evil effects of malaria partly depend on the presence of animalcules with which the bad air is charged. To meet this peculiarity, supposing it to exist, Dr Reid has added an apparatus of steam-tubes, enclosed in a case, through which he brings the air before it enters the medicator, and which, heating the air to 212° of Fahrenheit, ensures the destruction of every particle of animal life which may be passing that way, the air being afterwards cooled down in the medicator as far as may be desired.

The process here described, consisting, it will be observed, of throwing in pure air, is called ventilation upon the plenum principle. It may not, however, be necessary or expedient to take such means for procuring fresh air in the apartments of the vessel. A mere drawing out of the used air of the cabins may be all that is necessary. With a view to doing this alone, Dr Reid has so arranged the apparatus, that, by merely closing one valve and opening one or two others, and causing the fanners to ply in the opposite direction, a draught is established outwards, thus clearing the rooms of every particle of superfluous carbonic acid gas which may have been formed by the lungs of the inmates, and causing a rushing in by other crannies and channels of a pure air to supply the place of that taken out. This is called ventilating upon the vacuum principle, or by exhaustion. It is a mode of ventilation which obviously could be introduced into all large and crowded vessels, and there can be but one opinion as to the expediency of doing so. When we consider how small is the space usually allotted for sleeping places in vessels, we cannot doubt that in them such a means of obtaining a supply of fresh air is more needed than in almost any other place. I have not the least doubt that the health of the navy would be immensely improved by the general introduction of a fanner ventilation on the vacuum

plan; and I would fain hope that the exemplification of the principle on board the Niger vessels will lead to this being done.

The expedition comprehends several naturalists, whose business it will be to collect specimens of the botany and zoology of the countries visited; and it is further contemplated, as a duty of the medical officers, to make observations concerning the nature and causes of malaria, with a view to the suggestion of proper means for preventing its action in ordinary circumstances. It is conceived that, by a careful examination of the substances employed for the purification of the air, after they have been used, some

light will be thrown on the character of that noxious

matter which makes malaria so formidable. Already there have been many curious speculations on this subject amongst the scientific men connected with the expedition, and it will now be for them to bring their ideas to the test of actual experiment. Should this expedition, from any cause, experience less than the success which all philanthropic persons must desire for it, it will at least have done some good if it adds to our knowledge on one of the obscurest, and, at the same time, most important points in medical

science.

After an examination as minute as the convenience of the officers would permit, I left the Albert with a mind deeply impressed. The scheme may be wild and visionary, as the schemes of the benevolent often are, and the money expended on it might have been no doubt devoted to a thousand purposes of more direct and certain utility. Yet it was interesting to reflect on that mixture of philanthropy with the spirit of enterprise and of commerce, which dictated the expedition; and that, after all the sad mishaps which have befallen those who have exposed themselves for the sake of Africa, there could still be found a few hundred men willing to expose themselves again in the same cause. Though not given to glorifying my country on all possible occasions, I could not but reflect with some degree of pride, that even for the woes of a barbarous people, in a remote and almost unknown continent, the heart of England could afford to throb, after providing for many sorrows nearly affecting herself. There is also much to gratify in the consideration of the many appliances which the cultivated intellect of the European has here brought to bear on a case involving immense practical difficulties. A ship of metal, yet most buoyanta cunning device to neutralise one whole class of accidents-motive force obtained from boiling watermedical and alimentary arrangements of the most apt and efficient kind—and, finally, a plan tried for the first time for creating pure air in the midst of the

valley of the shadow of death! What an aggregation of admirable expedients, all of them the offspring of high civilisation, and all put into action mainly for the benefit of people who do not as yet dream of the existence of such things! How strikingly have we thus brought before us the difference between the ignorant and the enlightened man; and how noble does science appear when it thus extends its hand to further a cause in which, to all appearance, there might otherwise be a succession of martyrdoms to all eternity, without the least good being done!

A STORY OF AUSTRIA.
«My dear father, you cannot, you surely will not,
sacrifice me to this man, whom I can never love
who is not worthy of my love! Oh! ere it be too late,
let my entreaties move you from this unhappy pur-

pose.

This was the anxious prayer of a daughter to her
father, on the morning which was destined to see her
finally contracted to a man whom she disliked and
General
despised. But she spoke to obstinate ears.
Velthein had been accustomed for many long years to
receive unlimited obedience from those placed under
him in the Austrian military service, and, though not
a harsh parent, could not bear to have his wishes
thwarted even by an only daughter. "Do not provoke
me, Aurelia," said he; "ought I not to be the best
judge of what is for your real interest and happiness?
And can I have any other objects at heart in this
match? Besides, I will not take your opinion of
Baron Mantheim as the correct one. He was a sol-
dier; and, though circumstances permitted him to see
little actual service, I am sure he is brave, and merits
none of the foolish reflections which you are preju-
diced enough to throw out against him. He is wealthy,
too, and can place you in a station befitting your birth
and family. Finally, Aurelia, my word has been passed
to him, and so there need be no more said on the sub-
ject."

you

The young lady was silent for a moment, and the
general rose to leave the room. "Oh, dear father!"
said Aurelia anxiously, as she started to his side, and
laid her hand on his shoulder; "if I can expose this
man's real character to you-if I can prove to you
his utter want of spirit, his absolute poltroonery, will
"Ay, girl,
not spare me this detestable union ?"
if-if indeed, you could do this," returned the gene-
ral, "matters would certainly be somewhat changed.
A coward were no fit husband for a daughter of mine.
But you speak of things absurd-impossible; so, no
more of this. Prepare yourself; Mantheim will soon
be here. And fear not, my love," continued the vete-
ran more affectionately, "but you will be happy. I
have no wish but to see you so; and I act as I do
because I believe that that object can only be brought
about by crossing your own foolish desires at this
moment." Kissing her brow with parental fondness,
the general then left his daughter's apartment.

led.

"You are aware, sir, that your addresses have been them only in obedience to my father's commands. always distasteful to me, and that I have endured They are now more displeasing to me than ever." The suitor seemed but little discomposed by this salutation, which, indeed, communicated nothing new to "Let me hope, madam," said he in reply, him. "that time, and my anxious attentions, will remove this unfavourable feeling." "Time can do much, sir," returned the lady, "but time can make no alteration in my sentiments towards you. I assure you of this, and hope that the assurance will make you forbear, even yet, from pressing your suit on one who can neither be happy with you nor make you happy." "Pardon me, lady," replied the gentleman, assuming the appearance of great devotion, "it does rest with you, and you alone, to make me happy; and you will excuse me if I cannot consent to forego the prospects which your father's kindness and his promise hold out to me."

