germ of the disorder must remain in the veins. When summer recurred, the malady again took possession of those formerly afflicted, and it was necessary again to resort to music. Thus, in time, the cure of the Ta rantati became a kind of public festival of annual occurrence. Crowds attended these festivals, which became scenes of great general excitement, and many, particularly of the female sex, caught the malady, not from the poison of the spider, but "from the mental poison which they eagerly received through the eye."

what they had beheld in the first girl, and, on the 17th, six more became affected in the like manner. The work was now stopped, under an impression that a pestilence had been introduced into it through the medium of a bag of cotton. A physician was sent for from Preston; and before he arrived, three more were seized. On the morning of the 19th, there were in all twenty-three girls affected, besides one man, who had been much fatigued by holding the girls. Five other girls, working at a factory at Chitheroe, five miles distant, were affected merely by hearing of what took place at Hodden Bridge. The physician cured them by an electrical machine, and by assuring them that the malady was entirely nervous. Phenomena similar to these took place in 1801 at Berlin. A patient affected by tetanic spasms being introduced into the Charité Hospital there, and falling down at her entry in strong convulsions, six other patients, at sight of her, became affected in the same way, and by degrees eight more were attacked in the like manner. While their new ailment continued, their former complaints were banished, returning, however, after the convulsions had been cured, which was chiefly effected by the use of opium.

Tarantism lasted in full vigour in Italy till the seventeenth century, at which time it might be said to be at its height. From the end of the seventeenth century it began to decline, until at length it was confined to single cases, as it now is. One great cause of the decline seems to have been the frequency of cases of imposture. These, being detected in great numbers, threw discredit over the whole, and, the "conceit" being thus shaken, people became less liable to be affected by the real disorder. The spirit of the eighThe various cases which have now been adduced, teenth century, which was inquiring and anti-enthu-make it, we presume, quite plain, that there is a siastic all over Europe, must also be acknowledged to spasmodic disease, to which human beings are liable have been unfavourable to a malady which perhaps under certain predisposing circumstances, and which took its origin in, and was all along supported by, reli- may be propagated through the medium of morbid gious extravagance. sympathy, or, to speak more properly, the imitative faculty in a state of disease. Amongst the predisposing causes to this malady, the first is certainly nervous weakness, whether it may arise from great physical sufferings, or from the long-continued operations of a harassing superstition, or be simply a natural character of the individuals affected. Such, we should think, must have equally been the state of the oppressed and superstitious peasantry of Germany in the fourteenth century, of the over-tasked monotonouslylabouring girls in the Hodden factory, and of the under-fed and lonely people of the Shetland Islands. It may also be induced in persons of better condition, by protracted exposure to addresses in which the most enthusiastic eloquence is employed to work upon the feelings. When many are in the requisite condition of nervous weakness, the disease passes from one to another by morbid sympathy, and the consequences

Yet even during this cold period, there have not been wanting comparatively isolated instances of similar affections. In 1731, the grave of the Deacon Paris (the zealous opponent of the Ultramontanists), in the cemetery of St Medard at Paris, became the scene of a singular popular mania. Many individuals were there seized with convulsions and tetanic spasms, causing them to roll upon the ground like maniacs, while their countenances and limbs were thrown into the most violent contortions. Crowds flocked to witness this spectacle, and the number of the patients at length became so great that the king found it necessary to issue an order to shut up the cemetery, or, as a wit expressed it, to forbid further miracles in that place. There can be no doubt that these proceedings were the consequence of the fervour to which certain devotees were wrought up by the controversy on account of the bull "Unigenitus." The enthusiasm and the convulsions are said to have been kept up by a small and obscure sect till the Revolution. The preachings of Whitfield, and those of several other divines of the like fervour of manner, were attended, as is well known, with similar effects both in Britain and America. In 1760, a sect originated in Cornwall, who acquired the name of Jumpers, in consequence of its being a regular part of their devotional exercises to work themselves, by the use of certain unmeaning words, into a spasmodic state, in the course of which they jumped with strange gesticulations, until they were exhausted.

