tentment rather to be condemned than approved of, seeing that, from mere ignorance, it kept a human being at a point of enjoyment far below what his nature was capable of, and what he might have easily obtained by a little knowledge and a little exertion. Dr Johnson says very justly-" Happiness consists in the multiplicity of agreeable consciousness. A peasant has not a capacity for having equal happiness with a philosopher: they may be equally satisfied, but not equally happy. A small drinking glass and a large one may be equally full, but the larger one holds more than the smaller." Obviously, in the case of Peter Petrovich, and of all in his circumstances, there, was an immense waste of capability of enjoyment, as well as submission to many positive evils which only could be tolerable under an obtuseness of feeling, as artificial in the manner of its production as are the most refined tastes and appetites.

The ages of slavery in England were succeeded by a period during which there was still great though somewhat less ignorance, perhaps a good deal of the substantial comforts of life, and withal such a sufficiency of popular amusement, as to make the term merry" applicable to the country. At this time, however, the people must have often suffered tremendously. Every now and then, the plague came to sweep off some large portion of the population. In the reign of Edward IV. alone, it is believed to have destroyed as many as the wars of the Roses. Here were evils surely more than enough to make dear that ignorance under which men are believed to have been contented and happy.

In our own age, the social system is almost entirely changed. Population is vastly increased; and great masses of it are assembled in particular districts, to prosecute industrious courses depending in great measure on demand out of the country. The middle classes, who formerly followed their trades and other occupations in a comparatively leisurely way, are now involved in a struggle so severe as to absorb nearly every man's entire faculties. All, we verily believe, enjoy more substantial comfort, and are more exempt from sharp hardships of various kinds, than they formerly were; but, nevertheless, the remuneration of labour is complained of in many cases as too low, and the middle classes feel that, to procure a decent maintenance, demands much more exertion than any man ought to be expected to give, and more ingenuity than many possess. Hence, in the one class, there are vast numbers under-fed and under-provided in all respects, and in the other a considerable number who, though they could do well in a common state of things, are found quite unfit for one in which so excessive a perseverance and such active faculties are required to attain any fair degree of success. When the working classes were totally ignorant, they could submit to worse evils with patience; but now, being partially enlightened, they manifest violent discontents, and form confessedly a threatening element in the state. And, assuredly, while the productive resources and industry of the country were never greater than at present, while science advances with unexampled strides, while the first literary names of the country are of unequalled lustre, and while Britain is extending her power and population over every quarter of the globe, it is a sad drawback from all her glory, that life to so great a proportion of her sons is not supplied with a sufficiency to cheer and support it, but is a scene of incessant toil, not even enlivened by those holidays and sports which made our ruder ancestors merry. Diseases do not now carry off hundreds of thousands at a sweep, but a general lowness of condition may still show itself unfavourable to healthy development, and inconsistent with the enjoyment of existence.

On the other hand, the middle classes do not secure their superior comforts without encountering disadvantages of a most serious nature. The incessant tasking of the brain, in which their active life may be said chiefly to consist, produces a stimulation of that organ, which, being generally accompanied by deficient bodily exercise, and often by exposure to vitiated air, tends to induce a class of diseases of which the rude natural man of the backwoods has no experience. Why are paralysis, dyspepsia, diseases of the heart, and nervous maladies in general, now so prevalent? Simply because the life of business which Englishmen of the middle ranks now regard as their natural and proper element, cannot be prosecuted without an exclusive and excessive use of the nervous system, leading to such derangements. There is a well-known anecdote of an old duchess, who said "she was born before nerves came into fashion." There is more serious earnest in this expression than is generally thought of. The exigencies of recent times have certainly brought the nervous system into a degree of exercise and excitement formerly unknown, and which may almost be said to have for the first time made the world aware of there being such things as nerves. These are the drawbacks from a system which, taken in another point of view, must be admired for the energy, perseverance, and integrity, with which it is followed out, and its vast results in the production

and diffusion of wealth.

STORY OF INEZ DE CASTRO, THE lengthened and varied annals of the Peninsula contain no episode more deeply interesting than that which the reader will find laid before him in the following brief and unvarnished narrative. The scene of the story was Portugal, and the time the middle of the fourteenth century, when Alfonso IV. sat upon the throne of that country, This prince had been distinguished in his youth for the display of almost every bad quality, having rebelled more than once against his father, and so embroiled the kingdom in repeated civil discords. When he ascended the throne, he exhibited that total disregard for his new duties which might have been expected from his previous conduct, until a solemn and bold warning from one of his chief nobles effected a compulsory reformation, rendered comparatively durable by fears for his personal safety. The caution referred to was thus given. The council of state had long waited for him one day, having affairs of consequence to transact, Alfonso had gone a-hunting, and when he appeared at length in council, it was only to entertain the grave statesmen and nobles there assembled, with an account of his day's sport. "Sire," said one of the councillors, "we did not come here to listen to things fitted for the ears of huntsmen. If your highness will attend to the necessities of your subjects, you will have humble and faithful vassals; if not"- "What then?" cried the angry king. The minister calmly proceeded-"If not, they will seek another king!" Alfonso broke forth into a torrent of invectives; but something in the manner of those around him compelled him ultimately to moderate his passion, and to promise that, from that time forward, they would find in him "not Alfonso the hunter, but Alfonso the king." To this seasonable warning, history tells us, the Portuguese people owed many public benefits during the remainder of Alfonso's reign; but the reformation did not extend to the king's private conduct. His son and heir, Dom Pedro, was united in marriage to Constance, daughter of a powerful Castilian prince. The affections of the Infante, as the heir-apparent was called, were not consulted or engaged in this match. He was strongly attached, in fact, to another lady, named Inez de Castro, the daughter of a noble Castilian who had sought refuge in Portugal from perils incurred in his native province. This attachment was mutual, yet Pedro remained constant to his vows to Constance, and lived in unbroken harmony with her. It is admitted by all annalists that the virtuous fidelity and self-command exhibited by the Portuguese prince were as commendable as they were rare, in stations like his, at that period of the world's history. However, King Alfonso was aware of his son's passion for Inez de Castro; and from the fear that circumstances might yet occur to bring about a match between them, which he regarded as one unworthy of the royal house of Portugal, the king caused Donna Inez to stand godmother to one of the Infante's children by Constance, thus creating a spiritual bar to the possibility of future wedlock between the two parties. The Church of Rome forbade the union of the sponsor of an infant with its real parent.

