daughter, the Princess Clementine-helps himself to soup Upon our entrance, each, like a ravenous animal in a menagerie, when the keeper arrives with food, roused-cuts up a poulet au riz, nearly the whole of which he from his lair or his lethargy, and rushed with savage eats-takes a cup of tea-and jumps up from the table wildness to the grating, extending a withered hand for with some dried fruit in his hand, which he eats whilst the expected morsel. The foam of frenzied agony was on conversing, after dinner, with architects and builders. every lip; the fire of maniac fury was in every eye; and He returns to pass a part of the evening with his family, the poor madman's yell softened into the jabber of satis- and examines his sons as to their scientific studies. The faction as each in turn snatched his morsel, and devoured visitors who arrive are received en famille, and politics it with a growl I can only liken to a tiger's. are generally avoided. At ten o'clock he retires to his I will not disgust my readers with a recital of the cabinet, and then, except on very important occasions, sickening scene I witnessed in the female department, he does not allow himself to be disturbed. At midnight he closes his books, and commences his correspondence. where the frown and the whip of the savage keeper renHe frequently remains in his cabinet till day-light, and dered unnecessary the chain, the collar, or the grating. Even with the care and attention shown to those un- then goes to bed, but is invariably called at seven, and fortunates in our own country, the sight of madness is sometimes six, in the morning. Sometimes he sleeps for one of the most humiliating and pitiable we can witness; an hour or two in the day, and, when on his journey to but here, where no pains are taken to improve their and from Neuilly, sleeps soundly in his carriage. When condition, no care for their wants, and no medical skill in the country, if he does not go out after dinner to look to inquire into the causes of their malady, or the possi- at his masons or his gardeners, he stretches himself out bility of their cure, it is a truly awful spectacle. I need on a sofa, and sleeps for an hour." hardly say, that recovery is rare. Indeed, it would be a miracle, as the first glimmerings of returning reason must be instantly and completely destroyed on the patient finding himself immured in a dungeon, replete with such horrors."

[The person who wrote this paragraph must have bee imposed upon. He perhaps describes correctly enough one particular day of the king's life, or such a day as occasionally happens; but it is not in nature that any man could lead a life of such labour and excitement, with so little sleep, habitually. Probably many other such statements respecting remarkable men have had the like origin-one or a few days of extraordinary exertion taken as examples of the whole.]

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,"
"CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c.

NUMBER 432.

DISAPPOINTMENTS IN LOVE.

IN Albums, Annuals, and other such works in light literature, disappointments in love are always treated in one way-that is to say, according to the formula established with them upon this subject: the heroines never recover the shock, but are sure to fall into consumption at the very least, and be carried off within the year. This may be very useful as a means of winding up a story; and it may even occasionally have a moral effect, showing to young ladies the danger of precipitate passion, and to young gentlemen the impropriety of asking hearts where they do not intend to seek hands. But it strikes us as a sad waste of human life, and also as apt to be attended with some positive harm. Were a physician to look upon every doubtful case as past cure, and tell the patient so, he would probably find himself in many instances right, merely through the despair he had inflicted; just so must it be hurtful to a young lady disappointed in love, to have it dinned into her ears from all quarters, that hers is an invariably mortal wound. It might be better, we think, in this, as in most other cases, if the downright truth were told.

Let us review the various kinds of disappointments under the head of Love.

We would touch with reverence on that occasioned by death. Sad as it is, it is not perhaps the worst to bear. The affection over which the grave has closed has indeed a feeling of eternity, but it has none of pain or infirmity. Time (present time) does its work even here, and most perfectly with the young. In other words, a changing succession of new feelings to new objects must flow on and fill the mind for ever. New impressions must arise, and old ones grow faint. Thus are our sharpest sorrows brought to a pleasing sadness. Affliction rightly dealt with, may, nay, must turn to blessing. It raises us above the petty vanities and discomforts of life. It enables us better to understand, and, therefore, to console, the unhappiness of others. It deepens a sense of religion, the reward at once and consolation of a tender and elevated mind. We shall avoid a foolish superstition and a gloomy fanaticism, if we can test our aspirations after a better world by their practical influence on our conduct in this one.

To turn to a less dismal disappointment. A young lady has fallen (a fall rightly expressing the precipitancy of the movement) in love with a young gentleman, who simultaneously falls (or, to save female delicacy, we shall say previously has fallen) in love with her. The symptoms are many and various. They have met at a ball, and he has danced with her a whole evening in spite of etiquette and chaperons-has talked most agreeably between the dances-has attended her in a morning walk, and offered his arm preparatory as it were to offering his hand-has intrigued successfully to get himself invited wherever she is to be-has escorted her home of an evening in all weather. What shall we say more? Has looked all sorts of unutterable things, and has uttered a few of the same sort of things, poetical prose as it were; but if he should happen to be a downright rhyming poet, he may have sent a copy of verses adapted to the new fair one's name. Well, our young gentleman is ever head and ears in love with our young lady, and rice versa, for at present it is much the same case with them both. But then comes a difference. He goes home or goes abroad; to college again; to a counting-room or a wareroom; into the army or the navy; goes away, in short, no matter where. He disappears from the eyes of our young lady; that is, from the eyes of her head, but not from her mind's eye her memory. She nourishes a hopeless passion, pines, and dies! This, at least, is what she ought to do, if she follows the example set her in all the histories of all the forsaken maidens she has ever read of. Nobody ever felt as she felt. Mrs Anybody's grief for the loss of a husband, or Mrs Somebodyelse's

lamentations over the grave of a child, are nothing to
hers. Her father and mother are a worthy happy
"What a commonplace, unromantic person mamma
couple; but what can they have known of love?
is! and old contented aunt Betty, can she ever have
had a lover or a disappointment?" What a complete
want of true feminine feeling it would be in our
afflicted heroine, ever to forget her woes, and be good
not a great deal more of fancy than of affection here?
for any thing again in this world! And, yet, is there
We like to borrow the language of poetry to give
advice in :-

"Rouse thyself, and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air."