In the last age a disorder, locally termed convulsion

fits, prevailed to a great extent in the remote archipelago of Shetland. The disorder was traced to a very simple circumstance, namely, the falling of an epileptic woman into a fit during service in one of the churches. The minds of the congregation being probably in a state of high excitement at the time, several individuals immediately experienced palpitation and faintness, and then fell into a motionless and apparently cataleptic condition. For years afterwards, especially during summer, similar occurrences frequently took place, but not always with the same symptoms, for women especially often fell into convulsions, and raved furiously, writhing their bodies into various shapes, and uttering the most dismal cries. It would have been easy perhaps to counteract these disorders. A sensible clergyman, newly introduced to his charge, finding the service much impeded by them, gave notice that, understanding immersion in cold water to be a cure for the malady, he should in future order every person so affected in church to be instantly carried out and plunged into the neighbour ing lake. From that time the malady was heard of no more in that congregation.

ague, was prevalent about the same time in ForfarA disorder of an analogous kind, called the leaping shire. According to a writer in Sir John Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland, "Those affected with it first complain of a pain in the head, or lower part of the back, to which succeed convulsion-fits, or fits of dancing, at certain periods. During the paroxysm, they have all the appearance of madness, distorting their bodies in various ways, and leaping and springing in a surprising manner, whence the disease has derived its vulgar name. Sometimes they run with astonishing speed, and often over dangerous passes, to some place out of doors, which they have fixed on in their own minds, or perhaps mentioned to those in company with them, and then drop down quite exhausted. Cold bathing is found to be the most effectual remedy; but when the fit of dancing, leaping, or runring, comes on, nothing tends so much to abate the violence of the disease as allowing them free scope to exercise themselves, till nature be exhausted."

At a cotton manufactory at Hodden Bridge in Lancashire, on the 15th February 1787, a girl put a mouse into the breast of another who had a great dread of mice. The girl was immediately thrown into a fit, and continued in it, with the most violent convulsions, for twenty-four hours. On the following day, three more girls were seized with fits similar to

are what we have seen.

If these be the proper inferences from the facts stated, it becomes clear and indubitable that many of the fervours which take place under the hallowed name of religion, do not proceed either from the good or evil spirit, as opposite sects have represented them, but are mere results of natural laws operating on the nervous system. On the importance of this deduction we need not pause to make a single remark.

A MODERN ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.

IN explanation of the subjoined narrative, which is translated from a foreign newspaper, it is necessary to remind the reader that the island of Mauritius, appertaining at this day to the English, was originally colonised by the French, and that the population yet consists in a great measure of persons of that nation, to whom, by a formal treaty between the powers concerned, their ancient laws and usages were preserved without any material alterations.

About ten or twelve months ago, the Sieur Clodomir Frenois, a rich merchant of the island, was found dead and frightfully disfigured in his own habitation. His body was discovered lying on the floor, with the head and face mutilated by means of a pistol, and all doubt as to the cause of the catastrophe was dispelled by the discovery of the fatal weapon by the side of the corpse, and also of a paper in the handwriting of the deceased. This paper contained the following words: "I am ruined !—a villain has robbed me of be my portion, and I cannot await or survive it. I twenty-five thousand livres sterling; dishonour must leave to my wife the task of distributing among my creditors the means which remain to us, and I pray that God, my friends, and my enemies, may pardon my self-destruction! Yet another minute, and I shall be in eternity! (Signed) CLODOMIR FRENOIS."

Great was the consternation caused by this tragic event, which was the more unexpected, as the loss alluded to in the note had never been made public. The deceased had been held in great esteem over the colony as a man of strict honour and probity, and was universally lamented. His attached widow, after endeavouring faithfully to fulfil his last wishes, found her grief too overpowering to permit her to mingle longer with the world, and took the resolution of consecrating her remaining days to the services of religion. Two months after the sad end of her husband, she merchant, a physician, the charge of completing the entered a convent, leaving to a nephew of the late distribution of the effects of Frenois among his creditors.

A minute examination of the papers of the defunct,

led to the discovery of the period at which the unfor tunate merchant had been robbed; and this period was found to correspond with the date of the disappearance of a man named John Moon, long in the employment of Frenois. Of this man, on whom suspicion not unnaturally fell, nothing could be learned on inquiry; but, shortly after the division of the late merchant's property, Moon reappeared in the colony. When taken up and examined respecting the cause of his flight, he stated that he had been sent by his master to France to recover certain sums due to the merchant there, in which mission he had been unsuccessful; and he further averred, that if Clodomir Frenois, in his existing correspondence, had thrown any injurious suspicions upon him (Moon), the whole was but a pretext to account for deficiencies of which the merchant himself was the sole cause and author. This declaration, made by a man who seemed to fear no inquiry, and whose worldly circumstances remained to appearance the same as they had ever been, had the effect of silencing, if it did not satisfy, the examinators, and the affair soon fell in a great measure out of the public recollection.

