the effect of the moon upon the Tiber, upon the Roman mansions, and upon those illustrious ruins which are scattered about on every side:' he is received by the Pope, who makes him sit beside him in the most affectionate manner, and tells him, with an air of complaisance, that he has read the Génie du Christianisme,' a copy of which indeed lies open upon his table. Besides his letters from Italy, Chateaubriand has given a description of Rome and Naples in the fourth and fifth books of the Martyrs.' It was in Rome, beneath the porticoes of the Coliseum, that the Martyrs' was conceived. One beautiful evening in last July,' writes Chateaubriand, 'I seated myself at the Coliseum on a step of the altar, dedicated to the sufferings of the Passion: the setting sun poured floods of gold through all the galleries which had formerly been thronged with men; while at the same time strong shadows were cast by the broken corridors and other relics, or fell on the ground in large black masses. From the lofty parts of the structure I perceived, between the ruins on the right of the edifice, the gardens of Cæsar's palace, with a palm-tree which seems to have been placed in the midst of this wreck expressly for painters and poets. Instead of the shouts of joy which heretofore proceeded from the ferocious spectators in this amphitheatre on seeing Christians devoured by lions and panthers, nothing was now heard but the barking of dogs, which belonged to the hermit resident here as a guardian of the ruins. At the moment that the sun descended below the horizon, the clock in the dome of St Peter's resounded under the porticoes of the Coliseum.' Amid scenes and memories like these the inspiration which produced the Martyrs' was nursed. From the church of the catacombs he derived his heroes for that mournful but exciting work. It is full of pictures of Italy, but its best praise is, that its heroes are sufferers, and its courage Christian. Volsci. Armed with his pen, and encamped in the Journal des Débats,' Chateaubriand thenceforward waged a vigorous war with Villèle, which was rewarded by the Martignac ministry with the embassy to Rome. Soon afterwards, however, on the coming in of the Polignac party, he resigned office, and recommenced his opposition. The revolution of 1830 occurred, and placed the Orleans family in power. This new turn of affairs On his return to Paris, Chateaubriand was named was too much for the poetical politician. He bade minister plenipotentiary to Le Valais. It was on the adieu to the Chamber of Peers; and henceforth became evening of that day when, under mysterious circum-a champion of the legitimist party and the rights of stances, the corpse of the last of the Condés was dis- the Duke of Bordeaux, for which he encountered persecovered in a ditch at Vincennes. He had been assas- cution. sinated under the oak beneath which his ancestor St Louis had even administered impartial justice. On the same evening, while Paris was yet pale with consternation, Chateaubriand sent in his resignation. While in Italy, Chateaubriand had conceived the idea of a pilgrimage to Greece and Palestine. This he now determined to put into execution. In 1806 he again saw Italy en route, wooed for a moment the bride of the Adriatic with a pure passion, embarked for Greece, passed on swiftly to the Sparta of Lycurgus and Leonidas, meditated in the Cigora of Athens, touched at Smyrna, glanced at the City of the Sultan, passed to Cyprus, reverently saluted Mount Carmel, and fell upon his knees, like a new Crusader, at the sight of the Holy City. Here he followed, step by step, the traces of sacred tradition, and devoutly marked the footprints on the pilgrim path of the Saviour of mankind. From Palestine he sailed to Egypt, crossed the city of the Ptolemies, followed the Nile to Cairo, contemplated Memphis and the Pyramids, and visited Tunis and Carthage. From thence he embarked for Spain, viewed the fair vale of Granada, and under the magic portals of the Alhambra, conceived the 'Last Abancerage.' With an annuity derived from the sale of his posthumous memoirs, he spent the latter years of his life in retirement; and died just as France was undergoing the throes of a fresh revolution. Inconsistent in his theories, and to the last degree visionary, there is much to ridicule and condemn in his political career; but he possessed many admirable points of character; and the French people have singled him out for honour alone of all the writers of the Empire and the adherents of the Restoration. One of his most cherished fancies was to be buried on a rocky islet near St Malo; and his dying request to this effect has, we believe, been fulfilled. In person Chateaubriand was short and thin; his face was pale and strongly lined; his eyes beamed under prominent brows; his forehead was ample; and as an old man, his large head was bald at the top, but elsewhere