Chambers' Edinburgh Journal

SKETCHES OF SUPERSTITIONS.
SPECTRAL ILLUSIONS.-THIRD ARTICLE.

The

bosom, and devote himself to some sordid pursuits creased when she held her head down, and was much
which only call for those meaner qualities which he relieved by holding her face upwards. Miss S. L., on
possesses in common with all men, seems to us one being asked if the pain was confined to that spot, an-
of the most affecting considerations that we can swered, that some time afterwards the pain extended
entertain respecting a fellow creature. Such a man to right and left along the eyebrows, and a little above
lives on and on, and finally sees himself grow old and them, and completely round the eyes, which felt often
approach the end of his career, without ever having as if they would have burst from their sockets.' When
once the pleasure of acting according to the main this happened, her visions were varied precisely as the
dictates of his nature. Hope may have cheered the phrenologist would have anticipated, and she detailed
early part of his life, and to none could that comforter the progress without a single leading question. Weight,
be more needful; but in the end he must feel as if he Colouring, Order, Number, Locality, all became af-
had been cheated out of every thing-cheated out of fected; and let us observe what happened.
himself. In the consideration of misapplied minds, whitish, or cobweb spectres, assumed the natural
the frequency of the cecurrence, and how pitiable it colour of the objects, but they continued often to pre-
is, a generous mind must see a powerful reason, in sent themselves, though not always, above the size of
addition to others, for hesitating before thinking life. She saw a beggar one day out of doors, natural
meanly of any man on account of the humble func-in size and colour, who vanished as she came up to the
tions which it is his lot to exercise. There is a class spot. Colouring, being over-excited, began to occasion
of religionists in the east who will strike no animal, its specific and fantastical illusions. Bright spots,
from a belief that possibly the soul of some late en- like stars on a black ground, filled the room in the
deared relative of their own may now occupy its dark, and even in daylight; and sudden and some-
body; just so, when we feel disposed to contemn the times gradual illumination of the room during the
lowly duties of any man, we might do well to consider night seemed to take place. Innumerable balls of fire
that possibly faculties are there which might, under seemed one day to pour like a torrent out of one of the
advantageous circumstances, have ruled "listening rooms of the house down the staircase. On one occasion,
senates," or "waked to ecstacy the living lyre.” the pain between the eyes, and along the lower ridge of
the brow, struck her suddenly with great violence-
when, instantly, the room filled with stars and bright
spots. On attempting, on that occasion, to go to bed,
she said she was conscious of an inability to balance
herself, as if she had been tipsy; and she fell, having
made repeated efforts to seize the bedpost, which, in
the most unaccountable manner, eluded her grasp, by
shifting its place, and also by presenting her with a
Weight, situated between Size and Colouring, be the
number of bed-posts instead of one. If the organ of
organ of the instinct to preserve, and power of pre-
serving equilibrium, it must be the necessary conse-
quence of the derangement of that organ to overset
should expect to produce multiplication of objects, and
the balance of the person. Over-excited Number we
the first experience she had of this illusion was the
multiplication of the bedposts, and subsequently of
any inanimate object she looked at, that object being
in itself real and single; a book, a footstool, a work-
without order or arrangement, and at other times piled
box, would increase to twenty, or fifty, sometimes
regularly one above another. Such objects deluded
her in another way, by increasing in size, as she looked
at them, to the most amazing excess-again resuming
their natural size-less than which they never seemed
to become--and again swelling out. Locality, over-
excited, gave her the illusion of objects, which she
had been accustomed to regard as fixed, being out of
their places; and she thinks, but is not sure, that on
one occasion a door and window in one apartment
seemed to have changed places; but, as she added, she
might have been deceived by a mirror. This qualifi-
cation gave us the more confidence in her accuracy,
when, as she did with regard to all her other illusions,
she spoke more positively. She had not hitherto ob-
served a great and painful confusion in the visions
which visited her, so as to entitle us to infer the de-
rangement of Order. Individuality, Form, Size,
Weight, Colouring, Locality, and Number, only
seemed hitherto affected.

to an exalted instance, we have Walter Scott's own
confession that he conceived himself to be naturally a
soldier. With regard to his children's tutor, Mr
Thomson, he used to say, "Lameness, in his case, as
in mine, spoiled an excellent life-guardsman." A high
military spirit runs through all his writings, and
shows how germane that profession and all its associa-
tions were to him, all the time that he practised life
as a man of the pen. Men baulked, as he was, of
being what their inclinations lead them to, generally
endeavour to make their sons what they in vain
wished to be themselves. Such was his case. It is a
fine feeling, but not always productive of good effects.
Many a man has been sent into a learned profession,
not because of his natural qualifications for it, but
because his father looked back to a painful time when
he would have fain devoted himself to study, but
was impelled by stern fortune to enter upon some
grosser drudgery.
Variances that appear almost unaccountable, are
sometimes found in the characters of men. A person,
noted, if for any thing, for a certain cool effrontery
which ordinary men would have vainly attempted to
rival, once confessed to a friend, who has reported to
us the story, how sadly he was troubled with bash-
fulness. Nor let this be smiled at incredulously. It
is highly probable that the self-confident part of the
man's nature had all the time to keep up a struggle
with some element of sensitiveness and modesty, which
he felt to be in the highest degree distressing. Again,
we have heard of a clever active farmer, who, while
universally respected as a first-rate practical agricul- IT is scarcely necessary to call to the reader's remem-
turist, a man of large means and liberal understand-brance, that various maladies were formerly pointed
ing, was accessible to no flattery on these accounts; out as capable of producing spectral illusions, by their
but if you only told him that you had heard of his pos- effects on the brain and nervous system. In some
sessing a wonderful power of squeaking like a pig, and
was extremely anxious to hear him try it, he would cases, it was stated that the brain is directly diseased;
blush and hesitate, like a young lady asked to sing, in other cases, that the perceptions made by that
disclaim all merit, say it was great nonsense, and, organ are only indirectly deranged, by sympathy with
finally, after a sufficiency of pressing, he would exhibit some bodily malady. Madness, for example, having
as a pig, evidently believing that, if fortune had played
him fair, he would have astonished the whole world its origin in diseased cerebral structure, may be at-
by this art, instead of only being a respectable farmer. tended with spectral illusions; and disorder of the
These things seem to show that many, if not most alimentary organs, caused by dissipation, may be
men, have an interior self considerably different from an indirect source of them, the senses, and the brain
that which appears before the world-something finer which forms perceptions through their reports, being
or meaner than the outer self, but always something functionally disordered from sympathy. That a pecu-
very different-something, which may be more ge-
nuinely the manifestation of the real character than liar temperament of body, and, in part, a particular
the other, or which, so far from being that, may only mental constitution, are requisite to give a predisposi-
be a kind of fancy character, which is entertained as
tion to the affection, there can be little doubt. Some
one would keep a dress in which to appear at a mas-
mental philosophers go a great way farther. The
querade.
phrenologists hold that it is chiefly on a particular
development of one portion of the brain, which they
describe as the seat of the sentiment of Wonder, that
the tendency to see visions depends. It is observed
by them, that this "sentiment, when in a state of
extreme exaltation (great development and high
excitement), may stimulate the perceptive faculties to
perceive objects fitted to gratify it; and that spectres,
apparitions, spirits, &c., are the kind of ideas suited to
please an inordinate Wonder." They class pretenders
to supernatural messages and missions, the seers of
visions and dreamers of dreams, and workers of
miracles, among such patients. Separating the re-
mark just quoted from its reference to the organology
of the phrenological science, we may hold it to signify,
that the sentiment of wonder, when predominant in an
individual's mind, will stimulate those faculties which
take cognisance of the forms, colours, sizes, &c., of
material existences, to such a pitch of activity, that
illusory perceptions of objects, characterised by qua-
lities fitted to gratify wonder, will be formed in the
brain.