Things remained for a short time in this condition, when, one morning, Mr William Burnett, principal creditor of the late Clodomir Frenois, heard a knocking at his gate at a very early hour. He called up one of his servants, who went down and opened the door, and immediately returned with the intelligence that a stranger, who seemed desirous of keeping his person concealed, wished to speak with Mr Burnett in private. Mr Burnett rose, threw on his dressinggown, and descended to the parlour. He saw there a stranger, of tall person, seated in an easy and familiar attitude upon a sofa, with a number of the Morn! ing Post in his hand. The back of the visiter was turned to Mr Burnett as he entered. Rather surprised to see a stranger conduct himself so like an old friend of the house, Mr Burnett said aloud, “Sir, may I beg to know your business with me?"

The stranger turned round, and advanced to salute his host warmly and courteously. Mr Burnett started back, and uttered a loud exclamation of surprise and alarm. Well he might; fer before his eyes stood his friend and debtor, Clodomir Frenois, whom he had beheld, nearly a year before, a mutilated corpse, and whom he himself had followed to the grave!

What passed at that interview between Mr Burnett and his strange visiter, remained for the time a secret. Mr Burnett was observed to issue several times, pale and agitated, from his dwelling, and to visit the magistrate charged with the conduct of the criminal processes of the colony. In the course of that day, while John Moon was regaling himself with tea under the palm-trees of his garden, along with a Circassian female whom he had bought some time previously, he was arrested and taken to prison by the officers of justice. On the following day, he was brought before the criminal court, accused of robbing the late Clodomir Frenois, the crime being conjoined with breach of trust and violence. Moon smiled at the charge, with all the confidence of a man who had nothing to fear. The judge having demanded of him if he confessed the crime, the accused replied, that the charge was altogether absurd; that clear testimony was nefar from there being any such evidence producible, cessary to fix such a delict upon him; and that, so neither the widow of the deceased, nor any one person in his service, had ever heard the pretended robbery even once mentioned by Frenois during his life.

the judge gravely, after hearing all that the other had "Do you then affirm your innocence?" repeated

to say.

"I will avouch my innocence," replied Moon, even before the body of my late master, if that be necessary." [Such a thing often took place under the old colonial law.]

"John Moon," said the judge, in a voice broken by some peculiar emotion, "it is before your late master that you will have now to assert your innocence, and may God make the truth appear!"

A signal from the judge accompanied these words, to the bar with a slow and deliberate step, having his the supposed suicide, entered the court. He advanced and immediately a door opened, and Clodomir Frenois, eye calmly but sternly fixed on the prisoner, his late servant. A great sensation was caused in the court by his appearance. Uttering shrieks of alarm and horror, the females present fled from the spot. The accused fell on his knees in abject terror, and shudderingly confessed his guilt. For a time, no voice was heard but his. However, as it became apparent that a living man stood before the court, the advocate for the prisoner gained courage to speak. He demanded that the identity of the merchant be established, and the mystery of his existence explained. He said that the court should not be biassed by what might prove to be a mere accidental likeness between a person living and one deceased; and that such an of extraordinary terror, was not to be held of much avowal as that of the prisoner, extracted in a moment weight." Before being admitted here as accuser or witness," continued the advocate, addressing the re suscitated merchant, "prove who and what you are, its tenant, and restored you to the world in life and and disclose by what chance the tomb which so lately received your body, mangled by bullets, has given up health!"

This firm appeal of the advocate, who continued steadfast to his duty under circumstances that would

have closed the lips of most men, called forth the following narrative from Clodomir Frenois. "My story may be soon told, and it will suffice to establish my identity. When I discovered the robbery committed by the accused, he had then fled from the island, and I speedily saw that all attempts to retake him would prove fruitless. I saw ruin and disgrace before me, and came to the resolution of terminating my life before the evil day came. On the night on which this determination was formed, I was seated alone in my private chamber. I had written the letter which was found on my table, and had loaded my pistol. This done, I prayed forgiveness from my Maker for the act of despair I was about to commit. The end of the pistol was at my head, and my finger on the lock, when a knock at the outer door of the house startled me. I concealed the weapon, and went to the door. A man entered, whom I recognised to be the sexton of the parish in which I lived. He bore a sack on his shoulders, and in it the body of a man newly buried, which was destined for my nephew, the physician, then living with me. The scarcity of bodies for dissection, as the court is aware, compels those who are anxious to acquire skill in the medical professión to procure them by any possible secret means. The sexton was at first alarmed at having met me. Did my nephew request you to bring this body?' said I. "No,' replied the man; 'but I know his anxiety to obtain one for dissection, and took it upon me to come and offer him this body. For mercy's sake,' continued the sexton, 'do not betray me, sir, or I shall lose my situation, and my family's bread.'