crowned with a forest of white locks. In dress he was neat, and even beauish. In manners he was gracious, urbane, and modest; and his love for children was remarkable. Chateaubriand was married, but little has been furnished respecting his wife; and we believe he has left no descendants. The last years of his existence were employed in reading his Mémoires d'outre Tombe,' at the Abbaye-aux-Bois, in the retirement of which he died. This autobiography is now waited for by the world. Mrs Trollope, in her Summer this self-history of a celebrated man, which makes us desire more. For the rest, Chateaubriand had a pompous academical funeral in the French style, which has not passed without animadversion. A valued writer and a delightful traveller, a poet, a gentleman, and a man with a religious heart, he has left behind him a European reputation, which, if not grander, is yet purer than that of many of his cotemporaries. After an absence of ten months, in the spring of 1807 Chateaubriand returned once more to his native country. In the retirement of his hermitage in the Valeè-aux-in Brittany,' has communicated some pleasant pages of Loups, near Daulnay, he then wrote his Itinerary,' a remarkable historical and geographical work, and afterwards completed the Martyrs,' which he had planned at Rome. While thus engaged, the events of 1814 menaced a change in France, and Chateaubriand quitted his retreat, and hastened to mingle in the conflict. We shall slightly pass over his political career, as good poets are often bad politicians, and it is often better to be with the bard in the grotto consecrated to poesy and religion, than to follow him into the party-rostra of politics. Chateaubriand's first political act was his too famous pamphlet of Bonaparte and the Bourbons'-a production which in charity is thus passed over. The insults which were afterwards exchanged between him and the illustrious captive of St Helena were alike unworthy of each. After the Hundred Days, Chateaubriand followed Louis XVIII. to Ghent, where he formed a part of his council, in quality of minister of state. After Waterloo, he also preserved his title, but refused to accept a portfolio in company with Fouché. As a member of the Chamber of Peers, and as a publicist, he was henceforth most known. As his political credo, he published his Monarchy according to the Charter' -an obscure and contradictory work. In the columns of the Conservateur' he, moreover, vehemently attacked the Decazes ministry, and charged it with complicity in the assassination of the Duke de Berry. The Villèle ministry next entered upon power, and Chateaubriand was at once named ambassador at Berlin, and afterwards at London. In September 1822 he also passed the Alps to represent France at the Congress of Verona, where he pleaded the cause of Greece, defended the interests of France on the question of the Spanish war, and returned to replace M. de Montmorency in the office of foreign affairs. In this position he differed with his colleague M. de Villèle on the Spanish war. Some slight was offered him, which his Breton blood could not bear, and another Coriolanus passed to the GOSSIP ABOUT SHARKS. Ir may be wrong-I know it is-to hate any creature which God has made, every living thing having, it may be supposed, its uses in creation, and therefore part of a great general economy. At the same time people cannot well avoid having their antipathies. Some have no great affection for rats; few look with anything like satisfaction on snakes and various other reptiles: it has been my misfortune to hate sharks. Yes, I say it undisguisedly-of all created beings, a shark is to me the most abhorrent. Born in the tropics, and living the chief portion of my life just beyond their verge, where bathing in the sea was more a necessity than a luxury, I have often come into contact in various ways with this fiend of the deep. Fiend of the deep, however, is not the proper term; it lurks also in shallow sunny spots, where the brilliant white sand supports apparently just enough of cool still water to afford a bath for a troop of nymphs or children. In the most retired corner of such a locality, just where the tide will allow of his quick exit, will the brute lurk, and wo betide the animal which comes within its reach! The ground shark is the most dangerous and deadly of all his deadly tribe; for, as a negro once said, 'You never see him till you feel him.' In the open sea you have some chance for your life; for your enemy is visible from the deck of a ship, or even from a small boat; the deepsea shark swimming high in the water, and in calm weather generally showing his dorsal-fin above its surface. But the ground shark, as its name signifies, lies crouched below you, glaring upwards in all directions as it slews itself round; its eyes take in a great extent of the surface; and small chance has living flesh or bone