DINBURGA JOURNA CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,” "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c. NUMBER 487. DISAPPOINTMENTS OF THE BENEVOLENT. To the benevolent, the exercise of their predominating sentiment is, by a law of their nature, a source of high gratification; but it is also apt to be attended with consequences of an unpleasant character, against which it is well for them to be on their guard. Their plans for the good of their fellow-creatures often go completely amiss, generally from miscalculating the materials they have to work with. This has been done by many an unfortunate patriot, who regretted, when too late, that he had disturbed existing things, and exposed himself to the most serious personal evils, on account of individuals quite unprepared to second his views, or to have taken advantage of them if they had been attended with success. The same result has attended many a strenuous effort made in behalf of private persons, who proved unfit to work out the plans laid down for them, or to benefit by the exertions made in their behalf. The unfitness may have arisen from habits and dispositions of a disqualifying nature, or from mere inability to grapple with and operate upon the means put in their power; but from whatever cause it arises, its effects are sure to be the same, namely, a complete frustration of the benevolent design which was entertained. The benevolent are not naturally disposed to consider such things beforehand. Thinking every other person as good as themselves, and feeling that, were the case their own, it would present no difficulty, they hurry the objects of their good feelings into arrangements in which they are as much at a loss as a landsman would be in managing a vessel in a storm. When, in such a case, the unavoidable consequences follow, the benevolent party is clearly not entitled, in a fit of chagrin, to throw the whole blame upon the individual in whose behalf he acted. The latter can only be reasonably blamed, when the scheme was his own, and when it might evidently have done well had he chosen to exert himself to the full amount of his ability, or been pleased to avoid certain courses sure to be attended with ruin, and which his patron had no reason to suppose he would adopt. Generally, the real blame, if there be any blame in the matter, is with the benevolent party, who had failed to calculate on the character of the person he was disposed to befriend. The benevolent are clearly called upon to weigh well such points, and to act, or refrain from acting, accordingly; or, if they will act without calculation, or in despite of the voice of wisdom, they should be prepared for disappointment. So also should they be, even when every fair calculation has been made, for the best-laid schemes are of course liable to mischance in the course of providence. To receive disappointment, from whatever cause it may have arisen, with philosophical tranquillity, and to remain not less ready to do good than before, presents, we think, one of the most beautiful and affecting spectacles of which human nature is capable it is one which, we may safely say, will never be witnessed except in the genuinely benevolent, for it takes deplorably little to frighten the selfish out of any faint notion which they may ever have entertained of acting beneficently. : The good aims of the benevolent sometimes meet with serious obstructions in the circumstances of society, and the state of mind of private parties. Their aims may be pure as the light of heaven, but there may be so many who seek to advance their own narrow interests under the pretext of benevolence, that the public, warned by former damage, view every thing of the kind with distrust. Individuals, in like manner, are sometimes so accustomed to hard SATURDAY, MAY 29, 1841. usage on the part of their fellow-creatures, that when any one addresses them in the voice of kindness, they recognise it not, or only recognise it to harden up their natures against it as but a more insidious means of doing them an injury. One half of the evils of the world might be instantly alleviated, if well-considered good intention could be instantly, in all cases, sure of meeting with confidence; but this the veteran battalion of pretenders render impossible. Confounded, then, with the designing and selfish, the benevolent are often met by society, and by private parties, with a show of hostile feeling for which they were little prepared. But they ought to be prepared for such opposition, and should determine beforehand not to be discouraged by it. That very condition of mind which dictates such opposition, ought to operate with every truly benevolent person as an additional incentive to good works, for is it not distressing to think of people being brought, by the circumstances in which they live, to regard pure goodness with suspicion, and to seek to cover it with obloquy? To do away with such feelings, and replace them by those of mutual kindness, must be objects dear to every wellconstituted mind. Where benevolent and well-conceived plans are met with opposition of a different kind-as, for example, prejudices which blindly condemn every thing that is new-so still is the author of them called upon to take no discouragement therefrom. He may be assured that plans conceived in a benevolent spirit, and really calculated for the good of mankind, will in time make their way, if duly persevered in. Perhaps the most bitter of all the disappointments of the benevolent are those which arise from ingratitude. This is certainly one of the feelings which most degrade our nature, and it would not be easy to speak of it in terms of too severe reprobation. Where a request has been granted, or a benefit conferred, or even a sociable civility shown, in the spirit of genuine benevolence, the appropriate return on the part of the receiver is gratitude, itself a kind and genial feeling, and equally amiable with benevolence. What a violence is it to this beautiful appropriateness, when ingratitude is substituted—when, instead of an angel, we embrace a devil!-and find that our good feelings have exposed us to malevolence and detraction, which perfectly neutral conduct would have probably avoided! When this occurs in all its severity, it is certainly a trial to the benevolent nature; yet, even in all its severity, it ought not to discourage from well-doing, for though one is ungrateful, another may not be so; and if good has been done-if human suffering has been alleviated, or human happiness increased-it cannot be said that all has been in vain. PRICE THREE HALFPENCE. ter is sufficient to testify it, as the following anecdote will show. A working man who lived in a cottage near a county town in the east of England, fell ill, and, receiving no wages during his illness, his wife was obliged to pawn most of their spare furniture, to raise funds for the support of the family. When this source of income was nearly exhausted, there seemed to be no alternative from going into the workhouse, which the poor man was very reluctant to do. A young medical man, who attended him gratuitously, saw the distress of the family, and, by relating the case to a benevolent gentleman of the neighbourhood, obtained from that person two pounds, which he applied for the relief of his patient, and thus put over the difficulty. As the spring advanced, the poor man recovered, and was able to resume his usual occupations. The young physician had almost forgot the circumstance, when one day he received a visit from his patient, who carried with him a small basket full of an early vegetable raised in his garden. “I have nothing to give you, doctor," he said, "in payment for your great kindness to me; but I thought that Mrs might like a few of this year's potatoes before they come into the market, and here they are for her, if she will do me the favour to accept them." As our friend justly remarked, ín telling us