While the man was speaking, a strange idea entered my mind, and brought to my despairing bosom hopes of continued life and recovered honour. I stood for a few minutes absorbed in thought, and then, recollecting myself, I gave two pieces of gold to the resurrectionist, the sum which he had expected. Telling him to keep his own counsel, and that all would be well, I sent him away, and carried the body to my cabinet. The whole of the household had previously been sent out of the way on purpose, and I had time to carry into execution the plan which had struck me. The body was fortunately of the same stature as myself, and like me in complexion. I knew the man; he had been a poor offender, abandoned by his family. Poor relic of mortality!' said I, with tears in my eyes, "nothing which man may do can now injure thee; yet pardon me if I rudely disfigure thy lifeless substance. It is to prevent the ruin of not one, but twenty families ! And should success attend my attempt, I swear that thy children shall be my children, and, when my own hour comes, we shall rest together in the tomb to which thou shalt be borne before me !'"

At this portion of the merchant's narrative, the most lively interest was excited in the court, and testified even by tears from many of the audience. Frenois thus proceeded :-"I then stripped off my clothes, and dressed the body in them. This accomplished, I took up the pistol, and with a hand more reluctant than when I had applied it to my own person, I fired it close to the head of the deceased, and at once caused such a disfigurement as rendered it impossible for the keenest eye to detect the substitution which had been made.

her the beloved being for whose sake she had quitted the world. She was released from her ecclesiastical vows, and rejoined her husband, no more to part till the grave really claimed one or other of them as its due.

The bulk of the volume is devoted to proceedings in Ireland, in reference to the extension of the law to that country. The business of sectioning the country into unions, and building a workhouse in each, has been actively carrying on throughout the past year. The number of unions declared up to the 25th of March 1840, is 104, and 30 more will probably complete the total number of unions into which Ireland will be arranged. The formation of unions was followed by elections of guardians by the rate-payers; and the new measures seem generally to have produced satisfaction in the various districts. Sixty workhouses have been contracted for, and are now in progress of erection. The houses of the old charitable foundations are likewise in the course of being remodelled to meet the arrangements of the new system, which has already, or will very shortly, come into operation in the Dublin and Cork unions. The various boards of guardians concur in representing, that as soon as the workhouses in their respective jurisdictions are ready for the reception of inmates, all public begging and mendicant vagrancy should cease; and to accomplish this desirable object, they express a hope that a vagrant act will be passed, similar to that which applies to England. It may seem hard that paupers should not be allowed to seek alms from the charitably disposed; but in all matters of this kind we must consult general, not individual, advantage. Beggary is a disgrace in a civilised community. It argues that society is in a wrong condition. The least that can be said of it is that it is a nuisance, and is practically a tax on the benevolent for the support of the poor, while the more churlishly disposed, but not the least wealthy, escape. Thus, in Dublin, under the old state of things, the entire charge for the poor fell exclusively on the benevolent. We rejoice, therefore, that by the law as now constituted for Ireland, every householder in ordinary circumstances will be coinpelled to pay his fair share for the support of his poorer brethren. The establishment of workhouses, to which every man, woman, and child, in a state of destitution, may resort for relief, is the only effectual remedy excuse whatever for the application of the mendicant, and permits us with a safe conscience to refuse his request. The country which possesses no workhouses or other establishments for the ready relief of the pauper, and yet prevents public begging, commits a monstrous crime; in fact, it consigns myriads of unfortunate creatures to pinching penury and starvation. We are not overlooking here that the more important benefit of a poor-law is its supporting the moral tone of the humbler orders of the people, keeping them above that degree of want which induces despair and recklessness, and the effects of which have already been more frightfully exemplified in Ireland than in any other country.

Choosing the plainest habit I could get, I then dressed myself anew, shaved off the whiskers which I was accustomed to wear, and took other means to alter and disguise my appearance, in case of being subjected by any accident to the risk of betrayal. Next morn-against the nuisance of begging, because it leaves no ing saw me on board a French vessel on my way to a distant land-the native country of my ancestors. The expectations which had led me to the execution of this scheme were not disappointed. I knew that John Moon, the man who had robbed me, and who now stands at the bar of this court, had formed connexions in this island, which would in all probability bring him back to it as soon as the intelligence of my death gave him the promise of security. In this I have not been disappointed. I have been equally fortunate in other respects. While my unworthy servant remained here in imaginary safety, I have been successful in discovering the quarter in which, not daring at first to betray here the appearance of wealth, he had lodged the whole of the stolen money. I have brought it with me, and also sufficient proofs, supposing his confession of this day to be set aside altogether, to convict him of the crime with which he stands charged. By the same means," continued Clodimir Frenois, with a degree of honourable pride in which all who heard him sympathised, "will I be enabled to restore my family to their place in society, and to redeem the credit of a name on which no blot was left by those who bore it before me, and which, please God, I shall transmit unstained to my children, and my children's children."