A male flirt,
Here is another disappointment !
without further intention than to gratify his vanity,
feigns a passion, or, perhaps, feels just enough to
enable him to feign well, excites both love and hope
in the breast of a woman, draws her on to betray them,
and then leaves her. Should she die? Dear young
lady, you have been ungenerously, nay, unjustly
treated. We don't say, Be on your guard for ever-
more. The chance of your ever again meeting with
such an injury is but small; but were it greater, it is
better to be deceived than to grow suspicious. Take
a lesson, however, from your disappointment, which
even you may require. Never let your vanity, or
mere desire of pleasing, entrap you to lay traps for
others. Think how much more respectable it is to be
deceived than to deceive-how much you have, in
fact, the superiority over the vain man you are
aggrieved by what a bad husband he would have
made. We don't recommend that you should hate
him. Life is surely too short, and all human beings
too unfortunate, as well as imperfect, to allow of your
indulging in such an unchristian-like feeling; but you
will be agreeably surprised to find in how short a time
you will become indifferent, if you will only give your-
self fair play, and not suppose that you were born to fall
a victim to man's arts. Make no boastful show of this
indifference, nor lower yourself to enter the race of
vanity with your faithless swain, for the purpose of
mortifying him. The triumph of virtue will then be
complete, and, let romancers say as they please, you
will live to enjoy its reward.

Treachery of a more open and decided kind than
that we have just been considering, may amount to a
breach of promise of marriage, and may occasion a
serious disappointment. This sort is not so strictly
an affair of the heart; and the variety of disappoint-
ments it is attended with, rather weaken, as we con-
ceive, the force of it on the whole. It is shared by a
family too, and there are sympathy and indignation
and resentment, sometimes revenge, to console the
sufferer. The legal fiction (that remnant of feudal
barbarism), by which only a breach of promise of
marriage is made punishable, is not favourable to
female delicacy; for, when the rank and character
of the aggrieved party puts personal injury or pecu-
niary loss out of the question, what shall we think of
a compensation in money being accepted for her un-
requited affection, or, worse still, the alternative of an
unwilling husband?

It is plain, that, when a compensation cannot be made at all adequate, it should not be attempted. On this pretence, therefore, there seems no plea for damages, and indeed it seems to us very doubtful whether be reached in any manner by law. If, however, for the peculiar breach of faith that regards marriage can the purpose of deterring men from it, still more of preventing others, when under the influence of a just resentment, from taking the law into their own hands, some punishment is thought desirable: one of disgrace, such as fine or imprisonment, seems at once more suitable and more certain than the present one. Our business, however, is not with the law, but with the ladies; and we say to them, Even should no other

|

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

are still well rid of a man who has either deceived you
promise without a breach in it ever occur to you, you
or himself.

A word or two on the subject of Indifference.
Falsehood, perjury, cruelty, selfishness, are so con-
stantly associated by poets and novel-writers with any
falling off in passion in a lover, that we scarcely ex-
may arise without deserving such hard names. Long-
tried friendships, where esteem, good offices, and mu-
pect to get young ladies to believe that indifference
tual interest, cement an union, are not indeed liable
to this sudden death; but the fancy of a moment,
excited by difficulties, may be vanquished by another
fancy. There may be occasion for pity on the one
side, but not much for blame on the other. All we
can suggest of consolation is, that the sudden fit of
no love which has come upon your lover, might have
ment. Besides, are you, the forlorn fair, no way
happened to you the complainant, and a consideration
of this circumstance ought to mollify your resent-
this trying question to be solved by your own feelings
blameable in souring the affection of the individual
and recollections.
who has declared himself your admirer? We leave

There is a disappointment very common in real life, and which the Gems and Amulets make very pretty stories of; we shall call it the disappointment by prudence. Papas and mammas disapprove of a connection, and use their interest to prevent its taking place. Both sexes are liable to disappointments from this cause: but the female mostly so-woman being, from her dependent situation, more under the influence of the advice and authority of friends. To what degree she ought to be subjected to this inIt is certain that parents have often fluence, is a question foreign from our present consideration. affections of their children, sometimes from a tyranattempted to exercise a very unjust control over the but much oftener from a view of benefiting their chilnical disposition and interested motives for themselves, dren, forcing them, as it were, to be happy. When Richardson attempted to give parents a lesson of able novel of Clarissa Harlowe, his descriptions of warning against improper interference, in his admirdomestic tyranny might not, and we believe did not, appear exaggerated to our grandmothers; but we have an agreeable proof of how much times are changed in their seeming to us so unnatural. The old and the young will never, however, in any stage of the world's improvement, be quite of the same way of thinking; for they look on the same object with the very different eyes of fear and hope. It is only by mutual sympathy, by laying together romantic feeling and rience of any avail to the young. worldly prudence, that the old can make their expe

Poverty is in real life the commonest obstruction young lady may conceive, a mere privation of personal to early marriages; and poverty is not, as the romantic comforts and luxuries, which she may assert truly are nothing to her. It is never endured alone, and when it exists to a great degree, is a cause of mental suffering of the most constant and harassing, if not of the most exquisite kind.