when opposed to its powerful jaws or numerous rows of teeth. I shall never forget: I did not know the exact nature of the intimation which was wished to be given us, beyond the simple fact, that it was connected with the dreaded shark. Every moment I expected to see the baleful shadow glide swiftly towards us, and in imagination I felt myself-but it is useless to attempt describing what was the nature of my feelings. They were, in fact, all swallowed up in one sentiment of terrific expectation. A very few minutes must have elapsed before the boat shot up to us and took us in; and yet the space seemed interminable. During the My hatred to this monster dates from a very early latter part of the time the cry of shark' had luckily period of my life. When about four or five years old, been suppressed, for which I was very grateful; for I I was once floating in a tiny canoe within the reef dreaded the effect upon my brother exceedingly. When which circled one of the islands of the Pacific. He who menting him; but when he ascertained the reason, he we got safe in, he was ready to pummell me for torheld me in his arms bade me look over its side, and turned quite pale and sick. It seemed that a boat, there, far down, but quite distinct in those transparent anchored some fifty yards or so from ours, had hooked waters, were several sharks sporting over the coral a large shark when we were about one-third of our way which branched from the bottom. In their gambols, back to the boat; and the cries were for us to go they would shoot up towards the surface; and in turn-back on shore, and the boat would come to us. After ing, the glancing white belly and the horrid jaws would suddenly reveal themselves. My childish dreams were long after haunted by that vision; and perhaps my antipathy thence arose. But often since that period have I had cause to shudder when even the name itself was mentioned; not so much perhaps on my own account personally, as on that of others who have suffered by them. I myself, however, have had some narrow escapes from the scoundrels. I remember well, when a boy at school many years ago, one Saturday afternoon my father taking myself and two brothers out fishing, not with the rod and flies, as in this country, but from the boat's side, in five fathoms of blue water. We were in a common waterman's boat, such as was used in the harbour, which, not to be particular, was in Australia. We anchored about three or four hundred yards from the end of a small island; and while the waterman and boys fished, the old gentleman put up his umbrella to keep off the sun and read his newspaper. After our fishing was over, at about sunset, one of my brothers and I determined to bathe. My father did not much like the idea; but we assured him there was no danger, and jumped in and swam to the island; and after running about for ten minutes, we jumped in the water again and struck out for the boat. The wind blew pretty freshly, and the small waves washed about my head, and forced me to swim on my side or back, to avoid their splashing in my face; owing to this, I did not hear the shouting which had for some moments, in fact, been kept up by those we had left in the boat. The first word I did hear distinctly was a terrible one'Shark!' and at the same instant I saw those in the boat all standing up and waving their hands, the old gentleman_shaking his umbrella in a very emphatic manner. I turned myself quickly round in the water. I have said before the sun was nearly down: it is not surprising then that, springing up as I did, the shadow of my own head and shoulders should startle one so suddenly alarmed as I was. Down I went as quickly as possible; for the only chance you have with a shark is to get below him; and if you can reach the bottom, to kick up a dust there, and under cover of the cloud raised, to swim in another direction. I saw nothing, however, except the white legs and body of my brother, who was about thirty yards behind me when I went down; and I came up again. He had seen me go down, and asked me the reason for doing it. I was glad to find that he had not heard the cries from the boat, for he was a timid lad, and I feared the effects upon him. I kept constantly before him, splashing the water in his face, and shouting, until he got into a towering passion. This was what I wanted; for his attention was drawn from the boat. The agony of those moments a struggle, although the hook and line were very strong, he had got off, having bent, or rather straightened the former, while we were still some two hundred yards off. When in Sydney, I went one Sunday morning to bathe. I was accompanied by a friend who had just arrived from the South Sea Islands. He was very timid, and clung to the rock, never going beyond a few yards from it, and instantly returning. Upon rallying him, he confessed his great dread of sharks. I assured him that in