Aurelia looked down, and, after a pause, answered, with a slight apparent degree of confusion, "Then, sir, I must beg to inform you-since you show so little be others may generosity or forbearance-that there who consider themselves entitled to a voice in this matter." "Others!" cried the lover, startled into a perceptible loss of colour; "what others can there be entitled to interfere in the matter? Come, madam, you jest." "I do not jest," answered Aurelia, with a tone of gravity which made an obvious impression on the baron, in spite of his attempts to assume a look of ease; "I do not jest, sir. There are other parties there is one other party, at all events who may feel called upon to question the propriety of your perseverance in this "Madam, what suit against my fixed inclination." other party can this be?" exclaimed the baron; "you must allude to a lover; and who can he be? What will your father say to this, madam? But, psha! there is no such person," continued the doughty suitor, resuming in part his confidence; "there is no such person. You but jest, madam." "I do not," said Aurelia, quietly but firmly; "there is such a person, and, at this moment, he is not far distant from us."

"Not far distant!" cried the alarmed baron; "what do you mean, lady?" "I say that the person to whom I allude is not far distant," repeated the young lady, "and that before you quit this room an explanation must take place between you."

The general's daughter then rose, and advanced to the closet formerly mentioned. She turned the key in the door, and, opening it slightly, exclaimed, "Albert! Albert Imhoff!" "Stop! stop! madam, for Heaven's sake!" cried the baron, of whose qualities the lady had expressed no incorrect opinion to her father; "stop, madam! I am not deaf to reason. If you are really attached to another, I should be sorry to persist. What would you have me do?" "Resign my hand freely and voluntarily," answered the lady; "here are writing materials. Write me such a resignation briefly and quickly." "What! resign your hand of my own accord," cried the baron; "oh! madam, what will your father say to me?" "Albert! Albert!" exclaimed Aurelia, re-opening the closet door, and again speaking into the interior. "Stop, madam, for mercy's sake!" again cried the baron; "close the door, pray. I have but my sword; he may have pistols, and may shoot me dead before I could move a step from the spot. I will write the resignation." "Do so without delay, then," answered the lady. The baron answered hurriedly, "Yes, yes, without delay."

For a short time afterwards, Aurelia sat absorbed in thought, her fair countenance indicating many anxious emotions. At length she rose from her seat, with the air of one who had formed some decisive resolution, and rang for her waiting-maid. The latter came at the summons. As she entered the room, Aurelia started somewhat hastily and discomposedly, and turned the key of a little closet-door in her apartAccordingly, the alarmed suitor took his seat at the ment. She then assumed a calm manner, seemingly regretting the hurried action into which she had been table, and began to write in terms which the lady, at "Get me the necklace which I wore yesterday, his own request, dictated to him. The resignation Bertha," said she to the girl." It is in your dressing which she demanded was so full and unequivocal, that closet, madam," answered Bertha, and she advanced the baron's repugnance twice got the better of his with great alacrity to the door of the closet, which her fears, and induced him to lay down the pen. But the mistress had aroused her curiosity by locking so hastily. magical whisper of "Albert! Albert !" brought him But Aurelia interposed herself between the girl and instantly to his senses, and he was glad to complete the closet, with sufficient quickness to prevent the the paper, and place it in the lady's hands. It may other from entering. "You need not trouble your be guessed that it was with no very dignified look or self to seek it, Bertha," cried she; "I will get it my-step that, at the close of the operation, he quitted the self. Go you down stairs, and learn when Baron apartment of the general's daughter. Mantheim arrives. Inform him that I wish to speak with him immediately, and bring him hither. Go, and remember this." Bertha could not avoid obey ing the command thus given to her, but she could as little refrain from betraying by her glances that the conduct of her young mistress had awakened in her both curiosity and suspicion. To say the truth, the girl and her lady were not upon those terms on which young heroines and their personal attendants are usuBertha ally found, at least in stories and romances. had been induced, by pretty liberal douceurs, to take the side of the father, and of the lover favoured by him, in the matrimonial matters under agitation in the old general's family, and, as a natural consequence, had lost the confidence of the opposite party, her own

Left alone, Aurelia did not enter the important closet, but sat down on a sofa, waiting quietly for the results of what had passed. She was not mistaken in her calculation that Mantheim would fly without delay to the general, and relate, in his own way, all that had happened. Within a quarter of an hour after the baron had quitted her, Aurelia was visited by her father, and, at a short distance behind Both were fully armed. The him, came the baron. general was in a state of fearful excitement and rage, "Girl!" cried he, "shameless, wretched girl, it would be charity to thee to take thy life on the spot; but first let me punish your betrayer! Where is he?" "Father," answered Aurelia quietly, "for whom do you ask?" "For your minion, miserable girl!" cried the general; "show me instantly where he is!" When left by Bertha, Aurelia did not remain long "There is no one here, father, to my knowledge," said alone, for the waiting-maid soon returned, bringing Aurelia; "search, and you will find it so." "What! with her the suitor countenanced by the general. As think you this trick will serve you? Was not your regarded mere looks, the Baron Mantheim could not base accomplice shut up here, to extort a resignation have been much complained of, or objected to, by of your hand from the baron?" answered the angry Aurelia. He was young, and at least tolerably well-father; "and was not a pistol held to his head till your "The young lady knows too favoured. In attire and appearance, moreover, he object was attained?" was very bold and martial, his moustache being of even well that such was the case, and that her accomplice more than national prominence. After he had seated is shut up at this moment in that closet," exclaimed himself, and requested to know what peculiar com- the baron. "Indeed!" said Aurelia, with a look of mands the lady had at that moment to honour him ineffable scorn; "has such been your pitiful tale! with, Aurelia addressed him somewhat abruptly. Father, look here! If there has been any one but

mistress.

any one.

myself in this closet to-day, banish me from your house
and love for ever!"
Aurelia then led the way into the closet. Neither
there, nor about the apartments, did the general see
"He has escaped !" cried the baron. "No!
he has not escaped," said Aurelia, disdainfully. "Fa-
ther, ask Baron Mantheim the name of this concealed
accomplice-this holder of pistols to men's heads!"
"His name was Albert-Albert Imhoff," answered
the baron without questioning. "Albert Imhoff!"
exclaimed the general; "impossible! he died some
months since on the field of battle; he was once my
aide-de-camp." "Yes, father, it was impossible that
he should be here," said Aurelia, "but his name was
enough. The very name of a brave man was enough
to extort from Baron Mantheim's fears a resignation
of my hand!" "But Bertha, daughter"- "Par-
don me, dear father," continued Aurelia, "if I used
artifice to gain my purpose, and to show you how
unworthy of the hand of a brave man's child was he
on whom you were about to bestow it. No one was
ever in my chamber. This resignation was extorted
not by pistols, but by the mere whisper of a name.'
Why, baron"- said the amazed general, turning
round. But the baron had slipped quietly away, nor
did he ever re-appear to claim the annulment of the
"resignation."