Say that a maiden has given her heart to a man who proves unworthy. Villains are not so commen in life as in poetry; but there are faults which, once discovered, make it impossible to go on loving. This situation occasions a most painful revulsion of feeling; for not only must we call in all the tenderness which was wasted upon an undeserving object, but have the mortification of finding that we could be so mistaken. It is a shock to pride of every kind. It may even endanger our belief in virtue; for where shall we seek it if we have not found it in him whom we adored? It is natural for the young to finds favour in their sight. After such a bitter disembody what they admire in whatever chance object appointment, the cherished idea of the beautiful and

the good will with difficulty be realised again; the judgment will be on the watch to guard the affections. So far, perhaps, is well; but it would be a pity to grow so wise as never to be able again to feel a partiality. Suppose the faults discovered are less atrocious, less decidedly fatal to love. "The idols we made, we may find clay," but should we "love through all things?" Shocking absurdity, and lowering to the female character. To attempt to love or live with any sort of low and degrading vices, is no merit, and is not a duty even in a wife.

There is the disappointment both of vanity and affection; when a girl has construed some unmeaning civilities on the part of a man into serious attentions, and admiring and approving of him, first discovers, on hearing of his marriage with another lady, that she has been mistaken, and at the same time that she has been in love! Well, what then? She must lock the secret for ever in her own bosom, say all the authorities on the subject, and "let concealment, like a worm in the bud, feed on her damask cheek," &c. This is very pretty in poetry, but not to be made a rule of conduct in life. There is a degree of pride which humiliates; feminine dignity may not allow of the confession of unrequited affection, but need not wither inwardly at having conceived it. If you have known, fair forlorn one, what it is to love, and, making allowance for human infirmity, to love purely and tenderly, you have gained something in experience, in feeling, in humanity, though you may have lost a lover. New sources of enjoyment have been opened to you; you will have learned better to appreciate the charms of poetry, of painting, of music, above all, of nature; you will be a better and a wiser woman for the rest of your life, and therefore may become a happier one. Then, why die? Feminine dignity does not require that, though

the "Albumers do."

SKETCHES OF SUPERSTITIONS.

WITCHCRAFT.

Virgil likewise speaks of a witch who, by the use of was greatly fostered by religious impressions, and that
certain herbs, could transform herself into a wild it was long considered a mark of impiety to doubt the
animal, fetch up souls from the dead, and work divers existence of witches. Various other circumstances
wicked pranks on the crops of the husbandman. helped to cherish and magnify the error. The true
It is to be observed, that neither among the Romans causes of the majority of natural phenomena were
nor the Pagan nations of northern Europe, was witch- unknown. The nature of the atmosphere, and of cer-
craft deemed an offence against religion; in some in- tain meteoric appearances of the laws which regulate
stances, indeed, the witch was supposed to derive her storms at sea, and tides-of human maladies and
powers from spirits friendly to mankind, and her pro- their remedies-were enveloped in obscurity. Natural
fession, though feared, was held in honour by her infa- causes being unknown, and the very doctrine of them
tuated dupes. Upon the introduction of Christianity, unacknowledged, the weak and easily terrified mind
witchcraft assumed a new form, though retaining all flew to the conclusion that all evil proceeded from a
its old attributes. Instead of ascribing the super-power malignant to man, and that by certain impious
natural powers of the practitioner to the gods, to dealings it was possible for man himself to direct that
Odin, to spirits of good or evil qualities, or to supposed power against his neighbour.
mysteries in nature, the people imputed them to the
great fallen spirit mentioned in Scripture. This
potent being, from a wicked desire to destroy all that
was good and hopeful in man's destiny, was believed to
enter into a compact with the aspirant witch, in which,
for an irrevocable assignment of her soul at death, he
was to grant all her wishes, and assist in all her male-
volent projects. These new features in witchcraft, as
we shall speedily perceive, thoroughly changed and
prodigiously extended the superstition throughout
Europe. From being rather a sportive kind of
jugglery, or trick in practical magic, and at most only
a civil offence, it was recognised as a crime of the
deepest dye, meriting the most severe chastisement
which the ecclesiastical and civil power could inflict.