When we see a man attain distinction in a particular walk, but nevertheless think himself designed for an opposite one, to which he appears to have no true vocation, it would be rash to say that he is under a delusion. The frequent existence of deep melancholy in those who appear votaries of Momus a fact of which there can be no doubt should make us cautious in denying that opposite intellectual powers may also exist. Perhaps the alleged power may be there, but be only marred by some little accident. The late Dr Thomas Brown was much laughed at for his anxiety to prove himself a poet; but though his poems are not poetical, many parts of his philosophical writings are full of the finest poetry of feeling, showing that the power was certainly there, as he supposed, whatever it might be which gave a cold air to his verse. So may it have been the strange visage of Mr Liston which disabled him from exhibiting the tragic power which he believed himself to possess.

On the other hand, it seems very likely that, in many instances, though there may be some trace of the supposed qualifications or inclinations, the individual attaches too much importance to them, and only dreams of another self. We are all naturally fond of going temporarily out of ourselves: it seems the principle concerned in much of our love of fiction, and also in the passion which many unhappily have for intoxicating beverages. Acting is natural to man, and acting before one's self is the most prevalent of all kinds of theatricals. Probably, in many cases, it is from this tendency, and with a very slight ground in truth, that individuals convince themselves that their tastes and powers suited them for things so different from those amidst which they live. A youth may feel it as a great hardship to engross" but, if he can persuade himself that nature intended him, instead of attending to that drudgery, to "pen a stanza," it must be very agreeable to his self-love, and tend greatly to alleviate the hardships of the desk. Merely in losing for a little time the sense of immediate realities, and in imagining ourselves something else, there is certainly the experience of new and unwonted sensation. Other faculties are called into exercise, and are found to give fresh pleasures. If there is a gratification in shifting the position of a limb, well may there be pleasure in going out of mental sensations which are common, into those which are the

reverse.

At the same time, if we consider that the occurrence of a man of peculiar genius, and his falling into a suitable career, are, the one entirely, and the other almost entirely, a matter of accident, we cannot doubt that serious misapplication of minds frequently takes place. And to think of a man who feels incessant promptings within himself to some objects suitable to the greater and finer of his natural qualities, but is obliged by stern necessity to still them all in his

It is chiefly for the purpose of laying before our readers a sample of the views of the phrenologists on this curious and important subject, that the present paper is added to our series. The following case, contributed sixteen years ago by Mr Simpson to the Phrenological Journal, No. 6, affords an interesting example of the manner in which spectral illusions are accounted for by the strict rules of this new mental science.

"Miss S. L., a young lady under twenty years of age, of good family, well educated, free from any superstitious fears, and in perfect general health of body and soundness of mind, has, nevertheless, been for some years occasionally troubled, both in the night and in the day, with visions of persons and inanimate objects, in numerous modes and forms. She was early subject to such illusions occasionally, and the first she remembers was that of a carpet spread out in the air, which descended near her and vanished away. After an interval of some years, she began to see human figures in her room as she lay wide awake in bed, even in the daylight of the morning. These figures were whitish, or rather grey and transparent, like cobweb, and generally above the size of life. At this time she had acute headaches, very singularly confined to one small spot of the head. On being asked to point out the spot, the utmost care being taken not to lead her to the answer, our readers may judge of our feelings as phrenologists, when she touched with her forefinger and thumb each side of the root of the nose, the commencement of the eyebrows, and the spot immediately over the top of the nose, the ascertained seats of the organs of Form, Size, and Individuality! Here, particularly on each side of the root of the nose, she said the sensation could only be compared to that of running sharp knives into the part. The pain in

For nearly two years Miss S. L. was free from her frontal headaches, and-mark the coincidence-untroubled by visions or any other illusive perceptions. Some months ago, however, all her distressing symp toms returned in great aggravation, when she was conscious of a want of health. The pain was more acute than before along the frontal bone, and round and in the eyeballs; and all the organs there situated recommenced their game of illusion. Single figures of absent and deceased friends were terribly real to her, both in the day and the night, sometimes cobweb, but generally coloured. She sometimes saw friends on the street, who proved phantoms when she approached to speak to them; and instances occurred where, from not having thus satisfied herself of the illusion, she affirmed to such friends, that she had seen them in certain places, at certain times, when they proved to her the clearest alibi. The confusion of her spectral forms now distressed her. (Order affected.) The oppression and perplexity was intolerable when figures presented themselves before her in inextricable disorder, and still more when they changed-as with Nicolai-from whole figures to parts of figures, faces, and half-faces, and limbs-sometimes of inordinate size and dreadful deformity. One instance of illusive disorder which she mentioned is curious, and has the farther effect of exhibiting what cannot be put in terms except those of the derangement of the just perception of gravitation or equilibrium. (Weight.) One night, as she sat in her bed-room, and was about to go to bed, a stream of spectres, persons' faces, and limbs, in the most shocking confusion, seemed to her to pour into her room from the window, in the manner of a cascade! Although the cascade continued apparently in rapid descending motion, there was no accumulation of figures in the room, the supply unaccountably vanishing after having formed the cascade. Colossal figures are her frequent visiters. (Size.)

Real but inanimate objects have assumed to her the form of animals; and she has often attempted to lift articles from the ground, which, like the oysters in the pot-house cellar, eluded her grasp.

More recently she lras experienced a great aggravation of her alarms; for, like Nicolai, she began to hear

More lately still, she has scen distinct visions in bright brass locks, as we mentioned was the singular experience of the American gentleman, Mr R.

would break off the practice should not be over indul-
gent to themselves, through fear of the consequences
of change.

her spectral visiters speak! (the organs of Language ing when becalmed on this same coast of St Domingo. and Tunc, or Sound, affected) With Mr R. of Hull But our four guns and my crew of ten negroes, even though headed by their sable chief, Master Jupiter, the spectres always spoke. At first her crowds kept up a buzzing and indescribable gibbering, and occasionally If opium have been the cause of the illusions, a joined in a loud and terribly disagreeable laugh, which gradual cessation from its use is advisable; and if the would have proved but a mouthful to the blackguard she could only impute to fiends. These unwelcome digestive functions have been deranged by it, the that was now fast bearing down upon us. Old Jupisounds were generally followed by a rapid and always same course should be followed as in the case of ardent ter knew this right well; and though he offered a sort of remonstrance at my order, he hastened to see it alarming advance of the figures, which often on those liquors. Should the sufferer from spectral illusions be con-executed; and that done, he took his stand by the occasions presented very large and fearful faces, with insufferable glaring eyes close to her own. All self-scious of no error as regards the use of stimulatives or weather-shrouds, holding the peak haulyards, once possession then failed her, and the cold sweat of terror narcotics, some affection of the brain may be susstood on her brow. Her single figures of the deceased pected, and headaches, as in the case of Miss S. L., turned over the belaying pin in his hand, and anxiand absent then began to gibber, and soon more dis- will corroborate this suspicion. Local or general blood- ously watched the motion of the seasoned spar, as it tinctly to address her; but terror has hitherto prc- letting will prove, in most cases, the best remedy. yielded to the heavier pressure of some passing gust, vented her from understanding what they said. Leeches or cupping may be tried in the first place, and then stood again stiff and erect, as in mockery of and, if tried ineffectively, the lancet may then be the howling storm. With a dozen such men as employed. Jupiter, I would not have felt much hesitation in attempting to fight off the pirate. He was about six feet two in height, and proportionally stout. Some fifty summers had passed over his head, and I daresay he had been in as many scenes where a man's life depends on his own arm. From a kidnapper of negroes on the coast of Africa, he had passed through the several stages of piracy, chains, and slavery, and was now first lieutenant of the Water Lily, in the service of Messrs of Jamaica, and spent his time in running the schooner between the islands on mercantile and trading speculations. And as the old grizzlyheaded negro now stood, with nothing on but a pair of duck trousers and a checked handkerchief round

She went, not very wisely, to see that banquet of demonology, the Freischutz, and of course, for some time afterwards, the dramatis persona of that edifying piece, not excepting his satanic majesty in person, were her nightly visiters. Some particular figures are persevering in their visits to her. A Moor, with a turban, frequently looks over her shoulder, very impertinently, when she uses a mirror.

Of the other illusive perceptions of Miss S. L., we may mention the sensation of being lifted up, and of sinking down and falling forward, with the puzzling perception of objects off their perpendicular; for example, the room, floor and all, sloping to one side. (Weight.)