General Velthein was taught, by the preceding circumstances, that it would be much safer to allow Aurelia to choose her own partner for life. She soon found one who never gave her father cause to repent of his having indulged her with her own choice in the

matter.*

LIEBIG'S ORGANIC CHEMISTRY.

SOME years ago, at a meeting of the chemical section of the British Association for the Advancement of Science, the task of preparing a report on organic chemistry was assigned to Dr Justus Liebig, profes sor of chemistry in the University of Giessen.+. The manuscript subsequently prepared by Dr Liebig was committed to the hands of Mr Lyon Playfair, and by him carefully edited, and published in the course of last year, under the title of "Organic Chemistry in its Application to Agriculture and Physiology." Had

the British Association not otherwise assisted in ex

tending the boundaries of science than in eliciting this valuable contribution to human knowledge, it would have deserved the thanks of the community. The work of Dr Liebig, founded perhaps on more careful analyses than that of Davy, is decidedly the most original of its class; and, from the wide array of scientific principles brought to bear on the subject, it ought to attract the patient study not only of every agriculturist, but of every investigator into the original source of national wealth. In the hope of making it better known than it yet happens to be, and fixing attention to the subject, we shall endeavour to give an outline of the contents and train of reasoning.

After describing the constituent properties in most vegetable bodies, namely, carbon, the elements of water, and nitrogen, with certain metallic bases, he proceeds to inquire into the sources of these substances, particularly that of carbon, which is the main ingredient in plants. Here his views are somewhat peculiar. It has usually been supposed that the carbon of plants depends on the presence in the soil of a substance called humus, a product of the decay of other plants. Against this doctrine Liebig contends, and shows that the sources of carbon must have existed at first independently of decayed matter, for, otherwise, how could the first vegetables have existed? "The carbon of plants (he proceeds) must be derived exclusively from the atmosphere. Now, carbon exists in the atmosphere only in the form of carbonic acid; that is to say, in a state of combination with oxygen. It has been already mentioned, likewise, that carbon and the elements of water form the principal constituents of vegetables, the quantity of the substances which do not possess this composition being in very small proportion. Now, the relative quantity of oxygen in the whole mass is less than in carbonic acid. It is therefore certain, that plants must possess the power of decomposing carbonic acid, since they appropriate its carbon for their own use. The formation of their principal component substances must necessarily be attended with the separation of the carbon of the carbonic acid from the oxygen, which must be returned to the atmosphere, whilst the carbon enters into combination with water or its elements. The atmosphere must thus receive a volume of oxygen for every volume of carbonic acid which has been decomposed.

This remarkable property of plants has been demonstrated in the most certain manner, and it is in the power of every person to convince himself of its existence. The leaves and other green parts of a plant absorb carbonic acid, and emit an equal volume of oxygen. They possess this property quite independently of the plant; for if, after being separated from the stem, they are placed in water containing carbonic acid, and exposed in that condition to the sun's light, the carbonic acid is, after a time, found to have disappeared entirely from the water. If the experiment is conducted under a glass receiver filled with water, the oxygen emitted from the plant may be collected and examined. When no more oxygen gas is evolved, it is a sign that all the dissolved carbonic acid is decomposed; but the operation recommences if a new portion of it is added.

The life of plants is closely connected with that of animals, in a most simple manner, and for a wise and sublime purpose. The presence of a rich and luxuriant vegetation may be conceived without the concurrence of animal life, but the existence of animals is undoubtedly dependent upon the life and develop

ment of plants.

Plants not only afford the means of nutrition for the growth and continuance of animal organisation, but they likewise furnish that which is essential for the support of the important vital process of respiration; for besides separating all noxious matters from the atmosphere, they are an inexhaustible source of pure oxygen, which supplies the loss which the air is constantly sustaining. Animals, on the other hand, expire carbon, which plants inspire; and thus the composition of the medium in which both exist, namely, the atmosphere, is maintained constantly unchanged.

It may be asked, is the quantity of carbonic acid in

the atmosphere, which scarcely amounts to 1-10th per
cent, sufficient for the wants of the whole vegetation
on the surface of the earth-is it possible that the
carbon of plants has its origin from the air alone?
This question is very easily answered. It is known
that a column of air, of 2216-66 lbs. weight, Hessian
measure, rests upon every square Hessian foot of the
surface of the earth; the diameter of the earth and
its superficies are likewise known, so that the weight
of the atmosphere can be calculated with the greatest
exactness. The thousandth part of this is carbonic
acid, which contains upwards of twenty-seven per
cent. carbon. By this calculation it can be shown
that the atmosphere contains 3000 billions Hessian
lbs.* of carbon-a quantity which amounts to more
than the weight of all the plants, and of all the strata
of mineral and brown coal, which exist upon the

At the outset, it may be proper to remember that, with the exception of that comparatively small portion drawn from the sea, the food of man is altogether a product of the ground-every thing is drawn from mother earth. The ground, however, is only the rough and immediate material in which vegetation is appropriately conducted, and the real bases of fertility are elementary principles in nature, which are in the first place assimilated to vegetable structure, and then to the food and component parts of animals. These elementary principles reside in two great fields, the soil and the atmosphere, but chiefly the latter. The air around us is an exhaustless reservoir of invisible material, from which all kinds of plants draw the principal part of their nourishment: from being invisible to the eye, vegetable growth causes the material, modified by the transformation, to be obvious to the senses. In the performance of this great and wonderful process in the economy of nature, various accessories, it may be supposed, are required-pure air, moisture, the alternate light of day and darkness of night, revolutions of the globe, winds-all act a part in the scheme, which, the more minutely it is investigated, appears to us the more sublime and beautiful. If the process of vegetable growth, in all the circumstances which we can imagine, were incapable of being assisted by artificial means, it would serve the purpose only of a rational curiosity to inquire into its character; but mankind have dis-earth. This carbon is, therefore, more than adequate covered, by dint of sheer experience and necessity, that the vegetable product is susceptible of prodigious increase by culture and the administration of restoratives to the soil. Here an entirely new view of the subject opens. We can increase our means of support by aiding nature in her operations, and the great question at once arises-in what shall the aid consist? It would be utterly in vain to answer such a question satisfactorily, and the agriculturist would be left only to the guidance of blind chance in his operations, without going to the very bottom of the subject and ascertaining with accuracy the fundamental principles of vegetable growth, or, in other words, learning what tion of the plant. The search into these elements is what has engaged the attention of Liebig.

are the exact elements which enter into the constitu

*Translated from a French feuilleton.