Nevertheless, when Constance died, as she did after being married but a few years, Dom Pedro's attachment set all such obstacles at defiance. He obtained a papal dispensation, and married Inez de Castro. At the same time, he concealed his marriage from his father and the public, the lady consenting rather to bear the imputation of an illegal connexion, than to subject the Infante to the risk of Alfonso's anger. For some years, Inez lived in great seclusion at Coimbra, where she bore four children to her husband, namely, Alfonso, John, Dennis, and Beatrice. Unacknowledged as this union was, the court, nevertheless, suspected something of the kind. In his private conduct, Pedro not only exhibited all the affection and constancy of a husband as regarded Inez, but peremptorily declined entering into any of the new matrimonial engagements which his father was perpetually proposing to him. Inez de Castro, therefore, could not but be an object of suspicion to Alfonso and his confidants, and she unfortunately incurred, through other circumstances, a degree of additional odium, which brought on the crisis of her fate. The des

He

This inimical party commenced operations by working on the fears of the old king, and persuading him that the life and rights of Ferdinand, his grandson by Constance, were endangered by the influence of Inez de Castro. They brought Alfonso to the belief that the death of that unfortunate lady was indispensable to the security of the royal line, and the general peace of the country; and at length the king consented to the execution of the cruel purpose to which his mind had thus been made familiar. Pedro was absent on a lengthened hunting excursion, and, during that absence, Alfonso betook himself to Coimbra, accompanied by Gonsalves, Pacheco, and Coelho, those of his courtiers most hostile to Inez de Castro. entered the dwelling where she had lived so many years in peace with her family. Alone, with her protector and husband far away, the unhappy woman beheld this intrusion with mortal alarm. She gathered her children about her, as if her feeble arms could save them from peril, and prostrated herself along with them at the feet of the old king. She implored him to have pity on his innocent grandchildren, and on herself, their mother. The king was not without natural feelings, and these were touched by the appeal made to him, and by the sight of his son's lovely offspring, and their still beauteous mother. He left her uninjured, and rejoined the three courtiers, who eagerly waited outside, expectant of a summons to complete the bloody act in contemplation. Their arguments speedily cured the king of his humane relentings, and he gave them authority to return to the chamber of Inez, and dispatch her with their daggers. The three courtiers waited for no second orders, but in a few minutes had dyed their weapons in the blood of the defenceless wife of the Infante. They then hurried with the king from the scene of their barbarous crime.

Dom Pedro's rage and grief were violent in proportion to his affection for Inez, and to the happiness be had enjoyed with her during their wedded life. From the hour of her death, his very nature seemed to be changed, and one absorbing, overwhelming passion, the desire of revenge, took possession of his soul. In the first burst of his resentment he took arms against his father, and commenced a bloody civil war. The contest was terminated, however, by the interposition of the aged queen, who represented to her son the injustice of continuing to punish the whole country for the crime of one or a few. Pedro was alive to the justice of this appeal, and laid down his arms, to save the nation from further calamities. He submitted even to a reconciliation with his father, who thenceforth employed all possible means to appease his son, and divert his thoughts from the murdered Inez. However, Alfonso allowed the actual assassins to quit the country, and take refuge in Castile. Whether or not the old monarch succeeded in banishing the remembrance of Inez from the breast of the Infante, was made apparent soon afterwards, when the latter, by the demise of his father, was called to the throne.

The first act of the new king was to conclude a treaty with the reigning sovereign of Castile, by which all fugitives were to be given up on both sides. Pedro of Portugal showed a desire to effect this compact at any cost. He betrothed his three sons to the daughters of the Castilian sovereign, though these daughters were illegitimate, being the offspring of Maria de Padilla, a lady for whose sake the King of Castile had cruelly misused his wedded queen. By giving his assent to this arrangement, and any others stipulated for by the other contracting party, Pedro accomplished the grand object of his wishes-the gratification of what had become the ruling passion of his life. He got into his hands the murderers of Inez de Castro. From these men Pedro had certainly received a mortal injury, and one that deserved the punishment of death. They had cruelly and treacherously violated the privacy of his home, and for ever ruined its happiness, by dipping their hands in the blood of an unoffending woman, the wife of his bosom, and the mother of his infants. But the death which Pedro inflicted on these men was one not to be excused even by the greatness of their crime. Gonsalves and Coelho (for Pacheco escaped seizure) perished by tortures too painful to describe. Naturally a man of no ungentle nature, and even admittedly possessed of many virtues, Pedro is said to have glutted his eyes with the sufferings of his victims, all other feelings being lost in the gratification of the one great passion of revenge.

Nor was the monarch satisfied with this offering to the manes of his wife. After the execution of her slayers, he assembled the cortes, and solemnly took oath that he had obtained a papal dispensation for his marriage with Inez de Castro, and that that marriage had taken place in presence of the Bishop Guarda and the equerry of his own household. These individuals confirmed by their oaths the statement of the king. This ceremony ended, a new scene took place, of a character almost unexampled in history; a scene so strange, so solemn, so fearfully impressive in its

ENGLISH NATIONAL AIRS-MR CHAPPELL'S

COLLECTION.

MR CHAPPELL is entitled to universal thanks for this collection of the national music of England; which appears in two thin quartos, one of them containing two hundred and forty-eight tunes, with piano-forte accompaniments, while the other presents notes, stating the history of each of the airs, and including the songs, where recoverable or fit to appear before eyes polite; the whole being prefaced by an essay on the minstrels who, till about the time of Henry VIII., made it a business to sing and play before popular assemblies in England.