The edict of

The superstition seems to have approached its height about the end of the fifteenth century. In his bull of 1484, Pope Innocent charged inquisitors and others to discover and destroy all such as were guilty of witchcraft. This commission was put into the hands of a wretch called Sprenger, with directions that it should be put in force to its fullest extent. Immediately there followed a regular form of process and trial for suspected witches, entitled Malleus Maleficarum, or a Hammer for Witches, upon which all judges were called scrupulously to act. 1484 was subsequently enforced by a bull of Alexander VI. in 1494, of Leo X. in 1521, and of Adrian VI. in 1522, each adding strength to its predecessor, and the whole serving to increase the agitation of the public mind upon the subject. The results were dreadful. A panic fear of witchcraft took possession of society. Every one was at the mercy of his neighbour. If any one felt an unaccountable illness, or a peculiar pain in any part of his body, or suffered any misfortune in his family or affairs, or if a storm arose and committed any damage by sea or land, or if any cattle died suddenly, or, in short, if any event, circumstance, or thing occurred out of the ordinary routine of daily experience, the cause of it was witchcraft. To be accused was to be doomed, for it rarely happened that proof was wanting, or that condemnation was not fol lowed by execution. Armed with the Malleus Maleficarum, the judge had no difficulty in finding reasons for sending the most innocent to the stake. If the accused did not at once confess, they were ordered to be shaved and closely examined for the discovery of devil's marks; it being a tenet in the delusion that the devil, on inaugurating any witch, impressed certain marks on her person; and if any strange mark was discovered, there remained no longer any doubt of the party's guilt. Failing this kind of evidence, torture was applied, and this seldom failed to extort the desired confession from the unhappy victim. A large proportion of the accused witches, in order to avoid these preliminary horrors, confessed the crime in any terms which were dictated to them, and were forthwith led to execution. Other witches, as has been said, seemed to confess voluntarily, being probably either insane persons, or feeble-minded beings, whos0 reason had been distorted by brooding over the popular witchcraft code. A few extracts from the work of Dr Hutchinson will show the extent of these proceed

We must here notice, however, that the demon or master-fiend of the witchcraft legends was a very different being from that great fallen spirit, held, in a graver view of things, so deeply to influence the best interests of humanity. As this superstition gained force in the Christian world, which it did by slow and successive steps through the whole of the middle ages, or from the fifth century till about the fifteenth, the devil-for it is impossible to avoid the mention of this emphatic name, disagreeable as it is commonly said to be to ears polite-gradually lost many of the former LIKE man himself, with all his prominent habitudes, features of his character; or, rather, a different being opinions, and prejudices, witchcraft seems to have was substituted for him, combining the characteristics taken its rise in the East, and at a very early period of the Scandinavian Lokke with those of a Satyr of of the world's history. In ancient times, however, the heathen mythology-a personage equally wicked this superstition differed considerably from the one and malicious as the sterner spirit of evil, but renrecognised under the same name amongst modern dered ludicrous by a propensity for petty trickery, nations. In eastern and southern countries, witch- and by such personal endowments as a pair of horns, craft was regarded as the power of magical incanta- a cow's tail, and cloven feet. There can be no doubt tion, through the agency of familiar spirits of good that the demon of the middle ages borrowed these and evil propensities, or through certain mysterious attributes from his human representatives in the old and secret influences in nature, which are manifested mysteries and plays, where a laudable endeavour was in dreams, omens, meteors, and other phenomena made to make the evil one as ugly as possible. We bearing no particular signification to the uninitiated are told, it is true, that he could at will assume any eye and mind. Thus considered, it operated not only specious disguise that suited him, but the eye of the as a heavy bondage of fear over the human intellect, initiated observer could readily detect the "cloven but tended grievously to repress the progress of learn- foot"-or, in other words, penetrate his true character. ing and science; for any unusual achievement in these Such as he was, he played an important part in the departments was almost sure to be ascribed to a secret annals of modern witchcraft, which was supposed to practice of witchcraft, or the art magical. From an rest entirely on the direct and personal agency of himearly era, it was taken up and pursued as a trade by self and the imps commissioned by him. Nor was this knowing wretches, who found it possible to thrive supposition confined to the illiterate, or to persons of better by playing upon the weaknesses of their fellow peculiarly credulous temperament. Authors, distincreatures, than by following any more useful employ-guished for sense and talent, record with great serious-ings:ment. In ancient Rome, whither these delusions ness, that the devil once delivered a course of lectures were imported from Egypt and Greece, there were on magic at Salamanca, habited in a professor's gown many practitioners of this order, who usually took the and wig; and that at another time he took up house character of conjurors or fortune-tellers, and exercised in Milan, lived there in great style, and assumed, rather a most baneful influence on society at large. imprudently one would say, the suspicious yet approAccording to the Roman civil code, however, the priate title of the "Duke of Mammon." Even Luther practice of supernatural arts was a crime. For exentertained similar notions about the fiend, and, in ample, it was a capital offence for any one to increase fact, thought so meanly of him as to believe that he his rural produce by magical incantations. Pliny could come by night and steal nuts, and that he narrates a remarkable trial which took place under cracked them against the bed-posts, for the solacement this law. Cresinus, a laborious and skilful husband- of his monkey-like appetite. man, was charged by his envious neighbours with having crops of such abundance that it was manifest they could be produced by no other means than the power of magic. The sturdy agriculturist met the accusation by bringing into court his implements of husbandry, oxen, horses, servants, and also his daughter, who formed an able assistant; and he assured the judge that these were "the only witchcraft which he had used." This intrepidity had the desired effect; the accusers were covered with shame and confusion, while Cresinus was dismissed with honour from the tribunal. How many similar cases occur in modern times, in which the success that rewards the skilful and industrious is ascribed to "luck," "fortune," or any other cause than the real one! Let the slothful and envious remember the defence of Cresinus, the Roman husbandman.