† Giessen is capital of the German principality of Upper Hesse, belonging to Hesse-Darmstadt.

8vo. London: Taylor and Walton. 1840.

to all the purposes for which it is required. The
quantity of carbon contained in sea water, is propor-
tionally still greater.

But it is inconceivable that the functions of the
organs of a plant can cease for any one moment dur-
ing its life: the roots and other parts of it, which
possess the same power, absorb constantly water and
carbonic acid. This power is independent of solar
light. During the day, when the plants are in the
shade, and during the night, carbonic acid is accumu-
lated in all parts of their structure; and the assimila-
tion of the carbon and the exhalation of oxygen
commence from the instant that the rays of the sun
strike them. As soon as a young plant breaks through
the surface of the ground, it begins to acquire colour
from the top downwards, and the true formation of
woody tissue commences at the same time."

The following explanation which he adds respect

* [A Hessian pound is about a tenth greater than an English pound.]

ing an interchange of atmospheres in different parts of
the earth, will be new to many readers.
"The pro-
per, constant, and inexhaustible sources of oxygen gas
are the tropics and warm climates, where a sky, sel-
dom clouded, permits the glowing rays of the sun to
shine upon an immeasurably luxuriant vegetation.
The temperate and cold zones, where artificial warmth
must replace deficient heat of the sun, produce, on
the contrary, carbonic acid in superabundance, which
is expended in the nutrition of the tropical plants.
The same stream of air which moves by the revolu-
tion of the earth from the equator to the poles, brings
to us, in its passage from the equator, the oxygen
generated there, and carries away the earbonic acid
formed during our winter. The experiments of De
Saussure have proved that the upper strata of the
air contain more carbonic acid than the lower, which
are in contact with plants; and that the quantity is
greater by night than by day, when it undergoes de-
composition. Plants thus improve the air, by the
removal of carbonic acid, and by the renewal of oxy-
gen, which is immediately applied to the use of man
and animals. The horizontal currents of the atmo-
sphere bring with them as much as they carry away;
and the interchange of air between the upper and
lower strata, which their difference of temperature
causes, is extremely trifling when compared with the
horizontal movements of the winds. Vegetable cul-
ture heightens the healthy state of a country, and a
previously healthy country would be rendered quite
uninhabitable by the cessation of all cultivation."

How grand the theory in these passages respecting the influence of winds on vegetation! Those streams of air which superstition would ascribe to demons, are among the most beneficent means arranged to preserve atmospheric salubrity, and afford materials for man's subsistence.

Humus, he proceeds to show, is only another form of carbonic acid, drawn originally from the atmosphere. "Transformations of existing compounds are constantly taking place during the whole life of a plant, in consequence of which, and as the results of these transformations, there are produced gaseous matters which are excreted by the leaves and blossoms, solid excrements deposited in the bark, and fluid soluble substances which are eliminated by the roots. Such secretions are most abundant immediately before the formation and during the continuance of the blossoms; they diminish after the development of the fruit. Substances containing a large proportion of carbon, are excreted by the roots, and absorbed by the soil. Through the expulsion of these matters unfitted for nutrition, therefore, the soil receives again the greatest part of the carbon, which it had at first yielded to the young plants as food, in the form of carbonic acid. The soluble matter, thus acquired by the soil, is still capable of decay and putrefaction, and by undergoing these processes furnishes renewed sources of nutrition to another generation of plants; it becomes humus. The leaves of trees, which fall in the forest in autumn, and the old roots of grass in the meadow, are likewise converted into humus by the

same influence: a soil receives more carbon in this

form than its decaying humus had lost as carbonic acid." He seems to wish it to be understood, that humus is not taken up in an unaltered state into plants, but is a deposit of transformed carbonic acid in the soil, where it lies ready for re-transformation by the roots of plants.

66

Passing over a variety of details respecting the source and assimilation of nitrogen in plants, and other branches of his subject, we arrive at what may be called the practical part of the book-the natur and power of manures. The fertilising properties of manures depend on the presence of ammonia, under whatever form it may be disguised. Vegetables derive their nitrogen from ammonia, and animal manure acts only by its affording this material. How to furnish nitrogen in sufficient abundance, is then the great duty of the agriculturist. The most ready form in which it exists is putrescent animal liquid, which contains nitrogen in the forms of carbonate, phosphate, and lactate of ammonia, and in no other form than that of ammoniacal salts." We wish we could spare room to enter into the author's details on this highly important subject, and referring to the book itself, we must content ourselves with a few emphatic enunciations. The ignorant carelessness of farmers and cottagers in allowing their heaps of manure to exhale into the atmosphere, is properly reprehended. "The nitrogen in it [the heap] escapes as carbonate of ammonia into the atmosphere, and a mere carbonaceous residue of decayed plants is, after some years, found in its place." The loss from the volatility of the ammoniacal gases in all kinds of manures is very considerable, even in much more favourable circumstances. For instance, in spreading solid or liquid manures on a field, there is a rapid escape of fertilising properties, which could be saved by a little care. The manner of preservation is to bring the substances in contact with other substances, which will greedily absorb the volatile principles. Gypsum, chloride of calcium, sulphuric or muriatic acid, and super-phosphate of lime, may all be employed for this purpose. If a basin filled with concentrated muriatic acid is placed in a situation where the sense of smell is offended, "it becomes filled after a few days with crystals of muriate of ammonia. The ammonia, to the presence of which the organs of smell amply testify, combines with the muriatic acid and loses entirely its volatility, and thick clouds or

fumes of the salt newly formed hang over the basin. In stables the same may be seen. The ammonia that escapes in this manner, is not only entirely lost as far as our vegetation is concerned, but it works also a slow, though not less certain, destruction of the walls of the building. For when in contact with the lime of the mortar, it is converted into nitric acid, which gradually dissolves the lime. The ammonia emitted from stables, &c., is always in combination with carbonic acid. Carbonate of ammonia and sulphate of lime (gypsum) cannot be brought together at common temperatures, without mutual decomposition. The ammonia enters into combination with the sulphuric acid, and the carbonic acid with the lime, forming compounds which are not volatile, and, consequently, destitute of all smell. Now, if we strew the floors of our stables, from time to time, with common gypsum, they will lose all their offensive smell, and none of the ammonia which forms can be lost, but will be retained in a condition serviceable as manure."