the story, "The gift was a trifle, but it showed the presence of a feeling honourable to the giver; and, regarding it in this light, I accepted the potatoes with the truest satisfaction." If all benefactors were to look only for such returns, and all receivers of benefits to have the good sense and good feeling to make them, we should probably hear less of ingratitude. Unquestionably, to a generous nature, it is only the absence of such a sentiment as was exhibited by this working man-the absence of this mere feeling of grateful regard-which constitutes the sting of what is usually called ingratitude. The benevolent might also guard against many disappointments on the score of ingratitude, if they were, in all cases, both before acting, and after they have acted, to take a liberal view of the circumstances of the other party. If that party be endowed with an unusual amount of self-esteem, or be peculiarly under the influence of some of those social prejudices which almost become a part of our nature, it may be necessary to take unusual care to avoid rousing in him the jealous feeling which prompts to ingratitude. So far from presuming upon the obligation, it may be proper, in that case, to appear as if you had forgotten it, or to use expedients for making it appear as a favour on the other side. How beautifully does the character of Scott shine out, when we find him supporting an old decayed Highland gentleman, and all the time pretending to be the obliged party, in as far as worthy Mr Campbell gave him service as a poor copyist! Certainly, a favour upon the feelings of a fellow-creature—should never even afford an excuse for giving what all are so fond of giving to each other-advice; yet such advantages are sometimes taken of it by persons who mean not ill, and hence, we believe, much of the ingratitude which is complained of. When, on the contrary, we see delicacy of the kind practised by Scott towards his irritable dependant, we think we behold angels acting in human form. Gratitude would perhaps be more generally shown, or ingratitude less complained of, if there were more moderate notions as to both feelings; and on this point we may perhaps give some useful hints. Both parties sometimes labour under considerable misap-should never form an excuse for the least presumption prehension as to what constitutes or proves gratitude. When any one is able to benefit another, he would be very unreasonable if he expected to receive, for certain, a full equivalent at the earliest opportunity. This may not be possible, and it is not necessary. The doer of the good deed has had a great enjoyment, if he be a really kind-natured man, in conferring the benefit, and perhaps it was no more, after all, than what the benefited party does in the proportion of his ability, on all possible occasions, to others. If he is to have any advantage at all, he should be content if he only secures the grateful regard of the party he has benefited. This is a mere sentiment, but it is a very pleasing one to be the object of, and the smallest mat There are critical circumstances in the relations of man to man, in which the greatest benefits are not to be expected for certain to produce gratitude. To give fair occasion for the exercise of this holy feeling, the parties should be in unequivocally fair circumstances towards each other. We shall illustrate what we complete, he told her they would conceal themselves About the year 1820, the family of Mr Harris, a rich planter in Demerara, received an addition in the person of an infant negress, the child of a favourite female slave, who had died a few days after its birth. Mr and Mrs Ilarris had been married for several years, but had never had any children of their own, and felt therefore the more disposed to show a degree of affectionate attention towards the little creature thus thrown upon their kind sympathy for protection. A nurse was procured, and, along with the baby, installed as an inmate of Harris Hall, the mistress of which seemed to regard the child with as much interest as if it had been her own. Mrs Harris was a person of refined manners, and possessed all the advantages to be derived from an excellent education, which, as her little protegée grew up, she endeavoured to communicate to her. this she was favoured by the natural quickness and In intelligence of Emily, who seemed to appreciate, to its utmost extent, the benevolent intentions of her mamma, as she always called her benefactress. When she was about twelve years of age, Mr Harris resolved to send her to England, in order to complete her education under competent masters; and for that purpose she was consigned to the care of Mr Harris's sister, a widow lady residing in London, who undertook to superintend her education. After three years spent in England, she returned to the West Indies, where she was received with every demonstration of joy by Mr and Mrs Harris, who were delighted with the improvement which had taken place both in the manners and appearance of their charge. Not long after Emily's arrival at home, the family of which she was a member, as well as the neighbouring plantation owners, were thrown into a state of considerable alarm, by intelligence which they received of symptoms of dissatisfaction and rebellion having manifested themselves amongst a great proportion of the slave population of the island, and which, although of trifling import at first, required to be met with great firmness and decision on the part of the proprietors. The negroes had heard of the movement then making in England for their ultimate emancipation, and they thought, that unless they made some effort of themselves to show their desire for freedom, the grand object might not after all be obtained. In pursuance of this scheme, they formed themselves into armed bands, in which formidable shape they sallied forth to the mansions of some of the less popular masters, and in general they were only dispersed by calling in the aid of the military, who, from the first intimation of the insurrection, had held themselves in readiness for its suppression. During some days, these doings on the part of the slaves formed the chief topic of conversation; and it was observed that when Mr Harris made any remark condemnatory of their conduct, the lustrous eyes of Emily flashed with a peculiar expression, and she was seen frequently to leave the room, as if desirous of concealing from her friends the agitation which it appeared she was unable to suppress. This excited no surprise at the time, nor was it taken notice of, although subsequent occurrences served to impress it deeply on the recollection of those most interested in her. Mr Harris, in case of any thing unforeseen happening to him at this time, made his will, leaving a large portion of his fortune to Emily, accompanied by a request, that, in case of his death and that of his wife, she should seek an asylum in England with his sister, the lady formerly mentioned, to whom he bequeathed a suitable legacy. His benevolent intentions towards Emily were, however, frustrated; for a few days after these arrangements were made, the slaves came to open revolt, and so dreadful were their threatenings, that there was no security felt unless under the immediate protection in a small closet, which she could lock on the outside, and he doubted not that her discretion would avert the mob, or at least keep them at bay till the arrival of evils they had to apprehend from an excited ignorant the military, who were, he hoped, not far distant. From their retreat, Mr and Mrs Harris could hear the voices of some of the ringleaders in violent altercation; and although the moment was a trying one sagacity of their ambassadress, that they dreaded for them, they had such implicit confidence in the nothing farther than a very short period of imprisonment. But who shall paint their agony and horror when they heard the house entered by the negroes ; heard them