The practice among the Greeks of ascribing powers of supernatural vision to the Sybils and Pythonesses of the sacred oracles, appears to have introduced and familiarised the idea of female magicians, and of witchcraft being an art less congenial to the male than the female sex. It is at least certain that sorceresses and their arts are frequently alluded to by the Roman poets. Thus, Tibullus, in describing the wonderful powers of a female necromancer, tells us that

She plucks each star out of his throne,
And turneth back the raging waves;
With charms she makes the earth to cone,
And raiseth souls out of their graves:
She burns men's bones as with a fire,
And pulleth down the lights from heaven,
And makes it snow at her desire,
E'en in the midst of summer season.

* A phrase from "The Doctor."

The powers ascribed to this debased demon wore exceedingly great. The general belief was, that through his agency storms at sea and land could at all seasons be raised; that crops could be blighted and cattle injured; that bodily illnesses could be inflicted on any person who was the object of secret malice; that the dead could be raised to life; that witches could ride through the air on broomsticks, and transform themselves into the shapes of cats, hares, or other animals, at pleasure. An old writer, speaking of the powers of witches, says "1. Some work their bewitchings only by way of invocation or imprecation. They wish it, or will it; and so it falls out. 2. Some, by way of emissary, sending out their imps, or familiars, to crosse the way, justle, affront, flash in the face, barke, howle, bite, scratch, or otherwise infest. 3. Some by inspecting, or looking on, or to glare, or peep at with an envious and evil eye. 4. Some by a hollow muttering or mumbling. 5. Some by breathing and blowing on. 6. Some by cursing and banning. 7. Some by blessing and praising. 8. Some revengefully, by occasion of ill turnes. 9. Some ingratefully, and by occasion of good turnes. 10. Some by leaving something of theirs in your house. 11. Some by getting something of yours into their house. 12. Some have a more speciall way of working by severall elements; earth, water, ayre, or fire. But who can tell all the manner of wayes of a witch's working; that works not only darkly and closely, but variously and versatilly, as God will permit, the devil can suggest, or the malicious hag devise to put in practice?"

In the present age of comparative intelligence, it is difficult to understand how human beings could be so deplorably ignorant as to entertain such a gross superstition. We must, however, recollect that the belief

"A.D. 1485. Cumanas, an inquisitor, burnt forty-one poor women for witches, in the county of Burlia, in one year. He caused them to be shaven first, that they may be searched for marks. He continued the prosecutions in the year following, and many fled out of the country.

·

About this time, Alciat, a famous lawyer, in his Parergu, says, One inquisitor burnt a hundred in Piedmont, and proceeded daily to burn more, till the people rose against the inquisitor, and chased him out of the country.'

A. D. 1488. A violent tempest of thunder and lightning in Constance destroyed the corn for four leagues round. The people accused one Anne Mindelin, and one Agnes, for being the cause of it. They confessed and were burnt.

About this time, H. Institor says, one of the inquisitors came to a certain town, that was almost desolate with plague and famine. The report went, that a certain woman, buried not long before, was eating up her winding-sheet, and that the plague would not cease till she had made an end of it. This matter being taken into consideration, Scultetus, with the chief magistrate of the city, opened the grave, and found that she had indeed swallowed and devoured one-half of her winding-sheet. Scultetus, moved with horror at the thing, drew out his sword, and cut off her head, and threw it into a ditch, and immediately the plague ceased! and, the inquisition sitting upon the case, it was found that she had long been a reputed witch.

A.D. 1524. About this time a thousand were burned

in one year, in the diocese of Como, and a hundred per annum for several years together."

From other authorities it is learned that the devastation was as great in Spain, France, and northern Germany, as it was in the Italian states. About the year 1515, five hundred witches were burned in Ge neva in three months, and in France many thousands. An able writer in the Foreign Quarterly Review, sums up the following particulars respecting the executions for witchcraft in some of the German

states.

"In Germany, to which indeed the bull of Innocent bore particular reference, this plague raged to a degree

* No. XL. 1830.

almost inconceivable. Bainberg, Paderborn, Wurtzburg, and Treves, were its chief seats, though for a century and a half after the introduction of the trials under the commission, no quarter of that great empire was free from its baneful influence. A catalogue of the executions at Wurtzburg for the period from 1627 to February 1629, about two years and two months, is printed by Hauber in the conclusion of his third

larly divided into 29 burnings, and contains the names

he bore it coolly and stoically. He pursued his own
way, without swerving aside for an instant on account
of the jeers he was subjected to. He wrought hard,
spent nothing that he could keep, and gave away not
a penny in charity, either to Michael Blane or any
body else. Hugh followed the same course; but it
was noticed that the young man sometimes spoke to
the old mendicant's daughter, Mary, and even made

knowledgment, which he had drawn out, for the remainder of the debt!