Bone manure, from the quantity of phosphate of lime which it contains, is known to be a highly efficacious restorative; but the manner in which it may be most advantageously applied, is perhaps not so well understood. "The manure of an acre of land, with forty lbs. of bone dust, is sufficient to supply three crops of wheat, clover, potatoes, turnips, &c., with phosphates. But the form in which they are restored to a soil does not appear to be a matter of indifference; for the more finely the bones are reduced to powder, and the more intimately they are mixed with the soil, the more easily are they assimilated. The most easy and practical mode of effecting their division, is to pour over the bones, in a state of fine powder, half their weight of sulphuric acid, diluted with three or four parts of water; and after they have been digested for some time, to add one hundred parts of water, and sprinkle this mixture over the field before the plough. In a few seconds, the free acids unite with the bases contained in the earth, and a neutral salt is formed in a very fine state of division. Experiments instituted on a soil formed from grawacke, for the purpose of ascertaining the action of manure thus prepared, have distinctly shown that neither corn nor kitchen-garden plants suffer injurious effects in consequence, but that, on the contrary, they thrive with much more vigour."

The author's hints on manures from the waste of

glue manufactories, seem equally useful. "In the manufactories of glue, many hundred tons of a solution of phosphates in muriatic acid are yearly thrown away as being uscless. It would be important to examine whether this solution might not be substituted for the bones. The free acid would combine with the alkalies in the soil, especially with the lime, and a soluble salt would thus be produced, which is known to possess a favourable action upon the growth of plants. This salt, muriate of lime (or chloride of calcium), is one of those compounds which attracts water from the atmosphere with great avidity, and might supply the place of gypsum in decomposing carbonate of ammonia, with the formation of sal-ammoniac and carbonate of lime. A solution of bones in muriatic acid placed on land in autumn or in winter, would, therefore, not only restore a necessary constituent of the soil, and attract moisture to it, but would also give it the power to retain all the ammonia which fell upon it dissolved in the rain during the period of six months."

The chemist Jugenhouss, as we are informed by Liebig, proposed a new manure in the form of diluted sulphuric acid, which forms gypsum (sulphate of lime) when sprinkled on calcareous soils, thus preventing the necessity of manuring with this material. From various passages in the work, it would appear that Liebig considers the chemistry of agriculture still in its feeblest infancy. He declares that it is of no consequence what is the external character of a manure; the elements of the material are alone to be regarded. "A time will come," says he, "when fields will be manured with a solution of glass (silicate of potash), with the ashes of burnt straw, and with salts of phosphoric acid, prepared in chemical manufactories, exactly as at present medicines are given for fever and goître."

We are particularly struck with the author's computation of the value of those liquids which mankind daily, and everywhere but in China, utterly neglect and throw away. This liquid contains thirteen times more nitrogen than horse manure, and six times that of a cow. The quantity produced by a single grown person annually would yield nitrogen for 800 lbs. of wheat, rye, oats, or of 900 lbs. of barley. For a weight of 1 lb. of this liquid, 1 lb. of wheat could be produced. If these data be correct, the United Kingdom loses many millions of pounds sterling annually, the whole of which could be easily saved. The Chinese do not allow a particle of the materials we allude to to be lost; and their agriculture excels ours to an incalculable degree. The people of this country, by an excess of fastidiousness, have hitherto scarcely paid any attention to this subject; and so little is practically known by us of the method of treating excrementitious matter for manure, that at this moment some of our agriculturists are actually importing from the continent a species of inodorous but fertilising powder, manufactured from what in this country is almost universally lost. We regret that want of space here compels us to bring these facts and hints to a close, and we shall rejoice if they be serviceable

in stimulating landed gentry, farmers, and agricul-
tural associations, to pursue the subject to its remotest
limits.

IN the boundless list of poets and versifiers, who, though unknown to general fame, have helped to charm the little circle in which they moved, we must include the late Rev. James Nicol, minister of the parish of Traquair, a pleasing rural district in the vale of Tweed. We know scarcely any thing of the life of this unknown poet, further than that, by dint of great personal industry and perseverance, he emancipated himself, while young, from the toils of a laborious and humble profession, and with a mind cultured by a hard-won education, was fortunate in being installed as pastor of a parochial charge.

AN UNKNOWN SCOTTISH POET.

Casting our recollections back an interval of thirty
years, we remember Mr Nicol as a man of peculiarly
lively fancy, and to whom it was a pleasure to listen,
the singular force and originality of his language, as
his sermons being in a high degree attractive, from
well as an extraordinary brilliancy of sentiment and
metaphor. Besides possessing happy conversational
Powers, he was, like Burns, a poet of nature's own
creating. Placed, when comparatively a young man,
in a pleasant part of the country, and nigh the in-
spiring shade of the "Bush aboon Traquair," he
had, in the intervals of professional occupation, a
fancies. Among the earliest of the products of his
favourable opportunity for cultivating his poetical
muse, which tradition and fugitive literature have
preserved, is the following song, which was addressed
to the lady who afterwards became his wife. The
lines, which are at once simple and beautiful, are sung
slowly to a tune which we believe has never been
published, though worthy of being so.

"Where Quair rins sweet amang the flowers,
Down by yon woody glen, lassie,
My cottage stands-it shall be yours,
Gin ye will be my ain, lassie.

I'll watch ye wi' a lover's care,
And wi' a lover's ee, lassie;
I'll weary Heaven wi' mony a prayer,
And ilka prayer for thee, lassie.

"Tis true I hae na mickle gear;

My stock it's unco sma', lassie ;
Nae fine-spun foreign claes I wear,
Nor servants tend my ca', lassie.
But had I heir'd the British crown,
And thou o' low degree, lassie,
A rustic lad I wad hae grown,
Or shared that crown wi' thee, lassie.
Whenever absent frae thy sight,

Nae pleasure smiles on me, lassie ;
I climb the mountain's towering height,
And cast a look to thee, lassie.

I blame the blast blaws on thy cheek;
The flower that decks thy hair, lassie,
The gales that steal thy breath sae sweet,
My love and envy share, lassie.

If for a heart that glows for thee,

Thou wilt thy heart resign, lassie,
Then come, my Nancy, come to me--
That glowing heart is mine, lassie.
Where Quair rins sweet amang the flowers,
Down by yon woody glen, lassie,
My cottage stands-it shall be yours,
Gin ye will be my ain, lassie."

If some sweet-voiced Nancy, such a one as these
verses might have been addressed to, will take them
up, and give them the benefit of her powers of melody,
to be present will declare them to be tender and im-
we doubt not but that all who have the good fortune
passioned, and well worthy of the pains bestowed in
giving them utterance. It is one thing to write pass-
able poetry, and quite another thing to write a good
admit, and as the paucity of good songs for the voice,
singable song, as all who have tried the feat will
indeed, is sufficient in itself to prove.
Mr Nicol fulfil the desideratum so difficult of attain-

ment.