ascend the staircase; and, as if led by some in which they had sought concealment! They supinstinct, enter the room connected with the closet posed that Emily, finding her persuasions and remonstrances alike fruitless, had been obliged to allow them to enter; but as the closet was locked from the escape. Their feelings may be imagined when they outside, they still had a vague hope that they might and promising to show them where they might find recognised the voice of Emily, bidding them advance, the objects of their search. To sum up-it is abundantly clear that the benerolent are exposed to many disappointments, arising from the inferior natures of those they have to deal the mere accidents which take place in the current of with, or from unfavourable circumstances, or from human affairs; but it also seems to us very clear that from his course by such considerations, as, in the no truly benevolent person will be driven altogether exercise of benevolence itself, there must ever be a good as when it is performed in despite of unfavourgreat satisfaction, and a good deed can never be so able conditions, and more particularly in despite of all that can discourage on the part of those for whom it is performed. The senses of Mr and Mrs Harris were at this consider that the natural feelings had not fair play. POPULAR INFORMATION ON FRENCH FIFTH ARTICLE. chronicler of the fifteenth century, was greatly surALAIN CHARTIER, already noticed as a poet and his contemporaries-Enguerrand de Monstrelet, and passed in the latter department of literature by two of born in the year 1390, and died in July 1455. ExPhilippe de Comines. Enguerrand de Monstrelet was considerable portion of his career, tremely little is known of his personal history. During of Cambray, and was attached to the faction of the he filled, according Duke of Burgundy, whose unprincipled acts were to the best accounts, the post of Bailiff to the Chapter described in the extracts given from Chartier. The political partialities of Monstrelet, however, affect his trustworthiness very little, and chiefly from his narration of importance. His fidelity is thus ensured, plan of transcribing his authorities at length, in every illustration of his character and peculiarities as an though at the cost of occasional prolixity. As an between the Duke of Burgundy and the Duchess of annalist, we may point to his account of the contest Orleans, when the latter made an appeal to court not well say which party he favoured at heart. The The faithful chronicler gives the whole of the arguagainst the former, as the murderer of her husband. circumstances are related in the first of the fifteen ments and proceedings on both sides, and one could years 1401 and 1453, extends, in the English translavolumes to which his History of France between the tion by Mr Johnes. which that of Froissart ends, and gives an account of his motives not unlike that of the canon of ValenMonstrelet takes up his history from the period at ciennes. descended from a noble family, and residing, at the I, Enguerrand de Monstrelet (he begins), prose, although the matter required a genius superior time of composing this present book, in the noble city of Cambray, employed myself in writing a history in to the royal majesty of princes, and grand deeds of arms that will enter into its composition." He then to mine, from the great weight of many events relative entreats "all those noble persons who may read his servation, and that may with delight be proposed as proper examples to be followed, to let the honour and book, if they find any virtuous actions worthy of prenot on me, who am simply the narrator." Truly, the praise be bestowed on those who performed them, and might fittingly serve as an example to some of the dignified yet modest tone of these fine old chroniclers the matter, gives as a good specimen of Monstrelet, is more assuming annalists of our own days. in the reign of the young king, Charles VI. We give The passage which M. Tissot, an excellent judge in a version of it here. one relating to the death of Jean de Montagu, a nobleman who filled the place of Grand-Master of France, protectors should have taken into consideration beforehand, or felt as no disappointment in the event of titude is not in any case to be looked for where the her proving, as they thought, ungrateful. parties stand in false positions towards each other. Let us not be misunderstood as meaning that graWe only mean that there is no reason to be surprised viations of the injuries with which he is visited. or dissatisfied, if a party greatly wronged do not show Bright examples often occur of gratitude shown by a consistent or steady gratitude for some small allesuch parties towards individuals who had relaxed, as far as possible, the rigours of bad systems. We can dividual had been, as a negro slave in the West Indies, and they, knowing from good information that relate one, the hero of which we see almost every day King Louis, the King of Navarre, the Dukes of Berri, "Many of the princes of the blood-royal being at treated kindly by his master, for whom he had there: Charles, the king (of France), was much impoverished on the streets of the city in which we live. This in- Burgundy, and Bourbon, with other great seigneurs Paris in these same days, that is to say, the (Sicilian) fore contracted a great regard. In time, by dint of in his finances, through his officers and governors, and severe extra labour, he wrought out his freedom, and that even his plate and jewels were pledged for debt sought a new home in Britain, settling as a tavern--all of them one day took an opportunity of exposing keeper in a village almost within the suburbs of Edin- to the king the condition of his affairs, and the bad burgh. Here he was a man of some political consehimself, but as exercising the influence of a superior quence, not only as having a vote for the county ente, and, being successful in the contest, asked him nature over his neighbours. The ministerial candiif there were any thing in which he could serve date for the county obtained his suffrage and influhim, by way of testifying his gratitude. The ande petitious privilege should be followed by either swer was that he wished nothing for himself-inreward or penalty; but since the member had acquired deed he thought it by no means right that the exercise the power of doing some good, he would take leave to point out to him a worthy individual, in whose behalf he might use that power with advantage. He then stated that his old West Indian master had been ened circumstances with his family in London. It reduced to poverty, and was now living in very straitobligations to him, which, although never spoken of the member to exercise that influence which he had to herself, might, he thought, be made to weigh with proposed to exercise for himself. It will surely be was in favour of this gentleman that he could wish those who were now his assailants. He told her of gratifying to know that the member did exercise his his determination, to which she willingly assented; input accorde for the best son of the reduced and to render his security and that of his wife more West Indian, restored an unhappy family to comfort. influence accordingly, and, by procuring a situation of the soldiers, of whom detachments were stationed in every quarter where it was considered likely that an attack would be made. One morning, Mr Harris was made aware of the approach of the enemy by the yells and shouting which they had not prudence enough to suppress; and, in the excitement of the moment, it occurred to him, that, were he to send Emily to receive them, possibly their vengeance might be averted, she being of their own blood, and under the great council; and they made it their general sent the queen, the Duke of Aquitaine, and others of management of his servants. There were then prewho had had the charge of the government and request that the king would