Colours in her work, or otherwise, long looked at, are slow to quit her sight. She has noises in her head, and a sensation of heat all over it; and, last of all, when asked if she ever experienced acute pain elsewhere about the head than in the lower range of the forehead, she answered that three several times she was suddenly affected with such excruciating throbbing pain on the top of the head, that she had almost fainted; and when asked to put her finger on the spot, she put the points of each forefinger precisely on the organ of Wonder, on each side of the coronal surface-the same points in which the gentleman in London, who was troubled with visions, was affected with pain. The organ of Wonder is large in Miss S. L., as it was in that gentleman."

In the same paper Mr Simpson adduces the singular illusive perceptions suffered occasionally by Mr John Hunter, the great anatomist, several of which are identical with Miss S. L.'s. In the eighteenth and other numbers of the Phrenological Journal, other cases of spectral illusions are mentioned, several with local pain, which are held to corroborate the inferences drawn from that of Miss S. L. But the case of that lady seems to us the most comprehensive on the subject.

In a subsequent paper by Mr Simpson (in No. 7), the most brief and satisfactory explanation of the illusions of the English Opium-Eater is given. The forms and faces that persecuted him in millions (Form diseased) the expansion of a night into a hundred years (Time) his insufferable lights and splendours (Colour) his descent for millions of miles without finding a bottom (Weight or Resistance, giving the feeling of support, diseased)-all described by him with an eloquence that startled the public-are only aggravated illusions, due to his irregularities. It is extremely probable that the intoxicating gas affects

the same organs.

A word of advice may now be given, in conclusion, to those who are subject to illusions of a spectral kind. If hysteria, epilepsy, or any well-marked bodily affection, be an accompaniment of these illusions, of course remedial measures should be used which have a reference to these maladies, and the physician is the party to be applied to. If, however, no well-defined bodily ailment exists, a word of counsel may be useful from ourselves. We believe that, in general, spectral illusions are caused by disorders originating in the alimentary system, and that the continued use of stimulating liquors is to be most commonly blamed for the visitation. If the patient is conscious that this is the case, his path to relief lies open before him. The removal of the cause will almost always remove the effect. At the same time, the process of cure may be slow. The imagination becomes morbidly active in such cases, and may maintain the illusions after the digestive system is restored to order. But this will not be the case long, for the morbidity of the imagination does not usually survive, for any length of time, the restoration of the sanity of the body. To effect a cure of the fundamental derangement of the alimentary system, aperient medicines may be used in the first instance, and afterwards tonics-nourishing food, in small quantities, at the outset and gentle but frequent exercise in the open air. Last but not least, for the cure of the sufferer from spectral illusions, the indulgence in cheerful society is to be recommended. Solitude infallibly nurses the morbidity of the imagination. In some cases, where the system is much weakened, and the indulgence in stimulants has been long continued, it may be advisable only to drop the use of them by degrees. But the habit is broken off at once, for the most part, with safety, as Father Mathew's temperance experiences in Ireland satisfactorily prove. Even in the instances of the most inveterate drunkards, no harm followed from instantaneous abstinence. Therefore, as a little too often leads to much in the matter of drinking, those who

We do not know that any thing beyond these general hints could here be added with propriety. It may even seem strange that this point should be at all adverted to, in a work which cannot pretend to speak authoritatively on matters involving medical practice; but since the previous papers on spectral illusions appeared, our advice has been requested, and we believe that the hints now given may be beneficially followed. Delicacy, however, should, in no case of the kind, prevent the physician being applied to; and we should be sorry if our remarks should lead any one to neglect that necessary step.

A SEA CHASE.

« HOIST the peak of the mainsail, Jupiter; that rascal
is gaining on us fast!" "Ow, massa, de mast be no
able to bear more sail; he creak an' bend like a bam-
boo a'ready." "I can't help it-we must try; 'tis
our only chance."

his head-his muscular chest and tremendous arms

scarred and seamed with marks of former broils—you would have imagined him a fit representative of the merciless gang who were in pursuit. Yet Jupiter, whatever he had been, was now an honest and a faithThe game was fast becoming desperate. We were ful servant. He loved me like a father; we had been flying before a perfect hurricane, and had reluctantly long together, and I had a sincere regard for the taken in sail after sail, until we were now carrying I believe, was a long knife, beautifully ornamented faithful old fellow. The only ornament he possessed, but a small storm-jib and a half-set mainsail. The in the blade, which was fitted into a silver case, and Water Lily was as pretty a little schooner, of some studded with silver knobs over its shagreen handle. sixty tons, as the eye of a sailor would wish to look He always wore this knife secured by a silver chain upon; and though I knew her spars were as fine bits round his neck, and thrust into the waistband of his trousers. There was a mystery connected with it of wood as Bermuda could turn out, yet it was with that I could never fathom. The answer I always got no little anxiety that I watched the increased yield-was, " Neber mind, massa, old Jupiter hab him secret ing of the mainmast to the wind, as the long peak was pointed to the sky, spreading under it a broad white But it was our only chance of sheet of canvass.

escape from our pursuer.

A brig of about 200 tons was on our track; her low, black hull, long yards, and gracefully cut canass, proclaimed her "a clipper," and we had too little reason to doubt that she was a slaver and a pirate. This was the second day she had been evidently in chase of us. She hove in sight off the Isle of Saona, on the windward corner of St Domingo, and had ever since pursued us, as with the full determination to make us her prize. So long as the wind had been moderate, we had pretty well kept our ground, but since the gale had risen to such a height as to force us to take in sail after sail, and had stirred up such a sea that the poor Water Lily could scarce get through, the brig had gained on us rapidly.

too; maybe he tell you some day;" and with this answer I was forced to be content.

The brig was by this time within less than a mile of us, and every moment was shortening the distance. The sea was running fearfully high, and the spray flew from the tops of the waves, as they curled before the wind, like a snow drift. Our little schooner

seemed but a mere cockle-shell amidst the waters; she

was at one moment borne aloft on the crest of some

towering wave, that foamed hissing and boiling around her, as it were in utter vexation that we could not fly along with it from our pursuer; and, again, as the mass of water rolled away from under us, we sunk down into the "valley of waters," and for the moment the sail actually flapped in emptiness of wind ere we were again hurled onwards by the next vast billow that swept past, foaming and hissing like its pre

decessor.

It was truly a wild scene, and, without the additional excitement of a pirate astern, was enough to have created anxiety in the mind of the stoutesthearted blue-jacket.

Our pursuer was now near enough to try the range of her guns; but, thanks to the rolling of the sea, and consequent unsteadiness of the mark, her shot had as yet passed harmlessly over our heads or fallen short. But this was not to last long. And as we were borne whistled a shot, seemingly close to us. upwards by a huge sea, bang went the gun, and whirr-rr "What think you of that, Jupiter?-the fellow is coming too close." "Tink, massa! me tink some of us lose our grog soon." I thought so too.

As soon as I suspected she was in pursuit of us, I had determined to try rather a dangerous mode of escape, but one which, from its danger, I had hoped would be successful. We had passed the wide bay that closes in to that of St Domingo; and instead of standing out into the open sea to double Cape Mongon, a high bluff point, formed by the range of the Barucco mountains running down to the sea, I had kept the schooner's head close in to the land, determined rocks that extend off this point. The schooner, being to try to baffle our pursuer among the shoals and so much smaller, I thought might safely pass where the brig would be afraid to venture; but, to my great disappointment, I now saw that my calculations were wrong, for we were just coming upon the shoal that stretches from the small island of Beata to the point, and our persevering pursuer still kept straight upon our track. In vain we all gazed to catch the slightest her sails. Onwards she came, careering before the deviation in her course, or the smallest alteration in gale, under fore-top-gallant and top-sails; her foresail was half clued up, to allow her jib and staysail to draw, and perhaps to enable the helmsman more truly to shape his course in our wake; and as at this time (1812) the Western Archipelago was infested with pirates, as formidable as savagely cruel, I began to feel an uncomfortable apprehension that my earthly career, with its hopes, its fears, its ambitions, and its disappointments, was fast drawing to a close. The Water Lily mounted four twelve-pound carronades The brig had now got within a quarter of a mile of us, formidable enough weapons when used at close quar- and I saw that our chase was fast drawing to a close. ters, and they had on a former occasion proved useful The headland was close over our lee-bow, and there friends in repelling an attempt to take her by board-seemed no alternative but to sell our lives as dearly as