The English populace appear to have had romantic ballads, and merry and sentimental songs, at as early a period as the Scotch; and the airs to which these were sung, were probably as much the composition of the common people themselves, as the Scottish airs appear to have been. It is essential to observe the probability of these tunes having been produced by the uninstructed populace, and not by men skilled in music, as it seems to require this circumstance to entitle any body of music to the term national. Such tunes grow, as it were, out of the national mind, partaking of whatever is peculiar in it, and partly fashioned by the circumstances in which it exists, just as a peculiar set of flowering plants grow in a particular region, in accordance with the nature of the soil, the climate, and other conditions. The beautiful madrigals of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the great variety of fine church music, and the works of her Purcells, Arnes, Calcotts, Shields, and Bishops, albeit the subject of a not less just national pride, must be regarded as standing quite apart from the expressly national music of England, because these fine compositions were the work of accomplished musicians. Things so produced, in the light of day, and with all advantages of culture, are altogether different in character, as in their history, from those simple melodies which rise, like Burns's mountain daisy,

"Unseen, alane,"

and remain noteless till their modest beauty chances to meet the eyes and steal into the heart of some one possessed of competent taste.

Mr Chappell does not pretend to limit his collection

long ballads to which they are attached. They are invariably of simple construction, usually plaintive, and the last three notes of the melody of by far the greater number of them, unlike most of the other tunes, fall gradually to the key-note at the end." The fine ballad air of Chevy Chase is a specimen of these peculiarities. A great majority of the old English tunes are in minor keys; and in some instances, as in the Jolly Miller, Greensleeves, Old King Cowl, and others, there is a bold and jovial character, very unusual in airs upon minor keys. Other peculiarities, he says, not to be found in the national music of any other country, are the accent upon the second, instead of the first of the bar, and the frequency of the passing at the termination to a semitone below, and then rising to the key-note. These matters, technical as they are, seem to us worthy of being quoted, for we never before knew of any attempt being made to establish distinguishing peculiarities in the national English airs. We cannot, however, remark without surprise Mr Chappell's allegation that, in being so often upon minor keys, the English airs resemble those of Russia and Norway, and differ from those of Ireland and Scotland. The Irish and Scottish national airs are for nothing so remarkable as for their being often on minor keys; hence much of their plaintiveness. It seems to be a peculiarity of national music in all countries.

A somewhat greater antiquity can be established for a considerable number of the English airs than for any of the Scotch or Irish. This is very much owing to the lucky accident of the preservation of two old manuscript collections, namely, Queen Elizabeth's Virginal Book, or collection of tunes for the virginal, and William Ballet's Lute-Book, the latter of which is considered as the older of the two. To these Mr Chappell has been indebted for many popular tunes. Overlooking a collection of English airs printed at Haerlem in 1626, the book to which Mr Chappell has been indebted in the next degree is Playford's Dancing-Master, of which the first edition appeared in 1650, and which likewise contains many popular airs. The remainder of the airs in Mr Chappell's collection may be said to have been chiefly derived from the collections of D'Urfey and a few others, the English operas of the eighteenth century, and the works of the respective composers.

It

must be considered as something not unworthy of note in a nation's history. In our opinion, indeed, the tune of Greensleeves is as historical as the battle of Edgehill or the Peace of Ryswick.

Packington's Pound is another of those old airs of which a long tale could be told. Mr Chappell thinks it was probably a dance composed by Thomas Pagington, one of the musicians in the service of the Protector Somerset. The name might be from the form of the dance, some of the performers being perhaps enclosed or placed in pound by the rest. The air is in Elizabeth's Virginal Book, and in many printed collections from 1634 downwards. It is alluded to in Ben Jonson's comedy of Bartholomew Fair. A vast number of political and other songs have been written to it, which is not surprising, when we consider its peculiar smartness and alacrity, so well fitting it to be a vehicle of satiric sentiment. We remember an uncommonly clever political pasquinade written to it so lately as 1823, to burlesque the sudden rush of young states which was then taking place in South America, and the contemporaneous Poyais bubble:—

A prince or cazique

Springs up like a leek;

Protectors and presidents sprout every week Then a fig for King George and his old-fashion'd sway, And huzza for Macgregor, cazique of Poyais! Old Simon the King, the favourite tune, it will be that by which his daughter Sophy practised upon his remembered, of Squire Western in Tom Jones, and good nature when she wished any particular favour, The Cavaliers had songs to it against the Parliamenis a tune of the time of Charles I., if not earlier. tarians in 1641. We now learn that old Simon the King was a living man of that age, namely, Simon Wadloe, who kept the Devil Tavern at Temple-Bar, Club, met there. He seems to have got his peculiar at the time when Ben Jonson's club, called the Apollo appellation, as being the king of skinkers, that is, have many jocular verses upon him under that title. servers of liquor; and the wits who met at his house The original song is the very perfection of reckless bacchanalianism, but at the same time so full of the spirit of harum-scarum humour, that the veriest toetotaller must needs smile at it, however much, like ourselves, he may condemn the practices it refers to :

If a man should be drunk to-night,
And laid in his grave to-morrow,
Will you or any man say

That he died of care or sorrow?
Then hang up all sorrow and care,

*

*

*

It is curious to learn what tunes, still popular, were teristically bold air to which Macheath sings “Since so in the time of Elizabeth. Greensleeves, the charaolaws were made for every degree," is one of these. it is in 1580, when a Reprehension against Green Sleeves is quite a tune with a history. The earliest trace of was licensed by the Stationers' Company, for ElderA Newe Courtly Sonnet of the Lady Green Sleeves, to the The inconsequentiality of all this is so perfectly cha ton, a ballad-maker. In the same year was licensed newe tune of Green Sleeves, of which here is a specimen-racteristic of a maudlin brain, that nothing, in our

Alas, my love, ye do me wrong,

To cast me off discourteously,
And I have loved you so long,
Delighting in your company.
Greensleeves was all my joy,
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my hart of gold,

And who but Ladie Greensleeves?

This second piece was probably an attempt to supplant, by verses of pure sentiment, the original wanton verses. After this we see lively proofs of the enduring popularity of the tune. Mrs Ford speaks of the words and dispositions of Falstaff as not less incongruous than would be "the hundredth psalm to the tune of Greensleeves." Falstaff himself, in the park, cries, "Let it thunder to the tune of Greensleeves." In the Loyal Subject, by Beaumont and Fletcher, we have a character saying, "And sets our credits to the tune of Greensleeves." By and bye, we have the Cavaliers writing songs against the Roundheads and the Rump Parliament to this still favourite air: in one collection there are no fewer than fourteen such songs to it. There are fourteen other songs to it in D'Urfey's Pills to Purge Melancholy. One of these is in the following form :

The times are so ticklish, I vow and profess,
I know not which party or cause to embrace ;

I want to join those who are least in distress;
Which nobody can deny.