consent to give some of them the power of inquiring into the conduct of those exceptions; and that the same commissioners should require. This demand was granted by the king, great have the power of displacing, correcting, and punishing finances since the beginning of the reign, without any in order the better to execute their purpose, a great the defaulters, without any exception, as matters might number of the said princes and lords left their hotels and went to lodge at the residence of the king at Saint Paul, where, aided by the advice of many of the nobles of parliament and chief men of the university, they inquiry and reformation. To be brief, their labours continued for several days to prosecute the work of managed the finances of the kingdom, for nearly sixteen or twenty years by past, had conducted themresulted in showing them plainly, that those who had selves very ill, and had gathered large fortunes for judice of the state. Montagu, in particular, onu the principal servants of the king, was much questhemselves and their immediate relatives, to the pre tioned for his acts, and was finally ordered to be thrown into the prison of Chatelet with several other parties. The commissioner appointed to execute this decree was Master Pierre des Essarts, and with him some of his officers; to whom were joined, by orders of the Duke of Burgundy, the Lords of Heilly and certain day, all of these found the said Montagu, and Rubais, and Master Rolant de Hutequerque. On a with him Martin Gouge, Bishop of Chartres, as the two were going to the church of Saint Victor to hear mass. The provost, when he met them, put his hands on Montagu and the said bishop, exclaiming to them, I place my hands on you by the royal authority, intrusted to me for the purpose. Then Montagu, hearing the words of the provost, was much amazed, and was seized with a great trembling; but recovering his heart, he replied to the said provost, Rascal! traitor! how darest thou be so bold as touch me? To which the provost answered, 'Things will not go here as you imagine; for you shall pay for the great mischiefs which you have occasioned.' Not being able to resist the provost, Montagu was bound very roughly, and borne straight to the prison of Little Chatelet, and with him the said Bishop of Chartres, who was president of the general chamber. In this place was Montagu put several times to the torture. Believing his end to be at hand under this trial, he asked his confessor what he should do; to which the priest replied, I see no other remedy, but that you should appeal against the Provost of Paris.' This was accordingly done, and, in consequence, the provost went to the lords who had given orders for the arrest, and made them aware of the said appeal. Upon this, they convoked the parliament to examine and discuss the matter; and in the end it was declared by the lords of the parliament, that the appeal should be held of no avail. Moreover, the matter being thus investigated and judged of, the same lords said to the provost, Make no delay, but go, accompanied by the people of Paris well armed, and make an end of the affair according to justice. Strike off the head of Montagu, and then fix it on the head of a lance in the market-place.' Accomplishing which command on the seventeenth day of the month of October, the provost assembled and arranged the people, well armed, in the place Manbert, and in various other places; and then the said Montagu was brought out amid a great crowd, and made to strip off the greater part of his dress on a lofty scaffold. After that, his head was struck off and fixed on a lance as directed, and his body hung up by the armpits on a lofty gibbet." The chronicle of Monstrelet forms so important a portion of the historical records of France, and even of Europe, in the fifteenth century, that, had our space permitted, we should have been glad to offer one or two additional extracts. The style of language employed by Monstrelet differs little from that of Alain Chartier. The next French writer that occurs in the order of time, and demands our attention, is Philippe de Comines, an historian of still higher reputation than Enguerrand de Monstrelet. Comines was of baronial rank, and was born at the Castle of Comines, near Menin, in 1443. The distinction of his family gained him the favour of Charles the Bold, son of Philip Duke of Burgundy, at whose court the future annalist spent his early days. When Charles succeeded his father in the dukedom, Comines became one of his favourite counsellors, and, in this situation, had the good fortune to act as mediator between his master and Louis XI., when the latter was confined by his Burgundian vassal at Peronne. The wily Louis took great pains, on this occasion, to detach from the cause of the duke every man of talent whom he saw around him, and, by playing on the vanity of Comines, it is said, was successful in severing him from his allegiance to Burgundy. Sir Walter Scott relates the story in the novel of Quentin Durward. Charles of Burgundy, returning from the hunt one day, had commanded Philippe de Comines to pull off his boots. Seeing the reluctance of that gentleman to perform this menial office, the duke ordered him to sit down, and have his boots pulled off, by ducal hands, in turn. Comines assented, and the Burgundian prince, enraged at his offer being accepted, beat the head of his counsellor with his own boots, till the blood flowed in streams. After this event, Charles brutally bestowed on Comines the title of " Booted-head." Such was the story which Louis artfully called to the mind of Philippe de Comines, accompanying it with such protestations of indignant sympathy, as wiled the historian from the cause of Burgundy to that of France. In 1472, he quitted Charles, and took up his residence with Louis. On the death of the latter, he lost the favour of the court, but afterwards recovered it, and was employed in many important affairs under Charles VIII. He died at his lordship of Argenton, on the 16th of August 1509. The historical labours of Philippe de Comines are comprised in his Memoirs of Louis XI. and Charles VIII. of France, Charles the Bold of Burgundy, and the English kings, Edward IV. and Henry VII., the principal European potentates of their time. The fidelity, discrimination, and sound judgment of Comines, are almost proverbial. He looked into the characters of men with a clear and searching eye, and was few historical portraits equal in interest those which he has drawn of the sovereigns, Louis of France and Charles of Burgundy. The description of the famous meeting of the kings Edward and Louis on the bridge of Picquigny, may be taken as a specimen of the style of Comines. Suspicious of each other in the extreme, the French and English monarchs had caused to be lion's cage, about breast high, so that the two might built a large wooden grate, somewhat resembling a lean over it and discourse together. "The King of England advanced along the causeway very nobly attended, with the air and presence of a king. There were in his train his brother the Duke of Clarence, the Earl of Northumberland, his chamberlain called the Lord Hastings, his chancellor, and other peers of the realm; among which there were not above four dressed in cloth of gold like himself. The King of England flower-de-luce, made of precious stones, upon it. He wore a black velvet cap upon his head, with a large was a prince of a noble majestic presence, his person proper and straight, but a little inclining to be fat : I had seen him before, when the Earl of Warwick drove him out of the kingdom, when I thought him much handsomer, and, to the best of my remembrance, my eyes had never beheld a more beautiful person. When he came within a little distance of the rail, he pulled off his cap, and bowed himself within half a foot of the ground; and the King of ceived him with abundance of reverence and respect. France, who was then leaning over