The lines of

The following is another of our poet's addresses to the object of his affections, written when a cloud seems to have lowered upon his hopes of happi

ness:

"What balm can cure my wounded soul,
What charm my sorrows can remove,
When mountains rise and billows roll,
Between me and the maid I love?
Amid the gloom which absence makes,
Hope trembling darts a feeble ray;
But pale Despair appears, and takes
The very soul of life away.
Once smiling pleasure round me play'd,
Nor knew I sorrow's poison'd dart;
These days are gone-remembrance sad
Of joy's departed wrings my heart.
Hear, Heaven, the prayer of misery!
Grant this request-I ask no more;
Let memory in my bosom die,

Or Nancy to my arms restore!"

Another piece which we shall give a place to here, as a slight tribute to the memory of an unknown poet to the mavis, or thrush, called up by the sight of -a man of tender and feeling mind-is an address heedless or ignorant of the cruel propensities fostered a barbarously rifled nest. Parents in the country, by such acts of spoliation, are too apt, as we know from personal observation, to permit their children to carry away young birds from the nest, without a word of blame or remonstrance. In this unambitious little

piece, Mr Nicol speaks, we think, very feelingly for the poor mavis :-

"Stern Winter, with his angry showers,

No more on Tweed's fair banks remain'd;
But spring, array'd in blushing flowers,
O'er all the extended country reign'd.
On Leithen's side, at close of day,
I walk'd the shady groves among ;
When, mournful from a neighbouring spray,
A mavis pour'd these notes along:
Sure, tender Pity, heavenly maid!
From man's abodes is driven away;
And, of his ruthless deeds afraid,
Through deserts wild is forced to stray.
Where, where, ah! where's the tender brood
I nourish'd with a parent's care-
Whom I, with pleasure, fill'd with food,

And guarded from the inclement air?
They're gone! they're gone! Ah, cruel Heaven!
Dost thou no signs of anger show?
Behold the wretch, to whom is given
The empire o'er thy works below!
Behold the wretch, who boasts aloud
Of reason and a soul divine!
If that's his reason-mighty God!
I thank thee it was never mine!

Think, ruthless man, and blush for shame!
Thy children prattling on thy knee,
Who fondly lisp their father's name,
Are not more dear than mine to me.
I fondly thought, but thought in vain,
To see my darlings wing their way;
To hear the woods resound their strain,
And echo sporting with the lay!
How base ingratitude appears!

Did man from me e'er suffer wrong?
How oft my numbers charm'd his ears,
And soothed his soul the groves among.
But since my young are stolen away,
No pleasure I shall ever see;
To sorrow I resign the day,

And dumb my tuneful tongue shall be."
Assuming, as is fairly allowable to a poet, the cha-
racter of a country swain, Mr Nicol addressed the
following pleasing song to the object of his affections,
in the corresponding character of a rustic maid.
"My dear little lassie, why, what's a' the matter?
My heart's grown uneasy-it winna lie still;
I've waited, and waited, and a' to grow better,
But, can you believe me, I'm just growing ill?

My head's grown sae dizzy, and aye when I'm speaking

I

I sigh and am breathless, and fearfu' to speak;
gaze on, and something I fain wad be seeking,
But, lassie, I kenna weel what I would seek.
When we tedded the hay-field, I raked ilka rig o't,
And never grew weary the lang simmer's day;
The rucks that you wrought at were easier bigget,
And far sweeter scented around you the hay.

At hairst, when the kirn-suppers' joys made us cheery,
'Mang the lave o' the lasses I preed your sweet mou';
And, sauf me! how queer I grew when I came near ye-
My heart thrill'd with rapture, I canna tell how
When we danced at the gloaming, 'twas aye you I pitch'd on,
And when you gaed by me how dowie I grew;
There's something, dear lassie, about ye bewitching,
That tells me my happiness centres in you."

Our rural poet evinced no mean powers in the department, also, of comic song; and we shall bring our specimens to a close by giving his "Halucket Meg," a piece which Allan Cunningham has thought not unworthy of a place in his collection of the "Songs of Scotland." *

66

Meg, cleanin' at Geordie's byre,

Wrought as gin her judgment was wrang;
Ilk daud o' the scartle strack fire,
While loud as a lavrock she sang.
Her Geordie had promised to marry,
An' Meg, a sworn fae to despair,
Not dreamin' the job could miscarry,
Already seem'd mistress an' mair!
'My neibours,' she sang,' aften jeer me,
And ca' me daft, halucket Meg,
And say, they expect soon to hear me
I' the kirk, for my fun, get a fleg!
And now, 'bout my marriage they clatter,
And Geordie, poor fallow, they ca'
An auld doitit hav'rel! Nae matter,
He'll keep me aye brankin and braw!
I grant ye, his face is kenspeckle,
That the white o' his e'e is turn'd out,
That his black beard is rough as a heckle,
That his mou to his lug's rax'd about;
But they needna let on that he's crazy,
His pike-staff wull ne'er let him fa';
Nor that his hair's white as a daisy,
For fient a hair has he ava!
But a weel-plenish'd mailin has Geordie,
And routh o' gude gowd in his kist;
And if siller comes at my wordie,
His beauty I never will miss't!
Daft gouks, wha catch fire like tinder,
Think love-raptures ever will burn!
But wi' poortith, hearts het as a cinder
Will cauld as an icicle turn!
There'll just be ae bar to my pleasure,
A bar that's aft fill'd me wi' fear,
He's sic a hard, near-be-gawn miser,
He likes his saul less than his gear!
But though I now flatter his failin',
An' swear nought wi' gowd can compare,
Gude sooth, it sall soon get a scailin'!
His bags sall be mouldie nae mair!