which I knew the sea took a turn inwards at right We were rapidly closing in with the land, and a high bluff point lay over our lee-bow, on the other side of angles, forming a fine large bay, where the whole navies of the world might have rode at anchor, sheltered from the gale that was now blowing. Towards this point I kept the schooner's head; and had resolved, should no other chance of escape present itself, of which at present I saw little, to run round under the shelter of the point, and in smooth water wait for the pirate, and endeavour to repel her attack. I be we lick 'em dam rascal after all. Old Jupiter lub mentioned this to my able sub, Master Jupiter, and was glad to find he entirely approved. "Ay, ay, maymore for fight nor be shot dis a way like a runaway nigger." Bang went another gun, whirr flew the ball, and our lee main-shrouds were as cleanly cut through as if a knife had severed them. "Eh-now dat lads," I cried; "give another haul on the weather too bad," growled old Jupiter. "Never mind, my topping-lift; it's a good thing it's not our weather shrouds." "Ay, dat true; noting so bad but he can be worse. Here, Cæsar, Jack, bring a gasket, and splice dem shroud; quick now, fore anoder shot ketch you."

we could, for I scarce dared to hope that we would succeed in beating off the brig. The one gun that had been brought to bear on us still banged away; its shot flying sometimes near, and sometimes at a safe distance from us, and we were still creaking and straining under the canvass we had been able to stretch. Our men were now set to loading the carronades, and arms and ammunition were distributed-old Jupiter impressing upon the negroes, that the least they could expect, if captured, would be chains and a sale to a new master, and the most likely fate they would meet would be walking the plank. The poor fellows were quite willing to fight, from whatever cause it proceeded, and eagerly set about loading their guns. They were so engaged when a shot from the brig struck us just beside the helm, where I was standing, and ploughed up the planks of the deck in a deep furrow, half the length of the vessel, upsetting in its course one of the carronades, and pitching the negroes that were engaged in loading it heads over heels, like so many ninepins. A shower of splinters flew from the deck, and one poor fellow was hit severely; a ragged bit of wood penetrated deep into his thigh. He was taken below, and I felt in the loss of even one man that my chance in the desperate game was lessened. We could now distinguish the deck of the brig crowded with men ; and when I considered the little chance we had in a struggle against such fearful odds, I hesitated for a moment whether it would not be more advisable to run the schooner ashore, and trust to hiding ourselves among the thick bush that skirted the sea. I wavered in my idea of fighting, but we were now close upon the point. "Come, Jupiter, let go the peak haulyard, and then come and stand by the mainsheet; we'll have to jibe her to round that headland, and we must show as little canvass as possible, or we'll carry away our mast." Down came the peak as Jupiter let go the haulyard, and he turned to come aft to stand by the sheet. Bang went the heavy gun from the brig. The report was followed by a sound which I can best express by the word smash, and a short groan. Old Jupiter doubled up, and fell forward on his face. I rushed forward to pick him up, and saw that the poor fellow's career was over. A large, ragged, horrible hole appeared about the middle of his back, and the broken handle of the knife, fastened with the chain, protruded from the wound. It was a sickening sight. The negroes crowded around the body, and gazed upon it seemingly horrorstruck. We lifted him up, but there was no sign of life; the huge ball had struck him in the pit of the stomach, just on his favourite knife, and had shivered it, forcing the fragments completely through his body. For the moment I was paralysed, and forgot every thing in sincere grief for the loss of my old servant, my faithful friend. But another shot from the brig roused me, as the ball whistled past. "Come, lads, there's no time to cry; but we'll revenge poor Jupiter -we'll fight that devil." "Ay, ay, massa, we'll fight dat debbil," echoed the men. I seized the helm, which had been quitted in the horror of the moment, and cast my eyes round me to see where we were, when -could I believe my sight we had opened up the bay, and a large ship stood beating out towards us, under top-gallants and topsails, and bearing at the inizen-peak the union-jack. Hurrah!-it is-it is an English frigate. She had taken refuge from the gale in the bay, and, hearing the firing, was coming out to see what it was. "Run Cæsar, Jack, Sambo, run below and fetch up the English ensign run, ye rascals." And right willingly they ran to execute my orders. The signal haulyards were rove through the peak of the mainsail, and, as it was hanging against the mast, the cord would not run. The frigate was meeting us like the wind, and came on plunging and dashing through the sea most nobly. It seemed utterly incredible that she could carry so much canvass beating up against such a gale; but though her lee-scuppers were buried in the sea, as she heeled over to the storm, yet she dashed onwards, defying alike the wind and sea. Bang went her gun, and the shot skipped off the top of a wave ahead of us. "No, no, Master Skipper, we can't broach to in such a gale, and with your leave we'll do all we can, which is just to run before it; but we'll show you our colours." And I jumped on the stern-sheets, and extended in my hands the ensign. We were understood, and the frigate continued her course, closing in upon us as if to speak.

It was a glorious sight to see so gallant a vessel straining and tearing through the sea, as if rejoicing in the gale that threatened momentarily to send yards and sails in shivers to leeward. And to us the sight was doubly glorious, for in the presence of that ship we felt that we were saved. Onwards she came. I stood with the speaking-trumpet in my hand, ready to hail her. She was within a hundred yards, still dashing onwards; and I own I began to have some dread lest the vast mass, that came roaring up to us, might crush us into the "yeast of waves.' But she was under too perfect command to cause any danger of a collision; just as she seemed to be upon us, her bows fell away, and she passed close under our stern. "Schooner, ahoy!-what brig astern ?" roared the hoarse voice of the commander. "Pirates!" I answered. Dash-plunge-hiss-and she swept away past us, leaving a broad, white streak upon the water,

to mark for an instant her track.

Her decks were crowded; every haulyard, clue-line, sheet, and down-haul, was manned by a cluster of

sailors. Here, then, was the secret of this vessel's remembered by me afterwards-"Some of us may ability to carry so much sail in the teeth of such a lose our grog soon"-and seemed almost like a progale of wind. Had the finger of the anxiously watch-phecy of his own fate. ing sailing-master but moved as a signal, in an instant every stitch of canvass would have been off the masts. This is the secret, and this is the advantage, of menof-war. They are well and ably manned, and can face danger with the knowledge that they are always prepared to avert it. They may carry sail to the very verge of rashness, for they can shorten it in an instant.