John Moon, whose guilt was thus suddenly and strangely laid bare to the world, did not retract the confession which he had made in the extremity of his terror, and, without separating, the court sentenced him to confinement for life in the prisons of the colony.

The news of Clodimir Frenois's re-appearance spread rapidly, and the high esteem in which his character was held led to an universal rejoicing on the occasion. He was accompanied from the court to his home by a dense multitude, who welcomed him with prolonged shouts. It would be vain to attempt any description of the feelings of the wife, who thus saw restored to

Two of the most instructive papers in the Report are those on the proposed workhouse dietaries in Ireland, by Messrs Hawley and Hall, assistant poorlaw commissioners. Mr Hawley gives us the following account of the common food of the people :"That the potato is the staple food of the peasantry is a fact too well known to require any proof; and it will hardly be necessary to state, that I have found the use of this vegetable to prevail in all parts of my district. The grand object of the peasant, when planting the potato, is to raise the largest crop on the smallest extent of land; and with this view the sorts called lumpers and whites are generally preferred, as being most prolific; they are, however, of a very inferior and a watery nature, and the loss in cooking reduces them in weight much more than the superior kinds; but as the gross produce of these potatoes, on any given portion of land, is considerably greater than that of any of the other sorts, they continue to hold the preference. The market value of the several sorts corresponds with their quality, and the cheapness of the lumpers and the whites, the two sorts above mentioned, furnishes another reason for their general

uso..

The potato is eaten at every meal, and throughout

Labourers employed by farmers, who are obliged, by the terms of their contract, to feed them, are, in many instances, better off than those who receive full money wages, and cater for themselves. Butter, eggs, milk, and even meat, are occasionally furnished them; but if left to his own resources, the labourer rarely tastes animal food. Porridge, composed of oatmeal boiled in water, with salt and pepper, is a frequent substitute for potatoes.

There is little doubt that the pernicious custom of whisky-drinking has hitherto abridged the domestic comforts, by tending to deteriorate the quality of the food used by the families of the peasantry. It would be premature to reason upon the future effects likely to be produced by the reformation in this respect lately introduced; but from inquiries which I am constantly making at the village shops, where groceries as well as spirits are sold, I find that there is an increase in the sale of the former, more than in the ratio to the de crease of the latter, and that tea, coffee, and bread, are now purchased by the poor for consumption in their cabins, and public coffee-shops are established in most of the towns.

Perhaps it may not be out of place to state here, that there is also a remarkable improvement in the dress of those who were formerly addicted to drunkenness; and this, in conjunction with the fact stated above, affords a proof that the poor generally are beginning to appreciate those comforts which an absti nence from intoxicating liquors has now placed within their reach.

The number of meals eaten during the day by the labouring class is very generally regulated by the following circumstances, namely, the season of the year, the locality, the supply of fuel, and the supply of food, In the short days in the months of November, December, and January, in manufacturing towns, and at times when turf is scarce and dear, the supply of potatoes falling short, and employment scarce, supper is frequently omitted; but at other times, and under different circumstances, particularly where hard labour has to be performed, a third meal is partaken of.

The quantity of food consumed by able-bodied women is almost invariably less than that consumed by able-bodied men, but in quality it is precisely similar. Males up to sixty years of age consume fully as much as young men in the prime of life, and those above sixty very little less. The same proportional consumption of food is also observable in women. There is more difficulty in obtaining any correct data as to the relative consumption of food by children of all ages; but from the best information I can obtain, I am led to suppose that those upwards of ten years of age require fully as much as a full-grown woman to sustain them, at the period of life when muscular expansion and a rapid digestion require equivalent support." Mr Hawley here adds a table, showing the quantity and nature of the food consumed by individuals in various parts of the country. It appears from this, that in most places the breakfast of an able-bodied man is about four and a-half pounds of potatoes; dinner the same, but herrings or lard are substituted when milk is scarce; supper is seldom taken. Women cat about one pound less of potatoes daily. Rarely is bread or oatmeal used. It may be said, with the trifling exccptions to which Mr Hawley alludes, the universal diet consists of from eight to nine pounds of potatoes, and two and a-half pints of skimmed or buttermilk daily. The weight is calculated with the potatoes raw; there is a loss of two ounces in every pound in boiling. In jails, hospitals, and houses of industry, from six to eight ounces of oatmeal made into porridge are in many instances substituted for the potatoes at breakfast; and sometimes a kind of potato soup is given for dinner. There is, therefore, reason to believe, that hitherto the diet afforded in jails and hospitals has been superior to the ordinary food enjoyed by the humbler orders out of these establishments.