Ah, would you believe it, sir ?" continued the dying beggar; "I was as suspicious and hard to Simon Barton afterwards, as ever! He continued to toil on, and bear patiently with the appellation given to him of 'a mean miser,' though it was on me, whom every body countenanced and treated well, that that name should have fallen. dvarice has been my evil spirit. Simon paid up his debt. The last payment was made within ceasing to look with the greedy suspicion of a creditor upon him, that I have at last been led to reflect on the real nature of his conduct and of mine, and to do him justice. I have become ill, both in body and mind, from thinking of these things, and feel that I am now dying.

volume of the Acta et Scripta Magica. It is reguof 157 persons, Hauber stating at the same time that her presents of some little ornamental trifles of his these few weeks, and I believe that it is from my

the catalogue is not complete. It is impossible to peruse this list without shuddering with horror. The greater part of this catalogue consists of old women or foreign travellers, seized, as it would appear, as foreigners were at Paris during the days of Marat and Robespierre: it contains children of twelve, eleven, ten, and nine years of age; fourteen vicars of the cathedral; two boys of noble families, the two little sons of the senator Stolzenburg; a stranger boy; a blind girl; Gobel Babelin, the handsomest girl in Wurtzburg, &c. And yet, frightful as this list of 157 persons executed in two years appears, the number is not (taking the population of Wurtzburg into view) so great as the Lindheim process from 1660 to 1664; for in that small district, consisting at the very utmost of six hundred inhabitants, thirty persons were condemned and put to death, making a twentieth part of the whole population consumed in four years.

How dreadful are the results to which these data lead! If we take 157 as a fair average of the executions at Wurtzburg (and the catalogue itself states that the list was by no means complete), the amount of executions there in the course of the century preceding 1628, would be 15,700. We know that from 1610 to 1660 was the great epoch of the witch trials, and that so late as 1749, Maria Renata was executed at Wurtzburg for witchcraft; and though in the interval between 1660 and that date, it is to be hoped that the number of these horrors had diminished, there can be little doubt that several thousands fall to be

added to the amount already stated. If Bainberg, Paderborn, Treves, and the other Catholic bishoprics, whose zeal was not less ardent, furnished an equal contingent, and if the Protestants, as we know, actually vied with them in the extent to which these cruelties were carried, the number of victims from the date of Innocent's bull to the final extinction of these prosecutions, must considerably exceed 100,000 in Germany."

While these horrors were transacting on the continent, the superstition was attended with similar effects in Britain; but of these we postpone any notice till a future occasion.

A SIMPLE STORY.

own workmanship. Mary Blane was pretty; and
such was the odium which the silent and reserved
young watchmaker had incurred with the public,
though chiefly on his father's account, that they hesi-
tated not to say he had evil intentions with respect to
the poor girl. Some very good-natured people went
the length of saying so to Michael, and bade him take is
care. The old man did appear affected and influenced
by the suggestion, as Hugh Barton was seen to speak
less afterwards to the beggar's girl.

Many years had passed over the heads of these
parties, and they still remained in the same condition,
separately and relatively. At length (as the story
was told by those who knew the circumstances well)
Mary Blane came running one evening to the house
of the clergyman of the place, and, with tears in her
eyes, bade him come to her father, who was dying.
The good parson hurried to the beggar's dwelling, and
there found old Michael stretched on his humble
pallet. He seemed to be in a state of the greatest
distress, though of a mental as much as a bodily cha-
racter. He expressed the greatest fears to the clergy-
man on the subject of death, declaring himself unfit
to die, and certain of dreadful punishment afterwards.
His spiritual attendant tried to bring him to a state of
greater calmness; and, finally, Michael became com-
posed enough to disclose the source of his uneasiness
and fears.

"Oh! sir," said he, "I am a guilty wretch! For ten years, now, that I have been in this town, I have basely usurped the esteem and charity of the good people around, and have allowed scorn and insult to fall on the head of poor Simon Barton, the watch maker! Yes, sir, I have stolen the respect that was due to him alone, and have sat down in quiet, and seen injuries heaped through me on his honest grey hairs! But I will make some amends-I will do him right yet, as far as I can.

Simon Barton, sir, lived in the same town with me, before either of us came here. He there suffered heavy pecuniary losses-by a misfortuue no man could avoid at a time when he was in my debt for a very considerable sum. We both came hither, he to work, and I, who was fully younger than he, and had less LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON. occasion, every way, to take such a step-I came to beg. Good, honest, and industrious, Simon imposed SOME years ago there lived in a little town in one of on himself and his son the severest labour, and the the southern counties of England, an old watchmaker proceeds of all their toils he brought to me, with the exception of the smallest pittance to keep himself and and his son, the latter a person of twenty-five or twen- his boy in life. No mortal knew the full extent of ty-six years of age, and bearing the name of Hugh-the privations to which they subjected themselves for Hugh Barton. The father, named Simon, was a this end; and how patiently they bore the insults widower, and laboured hard at his trade along with which were heaped upon them, by those who were his son, the two sticking to their employment from ignorant that the men they abused were acting upon a principle of self-denial of the noblest kind! Simon sunrise till bedtime, whenever they had work to would not undeceive them; I had done him a favour stick to; and this was almost always the case, for when he became my debtor, and he would not reveal there are comparatively few instances of a thoroughly what would have turned the tide of abuse from himwilling and good tradesman being long in want of self upon me.” employment. Nevertheless, in spite of their inces

I have but one thing more to say. Hugh Barton a good lad, and has been his father's friend and confidant. My poor girl, who has been a friend to her father too, but who has never till this hour beenand well for her his confidant-at least in some part of his actions-she is liked by Hugh, and she likes him. I formerly forbade her to speak to the lad. Now, it is my dearest wish that she should marry him. Perhaps Simon will then forgive me. Lift the corner stone out of the wall on the right side of the fire (the old man pointed to the spot), and you will find all my money. Part of it was gained before I was a beggar, and from fair earnings. Simon's money is also there. Mary (continued the old man, addressing his weeping girl), you will be happy with Hugh; he has been taught in a good school-Like father, like son.""