that harbour accidents never occurred from any such cause; which was certainly correct, inasmuch as, up to that period, I had never heard of any person having been killed in it; and in the bays close to the town I should suppose that sharks scarcely ever come, being in that respect very different from the West Indies or the coast of Africa. I took my usual swim out for twenty minutes or so, and returned home. On that same day, as I was walking with another friend, after the morning service, a constable touched him upon the shoulder, and pressed his services as a juryman to serve on an inquest then about being held upon the body of a man that morning killed by a shark. We found the poor fellow with a terrible wound, extending from the upper part of the thigh to the knee, the flesh being, in fact, entirely stripped from the bone. He was a convict, who had been confined in Cockatoo Island, a station for prisoners, situated about eight miles from Sydney higher up the harbour, and further from the sea than the spot where I bathed that morning. The circumstances attending the accident were peculiar. He and some other prisoners had received permission to bathe; he being the first stripped, jumped into the water, which in every part of the harbour of Sydney, and the coast generally, is deep, being in that respect very unlike the shelving coasts of this country. He had not swam more than a few yards before one of the skulking ground sharks had him fast by the upper part of the thigh. One of his comrades in the most gallant manner jumped in and seized hold of him; and after a struggle, in which all the flesh was stripped off, the poor fellow was got on shore; but the great artery of the thigh was severed, and he was already dead. Another case, somewhat similar to the above, took place in a remote part of the coast of Australia some years previous to it. Long will the catastrophe be remembered by sorrowing friends in that part of the world, although many years have passed away since it occurred; for, unlike the last case, the victim was not an outcast from society, a convict loosed from his chains for a few moments, but a young and fair lad, the pride of his fond mother, who had, by a singular fatality, lost her husband and several other members of her family by drowning, and a friend and school-fellow of the writer of this article. He was riding in the lonely bush in company with one servant; from one cattle station to another, if I remember aright. The road lay for a considerable distance along the banks of what is termed in the map a river; but which is, in fact, an arm of the sea. He was about twelve years of age; and, as would be expected from a lad fresh from school, finding himself on horseback, about to proceed to a spot where he would have plenty of shooting and kangaroo hunting, as well as riding after wild cattle, he was in very high spirits. The day was very hot; and when, at a turn of the road, he found himself on the very verge of the cool blue water, no wonder he felt inclined to bathe. The servant, however, reminded him that they had sixty miles yet to ride, and should lose no time; he resolved, therefore, to bathe his feet only, which were very hot. He dismounted, as did also the man; and pulling off his shoes and stockings, he seated himself on a flat ledge of rock, where the water was very deep, and dipped his feet in. It was much the same as if a person suspended his feet over the side of a boat when in deep water. His head was turned towards the man, with whom he was at the moment speaking, when a small ground shark, about five feet long, rose suddenly, and seizing him by the calf of the leg, dragged him off the rock into the water. The man had seen the fish rise; but so rapidly was the poor lad seized, that ere he could spring forward to grasp him, the shark had already borne him shrieking away. As in the last-mentioned case, the looker-on was brave and true-hearted. He leaped into the water, being a good swimmer fortunately; and, though with some difficulty, succeeded in reaching and taking hold of the boy; for when a shark has a large body in its jaws, it generally rushes to and fro on the surface of the water. For a long time did they struggle, the man endeavouring to reach the shore, and the shark rushing sometimes in that direction, and at others in the opposite. At length, however, they reached a spot some thirty yards or so further up the shore, and where the water shoaled sufficiently to permit the man to plant his feet for an instant to the ground. The moment this happened, owing to the greater resistance offered, the flesh instantly separated from the bones, and the shark swam off with the piece in his jaws. He got the poor lad, who was half drowned and nearly insensible, safely on shore; and had assistance been at hand, his life might ultimately have been preserved. But the nearest aid was sixty miles