We now come to Mr Hall's report, which consists of suggestions for the adoption of the guardians in the Dublin unions. "The essential principle to be attended to," he proceeds to observe, "in framing a dietary for a workhouse, appears to be, that the food a pauper, maintained at the public cost, should not

be more abundant or better than that of the poor man maintaining himself in independence by his industry. In England it has been found very difficult to preserve this principle; it was almost impossible, in many districts, to prescribe a diet less abundant, and of inferior quality, than that of the majority of the labouring classes, and at the same time sufficient to keep the inmates of the workhouse, belonging to the same classes, in health and strength. It is well known to all who have accurately inquired into the matter, that the diet ordered or allowed by the poor-law commissioners for the English workhouses, is in many, not to say in most instances, superior in quality, and more nutritious than the ordinary diet of the poor; a fact attested by the improvement generally observable in the condition of the inmates, within a short period after their admission into the workhouse.

Such being the case in England, it must be expected that the difficulty of regulating the dietary of the paupers, so as not to hold out the additional inducement of superior food to those who may be already disposed, by the prospect of shelter and clothing, to seek relief from the union, instead of working for a livelihood, will be even greater in Ireland. And yet, exactly in proportion to the difficulty of adjusting the diet according to this principle, is the necessity of being careful to do so; because, where subsistence is precarious, scanty, and unwholesome, and, such as it is, not to be obtained without severe exertion, a supply of food, even of tolerable quality and in moderate quantity, yet provided regularly and without fail, becomes almost irresistibly attractive to the poor. Where such is the case, there is great danger of those tests becoming ineffectual, whereby some security is given that none but the actually destitute are relieved; and when once pauperism becomes on the whole, and in the estimation of a large portion of the poorer classes, more eligible than independence, evils which cannot be contemplated without dread are sure to follow.

It is matter of notoriety that meat is rarely, if ever, tasted by the Irish peasant; and the fact of its being almost universally excluded from the dietaries of public institutions, shows that the change in his habits and circumstances in life that a man undergoes when he becomes an inmate of any of them, does not render a change of diet necessary for his well-being. This almost general rule may be proved by the few exceptions that occur. Your assistant commissioner, Mr Phelan, whose medical knowledge and professional experience add great weight to his opinion, when discussing this point in a report on dietaries, writes as follows:-The dietaries of prisons are of three descriptions-bread diet, mixed diet, and vegetable diet. Each consists of only two meals. The first, for various reasons, is in most use: but, from no inconsiderable acquaintance with prison discipline, I am satisfied that the third is the best-that which would keep the prisoners in better health. This consists of stirabout and new milk for breakfast, and potatoes and skimmed milk for dinner.' And again, in another part of the same report, he says, Whether meat or broth should be allowed in our workhouses is a matter of doubt with me, as those who are likely to become the inmates but rarely obtain either at their own residences, or at their own expense, except perhaps about three or four times -year. If meat be at all allowed, it should be extremely well boiled, so that the soup or vegetable porridge prepared with it may be used at dinner instead of milk, and that the meat itself will be considered as of less value than such soup or porridge. I have come to this conclusion from having frequently found, to my very great annoyance, that more serious affections of the bowels occurred within the twentyfour hours after meat and broth had been used in the Clonmel House of Industry, than during the remainder of the week.""

Mr Hall having submitted the subject to the consideration of the guardians of the South Dublin Union, a committee of the body reported in complete agreement with the views above expressed, and proceeded to suggest that therefore two meals a-day would be sufficient for the paupers in the workhouse, namely, a breakfast and dinner. "They advise," says the report, "that on two days of the week the dinner should consist of broth made of ox-heads and shins, and other coarse pieces of beef, together with potatoes, to be mashed up therein; the allowance for each adult pauper to be four pounds of potatoes, weighed before cooking; on the other five days potatoes and buttermilk, the allowance for each adult being four pounds of potatoes (weighed raw), and one pint of buttermilk. They advise that the breakfast every day should consist of oatmeal boiled into stirabout, and new milk; the allowance for each adult pauper being seven ounces of meal, and half-a-pint, imperial measure, of milk." Finally, they advise "that food of the same kind, but in less quantities, with a portion of bread, be provided for the children; and that the sick and infirm be dieted according to the directions of the medical officer."