Each party, I see, is thus full of hope;
There are some for the devil and some for the pope;
And I am for any thing else but a rope,
Which nobody can deny.

For drinking will make a man quaff, And quaffing will make a man sing, And singing will make a man laugh, And laughing long life doth bring, Says old Simon the King.

opinion, could be more amusing in its way.

The thirty-second tune in Mr Chappell's collection is one fully as old as the above, being that to which the song of Dulcina was sung, referred to by the shepherdess in Izaak Walton's Angler. To the same air Ben Jonson wrote his song of Robin Goodfellow, so charming as a sketch of that small mischief-loving spirite

When lads and lasses merry be,

With possets and with juncates fine; Unseen of all the company,

I eat their cakes and sip their wine; And to make sport,

I start and snort,

And out the candles I do blow;
The maids I kiss ;

They shriek-Who's this?

I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!
By wells and rills in meadows green,
We nightly dance our hey-day guise;
And to our fairy king and queen

We chant our moonlight minstrelsies.
When larks 'gin sing,
Away we fling,

And babes new born steal as we go;
And elf in bed

We leave instead,

And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!

to define; had he done so, a smaller book would have served his purpose, for, either England has never produced many truly national airs, or, after a long period of neglect, but a small number of them are recoverable. After all, those which he has recovered have not been, in any but a very few instances, noted down from the singing of ordinary persons, but are chiefly extracted from old musical collections, into which they had been transferred at an early period, possibly not without some improvements from hands of skill. In these airs he sees some general characteristics, such as may be considered as distinguishing them from the music of other nations. The peculiar features of the narrative tunes are, he says, "the long intervals between each phrase, so well calculated for recovering breath in the

*A Collection of National English Airs, consisting of Ancient

Bong, Ballad, and Dance Tunes, &c. Edited by W. Chappell, F.S. A. London: published by Chappell, New Bond Street. 1840.

It seems to have been appropriated by the Jacobite Charles in his wanderings, had but one song, namely, that old Macdonald of Kingsburgh, who saved Prince

Green sleeves and pudding pies, Tell me where my mistress lies, *

*

*

Some tunes are curiously connected with historical persons and events. Joan's Placket, which will readily occur to the minds of many of our readers when we tell them that it is the air of Justice Woodcock's song, "Such were the joys of our dancing days," march by the band at the execution of Mary Queen is said by tradition to have been played as a slow army entered Edinburgh to the tune of We'll awa to this, but without stating any reasons. The Highland Sherramuir to haud the Whigs in order - and Carlisle, to that of Sandie o'er the lee. We find it stated in Mr Chappell's work, that, on leaving Manchester, on their march for London, they played Felton's Garot, a lively air then popular, the composition of the Rev. William Felton, prebendary of Hereford, and the same which When this veteran was under examination respecting Sir John Stevenson has latterly modified, with words the dress of the Irish serving-girl whom he had enter- by Mr Haynes Bayley, beginning "Give that wreath tained (the Prince in disguise), Macleod of Talisker to me." It stands No. 64 in Mr Chappell's collection. slyly asked, in allusion to his only song, "Had she King Charles II. was so delighted with the tune of green sleeves ?" An air which has thus delighted the My lodging is on the cold ground, as sung by Mrs Davis people for nearly three centuries-which has been in the character of Celania, the shepherdess mad for alluded to by Shakspeare, Nash, Beaumont and love, that he took that lady off the stage. She was Fletcher, and Prior-which gave modulation to the the mother of his daughter Mary Tudor, who in her sentiments of exasperated loyalty throughout all its turn was the mother of the unfortunate Earl of various phases between 1640 and 1746-and to which Derwentwater. Purcell's tune of Lillibullero, being perhaps threescore sets of verses have in all been set-adapted to a song against the Irish Catholics, and

To all our injured friends in need, This side and beyond the Tweed!Let all pretenders shake for dread,

And let his health go round.

becoming popular beyond example amongst the Protestant party, is believed to have had a powerful effect in settling Ireland under the government of William and Mary. While touching upon historical tunes, we may remark that Mr Chappell enters into a keen and searching inquiry into the authorship of the King's Anthem, the result of which is, that most probably the air was composed by Henry Carey, on the eve of the insurrection of 1715, and with the name of James, the so-called Pretender, instead of that of King George, the author being a Jacobite. The insurrection being unsuccessful, the tune and words lay neglected till 1740, when the author prudently substituted George for James, and sang it at a tavern meeting to celebrate Admiral Vernon's victory. A year or two afterwards, Carey put an end to his life at the advanced age of eighty, when only one halfpenny was found in his pocket. The song and air still remained in obscurity, till, in 1745, Dr Arne harmonised it, and brought it out at Drury Lane, as a popular expression of loyalty against that very party in behalf of whose political idol it had been written thirty years before! Such is the strange turncoat history of this magnificent anthem, admitted to be the finest thing of its kind in the civilised world. The presumed mother of the late Edmund Kean was a grand-daughter of Henry Carey, who, it may be remarked, was also the author of Sally in our alley.

Irish Channel some particular air has been composed; or that a few which had made their way thither were at length looked upon, not as strangers, but as kindly natives, and by mistake so designated? A quiet correction of such errors is surely all that the case justly calls for. It may be true, as he says, that no Irish or Scottish_airs can be proved older than the reign of Charles I.; but neither are there many English airs certainly older than that period, and, but for the existence of the MSS. of Queen Elizabeth and William Ballet, he would not have been able to prove even those few to be older. This is a matter ruled entirely by the accident of the existence or discovery of a book. Rivalry on such topics is to us incomprehensible. We can take as great pleasure in the fine old airs of England and Ireland as in those of our own country; and though the former were established to-morrow as being of twice the antiquity, the number, and the beauty of our own, we should not be able to see the least ground for lamentation, much less for anger.

CURE OF SQUINTING.