off, and the limb was so dreadfully wounded (the whole of the back portion of the leg being either torn off, or separated from the bone), that, carrying him before him on the saddle, he was obliged to travel very slowly. Worse than this, he had to encamp one, if not two nights, in the woods, before reaching the station. The poor lad died from tetanus or locked jaw a few days after the occurrence. A few years ago, a sad occurrence took place on the coast south of Sydney. A vessel had been wrecked somewhere near Twofold Bay; all her passengers and the crew had escaped safely to the shore, and as they had recovered some provisions, and had the prospect, after a few days' travelling along the coast, of reaching a settlement, they were all in high spirits. They had no boats, for all belonging to the vessel had been destroyed at the time of her wreck. Owing to this want, they met often with great difficulties in crossing the numerous creeks or rivers which fall into the sea in different parts of the coast they were proceeding along; being often compelled to make long circuits to go round these, or to reach a spot where they could wade across them. All difficulties, however, of this nature had now nearly been surmounted-they were not far from the settlement: but one more creek remained to cross, and then they would be within reach of assistance and sympathy from their fellow-creatures. Upon the arrival of the whole party at the borders of this inlet, as usual two of the men, carrying poles in their hands, entered it, to ascertain beforehand whether or not it was fordable for the whole number. And their comrades seeing the pioneers reach the middle of the creek without the water rising above their waist, prepared to follow in a body, when suddenly one of their guides, uttering a loud shriek, disappeared headlong beneath the surface. His comrade, who was only a few yards off, turned his head to ascertain the cause; but he was instantly seized, and the agonized spectators gazed on, unable in the least to aid their unfortunate companions, who were being torn to pieces before their eyes. For some few minutes the rushing play of fins and tails, glancing in all directions, with now and then portions of the remains of the unhappy victims, was incessant; but fresh assailants crowded to the spot, and soon nothing but a ripple here, and a slight splash there, indicated the locality as one where so fearful a tragedy had been so lately enacted. Terrible instances are all these of the ferocity and deadly cunning of this atrocious monster. We will finish this article with the mention of one other slight incident connected with this 'sea lawyer,' as the sailors term him, of a less melancholy termination than those adduced. A merry party of us were once on a calm summer evening pulling across a bay in a whale-boat. We were proceeding to a dinner party, in fact, and of course were all dressed in our best, as the phrase is. Amongst our number was a would-be sailor, who wished to impress upon the uninitiated an overwhelming sense of his nautical abilities. He seized every opportunity of 'showing off;' and amongst his other ambitious notions, he wished it to be believed that he could steer a whaleboat. Now it must be remembered that the boat employed in the South Sea fishing is a very different affair from other boats; and, in particular, it is steered in a different manner, a long oar being employed, which projects from the stern; whereas, in common boats of course, as every one knows, a rudder and tiller of wood or ropes are used. In steering the whale-boat the helmsman stands up, grasping the handle of the steering oar in one hand, balancing himself gracefully as the boat rises and falls on the seas; and it requires great skill and dexterity to keep so long a lever, projecting as it does from the stern of the boat for twenty feet, from suddenly (when struck by a wave, for instance) acting in a forcible manner against the person who holds it. In calm weather of course, and when the water is smooth, a child might steer a whaleboat; but the pseudo-nautical I have mentioned, I verily believe, thought he could steer one in a gale of wind. At anyrate he could not resist the opportunity which smooth water, no wind, and, what was of greater consequence to him, I believe, a select party of spectators to witness his performance, offered for the exhibition of his skill; and he offered to relieve the old sailor who was steering of the task. The tar looked for a moment at the satin vest, tights, and swallow-tail of the applicant, and sniffed the air as if to ascertain what breeze brought the scent of the Eau de Cologne to his nostrils, and then, without a word, resigned the oar. I am not aware if any of the party wished for some accident to supervene, to take the conceit out of the aspirant; certainly none expected anything of the sort. And yet a calamity did