It thus appears, that, in organising the workhouse system in Ireland, the same anxiety has been felt as in England to keep the diet on a level with that usually enjoyed by the independent labourer out of doors. To the feelings of people living in this country, the two meals and no supper allowed to the Irish pauper, is no pleasant subject of reflection; but no one can dispute that, to make the diet superior within to what it is without doors, would be deeply injurious. Here, as in many other cases, one must to a certain

extent make general principles yield to what is locally expedient. At the same time, it is not to be overlooked that the Irish diet, even where it consists only of two meals, is one of far superior aggregate weight to any other diet which has ever been statistically ascertained. The diet of the working people of Britain in general is about twenty-four ounces of solids per day, chiefly meal, and only in small part animal food. Against this, nine pounds of potatoes, watery as the root is, makes a good appearance. We must own, indeed, that we are a good deal surprised at learning the aggregate weight of the Irish peasant's daily diet. In weight it is immense, and we suspect that, though unvaried, and attended by little relish or relief, it must be, upon the whole, where there is open-air exercise along with it, healthy and sustaining.

VISIT TO A SUGAR HOUSE.

A SHORT time ago curiosity led us to visit an establishment for the refining of sugar, and we were equally pleased and surprised to observe the extraordinary improvements which in latter times have taken place in that branch of manufacture. What with improved modes of clarifying and boiling, the art of sugar refining has been almost entirely altered in character within the last twenty or thirty years.

Sugar, as is generally known, arrives from the place of its produce in a brown or raw mass, which is a concretion of the juice of the sugar-cane, divested of its molasses or uncrystallisable syrup. This coarse material, on being brought to the establishment of the refiner, is in the first place put into a vessel with water, and subjected to a process of purification; but this early stage of the manufacture possesses little interest, and we therefore pass on to the second, which consists in draining the partially cleansed liquid through a bed of bone charcoal. The manner in which the draining is performed is not always the same, there being constantly improvements and alterations upon it; it may, however, be described as follows. A black granulated substance, bearing an exact resemblance to gunpowder, and made by braying charred bones, is purchased in large quantities by sugar refiners from the manufacturers of the article. As much as perhaps a ton of this substance is placed in a large chest lined with lead, and having outlets at the bottom for the escape of the liquid. Upon the bed of charcoal so prepared, there is sent a flow of syrup for the purpose of filtration, and, strange to say, notwithstanding the blackness of the powder, the liquor is found to run from it very nearly pure and light in colour. Much of the brown colouring property of the sugar is thus deposited in the charcoal, which, after a certain length of time, requires to be washed away, when the substance is again charred in retorts and again applied to this exceedingly useful process of filtration. pleyment of charred bones for this object is of comparatively modern date, and was the discovery of a Frenchman. It has greatly lessened the expense and simplified the process of refining.

The em

The syrup, having now undergone all its preliminary purifications, is removed to pans in which it is to be boiled, that being necessary to cause it to granulate or crystallise. It is at this point that we see the most remarkable improvement in the art of refining. Formerly, the boiling was effected in large open pans heated beneath by a fire. Neither open pans nor fire are now used. The boiling is effected in closed copper vessels by means of steam. It may here be men. tioned, that little or no fire is now employed in any branch of refining, all the heating that is desirable at the various stages in the process being now accomplished by steam, conducted in iron tubes from large boilers kept constantly in operation. Thus we find heating vessels at all parts of the establishment, and on wooden floors, from the garret to the cellar. A steam engine is at the same time kept at work, performing a variety of offices, including the raising up of huge casks from the ground to the higher floors of the house.

When it was the practice to boil the syrup in open pans, the liquid, as a matter of course, was exposed to the pressure of the atmosphere, which prevented it from arriving at the vaporific or boiling point till it reached a temperature of 220 degrees-a pitch of heat which impaired the quality of the sugar, while the vaporisation carried off a portion of what was really valuable. There are few liquid articles of food, those of vegetable product in particular, which are not injured by being boiled at a temperature of 212 degrees, but, to boil them at a less heat, it would be necessary to remove the atmospheric pressure from their surface, and this would be attended with a considerable degree of trouble and expense to the operator. The magnitude of the scale on which sugar is prepared, has permitted this to be effectually done. The syrup is poured through a pipe into a pan made of copper, which is a flattened sphere in form, measuring six feet in diameter, and from four to five feet deep at the middle. On the top of this flattened round vessel there is a raised part, resembling a kettle with a lid,