Michael Blane had the pleasure, before he died, of receiving Simon Barton's forgiveness. As he wished justice to be done openly to the good name of the watchmaker, the story was told by the clergyman, with as much tenderness as possible to Michael's memory. It soon spread abroad. The tide of public opinion underwent an instantaneous revulsion, and the Bartons became every where as much honoured as they had been despised. They took the praise as calmly as they had borne the scorn; having done what they did, not for the applause of others, but for the gratification of their own sense of honour and rectitude. Hugh Barton, after being married to Mary Blane, did not belie the words of her father. To him was ever applicable, through life, but in a very different sense from that in which it had once been applied to him, the proverbial saying, "Like Father, like Son."

SPITALFIELDS AND ITS WEAVERS.* THE district of Spitalfields, now included within the north-eastern boundaries of the metropolis, is the oldest seat of the silk manufacture in England, and though in a greatly fallen off condition, still employs several thousand looms. Anciently the district was an open space of ground without the city walls, belonging to the Hospital or 'Spital of St Austin-hence its present name-and it was not till about the beginning of the last century that it became fully covered with houses, or was made a seat of the silk manufacture. The immediate cause of this change in its condition was the revocation of the edict of Nantz in 1685, when at least 50,000 refugees, most of them weavers and other craftsmen, arrived from France, and threw themselves upon the charity of the English nation. In consequence of previous religious persecutions on

sant toiling, and although they never went into com- pression of shame and remorse upon his countenance. the continent, many thousands of silk weavers had

pany, Simon and his son were always miserably clothed, and lived in the very meanest way. Hence, the people of the town formed the idea that they were avaricious, and given to pinching and hoarding at the cost of all the comforts of life. They gave to Simon the familiar name of " the Miser." As for Hugh, they thought no better of him; and whenever they spoke of him, their common sneer was, "Like father, like son."

Near to the humble dwelling of the watchmakers, there lived, in a still humbler dwelling, an old beggar and his daughter. Old Michael Blane was a mendicant of the better order, and lived rather upon stated and voluntary charity, than upon casual and courted contributions. Yet he was poorly enough off, to be sure. His residence and usual begging station being close by the habitation of the Bartons, the attention of the neighbours used to be arrested by this juxta position of real and factitious indigence, and many remarks were made, very unfavourable to the watch makers, and, on the other hand, very advantageous to Michael Blane. They gave their pity and their pittance to poor old Michael, but their contempt to his neighbours. The former was almost loved and respected by them, being thought poor because he could not help it; while the watchmaker and his son were despised as being willing slaves to privation and misery. They pointed the finger at the "mean old hunx," as they called Simon, on all occasions.

Simon Barton seemed to care nothing for all this;

The old beggar paused for a moment, with an ex-
"Simon Barton," he then continued, "was still more
sharply tried, and still through me. You remember,
sir, when this place, where I now lie, took fire, some
two years ago. The debt of Simon was then more
the first to come to my aid; but in place of feeling
than half paid. The watchmaker and his boy were
grateful for this service, I adopted, Heaven forgive me
for it! an evil suspicion against them. Simon, I
thought, had wished to destroy my proof of his debt,
and had set fire to the house himself. In reality, after
the flames were extinguished, I could not find the
document establishing my claim against him. I was
greatly alarmed, but said nothing, for obvious reasons.
Some days passed away, and then Simon came one
morning to me, holding in his hand a scrap of half
burnt paper. Look at what the wind had blown
away, Michael,' said he; 'I found this in the ditch
behind our house." I looked, and saw that it was the
very paper missing; but it was useless-the fire had
burned the essential part of it, and I knew that I had
no legal claim against the watchmaker.

strengthened, I grasped Simon by the collar, and ex-
In the rage of the moment, my suspicions being
claimed, Rascal! you have robbed me you did all
this mischief on purpose! What more I said, I do
not know; but I clutched Simon as if I would have
strangled him, till, being necessitated to do so, and
being much stronger than I, he shook me off, and set
me down on a scat. You do not know me,' said he,
with the greatest calmness; and taking a considerable
sum of money from his pocket, he laid it down before
me, saying at the same time, I have had good work
these two months past, and here is the money for it.
This clears a good part of what now remains of my
debt; and as for the rest of which the destruction of
that paper would acquit me-see here!' He then
held out a slip to me; it was a new and proper ac-

arrived in England and been permitted to reside and carry on their trade at Canterbury; the new host of refugees, having spread to the metropolis, were permediate starvation by a parliamentary vote of L.15,000 mitted to settle in Spitalfields, and relieved from imper annum. We should suppose this munificent donation did not require to be long continued, for the weavers of Spitalfields quickly became very flourishing; and in 1713 the silk trade had attained such importance, that upwards of 300,000 persons were maintained by it in England.