overtake the purposed diner-out when in the height of his glory, at the very moment that, while the boat in reality was 'steering itself,' as the term is, he was deluding himself into the belief that he was its unerring guide. The blade of the steering oar, unlike those of the pulling ones, was bound round with a broad band of bright copper, to strengthen it, I presume, and keep it from splitting. This copper band, as the boat glided over the surface of the water, by its glistening quality attracted the notice of a 'tiger shark,' as it is called (a species of the common ground shark), which rushed upwards, and seizing hold of the oar-blade, shook it in so tiger-like a fashion, that our dandy, holding the oar more gracefully than firmly, was hurled completely overboard. Very much astonished he was, as indeed were all on board; but the old sailor grasped hold of his leg and hauled him in. And it was observed that the veteran tar, as he took a second look at the satin vest, tights, and swallow-tail, had a broad grin upon his countenance. This little incident took place at a small port south of Sydney. SANITARY EVILS FROM SLAUGHTER-HOUSES IN TOWNS. THE following, compiled by Mr Dunhill, civil-engineer, is an abstract of evidence before the Select Committee of the House of Commons on Smithfield Market, May 1847. The subject is of vital importance to many provincial towns now afflicted with slaughter-houses in confined neighbourhoods: Dr Jordan Roche Lynch had lived and practised for the last fifteen years in the neighbourhood of Smithfield, the sanitary state of which was most defective. The slaughter-houses have a most injurious influence upon the district: they generate fever, render the most simple diseases malignant, and shorten the duration of life. In Bear Alley, a lane running from Farringdon Street to the old wall of the city, called Break-neck Steps, there is a slaughterhouse behind six or seven houses, which are inhabited by the humblest classes of society. The stench is intolerable, arising from the slaughtering of the cattle and the removal of the fæcal matter, the guts, the blood, and the skins of the animals. When they clean the guts, the matter is turned out; some of the heavier parts of the manure are preserved to be carted away, but a great deal of it is carried into the sewers, which have gully-holes; and in the summer months, the heat acting upon the fæcal matter, causes its decomposition, and carburetted and sulphuretted hydrogen gas, and carbonic acid gas, all of which are fatal to animal life, are disengaged, and rush out of the gully-holes, so that a blind man's nose will enable him to avoid approaching these outlets. Whenever he (Dr Lynch) goes into places or houses contiguous to the slaughterhouses, he is compelled to hold his nose all the time he is there, the stench is so great. He has patients in all those houses. They are never free from the effects of it; and when the people there are dangerously ill, he is without the hope, by any exercise of skill, of restoring them to health. He invariably makes it a rule to intreat them to conquer their repugnance to go into the workhouse, in order that they may have better air; and if they accede, the medicines that would have failed in the noxious atmosphere before, restore them in most instances to health. The people where such smells are "drink;" it is a kind of instinct-they fly to it; they fancy that the stimulus resists the noxious agency of the foul air they are breathing; and they are right: malaria, such as is generated in these slaughter-houses, is a narcotic poison; it oppresses both body and mind; and under the influence of this physical and mental depression, they instinctively resort to the gin-shop, which aggravates their distresses, by extracting from them the means of living perhaps better than they do. The sewer which receives the refuse of the slaughterhouse in Bear Alley comes down the declivity, and runs under two houses occupied by a Mrs James and a Mrs Bethell, in Farringdon Street. In every part of Mrs James's house the stench is so strong, that he frequently forewarned them that they would have an attack of fever. The lady in question was attacked with erysipelas in the head and face, and died, in spite of everything that could be done, and showed evidence, even after death, of the state the system had been in, owing to the absorption of putrid poison, emanating from the decomposition in that sewer of animal matter from the slaughter-houses, which gives out sulphuretted hydrogen and carbonic acid gas in immense quantities. There is a slaughter-house in Fox and Knot Court; it is a very large establishment, and the proprietor endeavours to keep down its offensiveness; he has recourse to every means he can devise to counteract the bad effects; he has it sluiced and washed frequently; and notwithstanding he has the advantage of a steep declivity