THE remarkable operation for the cure of squinting, which has been already adverted to in the Journal, may now be said to be in general practice throughout the empire. It has been performed upon hundreds of

geons in London. The following are a few cases mentioned by Mr Lucas :

"Double Convergent Strabismus.—Mr Mills,etat. 21, has had strabismus since he was three years old. When he looks directly forward with either eye, the other turns inwards and slightly upwards, so as to conceal about one-third of the cornea; but the right eye more. The pupil of the turned-in eye dilates to double the extent of the other. Until he was three years old, the movements of his eye were perfect. At that period one of the eyes became slightly inverted, and the deformity was endeavoured to be removed by keeping the sound eye covered with a bandage, but without any happy result, and the eyes soon acquired their present movements. By some of Mr Mills' relatives the strabismus was attributed to cold, and by others to a fall.

June 12, 1840.-In the presence of Mr Pilcher, Mr Chaldecott, and Drs Wild, Pettigrew, and Walsh, I divided the internal rectus muscle of the right eye, which immediately rendered it straight, and visibly more prominent than its fellow. The left eye, as was anticipated, turned in, which the patient was told to expect before the operation was performed. From there being not the slightest hæmorrhage, and the patient being completely under control, from his temporary debility, the operation occupied less than two minutes.

dance tunes. There is one which he considers as of the fourteenth century, remarkable for the number of appoggiaturas, and of bars in the phrases. We have Sellenger's Round, which may be found spoken of from the days of Elizabeth to those of Anne. Also Roger of Corerley, an old country dance of peculiar figure, the name of which Addison appropriated for one of the most delightful characters in English literature. Coverley is the place now called Cowley, near Oxford. There is a Morris Dance, from the Haerlem collection formerly spoken of; also a strange dance called the Shaking of the Sheet, or the Dance of Death, which is found to be as old as 1560, and to be accompanied by an impressive set of moral verses. Mr Chappell presents a Cornish dancing tune connected with a curious custom. At the beginning of May, the people of Cornwall were accustomed to mimic the circumstances of a foray-a group proceeding into the country, where they gather flowers, and sport about all day. They assumed the privilege of entering houses, dancing in at one door and out at another; after which they returned dancing merrily, with the flowers they had gathered. This appears to have been a very ancient custom, designed for welcoming in the summer. The tune is that to which the parties danced on their return. Mr Chappell also presents us with the Cushion Dance, well known to be one of great antiquity in England, and indeed rather an ancient custom than a dance.

It is in thus bringing before us the very notes connected with ancient national customs, or which the poets of old times had in their mind when they wrote some of their sweetest verses, that the great charm of Mr Chappell's collection consists. How delightful, for instance, to be able to finger over the identical tune to which Walton's shepherdess sung "Come live with me and be my love" (No. 180), and which Shakspeare must have meant Sir Hugh Evans to hum when he caused him to quote a snatch of that pretty pastoral ditty! How interesting to hear the very music to which our simple ancestors, in early Catholic times, sung their Christmas carols (Nos. 192, 193, 194, 195)-those sacred serenades which breathe so much of the earnest and affectionate spirit of our religion, without any foreign or unpleasing admixture

God rest you merry, gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
For Jesus Christ, our saviour,
Was born upon this day, &c.

It is very remarkable, by the way, what a tone of solemn and earnest feeling is conveyed in some of the old English airs. There is one of much impressiveness (No. 188), connected with the strange old poem which represents death calling away a fine lady in the midst of her gaieties: the same air is said by Ritson to be that to which all the metrical lamentations of noted criminals were chanted for upwards of two hundred years. The same character belongs to one (No. 5) which was the air of a fervent political or rather religious ballad two hundred years ago-a burst of solemn joy at the prospects which opened to the puritan party in 1641:

Know, then, my brethren, heaven is clear,
And all the clouds are gone;
The righteous men shall flourish now;
Good days are coming on.

To us this appears an opening in the highest strain of
poetry; and the air is perfectly appropriate to it.
We must now draw to a close. We would, in con-
clusion, repeat our thanks to Mr Chappell for his ele-
gant and most interesting collection; interesting, we
are sure, not only to all who have any taste for good
music, but to every one who has the slightest feeling
respecting the past enjoyments of the people whose
name he is proud to bear. Absorbed in the pleasure
which the perusal of this work has been to us, we are
loath to remark on some traits of jealous feeling which
the editor allows to escape him respecting a subject to
which we fear he has given too little study-the national
music of Ireland and Scotland. What does it matter,
we would ask him, on which side of the Tweed or of the

good effect. Having lately witnessed the operation in several instances, we are anxious to give a more minute account of it than we were formerly able to present. It may, in the first place, be remarked, that squinting, or strabismus, as it is medically termed, is of different kinds. Sometimes both eyes squint, but more frequently only one: if the eye be turned outwards, it is divergent, and if inwards, it is convergent, squint. Convergent squinting, in which the pupil of the eye is turned towards the nose, is by far the most common. Whether divergent or convergent, the squint can be cured by a simple surgical operation, the principle of which is the cutting of a muscle to allow the eye to assume a straightforward vision. We are here to describe the operation which we saw performed upon a boy who had a convergent squint in his left eye. The patient being seated on a chair in front of a window, his right eye was covered with a bandage, so as to render the affected eye steadier during the operation. He was now told to look outwards, or towards his left, as far as possible, in order to bring the white of the eye at the inner corner into view. This being done, an assistant, who stood behind, lifted the upper eyelid with a crooked silver wire, called a speculum. This speculum only holds up the eyelid as with a blunt hook, and does not make any wound. Another assistant, standing on the left, now fixes the ball of the eye, by holding it down with a small instrument, with an exceedingly small crooked point; the crooked point goes into the white, and, scarcely giving any pain, keeps the eye from moving. If the patient can be intrusted to hold his eye steady, this hooking process may be dispensed with. All is now ready for the operation of cutting. The surgeon, standing in front, and depressing the lower eyelid with his left thumb, "pierces the conjunctira with a small knife, about midway between the hook and the caruncula lacrymalis”—that is, he makes a very small cut crosswise, up the white part of the ball, between the pupil and corner of the eye. This cut, which resembles a kind of scratch, discloses the tendon or muscle beneath which is to be divided. Into the lower end of the incision he passes a curved director-a thin instrument, with a groove along its surface to guide the knife. This director is insinuated between the muscle and sclerotic, until he sees the point emerging above. He then divides the tendon, by running the knife along the groove of the director. Provided due care has been taken to elevate the whole tendon on the director, the operation will now be found complete; and the eye, being disengaged from all its fastenings, is seen to be straight. In the case of the boy, above mentioned, the operation did not occupy above a minute, or so much. A little blood flows from the wound, which is wiped off with a sponge, and a bandage of linen, dipped in cold water, is applied. In a week or ten days, all appearance of wound is gone, and a slight inflammation at the part afterwards disappears. Besides effecting an improvement in personal appearance, the cure greatly increases the power of vision.