into which the vapour rises, and to which an airpump is attached. The steam for heating is conducted from a boiler to a vacant space between the outer and inner shell of the lower part of the pan. The vessel is thus kept quite close, and impervious to the outer air. All things being prepared for boiling, the air-pump, wrought by a steam-engine, begins to work, and draws off the air in the pan, as well as the vapour which arises in the ebullition. By particular arrangements in the process, all that is valuable in the withdrawn vapour is condensed and saved as it passes out, so that nothing is lost to the manufacturer. Except for the care taken in this respect, the loss incurred by pumping off the saccharine vapour would be immense. The withdrawal of the atmospheric pressure from the surface of the liquid, allows it to boil at a temperature of about 150 degrees, at which the good qualities of the sugar are no way deteriorated. Having boiled the proper length of time, the contents of the pan are allowed to escape by opening a plug beneath, and fall into an open vessel for their reception on the floor below. The vessel employed in this office was in former times called the cooler, because in it the liquid was cooled down from 220 to 180 degrees, the latter being the temperature at which crystallisation may best be effected. In the present day, the cooler has become a heater, for with the aid of steam enclosed round its sides, it is now used for elevating the temperature of the liquid from 150 to 180 degrees. The thick and viscous syrup being now fully prepared, is transferred from the heater, in copper ladles, to the moulds in which it is to cool and become firm. These moulds are of unglazed brown earthenware, and conical in form. They are of different sizes, according to the size of the loaf which is required, or from about twelve to twenty inches in depth. They are supported in rows on the floor, or in a frame with the broad open end uppermost; in the narrow pointed tip below, there is an orifice which is at first closed by a bit of twisted paper, but afterwards opened to allow a drainage of the coarser particles. The inverted cones are now left to cool, the temperature of the air around being gradually lowered, to assist and modify the process of crystallisation. At one time it was customary to place layers of mass in the cones, for the purpose of pressing down the pipeclay, in a liquid state, on the surface of the cooled refuse liquid; the more improved practice now consists of substituting for the clay certain quantities of refined sugar liquor, which runs through the loaf, and draws off the coloured molassy matter by the inferior orifice. This matter, as in the case of all droppings throughout the process, is carefully preserved, and forms one of the varieties of the saccharine product. Being thoroughly drained, the loaves are taken from the cones, and dried or baked in an oven raised to a temperature of from 130 to 140 degrees, by means of steam. Formerly, the baking was effected by a stove, and hence the danger of fire in the old sugar-baking establishments. After being baked, the loaves may be said to be ready for market, and are individually tied up in blue paper, as we see them in the shops of the grocers.

Such is a rough sketch of the modern process of sugar refining, in which, for the sake of intelligibility, we have avoided saying any thing of the different qualities of the article which are prepared. It must be understood, however, that the original raw sugar, in the course of its refinement, produces at least four kinds of material-double refined loaves, usually of about ten pounds in weight each; coarser loaves of four or five times that weight, called lumps, which are largely used by confectioners, &c.; a very coarse brown sugar called bastards, which is used only by the humblest classes; and, lastly, treacle or molasses. The produce of a hundredweight of raw sugar, in former times, was estimated at about sixty-four pounds of double and single refined lumps, fourteen pounds of bastards, twenty-eight of treacle, with six of trash er deficiency. In consequence of improvements in the manufacture, but chiefly by the use of the vacuum pans, a greater proportion of refined lumps is now produced from the same quantity of the article, to the benefit both of the maker and consumer. An idea of the great value of the vacuum pans may be had from the fact, that the inventor, near the expiry of his patent, realised, in all probability, not less than L.40,000 a-year for liberty to use it; some manufacturers paid L.2000 annually for this important privilege. The patent being expired, any one may now freely use the vacuum pans.

The quantity of refined sugar made from any given quantity of the raw material, depends not only on these improved processes, but on the original quality of the sugar employed. In this respect sugars differ very considerably, some being coarse and brown in quality, and others more pure and light. I was made very sensible of this, on being conducted into the store of the sugar-house after having seen the various operative departments of the concern. On a table there lay spread out a number of samples of raw sugar ready for the inspection of customers; and having observed that these were generally of a coarse appearance, the manufacturer took from a drawer a small packet containing a quantity of sugar of a much finer quality. "This," I remarked, "will of course be a much dearer sugar." "No such thing," he answered, "that sugar is much cheaper, but we cannot offer it for sale." "For what reason!" I inquired. "Because that fine sample is sugar from Brazil, and it is not allowed to

99