But where was our pursuer? The brig, too, saw the frigate as she came out from behind the point. Her crew had been too long in the habit of avoiding such craft not to know well that now was the time, if ever, when there existed a terrible necessity to try the virtues of their beautiful vessel. At first there seemed some confusion on board the brig, but the captain's course was soon taken; his hope lay in following our plan, and trying to escape the frigate among the rocks and shoals through which we had just passed. The helm was put down, and the graceful brig came round to the wind, on the opposite tack from the frigate, bending over to the increased pressure until her fore yard-arm dipped into the wave. She plunged bows under into the sea, and seemed scarcely able to rise again under the mass of water that rushed over her decks. For an instant I thought she was over, but she struggled on; and though her crew might be seen clinging to the weather bulwarks and shrouds, no hand was stretched, and no order was given, or if given could not be executed, to reduce the canvass which threatened to drive her to the bottom. It was impossible that she could long stand under so much sail-she was literally buried in the sea-and after dragging her yard-arms through the waves for a few minutes, the main top-mast snapped, and top-gallant and top-sail fell over the side. A feeling of something like pity crept over us, as we watched with intense interest the death-struggles of the graceful brig. The piratical crew were forgotten, and we gazed on the beautiful craft as if she had been a thing of life, and was using her own faculties in these superhuman struggles for self-preservation; and when her main top-masts went over, an involuntary expression of regret burst from us all. That pirate captain was no laggard, however, when there was work to do. He had lost all chance of getting to windward, but another and more desperate chance still remained. In an instant the helm was put up, the yards squared, and the now maimed brig resumed her course before the wind. The fore-sheets were brought home, and the fore-top-sail yard was manned by active hands to run out studding-sail booms. The frigate instantly wore, and the two now ran before the wind, the pirate a little astern, and the frigate gradually closing in upon her. The brig commenced her fire, and poured a broadside amongst the frigate's spars, in the hope that some lucky shot might wound a spar or rend à sail; and either a wound or rent would, with the wind that was blowing, have ensured the snapping of the spar or the splitting of the sail into ribands. Some little damage might have been done, but the frigate seemed not to heed it; she came on as regardless of the discharge as if the guns had contained but blank cartridge. She rapidly neared the brig, and fired a gun to bring her to. It was answered by a second discharge of her broadside, but it was a scattered firing. Confusion and terror began to affect the conscience-stricken crew. This discharge, however, broke the fore-top-gallant yard of the frigate; and the breaking of this spar would have told heavily against her had the chase been prolonged. The latter had, however, now no alternative but to return the fire of the brig; and most fearfully it was returned. Gun after gun blazed from the frigate's starboard broadside, until every cannon was discharged. The iron shower told with fearful effect upon her opponent; several of the poor fellows that were struggling to get out the studding-sail booms, dropped one after another from their hold. The cordage, which had before been tight and trim, now flew wildly and loosely to the gale; the foremast, deprived of its stays and braces, and probably severely wounded, waved unsteady for a few moments before the breeze, then snapped close by the deck, and fell forward with a crash, carrying with it sails, yards, and its whole tracery of cordage; and the poor brig, so shortly before so graceful and so perfect, bounding like an antelope over the waves, and bidding seeming defiance to the storm, now rolled heavily in the trough of the sea-a mere log upon the water.

The chase was over. The Water Lily had been flying on its course, for, having got rid of our pursuer, we did not change it, and we soon lost the frigate and her prize under the horizon. Poor Jupiter was rolled in his hammock, and dropped into the roaring sea in deep regret. Not a word was spoken as he was gently lowered over the side, but many a tear, that would not be repressed, rolled over the sable faces of his fnen.

OCCASIONAL NOTES.
TIC DOLOREUX.

THE following letter from a gentleman to another with whom we are intimate, describing how he was relieved from this excruciating disease, seems to us worthy of being made widely known :

"I have to apologise for my having so long neglected sending you a statement of my case. It is as follows; and if its being made public can in any way subtract from the suffering of those who suffer under that dreadful disease, Tic Doloreux, I shall feel most happy. For nearly two years I suffered the severest torture from Tic Doloreux in the head (left side) and in the left thigh. I believe I may safely say that I tried every known remedy, without any apparent effect. For the last year I never had the slightest cessation of pain, without large doses of laudanum or morphia. For fourteen months I could not lie down in bed. In fact, the torture was so dreadful, that every morning at daylight I was thankful that I was not deprived of reason. I fortunately recollected that a friend of mine had derived great benefit from the use of electricity in a case of chronic rheumatism. This led me to try the new instrument called the Electro-Magnetico.' I procured one, and from the first application I felt somewhat easier; and after using it half an hour, I felt inclined to sleep. I continued the use of it for that period, morning and evening, for more than a week, at the end of which time I was perfectly free from pain, and began to enjoy my natural rest. It is now nearly five months since I left off using it, and I am truly thankful to say that I feel as well as ever I did in my life."

We need only add to the above, that the electromagnetico is an instrument made and sold by philosophical instrument makers, and the application, we believe, consists in allowing a stream of electric fluid to flow from a wire into the part affected, the process giving no pain whatever. Any skilful surgeon could apply the remedy. Tic Doloreux being, in fact, a derangement of the nerves, or, as we may call them, the electric wires of the body, it is quite reasonable to suppose that the disturbance can be rectified by the artificial means now mentioned.

INNKEEPERS AND THEIR GUESTS.

On the 25th of October last, at about two o'clock in the morning, we (or, to speak plainly, one of the editors of the present paper and his wife) arrived at the ****** **** Inn, Newcastle, by the royal mailcoach from York. On entering the house, in which we designed to lodge for the night, we found only one waiter up; and on requesting that he would furnish us with some simple kind of refreshment, he pointblank and pertinaceously refused, alleging as a reason that nothing was left out at his disposal, and that he could offer no accommodation of any kind but a bed, which we might have if we pleased. Two other gentlemen, who arrived with us, met with the same refusal, greatly to their surprise and discontent. This conduct in a house which we had always heard well spoken of, appeared at the time as exceedingly inhospitable; and it was felt the more severely from our having-such had been the rapidity of our journey by railway and coach-tasted no food, a biscuit excepted, since breakfast the previous day. However, as the man kept his point, we were obliged to submit. It did not occur to us next day to challenge the conduct of the landlord of the inn-for of course he was bound by the acts of his servant as illegal, but on reflecting on the matter afterwards, it appeared more than likely that he had committed a breach of common law in refusing refreshment to the guests who claimed his professional services. Having laid the case before a gentleman skilled in the English law, we find that this idea is correct; that the landlord in question committed such a transgression, and laid himself fairly open not only to the penalties of a legal action, but to the loss of his license. All this we mention, not from any vengeful recollection of the circumstance, which, indeed, we look back upon with jocularity more than any other feeling, but simply as a warning to all innkeepers, and to the keeper of the ****** **** in particular. The following is an extract from the legal opinion which we have obtained on the subject :

"Judge Blackstone, in his Commentaries on the Laws of England, says* that inns, being intended for the lodging and receipt of travellers, may be indicted, suppressed, and the innkeepers fined, if they refuse to entertain a traveller without a very sufficient cause ; and he alludes to the hospitable laws of Norway, which punish, in the severest degree, such innkeepers as refuse to furnish accommodations at a just and reasonable price. The late Lord Chief-Justice Kenyon, also, in pronouncing judgment in the case of Kirkman versus Shawcross,t gave it as his opinion Two days brought us to Montego Bay, and, before we that innkeepers are bound by law to receive guests departed, I had the pleasure of gratefully acknowledg-who come to their inns, and are also bound to protect ing, to the officers of H.M.S. S- "" the signal service the property of those guests; and that they have no they had rendered me. And, if it can be so called, I option either to receive or reject guests, nor can they had the satisfaction of seeing a parcel of the rascally impose unreasonable terms upon them. And an innpirates swinging at the frigate's yard-arms. Poor keeper continues so liable, notwithstanding he has Jupiter's death stopped the channels of my pity for the scoundrels. The poor fellow's words were long

*Vol. iv. p. 167.

+ Term Reports, vol. vi. p. 17.

taken down the sign, provided he continue to carry on the inn as such.* There are, however, some exceptions to this general rule. For example, an innkeeper is not bound to receive a guest, or his horse, when the inu or the stable is so full that it cannot conveniently hold him or it; nor is he liable for not receiving a guest, unless he be tendered a fair remuneration for his accommodation, for he is not bound to give him credit.

It has likewise been held by the judges that the same liability attaches to the innkeeper as regards the reception of the horses of travellers; and that he is, bound to receive the horses of those travellers who request it, even though themselves should resort for accommodation elsewhere, unless, as before stated, his stable be already full.