the barrier, reThey embraced through the holes of the grate, and the King of England making him another low bow, the King of France saluted him thus :-Cousin, you are heartily welcome; there is no person living so ambitious of seeing, and God be thanked that this interview is upon so good an occasion.' The King of England returned the compliment in very good French; then the Chancellor of England (who was a prelate, and Bishop of Ely) began his speech with a Prophecy (with which the English are always provided), that at Picquigny a memorable peace was to be concluded between the English and French. After he had finished his harangue, the instrument was produced, which contained the articles the King of France had sent to the King of England. The chancellor demanded of our king whether he had sent the said articles, and whether he had agreed to them? The king replied, 'Yes; and King Edward's being produced on our side, he made the same answer. The missal being brought and opened, both the kings laid one of their hands upon the book, and the other upon the true cross, and both of them swore religiously to observe the contents of the truce, which was, that it should stand firm and good for nine years complete; that the allies on both sides should be comprehended; and that the marriage between their children should be consummated, as was stipulated by the said treaty of peace. After the two kings had sworn to observe the treaty, our king (who had always words at command) told the King of England, in a jocular way, he should be glad to see his majesty at Paris, where there were many beautiful ladies, and where he would assign him the Cardinal of Bourbon for his confessor. The King of England was extremely pleased with his raillery, and made his majesty several handsome repartees, for he knew the cardinal was a jolly companion. After some discourse to the purpose, our king pressed him no farther, but recalling the company, took his leave of the King of England in the handsomest and most civil terms imaginable, saluted all his attendants in a most particular manner, and both the kings at a time (or very near it) retired from the barrier; and, mounting on horseback, the King of France returned to Amiens, and the King of England to his army." question the justness of his dispensations, or impute any error to him?" Philippe de Comines is an author whom the general reader of the present day may consult with much profit, and greatly to his entertainment. MR and MRS HALL's very beautiful work on Ireland, we are glad to observe, continues to sustain its reputation, and, if any thing, to increase in interest. The mechanical execution of the wood engravings and typography is in itself deserving of all praise, and affords a striking evidence of the great advance in these departments of art. In the sixth number, which has just appeared, the reader will be amused with an nearly extinct, and the "poor scholars" who wander account of the old "hedge-schools" of Ireland, now about receiving education from charitably disposed dominies." From the account of these seminaries, so illustrative of the kindly feelings of the Irish, we cannot refrain from giving an extract. IRISH HEDGE-SCHOOLS AND DOMINIES. "Kerry [in the south-west of Ireland] possesses one distinction for which it has long been famous-the ardour with which its natives acquire and communicate knowledge. It is by no means rare to find among the humblest of the peasantry, who have no prospect converse fluently in Latin, and have a good knowledge but that of existing by daily labour, men who can of Greek. A century ago, Smith wrote that classical reading extends itself, even to a fault, among the lower and poorer kind in this country; many of whom, to the taking them off more useful works, have greater knowledge in this way than some of the better sort in other places; and he adds, that 'in his survey he had met with some good Latin scholars who did not understand the English tongue.' A more general spread of information, and increased facilities for acquiring it, have deprived Kerry of the honour of being exclusively the seat of peasant-learning in Ireland; but its inhabitants are still remarkable for the study of the dead languages, acquaintance with which has been formed by the greater proportion of them literally under a hedge. The genuine hedge-schools' of Kerry are rapidly disappearing; and, necessarily, with them the old picturesque schoolmasters-in some respects a meritorious, in others a pernicious, class for wherever there was disaffection, the village schoolmaster was either the originator or the sustainer of it—was generally the secretary of illegal associations, the writer of threatening notices, and too frequently the planner and leader in terrible outrages. The national system of education has destroyed their power, by substituting in their places men who are, at all events, responsible to employers interested in their good characters and good conduct. The ancient dominies, however, had their merit; they kept the shrivelled seed of knowledge from utterly perishing, when learning, instead of being considered 'better than house and land,' was looked upon, as an acquirement for the humbler classes, in the light of a razor in the hands of a baboon -a thing that was dangerous, and might be fatal, but which could do no possible good either to the possessor or to society. The Irish schoolmaster is now paid by the state, and not by 'sods of turf,' 'a dish of praties, 'a dozen of eggs,' or, at Christmas and Easter, 'a roll of fresh butter; for, very commonly, there was no other way of liquidating his quarterly accounts; yet this mode of payment was adopted eagerly on the one side, and received thankfully on the other, in order that the gorsoon might have his bit of learning, to Most readers will remember the picture given in keep him up in the world.' The English of the lower Anne of Geierstein of the rash and unruly Charles of classes covet knowledge, but only as a source of Burgundy, after his first defeat by the Swiss. How wealth; an Irishman longs for it as a means of acmuch Sir Walter was indebted to the vivid descrip- quiring moral power and dignity. Rise up yer head, tion of Philippe de Comines, will here be seen. "The here's the master; he's a fine man with great larnin'? concern of Charles for his defeat at Granson was so "Whisht! don't be putting in your word; sure he great, and made such deep impressions on his spirits, that's spaking has fine larning.' 'Sure, he had the that it threw him into a violent and dangerous fit of world at his foot from the strength of the larning.' sickness; for whereas before, his choler and natural A great man entirely, with a power of larning." heat were so great that he drank no wine, only in a 'No good could ever come of him, for he never took morning he took a little tisane, sweetened with con- to his larning.' What could you expect from him? serve of roses, to refresh himself; this sudden melan--since he was the size of a midge he never looked in choly had so altered his constitution, he was now forced to drink the strongest wine that could be got, without any water at all; and to reduce the blood to his heart, his physicians were obliged to apply cuppingglasses to his side; but this (my Lord of Vienna) you know better than I, for your lordship attended on him during the whole course of his illness, and spared no pains that might contribute to his recovery; and it was by your persuasion that the duke was prevailed upon to cut his beard, which was of a prodigious length. In my opinion, his understanding was never so perfect, nor his senses so sedate and composed, after this fit of sickness, as before. So violent are the passions of persons unacquainted with adversity, who never seek the true remedy for their misfortunes, especially princes who are naturally haughty; for in such cases our best method is to have recourse to God, to reflect on the many vile