I dreamt that I rade in a chariot,
A flunkie ahint me in green;
While Geordie cried out he was harriet,
And the saut tear was blindin' his een ;
But though 'gainst my spendin' he swear aye,
I'll hae frae him what ser's my turn;
Let him slip awa when he grows wearie,
Shame fa' me, gin lang I wad mourn!'

to the word.
The term "halucket" is explained by Dr Jamieson to mean
"giddy or hairbrained," and he quotes our author in alluding

Burckhardt as a traveller will chiefly depend, are those made by him in his tour through Arabia. He was the first traveller who gave a minute and accurate account of the pilgrimages to Mecca and Medina, and also the first who found out the site of the city of Petra, the capital of ancient Edom, so remarkable for its rock-sculptures. Altogether, the journeys of Burckhardt are so deeply interesting, and evince such an amount of patience under toil and suffering on the part of the traveller, that we believe some excerpts from his diaries will prove acceptable to every reader of the present work.

been accumulated round the prophet's tomb, but little of this has escaped the rapacity of invaders and unscrupulous Arab chiefs. Between the curtain of the prophet's tomb and the encircling railing, glass lamps are hung up, which are kept burning all night. Over the enclosure, or Hedjra, is placed a lofty dome, rising far above the other domes of the city, and ornamented with a large globe and a crescent, both said to be of pure gold. Next to the Hedjra, the most sacred place of the mosque, is a place called El Rodha, or the Garden, pointed out by Mohammed in the words, "Between my tomb and my pulpit is a garden of the The two volumes drawn up from Burckhardt's gardens of Paradise." Excepting as regards the flowers notes, entitled "Travels in Arabia," are chiefly de- painted upon the columns of the Rodha, there is no voted to an account of Palestine and the holy cities of other trace of a garden about it. "The entrance to the Mahometans, visited by the traveller in the cha- the Rodha, near Bab-es-Salam, has a splendid appearracter of a true believer. There was great boldness ance: the gaudy colours displayed on every side, the shown in the attempt to assume such a character, glazed columns, fine carpets, rich pavement, the gilt because, had he been detected, his life would not have inscriptions on the wall to the south, and the glittering been worth an hour's purchase. However, the ad-railing of the Hedjra in the background, dazzle the venturous Swiss joined a party of pilgrims, who, in sight at first; but, after a short pause, it becomes the spring of 1814, crossed the Red Sea to Djidda, the evident that this is a display of tinsel decoration, and sea-port of Mecca, the principal of the two holy cities. not of real riches. When we recollect that this spot In Djidda, Sheik Ibrahim, as Burckhardt called him- is one of the holiest of the Mahommedan world, and self, was taken ill and ran short of money. His con- celebrated for its splendour, magnificence, and costly dition became deplorable; but at length Mehemet ornaments, and that it is decorated with the united Ali, the Pacha of Egypt, who was then in Arabia, pious donations of all the devotees of that religion, we heard of his misfortunes, and sent for him to the are still more forcibly struck with its paltry appearcamp at Tayf. At the pacha's head-quarters, the ance. It will bear no comparison with the shrine of traveller received a loan of money, which induced the most insignificant saint in any Catholic church in him to set out by himself for Mecca, being deter- Europe, and may serve as a convincing proof, that mined to see that city at all risks. The cities of in pious gifts the Mahommedan have at no period Mecca and Medina are situated in the Arabian pro- equalled the Catholic devotees; without noticing vince of Hedjaz, on the eastern coast of the Red Sea, many other circumstances, which help to strengthen and nearly under the tropic of Cancer. Arriving at the belief, that whatever may be their superstition Mecca, Mr Burckhardt found nearly 70,000 pilgrims and fanaticism, Mahommedans are never inclined to there assembled. He saw this immense multitude make as many pecuniary sacrifices for their religious assume the white uniform appointed for the occasion, establishments, as Catholic and even Protestant Chrisand undergo the stated number of ceremonial ablu- tians do for theirs. tions; he joined them in walking round the Kaaba, or holy stone, seven times, each circuit being accompanied by a kiss; and, in short, under his ostensible character of a Mahometan, the Christian traveller gained an insight into all the mysteries hitherto confined to the breasts of true believers.*

With a small caravan of hadjis, or pilgrims, Mr Burckhardt proceeded from Mecca to Medina. The last of these cities is held as scarcely inferior to the first in sanctity, containing, as it does, the tomb of the prophet Mahommed. This, the "precious jewel of Medina," is contained in a large mosque, a hundred and sixty-five paces in length, and a hundred and thirty in breadth. It is surrounded on all sides by covered colonnades, composed of from three to ten rows of pillars, one before another. These pillars are painted with flowers and arabesques, in a gaudy style. The interior walls of the central building, enclosed by these pillars, is partly cased with white marble, having inscriptions upon it in gilt letters, which produce a fine effect. The floor is paved with marble, white and mosaic mixed. "Near the south-east corner (says Mr Burckhardt) stands the famous tomb, so detached from the walls of the mosque as to leave between it and the south wall a space of about twenty-five feet, and fifteen between it and the east wall. The enclosure, which defends the tomb from the too near approach of visiters, forms an irregular square of about twenty paces, in the midst of the colonnade, several of its pillars being included within it: it is an iron railing, painted green, about two-thirds the height of the columns, filling up the intervals between them, so as to leave their upper part projecting above it, and entirely open. The railing is of good workmanship, in imitation of filligree, and is interwoven with open-worked inscriptions of yellow bronze, supposed by the vulgar to be of gold, and of so close a texture that no view can be gained into the interior, except by several small windows, about six inches square, which are placed in the four sides of the railing, about five feet above the ground. On the south side of the railing, where are the two principal of these windows, before which the visiters stand when praying, the railing is thinly plated over with silver, and the oftenrepeated inscription of La Illaha il Allah al hak al Mobyn' There is no God but God, the evident truth, is carried in silver letters across the railing all round these windows. This enclosure is entered by four gates, three of which are constantly kept shut, and one only is opened, every morning and evening, to admit the eunuchs, whose office it is to clean the floor and light the lamps. What appears of the interior is a curtain carried round, which takes up almost the whole space, having between it and the railing an open walk, of a few paces only in breadth.

According to the historian of Medina, the curtain covers a square building of black stones, supported by two pillars, in the interior of which are the tombs of Mahommed, and his two earliest friends and immediate successors, Abou Beker and Omar. As far as I could learn here, these tombs are also covered with precious stuffs, and in the shape of catafalques, like that of Ibrahim in the great mosque of Mecca." The old European tradition of Mahommed's coffin being suspended in air, is unknown in the Hedjaz. Formerly, immense quantities of treasure, in the shape of golden vessels and precious stones, are said to have * In No. 83 of the present work, an account of Mecca, and the ceremonies there performed, was given at such length, as renders it proper for us on the present occasion to confine our attention chiefly to the second of the holy cities, Medina.