"Methought I saw my late espoused saint

Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave;
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave;
Rescued from death, by force, though pale and faint.
Mine as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint,
Purification in the old law did save,

And such, as yet once more I trust to have
Full sight of her in heaven without restraint ---
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind;
Her face was veil'd, yet to my fancied sight,
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined
So clear, as in no face with more delight;
But oh! as to embrace me she inclined,

I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night !” Previous to the time of Milton, England possessed a sightless poet. This was old Father Gower, who was the contemporary and friend of Chaucer, and flourished at the close of the fourteenth century. Gower became An innkeeper is under the same obligation to re-blind in advanced life, and he laments the occurrence, ceive whatever goods his guests bring with them, and very feelingly, in one of his Latin poems. His vernais also liable for any loss or damage of such goods, cular poetry was admired in his day, but is so obsolete whilst the traveller remains as a guest in the inn in language and style as to be now very difficult of with the same. But an innkeeper is not accountable perusal. for any injury done to the person of his guest whilst Scotland, in the same age, had her " Blind Harry." he remains in his house. The innkeeper is responsible Henry, "the Minstrel," unlike the preceding poets, for the safe custody of cloaks, coats, hats, or any was blind at his birth. This being the case, it seems baggage deposited in the traveller's room or lobby. extremely probable that his family were in respectable In the event of an innkeeper improperly refusing circumstances, and able to give him the advantages of either to receive a traveller as a guest into his house, a good education. No common training must have or to find him victuals or lodging upon his tendering been required, to give one in his condition the degree him a reasonable price for the same, or refusing to of knowledge which his works show him to have posmake good the loss or damage of goods, the most com- sessed. Harry, as far as we know, does not directly mon remedy is an action on the case at the suit of the allude to the defect with which he was afflicted, in his party aggrieved; but it is said that an innkeeper so great poem on the career of Sir William Wallace. But offending may also be indicted and fined at the in- the want of the sense of seeing is made in part appastance of the crown." rent in his poetry by the comparative absence of similitudes derived from visible objects. The blind poet refers chiefly in his images to things of which the other senses could take cognisance. As an example, the following description of a wintry scene, modernised in language by the late Lord Buchan, may be given here. The bard says, that cold winter now his

It may be added that innkeepers are liable at all hours and all days, Sundays as well as others, to obey the above legal provisions. Their houses are licensed for the accommodation of the public, and the public are entitled to make every reasonable use of them, on offering a reasonable price. We trust that these explanations may not be without their use, for the guidance of both innkeepers and travellers; and we should think that the latter can have no difficulty, when aided by competent witnesses, to compel attention to their claims. As a word spoken in season, these passing hints on a point of some little importance in our social condition, may perhaps save litigation and obviate the chances of personal inconve

nience.

BLIND POETS.

IN the roll of the great poets of the past, two, who hold the very highest places, were, for an important period of their lives, unpossessed of the power of vision-Homer and Milton. Happily, as has been already remarked of them, these renowned followers of the muses had made good use of their eyes in youth, otherwise it is scarcely possible that they could have left to us the finished pictures of natural scenery and other visible objects of creation which are to be found among their compositions. Homer had reached manhood, and had written a considerable portion of the Iliad, before he was attacked by that disease of the eyes which robbed them of their wonted powers. But the whole of the Odyssey was composed after the occurrence of this great mishap. In the eighth book of that poem, while describing the bard Demodocus, he has evidently taken the opportunity of alluding to his own condition, and he does so in a strain of mingled regret and resignation. Demodocus, he says, was

"Dear to the Muse, who gave his days to flow
With mighty blessings, mix'd with mighty woe:
With clouds of darkness quench'd his visual ray,
But gave him power to raise the lofty lay."

We are not aware that Homer makes any other allusion to his sad defect. His successor, Milton, has referred to the subject more frequently, and the passages containing these references are among the most interesting in his whole works. Milton is stated by most biographers to have permanently lost his sight in 1654, after a progressive and warning decay of several years' duration. But it appears probable, from existing letters dated in the years 1653 and 1654, that the misfortune happened somewhat earlier. A letter of the first of these years describes him as then blind, and Milton, in 1654, speaks as if he had "lived (for some time) in constant darkness day and night." The Paradise Lost was not published till 1667, and we are certain that it was composed when the poet was perfectly blind. His excessive application to his studies caused his loss.

Most readers will remember the exquisitely pathetic passages in which the poet alludes to his blindness.

"Oh dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse,
Without all hope of day!

***

But not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn;
Or sight of vernal bloom or summer rose;
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But clouds instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with an universal blank."

Scarcely less pathetic is the sonnet in which the poet describes a dream with which he was visited after the death of his second and most beloved wife.

* Burns' Justice, vol. i. p. 101.

"aspect shows;

Frost-bound the globe, while Boreas fiercely blows,
Sweeping the snow along the rising hills,
Which every glen and slanting hollow fills;
Cold grew the beams of the far-distant sun,
And day was finished ere 'twas well begun."

Here the frost-binding of the earth, the blowing of the
wind, the sweeping of the snow along the heights and
into hollows, and the coldness of the distant sunbeams,
are all of them things sensible to one dispossessed of
vision, and which may frequently have been felt by
Harry, as he wandered over the country, passing from
castle to castle to recite his compositions before the
nobles and princes of Scotland. Such was the manner
in which Blind Harry, like Homer, passed his life.
In the present work, some account was formerly
given of the life of Dr Thomas Blacklock, another of
the blind bards of Scotland. He was born in 1721, and
had the misfortune to lose his eyesight at six months
old. As he grew up, he showed a marked taste for
literary pursuits, and produced many pieces of con-
siderable merit. We find various allusions to his
blindness scattered up and down his poetry, and par-
ticularly in one long blank-verse soliloquy, "occasioned
(as the author tells us) by his escape from falling into a
deep well, where he must have been irrecoverably lost,
if a favourite lap-dog had not, by the sound of its feet
upon the slight board with which the well was covered,
warned him of his danger." We extract from this
poem the subjoined lines :-

"But oh while others gaze on nature's face,

The verdant vale, the mountains, woods, and streams,
Or, with delight ineffable, survey

The sun, bright image of his parent God;

The seasons in majestic order round
This varied globe revolving; young-eyed spring,
Profuse of life and joy; sununer adorn'd
With keen effulgence, brightening heaven and earth;
Autumn, replete with nature's various boon,
To bless the toiling hind; and winter, grand
With rapid storms, convulsing nature's frame;
While others view heaven's all-involving arch,
Bright with unnumbered worlds, and, lost in joy,
Fair order and utility behold;

TO ME those fair vicissitudes are lost,

And grace and beauty blotted from my view.

The verdant vale, the mountains, woods, and streamis,
One horrid blank appear."

Thy pearly check, thy flowing hair, Thy neck beyond the cygnet fair. Even he whose hapless eyes no ray Admit from beauty's cheering day; Yet, though he cannot see the light,

He feels it warm, and knows it bright."

"Every reader of taste and feeling," says the translator of this piece, "must surely be struck with the beauty of the concluding passage. Can any thing be more elegant, or more pathetic, than the manner in which Carolan alludes to his want of sight?"

Edward Rushton, the only other sightless child of song to whom we shall refer on this occasion, was born at Liverpool in the year 1755. He read Anson's Voyages in boyhood, and was so much struck with them, that he resolved to be a sailor. Accordingly, he was bound apprentice to a merchantman, and made several trips to the tropics. While at Dominica, he was attacked with ophthalmia, and lost his sight, in his nineteenth year. He had already shown good natural parts, and his loss of vision perhaps tended to make him more reflective than previously. He began to compose verses, and with no mean ability, as the following very tender and affecting stanzas on his blindness will satisfactorily show :

ODE TO BLINDNESS.
"Ah! think if June's delicious rays
The eye of sorrow can illume,
Or wild December's beamless days

Can fling o'er all a transient gloom:
Ah! think if skies, obscure or bright,
Can thus depress or cheer the mind-
Ah! think, mid clouds of utter night,
What mournful moments wait the blind!
And who shall tell his cause for wo,
To love the wife he ne'er must see,
To be a sire, and not to know

The silent babe that climbs his knee!
To have his feelings daily torn,

With pain the passing meal to find;
To live distress'd and die forlorn,
Are ills that oft await the blind.
When to the breezy upland led,

At noen, or blushing eve, or morn,
He hears the red-breast o'er his head.

While round him breathes the scented thorn:
But oh instead of Nature's face,

Hills, dales, and woods, and streams combined,
Instead of tints, and forms, and grace,

Night's blackest mantle shrouds the blind.
If rosy youth, bereft of sight,

Midst countless thousands pines unblest,
As the gay flower withdrawn from light
Bows to the earth where all must rest:
Ah! think, when life's declining hours
To chilling penury are consign'd,
And pain has palsied all his powers,

Ah! think, what woes await the blind!" Edward Rushton was the author of the well-known piece, "Mary le More ;" and he also published many larger poems, all of them advocating the rights of humanity. He became noted in Liverpool, where he was long established as a bookseller, for his attachment to the cause of negro emancipation, and other similar questions. He died in 1814, at the age of 58.