transgressions by which we have offended his Divine goodness, to humble ourselves before him, and to make an acknowledgment of our faults; for the event of all human affairs is in his power, and at his disposal alone: he determines as it seems best to his heavenly wisdom, and who dares 6 a book.' Such are the phrases continually in the mouths of the Irish peasantry: utter worthlessness is invariably supposed to accompany a distaste for information; while he who has obtained even a limited portion of instruction is always considered superior to his fellows who are without it, and precedence on all occasions is readily accorded to him. Those who would teach the Irish have, therefore, a fine and rich soil upon which to work. The hedge-schools' are, as we have intimated, almost gone from the country. During our recent visit, we saw but two or three of them; some twenty years ago we should have encountered one, at least, in every parish. They received their peculiar designation from the fact, that in fine weather the schoolroom was always removed out of doors; the dominie sate usually beside his threshold; and the young urchins, his pupils, were scattered in all directions about the landscape, poring over the Gough,' or Voster' (the standard arithmeticians of Ireland long ago), scrawling figures on the fragments of a slate, courting acquaintance with the favoured historian, Cornalius Napos, or occupied upon the more abstruse to the belief, so prevalent in Ireland, of the invariable mysteries of the mathematics; the more laborious and The wee stars were dreaming their path through the sky.' 'I promised Mrs Nowlan, sir, I'd go up there and read a bit with the boys, to help them with you." 'Well, never mind that now; I want to discoOTIC you this evening.' Thank you, sir,' he replied with a heavy sigh, hanging his hat on the same peg that supported the dominie's greatcoat; but the throuble has moidered my head-I'm afraid I'm not equal to much to-night, sir.' Ah!' said the old man, learning's a fine thing, but there are things that ruin it intirely-in vulgar phrase, that bother it. Sit down, Pathrick, and we'll see if for once the master and his pupil-the old man's and the young one's thoughts-go the same way.' Patrick did as 'the master' desired. Tell me,' inquired the dominie, resting his elbows on his knees tell me, did the news you got, poor fellow, determine you on doing any thing particular? 'It did, master, it did; God help me, and look down upon and bless you, and every one that has been kind and good to me!' "What have you determined?-or have you brought your resolution to a point?' 'I have, sir. It's hard parting; but the little girl, sir my poor blind sister-the lone darling that never wanted sight while she had her mother's eyes-the tender child, sir; the neighbours are all kind, all good, but they can't be expected to take for a continuance the bit out of their own mouths to put it into hers-that can't be expected-nor it shan't be. I mean to set out for home on Monday, sir, plaise God; and be to that poor blind child mother, and father, and brother. She is all of my own blood in the world now, and I can't make her heart as dark as her eyes. Thanks be to the Almighty, I have health and strength now, which I had not when I left home-health, strength, and knowledge: though,' he added in a tone of intense sorrow, that knowledge will never lead me to what I once hoped it would.' 'What do you mean?' inquired the old schoolmaster; 'expound.' "My heart, sir, was set, as you know, on making my way to the altar; but His will be done! I was too ambitious; I must work to keep Nelly-she must not starve or beg while I live upon good men's hearts. We are alone in the wide world. Instead of learning, I must labour, that's all; and I'm sure, sir, I hope you won't consider the pains you have taken with me thrown away. You have sown the good seed; if the rock is barren, it is no fault of yours; but it is not barren-why should I deny the feelings that stir within me? He could not proceed for tears; and the old man pushed his spectacles so violently up his forehead as to disturb his wig. "What's to ail the little girl,' said Mr Devereux at last, to live, as many have done before her, in forma pauperis? Sure-that is, of a certainty, I mean, you found nothing painful in stopping a week at Mrs Rooney's and a month with the Driscols, and so on, and every one glad to have you.' 'God reward them! Yes, sir, that's thrue; and of late I've given the children, wherever I was stopping, a lift of the learning; but poor Nelly has no right to burden any one while my bones are strong enough to work for her and she SHALL NOT!' he would condescend to bestow a word of advice to Under all his pomposity of manner there was much sterling good-the old schoolmaster never would accept of any remuneration from a 'fatherless child,' and consequently had an abundant supply of widows' children in his seminary. What does it cost me,' he It was a silent but not a solitary evening, for every would say, but my breath? and that's small loss blade of grass was instinct with life, peopled by insect death will have the less to take when my time comes-and wonders, teeming with existence-creating and foster- sure it will penetrate to many a heart, and give them ing thought. Even Anty felt the subduing influence the knowledge that I can't take out of the world with of the scene, and walked without uttering a word. As me, no more than my other garments. In less than a we drew near the old tree, we heard a faint, low, year, Patrick had become his teacher's right hand; he feeble voice-the voice of a young boy singing, or was not only his first Latin,' but in a fair way to berather murmuring, snatches of one of those beautiful come his first Grecian; and the only thing that torLatin hymns which form a part of the Roman Catho-mented the worthy schoolmaster was, that Patrick was lic service. We knew that it proceeded from poor Patrick, and Anty crossed herself devoutly more than once while we listened. He ceased, and then by a circuitous path we got to the hollow side of the tree. The poor lad was worn down by sickness, and his eyes, naturally large, seemed of enormous size, looking out as they did from amid his long tangled hair. His head was pillowed on his books; and it would seem as though the 'plaikeens' of half the old women in the parish had been gathered together to do him service. His quivering lips only opened to express gratitude, and his thin hands were clasped in silent prayer when we left him. His tale had nothing remarkable in it it was but one among many. He was the only son of a widow, who having wed too early, was reduced from comfort to the depths of privation. Her young husband closed his sorrows in an early grave, and she devoted her energies to the task of providing for her two children. The girl was blind from her birth, and the boy, whose feelings and manners would have led no hand' at 'mathematicks.' He wrote frequently to his mother, and sometimes heard from her; but at last came the mournful intelligence that he could see her no more. She had perished of fever-one of those dreadful fevers that finish the work commenced by starvation, had taken her away from present care, and denied her all participation in the honours she anticipated for her son. The news crushed the heart of the poor scholar, and with it was mingled not only sorrow for the departed, but a deep anxiety on account of his little blind sister. The neighbours,' he said, will, I know, keep her among them-a bit here, a sup there-and give her clothes enough for summer; but my dread is that she'll turn to begging, and that would be cruel to think of my poor little blind Nelly!' Where are you going this evening, Pathrick?' inquired the old schoolmaster, as his favourite pupil was leaving, having bidden him his usual respectful good-day. The old schoolmaster is dead; but before he died, he had, as we have said, the desire of