It may be observed, that we are assisted in preparing this account of what we saw by a pamphlet published by the operator, Mr Alexander Miller, of Edinburgh.* From our own observation, and the statements published by this and other practitioners, we consider the operation as a simple and easy one, quite certain of success, if rightly performed. The chief advice we have to offer to those desirous of having the operation performed, is to select a practitioner who is well acquainted with the process-not a person merely who has a great name for surgery, for the most eminent surgeons have occasionally failed in performing the operation rightly.

Besides the small work of Mr Miller, we have seen one of larger dimensions on the same subject, by P. Bennet Lucas, member of the Royal College of Sur

Strabismus or Squinting; by Alexander Miller, F. R. S. C. E. *A Description of the Method of Operating for the Cure of Rickard: Edinburgh. 1840.

June 16th.-Proceeding favourably. No pain or vascularity of the conjunctival vessels in the vicinity of the incision, and a vertical layer of lymph, about a line thick, between the divided conjunctiva, the edges of which membrane are slightly swollen. The left eye is turned in more permanently than before; he can, by an effort, direct both eyes to the same object, but can retain them so only for a few minutes.

June 21st.-At the first operation it was determined that the left eye should be operated upon after a few days; and this day, with the kind assistance of Mr Pilcher and Mr Chaldecott, I divided its inner rectus muscle. The eye immediately became straight, and equally prominent with its fellow, and both eyes moved naturally.

The

June 10th, 1840.-Mary Anne Davis, etat. 17, has been affected with double convergent strabismus since she was two years old, which was caused by a fall off a high bedstead, upon her head. Her irides are of a dark brown colour. When she looks at an object with either eye, the other turns upwards and inwards, so as fully to conceal two-thirds of the cornea. strabismus is even more intense in the right eye. Her education has been entirely neglected in consequence of the state of her vision. She cannot work at her needle for longer than ten minutes at a time, in consequence of the objects appearing dull and confused. She is an intelligent girl, and gives an account of the distressing state of her eyes. I divided the internal rectus muscle of the right eye, when it immediately occupied the centre of the orbital axis, and became more prominent than the other. The left eye remained turned upwards and inwards. I operated on the second eye three weeks after, when both organs became perfectly straight, and equally prominent.

Her

August 13th. Her eyes are perfectly straight, and follow each other's movements harmoniously. vision is remarkably benefited. Before the operation she suffered the greatest inconvenience in pursuing her ordinary avocations; even in walking, objects appeared confused to her, and she could not judge of their distance. She can now work at her needle without any inconvenience.

Mr Henry Mills, etat. 22, has had convergent strabismus of his right eye since he was four years old. His irides are of a dark brown colour, and the eyes are small and sunken. When the hand is placed over the left eye, he is able to bring the right one to the centre of the orbit. The left eye is unaffected.

On July the 28th, 1840, I divided the right inner rectus muscle, when the eye immediately became straight, but more prominent than its fellow.

as

August 7th.-The effect of the operation was this day follows:-Scarcely a mark of the incision was present. Both eyes were straight, but at times the left eye appeared to have a slight inclination inwards. I mention this, although it appeared to some of those present that both eyes were perfectly straight. The right eye is much more prominent than its fellow, and forms a striking contrast to it in this respect. In the presence of Mr Kraus, Mr Cameron, and Mr Earle, I divided the inner rectus muscle of the sunken eye, which at once made it equally prominent with its fellow, without producing the least deformity of it.

The difference in the appearance of the patient was most remarkable. August 26th.-Saw Mr Mills this day; the incisions of the conjunctiva are scarcely perceptible; both eyes are equally prominent, and follow each other's movements with regularity. The division in this case of the inner rectus muscle of the eye which did not squint has been attended with the most satis factory results, and practically illustrates in the living subject some of the physiological views which have been advanced in the preceding part of this essay, regarding the actions of the oblique muscles."

From personal observation, we are enabled to confirm the general conclusions at which Mr Lucas arrives in his narration of these and other cases. We have seen several persons, male and female, who have

*Practical Treatise on the cure of Strabismus or Squint 1 vol. Samuel Highley, Fleet Street, London. 1840.

been operated on in Edinburgh; and, while all ap. pearance of squint was removed, every individual declared that they now saw as well with the formerly bad eye as with the good one, and all seemed to possess the power of moving either eye in any direction required of them.

RAILWAY ACCIDENTS. RAILWAYS, as bringing the exactness of science to bear upon personal locomotion, and as productive of unexampled speed in travelling, must command the good wishes of every enlightened person. But, like other things of fine mechanical arrangement, they require careful handling. Accidents upon them, productive of damage and loss of life, have for some time been of alarming frequency, and have gone so far to shake the confidence of the public in this new mode of conveyance, that, on one road at least, the old stagecoaches have been resumed. We find some light thrown upon the causes of these accidents by an inquest held at Harrow, upon the bodies of two enginedrivers killed by a collision on the London and Birmingham line. It was shown in evidence, that the engineer who was the cause of the accident, and whom it cost his own life, was quite illiterate, and that many of the other officials on the line were so much so, as to be unable to read the printed regulations put into their hands. The jury passed resolutions, from which the following is an instructive extract :