For a considerable time the population of Spitalfields might be considered as exclusively French. That language was universally spoken, and even within the memory of persons now living, worship continued to be performed in French in the chapels originally erected by the pious refugees. The district, though a suburb of London, might not improperly have been called Petty France. French songs were sung in the streets, there were French coffee-houses, and all social intercourse was strongly marked by French manners. The houses, also, had a dash of the old French style about them; many of them had porticoes, with seats at their doors, where the weavers might be seen on summer evenings enjoying their pipes, and chatting in their own language upon subjects which

*The above article is drawn up from Dr Mitchell's Report to

Parliament on the Condition of the Hand-Loom Weavers, a do

cument written with much ability, and from which we have already made some interesting extracts.

There is still a remnant of the love of gardening On the east of among the Spitalfields weavers. Bethnal Green is situated an enclosure of about six acres of ground, called Sanderson's Gardens. This space is divided into 170 small gardens, some larger than others, and each separated by palings from the others, as well as from the intersecting pathways. In almost every garden is a neat summer-house, where the weaver and his family may enjoy themselves on Sundays and holidays, and where they usually dine and take tea. Much care is bestowed on the cultivation of these spots. When visited in June 1838, some of the gardens had cabbages, lettuces, and peas, but most of the cultivators had a far loftier ambition. Many had tulip beds, in which the proprietors not a little gloried, and over which they had screens which protected them from the sun and from the storm. There had been a contest for a silver medal amongst the tulip proprietors. There were many other flowers of a high order; and it was expected that the show of dahlias for that season would not fail to bring glory to Spitalfields.

Having given an account of the weavers in former times, we now turn to a sketch of their recent and present condition. The first fact which it is important to notice, is, that the number of Spitalfields weavers is very greatly reduced from what it was at any time last century. According to the investigations of Dr Mitchell, the following was the number of looms, and individuals employed upon them, in July 1838. Looms worked by men, 5098; by women, 3395; by boys, 440; by girls, 296; by apprentice boys, 61; by apprentice girls, 12; total, 9302 looms, which belonged to 4299 families. Of these 9302 looms, 2527 were employed in weaving velvets; 24, jacquard velvets; 499, jacquard or figured goods; and 6252, plain goods. There is no doubt a small additional remnant of looms and weavers beyond what has been ascertained, as some individual weavers work towards Stepney and Poplar, and a small number at Greenwich; but, estimating the whole, it does not appear that there are more than 10,500 looms employed in the silk manufacture in and about London.

The weavers of Spitalfields are employed by manufacturers, or persons who deal in velvet and other silk goods, and from these they receive certain weekly wages for their labour. The introduction of machinery at Manchester and elsewhere, and the excessive competition among employers to produce low-priced goods, also changes in taste, have conspired to abridge the number of weavers, and to lower their wages. In July 1838, the highest average weekly earnings were for the finest work, waistcoat velvets, 20s., and, the lowest, for plain work, light satins, 8s. 5d. But from these and all intermediate prices, 3s. are to be deducted for the weaver's necessary expenses, thus materially lowering the exact amount of earnings. It appears from the tabular statements given in by employers, that the individual weekly wages vary from 4s. Id. to 178.; but that from 9s. to 12s. is more commonly paid. "Mr Cole, and a committee of weavers, handed in a list of 20 plain weavers, employing, between them and the members of their families, 37 looms, and whose united wages amounted to L.14, 14s. 11d.; this would give nearly 11s. 6d. a loom, and deducting 3s. expenses, would leave 8s. 6d. as the net earnings per loom per week." With respect to the 3s. for expenses, this is in most cases gained by the children of the family; so that it is often no real deduction from the family income. Some parents let out their children at from 1s. 8d. to 2s. 2d. per week each. The child receives the odd 2d. in these sums.

"Mr Thomas Heath, of No. 8, Pedley Street, has been represented by many persons as one of the most skilful workmen in Spitalfields. He handed in about forty samples of figured silk done by him, and they appear exceedingly beautiful. This weaver also gave a minute and detailed account of all his earnings for 430 weeks, being upwards of eight years, with the names of the manufacturers and the fabrics at which he worked. The sum of the gross earnings for 430 weeks is £322, 3s. 4d., being about 14s. 11 d., say 15s. per week. He estimates his expenses at 4s., which would leave 11s. net wages; but take the expenses at 3s. 6d., it is still only Ils. 6d. He states his wife's earnings at about 3s. a-week. He gives the following remarkable evidence :

Q-Have you any children? A.-No; I had two, but they are both dead, thanks be to God!

Do you express satisfaction at the death of your children?-I do; I thank God for it. I am relieved from the burden of maintaining them, and they, poor dear creatures, are relieved from the troubles of this mortal life.

There are many persons who represent the earnings of weavers at your branch as much higher than what you state?-Many persons deceive themselves by omitting to take into account the time which they lose by play; that is, the time which we are unemployed. I took home a piece to-day, which I had wove in six days, and I got 30s. for it. Some people would say that my earnings were 30s. a-week; but it is no such thing. I paid 4s. expenses, which reduces the amount to 26s., and then it will probably be a week of play before I am set to work again. The manufacturer will wait until he can get an order for what I am doing; he will do no work on the chance of sale; so it will be only 13s. a-week. I have been as fortunate as most of my trade. I have never been discharged altogether; I have always been attached to some