his heart. A blind sister lives with the soggarth' [young priest] to this day, and he is respected as all deserve to be who build their own fortunes bravely and boldly, and having laid a good foundation, are not ashamed of the labour that wins the highest distinction a freeborn man can achieve." WOODEN PAVEMENT. THE idea of paving streets with blocks of wood, laid perpendicular with the grain, is not of such recent origin as may be generally imagined. In 1825, a plan of this kind was proposed in London, and called forth in the Edinburgh Observer newspaper (June 10 of that year) a letter from a correspondent,* from which we extract the following passages :— "I have just seen in a London periodical work the prospectus of a new plan for paving the streets of crowded cities and other thoroughfares. Though announced in England, the invention is by an ingenious Scotsman, Mr John Finlayson of Ayrshire, improver of the plough and harrow. The groundwork of Mr Finlayson's proposal is simply to causeway the streets with pieces of wood (the grain perpendicular) instead of stones. Though wood is more perishable than stone under certain circumstances, it is known that a piece of wood will resist, uninjured, a force that would grind a stone to powder. Mr Finlayson discovered this fact by an experiment made when a boy in his father's farm-yard. Observing the stones of a particular piece of roadway to sink frequently, he cut some pieces of wood into blocks, and having first laid planks lengthways below, laid down the blocks among the stones. At the end of twenty-five years, when the stones were entirely worn, the wood remained uninjured. Macadam's plan failed in the London streets, new metal having to be laid almost every day, and the dust being excessively troublesome. Mr Finlayson's plan, which is expressly calculated for thoroughfares, precludes all such evils. The following is a brief enumeration of some of the chief advantages of Mr Finlayson's plan : 1. Being laid on an iron floor or frame-work, the whole pavement would be quite uniform and steady. 2. In removing any portion for laying pipes, it might be replaced easily in the original position. Not so with Macadam's plan. 3. The pavement being on a complete level between the footways, there would be more accommodation for carriages, and the whole might be cleared and cleaned nightly by water from the water-plugs. 4. The gas and water mains should be laid in castiron troughs, over which the iron framework and blocks might be laid, rendering them easily accessible. 5. Thirty per cent. at least would be saved in the tear and wear of horses and carriages, on account of the smoothness and facility of the pavement. 6. In the same proportion as the wooded pathway would be easily cleaned, so would the health of the inhabitants of the place be improved. The blocks of which Mr Finlayson's pavement is constructed are to be square, with interstices of one inch in width, which are to be filled with small stones, in order to give firmness to the work, and some degree of roughness to the surface, to prevent the pavement from being slippery. The framework will resemble the hollows of a honey-comb; the blocks will be of larch-fir, one of our most durable woods." We never heard whether Mr Finlayson's plan met with any practical acceptation, but rather think it did not appear sufficiently feasible to encourage speculation even in the speculating times of 1825, and that it afterwards went entirely out of notice. The death of the inventor probably helped to consign it to forgetfulness. A few years ago, the idea of paving streets with wood was revived in London, and subjected to the test of experiment in Oxford Street; since which period, more than one variety of the plan has been suggested and put in practice. There are at present two modes under trial in the metropolitan streets, and these it will now be our duty to describe. The first is that of Mr Stead. It consists of pieces of wood, each, we believe, from 4 to 8 inches deep, as cut lengthwise from the timber, and about six inches across, but fashioned round the sides into a hexagonal shape; in other words, we may suppose a long piece of timber to be shaped so as to have six equal sides, and then cut across into short lengths. One thing appears rather unfortunate at the outset with respect to this form of block-the loss of material in forming the hexagon. Whether the piece of timber be round, as, for instance, a small tree, or square, as in large logs of timber, there must necessarily be a considerable loss in shaving to produce the desired shape: *This correspondent is now one of the editors of Chambers's Edinburgh Journal. It may now be asked, what are the practical advantages of wood in comparison to stone pavement? The advantages are far greater cleanliness, as respects either dust or mud, much less noise, and in some places considerably less expense. The only disadvantage, as far we have ever heard, is the over-smoothness of surface, in consequence of which horses have a tendency to slip and come down. But we greatly doubt the truth of this assumption. All the times we have chanced to pass along Whitehall-street, where the best specimen of Count de Lisle's pavement is to be seen, we have never observed any accidents of this kind; and upon the whole, we believe that wherever the streets are level, or nearly so, there will be no more slipping than if the horses were walking over a stone pavement. the expense of effecting this process is perhaps of in-feet. The whole, when laid in a proper manner, has ferior consideration. The blocks, at any rate, being the appearance of neat oblong pavement. formed, they are ready for use, and, like stones, may be tumbled down on the street, for the accommodation of the persons employed to lay them. By being cut in the hexagonal form, and all alike in size, they admit of being laid very neatly side by side, row after row, so as to leave no empty spaces or interstices. Two other circumstances require attention. The ground on which they are laid requires to be both uniformly solid and perfectly even, because if there be various degrees of hardness, or unevenness, individual blocks will be apt to sink, and thus an inequality of surface will be produced. Each block, also, in preparing, requires to be bevelled or pared off round the upper edges, so as to form hexagonal indentations in the general surface, after being laid down, by which a hold is given to the horses' feet. A solid line of stone, next the gutter on each side, forms the buttress against which the rows of blocks are understood to press, or to be sustained against lateral shifting. When laid with care, and before being dirtied and damaged by thoroughfare, the flooring of blocks exhibits a remarkably neat and regular appearance. London, as well as from general report, we are inFrom what fell under our personal observation in clined to think that the plan of paving just alluded to has serious imperfections; and when we say so, we hope to detract neither from the ingenuity nor perseverance of the inventor; perhaps he may yet remedy what are the apparent defects of his system. The first thing that struck us on looking at the hexagonal block pavement, was its irregularity of surface-a thing we had not expected. Whether from the want of sufficient solidity and evenness of the substratum, or from want of fastenings to each other, individual blocks had here and there sunk, and formed ruts on the surface. Another thing that came under our attention was a swelling of the surface in some parts, as if wet had expanded the mass; probably these undulations would disappear at the return of a tract of dry weather. The other plan of wood-paving now pursued, differs very materially from the above. It is the invention of a foreigner, Count de Lisle, and has two main points of difference from the other-first in the shape of the blocks, and second in an expedient for fastening them to each other. Each