"The Jury cannot conclude their labours without expressing their surprise and regret at the manifest inefficiency of the executive of the company, as connected with matters that have come before them in this inquiry. The directors seem to have passed and printed many excellent rules and resolutions, which have been neglected to be carried out and enforced; while, in some instances, printed instructions have been given to a class of men unable, from want of education, to read them; and in some cases persons appear to have been put on as drivers of engines, having the whole conduct of the trains, without being duly qualified for the purpose. Considering the immense importance to the public of safe conduct in a mode of conveyance over which they are deprived of all control, or, when in motion, even of the power of remonstrance or complaint, and are entirely at the mercy of the engine-driver, the jury feel the public have a right to expect that some person of superior education and attainments as an engineer should be appointed as a captain of each train, to proceed with it and conduct it to its final destination. The night-signals are evidently insufficient, and yet no efficient means seem to have been adopted to improve them; while it is evident that no security can be attained until a means of communication between the guards and the engine-drivers is established. To all which matters the jury feel it is the bounden duty of the directors

to turn their immediate and earnest attention."

is most unworthy, and would only be attended with its proper punishment, if the public were to lose confidence in railways in consequence. But we hope for better things, and are inclined to believe that enough of mischief has already been produced, and enough of alarm raised, to induce greater deliberation in future. The following points seem to us what ought chiefly to be attended to by railway companies, in order to retain or regain public confidence-1. That no new line, or part of a line, should be brought into operation, till the whole of the arrangements are complete; 2. That no man should be employed in any capacity, who cannot read and write; 3. That the engine-driver should be a well-instructed mechanician, and should be attended, in every case where there are travelling trains, with a superior officer, in the capacity of captain or conductor, at such a salary as may ensure his being a person of honourable principle; 4. That the night signals (red lights) indicative of danger, should be of sparkling brightness, elevated to the height of the eye, and at least three fect in diameter; 5. That, to provide against the possibility of collision, a mass of springs, or pistons moving in air-tight tubes, should be fixed to each locomotive engine, and likewise to the last carriage of every train, in order, as far as possible, to expend the force of the shock. A means of disengaging, and an improved means of stopping, the carriages, if attainable, would be an important addition to these precautions. We would also respectfully tender a general advice to the companies-to be less eager for immediate profits, which they may succeed in securing only to lose much greater ultimate gains.

The accidents of the last few months of 1840 were certainly alarming, both in number and magnitude; but we would be sorry if they should prove a serious obstruction to the progress of railways in general. That they are not unavoidable, is shown by the history of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, during ten years of its existence, in which space of time the injury to person and life, in proportion to the numbers carried, was not perhaps one-hundredth of what takes place in the old stage-coach travelling. Let us hope that, with similar management, other railways will soon show similar safety to life and limb, and that the travelling of science will thus be ultimately triumphant over that of mere animal intelligence.

HEROISM IN THE BUSH.* HAVING taken considerable interest in the trials and struggles of the emigrants on their first coming out to Canada, I often converse with them, and listen with pleasure to the simple recital of their early sufferings and manifold difficulties, some of which are sufficient to excite the sympathy of harder hearts than mine. In many instances, they serve to awaken feelings of admiration for the noble energies that have been called forth in the breast of the British peasant-feelings and powers that had lain dormant, because unawakened, or been crushed and kept down

killed by the fall of a tree, while chopping in the bush (a casualty that sometimes happens). The widow was advanced in her pregnancy at the time, and had three small children-the eldest boy not quite seven, the younger child just able to run alone. Under these sad circumstances, the neighbours, who are not very well off, owing to the sterility of their lots of land, did for her all they could. They helped to put in her spring crops-say a little patch of potatoes and corn— drew in firewood, logged up her summer fallow, and showed, by a thousand little kind acts, the genuine sympathy they felt for her desolate situation.

The summer passed, and the fall brought with it a sore and deadly sickness-a malignant intermittent, which bore close resemblance to a typhus fever. Among many fatal cases that occurred in the neigh bourhood, was the death of the Widow Bulger. The fever attacked her with great violence. Destitute of those little comforts so necessary to the restoration of the sick, with only occasional attendance, such as her poor neighbours were able to afford-distressed in mind by the wants and wailings of her little ones, and possibly weighed down by her melancholy state-no wonder that she fell a victim to the disease, crushed beneath an accumulation of evils. Still, in her dying hours she wanted not the consolation of one kind tender friend to close her eyes, and assure her that she would be a mother to her orphan children.

For ten days did this good young woman, Mrs Jones, tend her on her sick-bed, though within a few weeks of her own confinement, and with the tie of three small children at home. She devoted as much of her time as duty to her own family would admit; and it was in her friendly arms that the widow breathed her last. The babe she bore never saw the light-and so the poor sufferer was spared that great additional trial. When all was over, her sorrowful nurse took the way through the woods to her own humble dwelling, bearing in her arms the youngest child, while the two elder ones clung weeping to her gown. "And sad enough it made me to hear the poor creatures ask me day after day to take them back to see sick mammy," said the kind creature when telling me, with eyes filled with tears, of the sad death of the widow. After a little time, two of the neighbours, who could better afford their maintenance, took the two elder children, who would soon become useful to them, though none seemed disposed to burden themselves with the helpless little one. But it became dearer each day to the heart of its adopted mother, and precious in her eyes. It ate of the scanty portion of her children's bread, and drank of her own cup, shared the cradle bed of her own babe, and was to her as a daughter.

66

Indeed, madam," she said, "I have had little Bridget now two years, and she is as dear to me every bit as any of my own, for the little thing seems to know that I have been good to her, and clings to me with more than a daughter's love; if I am away for a few hours, she is the first to run smiling to meet me, and to say, 'Mammy Jones come back? She is as gentle as a lamb, and seems to have thought beyond her years, for she is sure to tell me if any thing has gone wrong during my absence. I do not think I could bear to part with the child, unless I were well never want the bit or the sup while I have a potato or a drop of milk to give her."

same time a want of all the signals established for mutual understanding between vessels at sea, and no lights by night; and could we expect that tremendous accidents would not be constantly taking place? The management of a great train of carriages upon a railway, so as to avoid all the mechanical dangers of the case, is not a much less nice affair than that of a steamer at sea: in some respects, it is even more so. It would be therefore proper to have men of a respectable and instructed class to guide them, instead of such men as those described by the Harrow inquest. It is to be observed, that the risk which the enginedrivers participate with the persons in the carriages, is no guarantee against danger. Seamen are found to man any vessel, however unseaworthy. Human beings will be found to undertake every degree of hazard to life, short of certain destruction, for a consideration. In the uninstructed mind, cautiousness

and conscientiousness are often alike so feeble, as scarcely to have any control over conduct. If, then, inferior persons are selected for the responsible situations on railways, the danger to their own lives, and the consideration of danger to the lives of others, will have in general no perceptible effect in causing the train to be guided safely.