to the main sewer of the Fleet, the stench, especially in warm weather, is most intolerable. A few months back, he (Dr Lynch) was obliged to interfere, in consequence of the people right and left in this locality being attacked with sickness of the stomach, bowel complaint, and fever; they stated it all arose from the slaughter-house in question; he accompanied the police thither, and found carts and wagons laden with bullocks lying on their backs, blown out, their bellies inflated like drums, their eyes starting out of their heads, their tongues out: with some of them their bowels had burst, and were lying about, yet their stomachs were equally distended, emitting putrid gas, and the stench was so great, that the nose could detect it at a considerable distance. The slaughter-houses must be removed from their present confined locality; no arrangement, however perfect in detail, can obviate the evil; the decomposition of vege table matter is very injurious, but does not seize hold of the system with the same intense violence that a mixture of animal putrescence does. cal reports on the evils which flowed from the slaughterLord Robert Grosvenor, M.P.-In consequence of medi houses in Paris, an edict was issued in the year 1810 that public abattoirs should be constructed, and when completed, all private slaughter-houses suppressed, for which no indemnity was granted to the butchers, who raised several objections to the alteration in the system, but it has been found in practice to work admirably well. slaughter-houses, each of which accommodate one, two, or three butchers, according to the extent of their dealings; the total cost of their erection was L.800,000, and the revenue they yield is L.40,000 per annum. The five abattoirs which were constructed include 240 Mr Thomas Dunhill, civil-engineer, had devoted mneh time and anxious attention to this question, feeling that the present system of slaughtering the food for 2,000,000 of souls, in the heart of the city, and in densely-populated localities, materially affected the sanitary condition of the metropolis; and this conviction has been confirmed by personal examinations in the districts where slaughterhouses abound. He had also visited several of the slaughterhouses in the neighbourhood of Smithfield, Newgate, Leadenhall, Aldgate, and Clare Markets; more filthy places he cannot conceive to exist than these Aceldamas of blood: there is a total absence of drainage, ventilation, and natural light; the machinery is imperfect; the water supply inadequate and impure; the blood and filth acenmulate in the cellars for months; and he was always ill after inspecting them. Not the least important feature in the establishment of out-lying abattoirs is, that bone-boiling, skin-dressing, glue, gut, and horn manufactures, and numerous other noxious crafts in connection with the offal and refuse of slaughterhouses, highly prejudicial to the public health, and intolerable nuisances where they are now carried on, would shortly find their way out of town to the neighbourhood of the depôts of the matériel they require. He had visited the abattoirs at Paris: the continental system formed a striking contrast to that pursued in this country-nothing could be better devised than the plan adopted in France; and he derived such infinite pleasure from witnessing the improvement, that he has never ceased to urge the importance of its adoption in this metropolis, and every other city throughout the United Kingdom. Charles J. B. Aldis, Esq. M.D., physician to the London and Surrey Dispensaries, was physician to the Farring don Dispensary in 1844, which at that time was situated in the locality of several of the metropolitan slaughterhouses. Small-pox and fever were very prevalent, the number of cases exceeding those of other dispensaries, though situated in as densely-populated a district, which he attributed to the inhalation of accumulated poison generated in the slaughter-houses. The decomposition of animal matter therein gives out poison of the most virulent nature. Upon visiting these places, he found quantities of blood, paunches, and their contents, strewed all over the ground, and heaped up in the corners, which were giving out a miasma redolent of small-pox and fever; indeed there were no less than seven cases of the former at the Farringdon Dispensary in one day-an instance surpassing all his experience. In the vicinity of Bear Alley, a birdfancier who resided there could keep no birds alive; has been obliged to prescribe for patients outside their houses, for fear of being sick with the vapours from the slaughterhouses gaining access to the courts and alleys, which, being destitute of ventilation, pervades every room in the houses, dealing out disease and death amongst the inhabitants. William A. Guy, Esq. M.D., is physician to King's Col lege Hospital; considers slaughter-houses in the midst 1 |