block is rhomboidal in shape, something like the ace of diamonds, and is square on the sides; the exact definition, we believe, is the "stereotomy of a cube." The size is six inches deep by nearly the same in width. The form of block will be better understood when we say, that if we take a square-sided piece of timber, and cut it obliquely across, at distances of six inches apart, we shall have so squared logs of timber, as usually imported, there can In thus preparing blocks from many rhomboids. be little loss of material besides that of the saw-dust -a matter, we should think, of no little consequence, when paving is to be executed on a large scale. It will be remarked that this mode of paving differs materially from that of Mr Stead. In one respect alone is Mr Stead's plan perhaps superior. It offers the exact perpendicular top of the grain to the surface, whereas that of Count de Lisle presents the grain at a certain angle off the perpendicular, so that the tear and wear may be supposed to have a somewhat greater scope; practically, however, the wearing, as we understand, is not an eighth of an inch in two or three years, which affords a conclusive proof of the elastic power of resistance in wooden pavement. In consequence of the fastening with pins, the blocks are less dependent on the condition of the under-stratum than is the case with the isolated hexagonal pavement; but to ensure perfect stability, an even stratum of concrete is laid as a basis, and on this the blocks securely maintain their footing. This must be considered an important peculiarity in Count de Lisle's plan of paving. The blocks being cut, and furnished with pins, may be considered as ready to be laid. In their final situation, they rest on one end, and consequently, from their rhomboidal form, lean individually to one side. Thus, in a row, each piece leans half over that which is before it. When one row has been laid down, all the pieces lean in one direction across the street, the next row being made to lean the contrary way, and so on with all succeeding rows. By means of the pins in the side, each row is fastened close and firmly up to the other, so as to prevent all shifting. If we now examine the principle on which the pressure is sustained by the united blocks, it will be observed that, by means of the overlapping, no single block supports any given pressure that falls upon it except at a point in the middle; at other points, the pressure is distributed over at least two blocks-the upper part of one, and lower part of another. The resistance which is therefore given by the mass to all the ordinary kinds of pressure from horses and vehicles, must be much greater than that offered by blocks standing isolated, either with respect to overlapping or pinning. Another very great advantage is the mode of laying down blocks pinned together in masses. It seems that lumps of a yard square, or thirty-six blocks, may be put down at once, and that a mile of street could be laid down in three days. In the event of after repairs, or when the streets are to be opened for laying gas or water pipes, these lumps can again with ease be taken up and laid aside. Across the upper surface, grooves are cut at short intervals, to afford indentations for the horses' The experiments already tried in London have, according to all accounts, determined the superior efficacy of the Count's plan of paving, and it has for some time been conducted by an association (Metropolitan Patent Wood-Pavement Company), whose proceedings are thus noticed in the Railway Magazine for June 20, 1840: "In the plan of the company, we understand the wooden blocks are laid on concrete floorings, to give still further advantages to their form and method of pinning. A greater expense is thus incurred at first, but it tells in the end. Thus, for instance, the company offer to keep their pavement in repair, with the travelling in Oxford Street, for 2s. 6d. per square yard per annum, while under the plan of a macadamised road, we understand the cleaning alone amounts to L.1400 per annum, or near 1s. per square yard, and the annual repairs to L.5000, or 3s. 6d. per square yard more, making in all 4s. 6d., or nearly double that of the proferred offer to keep the wood in repair. Again, as to the first outlay. The price proposed to be charged by the above company is somewhere about 12s. 6d. or 13s. per square yard for laying the pavement with the concrete flooring complete. Compared with the other wood, the hexagonal, which was, we heard, 9s., we confess we thought this high, though it was low in comparison with the advertised price, 14s. of the imperial, and not a half of what we hear that by St Clement's Church cost, that is, 328. But it is not the first cost which is the test of expense; durability is a far more important object. One pavement might be dear at 9s., while another would be cheap at L.1. If, for instance, a pavement could be laid at 9s. which would last a year, it would be much cheaper to give L.1 for one that would last five years. And if we add the consideration of the inconvenience to the inhabitants, and loss in trade to them by having their streets every now and then broken up, and their business for the time interrupted and almost totally suspended, the first cost, to have a durable pavement, sinks into insignificance. But the first cost in wood is trifling compared with that of stone. We have been informed that an estimate to the vestry of St Marylebone to pave the whole of Oxford Street, about 30,000 square yards, with smooth granite, was for L.28,000, or nearly 19s. per square yard, that is about L.8,500, or 44 per cent. higher than the price of wood. If tooled granite were used, it probably could not be done under 32s. per square yard, or L.48,000; that is, no less than 147 per cent. higher. Rough stone might perhaps be laid down for L.23,000, or about 15s. per yard, but every one knows this would never answer in a street of great traffic. What the first cost of macadamising is with granite we have not learnt, but we believe it is much higher than that of the metropolitan patent wood, and the annual expense afterwards is awful. For instance, Blackfriars Bridge, which costs L.1000 annually to keep in repair as a macadamised road, cost only L.120 per annum when paved with stone. One great objection to macadamised roads, too, is the rough, unpleasant state of them when first laid, and another the intolerable dirt and dust of them afterwards, exclusive of noise. Wood is not only much less expensive in its first cost, but incomparably so in its subsequent annual maintenance. It has also the great advantage of being in a perfect state when first laid; and if the plan of the Metropolitan Company is adopted, of maintaining a smooth surface, and not wearing unevenly or sinking into holes, as long as the material lasts, which, if Kyanised, may be very many years. Now, those who have experience in these matters assert that nothing but tooled granite laid in concrete will, in point of wear, compete with good wood pavement, and from what we have seen in Oxford Street, this does appear to be the case. If so, there can be no doubt of the great superiority of wood, and that the entire of the capital will before long be paved with it; for the very annual saving would, in a short time, amount to the cost of relaying with wood. In Oxford Street, under two and a half years' cost of repairs would do it, while in the mean time they would enjoy all the advantages of a two and a half years' earlier cessation of that noise, dust, and dirt, which it is the object of wood to avoid." In London and various towns in England, the Count de Lisle's plan has latterly spread considerably, and is now generally esteemed. It does not appear likely to come into use, however, in places where stone is abundant. The cost of about 11s. or 12s. per square yard for wooden blocks may be cheap in London, but would be excessively high in Edin |