The ceremonies on visiting the mosque are the following. At first the pilgrim, before he enters the town, is to purify himself by a total ablution, and, if possible, to perfume his body with sweet odours. When he arrives in sight of the dome, he is to utter some pious ejaculations. When he intends to visit the temple, the cicerone, or, as he is here called, mezowar, leads him into the gate called Bab-es-Salam, passing his right foot first over the threshold, which is the general custom in all mosques, and particularly insisted upon here. While reciting some prayers, he steps forward into the Rodha, where he performs a short prayer, with four prostrations, as a salutation to the mosque, during which he is enjoined to recite the two short chapters (109th and 112th) of the Koran. He then passes through one of the small doors of the Rodha, and walks slowly towards the railing of the Hedjra, before the western window of which, on its south side, he takes his stand; with arms half raised, he addresses his invocations to Mahommed, in the words 'Salam aleyka ya Mahommed, Salam ya Rasoul illah,' &c., recapitulating about twenty of the different surnames or honourable titles of Mahommed, and prefixing to each of them Salem aleyk.' He next invokes his intercession in heaven, and distinctly mentions the names of all those of his relations and friends whom he is desirous to include in his prayers; it is for this reason, that an inhabitant of Medina never receives a letter from abroad, without being entreated, at the end of it, to mention the writer's name at the tomb of the Prophet. If the pilgrim is delegated on the pilgrimage for another, he is bound here to mention the name of his principal. In this prayer an expression is used, as at all the places visited for their sanctity about the town, but which appeared to me little calculated to inspire the visiter with humane or charitable feelings; among other favours supplicated in prayer to the Deity, the following request is made:- Destroy our eneniies, and may the torments of hell-fire be their lot.'

female saint), who likewise receive gifts in their handkerchiefs. In the Rodha stand the eunuchs, or the guardians of the temple, waiting till the visiter has finished his last prayer of salutation, to wish him joy on having successfully completed the zyara or visit, and to receive their fees; and the great gate of Bab es-Salam is constantly crowded with poor, who closely beset the visiter on his leaving the mosque; the porter also expects his complement, as a matter of right. The whole visit cost me about fifteen piastres, and I gave ten piastres to my cicerone; but I might per haps have got through for half that sum. The ceremonies may be repeated as often as the visiter wishes; but few perform them all, except on arriving at Medina, and when on the point of depart ing. It is a general practice, however, to go every day, at least once, to the window opposite Mahom med's tomb, and recite there a short prayer: many persons do it whenever they enter the mosque. It is also a rule never to sit down in the mosque, for any of the usual daily prayers, without having previously addressed an invocation to the Prophet, with uplifted hands, and the face turned towards his tomb. A similar practice is prevalent in many other mosques in the east, which contain the tomb of a saint. The Moslem divines affirm, that prayers recited in the mosque of Medina are peculiarly acceptable to the Deity, and invite the faithful to perform this pilgrimage, by telling them that one prayer said in sight of the Hedjra is as efficacious as a thousand said in any other mosque except that of Mecca."

The town of Medina is described as tolerably well built, but having no other source of wealth than the pilgrimages, and containing no object of especial interest but the great mosque. In this respect, moreover, it does not enjoy advantages equal to those of Mecca. Immense numbers of pilgrims certainly visit Medina yearly; but the visit is rather regarded as a meritorious action than as a duty incumbent on the faithful. Yet he who recites forty prayers at the tomb of Mahommed will be delivered, says the creed of Islamism, from all torments after death.

The civilised world owes much to Mr Burckhardt for the information which he gave, and was the first to give, on this curious subject. We hope to return to the adventures of this interesting traveller ere long.

NAVAL WARFARE OF ENGLAND AND
AMERICA.

SECOND ARTICLE.

THE early part of the year 1813 was signalised by a few naval encounters between the British and the Americans, though not of any serious importance, and in no respect contributing to allay the vengeful passions of either party. At this time, the United States' ship-sloop Hornet, Captain Lawrence, kept roving about the American coast, and was the terror of many a craft engaged in the merchant service. On the 14th of February, when cruising off Pernambuco, she captured an English brig with 23,000 dollars in specie on board. In a few days afterwards, near the entrance to Demerara river, she encountered the British frigate Peacock, which she likewise captured. The Peacock almost immediately sunk, in consequence of the damages she had sustained during the action.

The next was one of the most desperate though brief engagements which took place during the war, being that between the British frigate Shannon, Captain Broke, and the United States frigate Chiesapeake, Captain Lawrence, who had previously commanded the Hornet. The meeting of these vessels was off the harbour of Boston, and took place on the 1st of June 1813. Both commanders were full of high hopes of conquest. Following the account given of the murderous affair by James, the Chesapeake came down upon the Shannon's starboard quarter, with three ensigns flying, and led Captain Broke to expect After these prayers are said, the visiter is desired that she would pass under his stern, and engage him to remain a few minutes with his head pressed close on the larboard side; he therefore directed his men, against the window, in silent adoration; he then steps as she passed, to lie down flat, so as to avoid in some back, and performs a prayer of four prostrations, degree the raking fire. But Captain Lawrence, either under the neighbouring colonnade, opposite the rail- overlooking or waiving this advantage, at thirty-five ing; after which he approaches the second window, on minutes past five, luffed up, within half-pistol shot, this same side, said to face the tomb of Abou Beker, upon the Shannon's starboard-quarter. Some shots and goes through prayers similar to those said at the from the Shannon took effect, killing and wounding former window (called Shobak-en'-Neby), which are several officers and men; the Chesapeake discharged recited in honour of Abou Beker. Stepping back a her whole broadside in return, which was replied to second time to the colonnade, he again performs a by the Shannon's guns, as fast as the men could level short prayer, and then advances to the third window them with precision. In about seven minutes from on this side of the railing, which is opposite that part the commencement of the action, the Chesapeake, of the curtain behind which the tomb of Omar is said having her jib-sheet and fore-topsail-tie shot away, to lie similar prayers are said here. When this cere- fell on board the Shannon; the fluke of the latter's mony is finished, the visiter walks round the south-waist anchor, which had been stowed in the maineast corner of the Hedjra, and presents himself chains, entering the former's quarter-gallery window. before the tomb of Setna Fatme, where, after four The shot from the Shannon's aftermost guns now had prostrations, a prayer is addressed to Fatme-e-Zohera, a fair range along the Chesapeake's decks, beating in or the bright blooming Fatme, as she is called. He the stern-ports, and sweeping the men from their quarthen returns to the Rodha, where a prayer is said as ters. Seeing that there was a general desertion of guns a salutation to the Deity on leaving the mosque, which on the enemy's deck, Captain Broke instantly called completes this ceremony, the performance of which out " Board !" and, accompanied by his lieutenant and occupies at most twenty minutes. twenty men, sprung upon the quarter-deck of the On every spot where prayers are to be said, people Chesapeake, where he met with little or no resistance. sit with handkerchiefs spread out to receive the gifts Those on the forecastle having submitted, the chief of the visiters, which appear to be considered less as molestation continued to be from the Chesapeake's visiter would find it difficult to make his way without dislodge the combatants aloft, he was treacherously alme than as a sort of toll; at least a well-dressed fore-top. While Captain Broke was giving orders to paying these taxes. Before the window of Setna set upon by three Americans who had formerly subFatme sits a party of women (Fatme being herself amitted, but had armed themselves afresh. Captain