THE PIECE OF A HUNDRED SOUS. FROM THE FRENCH OF EUGENE GUINOT.* A YOUNG and handsome pair had just returned from the altar, where their destinies were irrevocably united. They were about to start for the country, and they had bidden a temporary farewell to the friends who were present at the ceremony. For a short time, while their equipage was preparing, they found themselves alone.

The newly-wedded husband took one of his bride's hands into his own. "Allow me," said he, "thus to hold your hand, for I dread lest you should quit me. I tremble lest all this should be an illusion. It seems to me that I am the hero of one of those fairy tales which amused my boyhood, and in which, in the hour of happiness, some malignant fairy stept ever in to throw the victim into grief and despair.!"

"Reassure yourself, my dear Frederic," said the lady; "I was yesterday the widow of Sir James Melton, and to-day I am Madame de la Tour, your wife. Banish from your mind the idea of the fairy. is not a fiction, but a history."

This

Such was the wailing of the poet, in his hour of agita-wand; for, in the course of one or two short months, tion and alarm; but before he concludes the same piece, he recovers himself, reckons up his counteradvantages and blessings, and finds, on the whole, a large debt of gratitude due to the Disposer alike of good and evil.

Carolan, also, the extraordinary blind poet and musician of Ireland, has been the subject of a detailed notice in this Journal. It is not our purpose, therefore, to go over the particulars of his history in this place; we shall only quote one little piece, which contains an allusion to his blindness. It is a song to "Mable Kelly," one of the sweetly named daughters of his native land, whom Carolan loved to address. The translation is from Miss Brooke's Relics of Irish Poetry.

"To thee harmonious powers belong,
That add to verse the charm of song;
Soft melody with numbers join,
And make the poet half divine.
The timid lustre of thine eye
With nature's purest tints can vie→
With the sweet blue bell's azure gem,
That droops upon its modest stem.
How blest the bard, oh lovely maid,
To find thee in thy charms array'd'

Frederic de la Tour had indeed some reason to suppose that his fortunes were the work of a fairy's by a seemingly inexplicable stroke of fortune, he had been raised to happiness and to wealth beyond his desires. A friendless orphan, twenty-five years old, he had been the holder of a clerkship which brought him a scanty livelihood, when, one day, as he passed along the Rue St Honoré, a rich equipage stopt suddenly before him, and a young and elegant woman called from it to him. Monsieur, Monsieur," said she. At the same time, on a given signal, the footman leapt down, opened the carriage-door, and invited Frederic to enter. He did so, though with some hesitation and surprise, and the carriage started off at full speed. "I have received your note, sir,"

*The French periodical press is at present very prolific in short tales, such as the above. A few other specimens have from time to time been given in the pages of the Journal. The Editors may here remark that, in two or three instances, where only the idea of the story was taken up, or other extensive alterations made to adapt the story to the taste of a new public, the gentleman who furnished the articles did not deem it necessary to make reference to the original. Had the Editors been aware of this circumstance, they would have recommended an opposite course. In future, when any use whatever is made of the French feuilletons, scrupulous acknowledgment will be made. In the above piece, the translation closely follows the original.

said the lady to M. de la Tour, in a very soft and sweet voice;" and, in spite of your refusal, I hope yet to see you to-morrow evening at my party." To see me, madame !" cried Frederic. "Yes, sir, you Ah! a thousand pardons," continued she, with an air of confusion, "I see my mistake. Forgive me, sir; you are so like a particular friend of mine! What can you think of me? Yet the resemblance is so striking, that it would have deceived any one." Of course, Frederic replied politely to these apologies. Just as they were terminated, the carriage stopt at the door of a splendid mansion, and the young man could do no less than offer his arm to Lady Melton, as the fair stranger announced herself to be. Though English in name, the lady, nevertheless, was evidently of French origin. Her extreme beauty charmed M. de la Tour, and he congratulated himself upon the happy accident which had gained him such an acquaintance. Lady Melton loaded him with civilities, and he received and accepted an invitation for the party spoken of. Invitations to other parties followed; and, to be brief, the young man soon found himself an established visitant at the house of Lady Melton. She, a rich and youthful widow, was encircled by admirers. One by one, however, they disappeared, giving way to the poor clerk, who seemed to engross the lady's whole thoughts. Finally, almost by her own asking, they were betrothed. Frederic used to look sometimes at the little glass which hung in his humble lodging, and wonder to what circumstance he owed his happy fortune. He was not ill-looking, certainly, but he had not the vanity to think his appearance magnificent; and his plain and scanty wardrobe prevented him from giving the credit to his tailor. He used to conclude his meditations by the reflection, that assuredly the lovely widow was fulfilling some unavoidable award of destiny. As for his own feelings, the lady was lovely, young, rich, accomplished, and noted for her sensibility and virtue; could he hesitate?

When the marriage-contract was signed, his astonishment was redoubled, for he found himself, through the lady's love, the virtual possessor of large property, both in England and France. The presence of friends had certified and sanctioned the union, yet, as has been stated, Frederic felt some strange fears, in spite of himself, lest all should prove an illusion, and he grasped his bride's hand, as if to prevent her from being spirited away from his view.

"My dear Frederic," said the lady smilingly, "sit down beside me, and let me say something to you." The young husband obeyed, but still did not quit her hand. She began, "Once on a time" Frederic started, and half-seriously exclaimed, "Heavens! it is a fairy tale !" the lady. "There was once a young girl, the daughter "Listen to me, foolish boy," resumed of parents well born, and at one time rich, but who had declined sadly in circumstances. Until her fifteenth year, the family lived in Lyons, depending entirely for subsistence upon the labour of her father. Some better hopes sprung up, and induced them then to come to Paris; but it is difficult to stop in the descent down the path of misfortune. For three years the father struggled against poverty, but at last died in an hospital.

The mother soon followed; and the young girl was left alone, the occupant of a garret of which the rent was not paid. If there were any fairy connected with the story, this was the moment for her appearance; but none came. The young girl remained alone, without friends or protectors, harassed by debts which she could not pay, and seeking in vain for some species of employment. She found none. Still it was necessary for her to have food. One day passed, on which she tasted nothing. The night that followed was sleepless. Next day was again passed without food, and the poor girl was forced into the resolution of begging. She covered her head with her mother's veil, the only heritage she had received, and, stooping so as to simulate age, she went out into the streets. When there, she held out her hand. Alas, that hand was white, and youthful, and delicate! She felt the necessity of covering it up in the folds of the veil, as if it had been leprosied. Thus concealed, the poor girl held out the hand to a young woman who passed -one more happy than herself, and asked 'A sou-a single sou to get bread! The petition was unheeded. An old man passed. The mendicant thought that experience of the distresses of life might have softened one like him, but she was in error. Experience had only hardened, not softened his heart.

acquaintance of mine,' repeated the young stranger; then turning to the girl, whom he took for an old and feeble woman, he continued, 'Come along, my good dame, and permit me to see you safely to the end of the street. Giving his arm to the unfortunate girl, he then led her away, saying, 'Here is a piece of a hundred sous. It is all I have-take it, poor woman.' The crown of a hundred sous passed from your hand to mine (continued the lady), and as you walked along, supporting my steps, I then, through my veil, distinctly saw your face and figure".

My figure!" said Frederic, in amazement.

Yes, my friend, your figure," returned his wife, "it was to me that you gave alms on that night! It was my life-my honour, perhaps that you then saved!"

"You a mendicant-you so young, so beautiful, and now so rich!" cried Frederic.

have heard aught of this fairy tale, though I would have taken some means or other to serve and enrich you. I would have gone to England, and there passed my days, in regret perhaps, but still in peace. But happily it was to be otherwise. You were single." Frederic de la Tour was now awakened, as it were, to the full certainty of his happiness. What he could not but before look upon as a sort of freak of fancy in a young and wealthy woman, was now proved to be the result of deep and kindly feeling, most

honourable to her who entertained it. The heart of the young husband overflowed with gratitude and affection to the lovely and noble-hearted being who had given herself to him. He was too happy for some time to speak. His wife first broke silence.

"So, Frederic," said she, gaily, "you see that if I am a fairy, it is you who have given me the wandthe talisman-that has effected all !"

SECOND NOTICE.

"Yes, my dearest husband," replied the lady, "I have in my life received alms-once only-and from you; and those alms have decided my fate for life. On GURNEY'S VISIT TO THE WEST INDIES.* the day following that miserable night, an old woman in whom I had inspired some sentiments of pity, enabled me to enter as a sempstress into a respectable house. Cheerfulness returned to me with labour. I had the good fortune to become a favourite with the mistress whom I served, and, indeed, I did my best, by unwearied diligence and care, to merit her favour. She was often visited by people in high life. One day, Sir James Melton, an English gentleman of great property, came to the establishment along with a party of ladies. He noticed me. He returned again. He spoke with my mistress, and learnt that I was of good family-in short, learnt my whole history. The result was, that he sat down by my side one day, and asked me plainly if I would marry him.

Marry you!' cried I, in surprise.

Sir James Melton was a man of sixty, tall, pale, and feeble-looking. In answer to my exclamation of astonishment, he said, 'Yes, I ask if you will be my wife? I am rich, but have no comfort-no happiness. My relatives seem to yearn to see me in the grave. I have ailments which require a degree of kindly care that is not to be bought from servants. I have heard your story, and believe you to be one who will support prosperity as well as you have done adversity. I make my proposal sincerely, and hope that you will agree to it!'

At that time, Frederic," continued the lady, "I lored you. I had seen you but once, but that occasion was too memorable for me ever to forget it, and something always insinuated to me that we were destined to pass through life together. At the bottom of my soul, I believed this. Yet every one around me thought struck me that I might one day make you pressed me to accept of the offer made to me, and the wealthy. At length my main objection to Sir James Melton's proposal lay in a disinclination to make myself the instrument of vengeance in Sir James's hands against relatives whom he might dislike without good grounds. The objection, when stated, only increased his anxiety for my consent, and finally, under the impression that it would be, after all, carrying romance the length of folly to reject the advantageous settlement offered to me, I consented to Sir James's proposal.

This part of my story, Frederic, is really like a fairy tale. I, a poor orphan, penniless and friendless, became the wife of one of the richest baronets of England. Dressed in silks, and sparkling with jewels, I could now pass in my carriage through the very streets where, a few months before, I had stood in the rain and darkness-a mendicant !"

"Happy Sir James !" cried M. de la Tour, at this part of the story; "he could prove his love by enriching you!"

"He was happy," resumed the lady. "Our marriage, so strangely assorted, proved much more conducive, it is probable, to his comfort, than if he had wedded one with whom all the parade of settlements and pin-money would have been necessary. Never, I believe, did he for an instant repent of our union. I, on my part, conceived myself bound to do my best for the solace of his declining years; and he, on his part, thought it incumbent on him to provide for my future welfare. He died, leaving me a large part of his substance-as much, indeed, as I could prevail upon myself to accept. I was now a widow, and, from the hour in which I became so, I vowed never again to give my hand to man, excepting to him who had succoured me in my hour of distress, and whose The night was cold and rainy, and the hour had come remembrance had ever been preserved in the recesses when the night police appeared to keep the streets of my heart. But how to discover that man! Ah, clear of all mendicants and suspicious characters. At unconscious ingrate! to make no endeavour to come this period, the shrinking girl took courage once more to hold out her hand to a passer-by. It was a young I knew not your name. in the way of one who sought to love, to enrich you! In vain I looked for you at He stopped at the silent appeal, and, diving balls, assemblies, and theatres. You went not there. into his pockets, pulled out a piece of money, which Ah, how I longed to meet you!" As the lady spoke, he threw to her, being apparently afraid to touch a she took from her neck a riband, to which was attached thing so miserable. Just as he did this, one of the a piece of a hundred sous. "It is the same-the police came to the spot, and, placing his hand on the very same which you gave me," said she, presenting girl's shoulder, exclaimed, Ah, I have caught you, it to Frederic; "by pledging it I got credit for have I-you are begging. To the office with you! a little bread from a neighbour, and I earned enough come along!' afterwards in time to permit me to recover it. I vowed never to part with it.

man.

The young man here interposed. He took hold hastily of the mendicant, of her whom he had before seemed afraid to touch, and, addressing himself to the policeman, said reprovingly, "This woman is not a beggar. No, she is she is one whom I know.' 'But sir,' said the officer 'I tell you, that she is an

Ah, how happy was, Frederic, when I saw you in the street! The excuse which I made for stopping you was the first that rose to my mind. But what tremors I felt, even afterwards, lest you should have been already married! In that case you would never

A FORTNIGHT ago we presented a brief outline of the early portion of Mr Gurney's tour of benevolence through the West India Islands. His object, as we stated, was to discover the precise condition of the liberated negroes, and to compare the existing and prospective state of things with that of the slave states of North America. Having visited St Christopher's and other islands, he proceeded to Antigua (January 1839), and thence to Dominica, finding in both that things are prosperous, the planters doing well, and the negroes industrious, peaceful, and comfortable. The striking facts seem frequently to have come under his observation, that labour is now cheaper than when it was compulsory, that more produce is got for a given amount of outlay, and that the value of property is rising.

One of the first places he visited in Antigua was the estate of "Gilberts," the property of his friend Nathaniel Gilbert. "Nothing could be more satisfactory than the state of the property. His molasses alone, last year, paid the whole expenses of the estate, including labour; the large produce of sugar, which had met with a high price in the British market, was therefore clear gain. Our friend is too consistent a Christian to manufacture rum. We understood that he received 25,000 dollars as a compensation for his slaves. He assured us that this sum was a mere present put into his pocket-a gratuity on which he had no reasonable claim. Since his land, without the slaves, is at least of the same value as it was with the slaves, before emancipation, and since his profits are relief which he experiences in his own emancipation increased rather than diminished, this consequence follows of course; but what figures can represent the from the trammels of slave-holding? Our friend has fitted up a neat chapel on his estate, in which we held a religious meeting in the evening, with his black peasantry.

Sir Bethel Codrington, an absentee proprietor, whose land borders on 'Gilberts,' is said to be deriving L.20,000 sterling per annum, from his sugar estates in Antigua. Whether this statement is exaggerated or not, I cannot say, but there can be no question that his revenues from this source are large. He was a noted advocate, during the late conflict for freedom in our country, for the continuance of slavery. Circumstances have now proved that emancipation to him has been any thing rather than the road to ruin. Nearly the same remark applies to a respectable member of Parliament, whose property in Antigua, during slavery, was in decay-unprofitable, and, by all accounts, almost ruinous. Now it produces an excellent income. I had the pleasure of viewing his cane-fields; they were in fine order, full of pecuniary promise.

A subsequent and somewhat extensive inquiry has led us to the conviction, that on most of the properties of Antigua, and in general throughout the West Indies, one-third only of the slaves were operative. What with childhood, age, infirmity, sickness, sham sickness, and other causes, full two-thirds of the negro population might be regarded as dead weight. And, farther, the number of free labourers employed for the same quantity of work, is now decidedly less than this third. We may therefore fairly reckon that the pecuniary saving on many of the estates in Antigua, by the change of slave for free labour, is at least thirty per cent. If the interest of money on the investment in slaves is added to the debit amount under slavery, the comparison becomes much more favourable on the side of freedom. Besides this affair of arithmetic, however, there is the general consideration that slavery and waste are twin sisters, whereas freedom is married to economy. Under the generous stimulus of equal liberty, short methods of labour are invented. machinery is introduced, every man, black and white, is thrown upon his own exertions, and into the whole community co-operation infuses wealth."

After narrating a number of other particulars respecting Antigua, Mr Gurney states that the average amount of sugar raised annually during the last five years of slavery was 12,189 hogsheads; the average raised annually during the first five years of freedom was 13,345 hogsheads; and the amount raised during

* A Winter in the West Indies, by Joseph John Gurney. London: Murray. 1840.

« Zurück Weiter »

Books

Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, Band 9