It is remarkable that accidents by railways have not been much heard of, and, in fact, have been of very rare occurrence, till last year. When we couple this fact with the inmense extent of railway line which has been brought into operation during 1840 (perhaps more than a doubling of the whole that previously existed), we cannot doubt that much of the evil is oving to the newness of things to the want, in short, of due preparation on the part of the companies. Railways are designed for money-making purposes. When they approach completion, the directors become anxious to realise profit as soon as possible. They hurry over the latter operations, and, with untrained men and incomplete arrangements, rush into business. A Scottish railway was lately opened some

depressing consequences.

I have seen the poor man, who at home sank hopeless and desponding beneath the chilling blast of want and disease, here brave with manly energy the wants and privations of a new colony, and battle, without shrinking, with the storms of adversity. Cold, hunger, excessive toil, disease, all in their severest forms, were met with and by turns overcome, or endured without murmuring. In all probability, it is these very trials, which the members of an infant colony endure in their first outset, that gives them that strength and energy for which they are and have ever been noted, and which is ultimately the foundation of the greatness of their adopted country, and of the prosperity of themselves and their families. I have met with many persons among the rich and thoughtless votaries of luxury and pride, who maintained that the virtues of the poor were at best but negative qualities-that there were few who acted well but from interested motives, or from fear of the law, and that genuine, exalted virtue, was rarely, if at all, to be found in the abodes of want and poverty. land and since my sojourn in this colony, of proving How many opportunities have I had, both in Engthe untruthfulness of these allegations! A bright and beautiful example of disinterested benevolence at this minute recurs to my mind; and as I love to look upon the sunny side of the picture, I shall make no apology for introducing to your notice one of our poor neighbours, a young woman, who lives about three miles higher up the river, in the opposite township, whose conduct is a lovely illustration of the widow, who was seen by our Lord casting her two mites into the treathe fatherless and motherless orphans of her poor sury; for she of her penury hath done that towards neighbour, that many of those persons, better circumstanced than herself, would have hesitated to do. It is now between three and four years, since a

At this very time the evils of want and sickness had visited her log-hut, and the potatoes and milk were all she had to support her family upon. The harvest had proved a failure, and her own babe was languishing at her breast for want of nourishment.

I saw her not many weeks ago. She was in ill health, and her baby was dead, but she told me, with tears of joy shining in her soft hazel eyes, that a kind good lady had taken her little adopted, and had promised to bring it up and do well by it" Better, indeed, than I could do for her; and she was dressed so beautifully, just like a lady's child; but she says she will not forget mammy Jones." Indeed, it were a pity she should ever forget the kind-hearted friend who had cherished her in her desolate infancy.

This poor young woman has had her own share of trials since she came into the bush. You would have been interested in the account she gave me of the first year of their settlement. "We were," she said, "too poor to make any stay at a town or village when ment on our lot, which, unfortunately, is of the worst we came up the country. After paying the first instaldescription, almost one block of stone, we had but a few dollars remaining, so I agreed with my husband, as it was then early in the spring, to go directly to the land, and try what we could do in putting up a bit of a hut, which people told us a man with a little help of his wife could do in one day; but it ado we had to make it out. was nightfall before we reached the place, and much I had then two little children, one at the breast, and another not much

more than a babe. These I had to carry, one on my back, the other in my arms, while my husband bore what bedding and utensils he could carry on his back. As ill luck would have it, before we could get even a few boughs cut down to shelter us, one of the most awful tempests came on that ever I witnessed. The thunder and lightning made my very heart

advantage of a race-week in the provincial town at one end of the line. It was by mere good fortune that some scores of lives were not sacrificed for the few hundred pounds thus grabbed at. Such conduct

*This article is the production of Mrs Trail, authoress of

to us by her sister, Miss Agnes Strickland.

The

things were so weary, that they slept without heeding the roaring thunder or the rain, and so we passed the first night in the bush."

The next day, she said, they set to work quite early; her husband chopped down the trees, and cut them into lengths, while she tended the children, and did what she could to help him. Then she and he put up the hut; she, with the aid of a handspike, helped to roll on the logs, and lay the foundation of their little dwelling, and when the walls were being raised, she stood on the upper logs, and helped to haul them up with a rope; then her husband notched them and fixed them; so that, by dint of hard labour, their outside walls were raised ere night, and a few cedar and hemlock boughs and tops closed them in till they were able to lay a roof of troughed sap-wood the next day. After that, they raised a wall of stones and clay against one end, which served for a chimney, with a square hole cut in the roof to let out the smoke. They next commenced chopping a bit of ground for potatoes. I forget now how they got on, but I rather think badly, and suffered much want of food during the winter. In the spring the wife fell ill with intermittent fever, and was reduced to the most deplorable condition. She also lost one of the children that year. Her husband was at last obliged to leave her, to get work at some distance, that he might procure food to keep them from absolute starvation.

Just imagine the dreadful condition to which these poor creatures must have been reduced, when the husband was forced to leave the sick helpless starving wife and children alone. It so chanced that the person to whom he applied for work was a good and charitable man; he noticed the miserable anxiety of the distressed husband, and asked the cause; this was soon made known, and without waiting for further proof, the master instantly hurried him off to the relief of his suffering partner, loaded with food and necessaries for her and the children.

"Oh, ma'am, sure never was sight so welcome to my eyes as that of my husband when he came in and set before me first one thing, then another; and I do believe that want of food was one of the causes of my illness, for, after a little while, I got well and strong; for our good master would never let my husband go home of a Saturday night without something for me, and his dear wife would fill a basket with cakes, and butter, and milk, and eggs, and all sorts of nice things, for me; and never, as long as I live, shall I forget the goodness of that blessed couple to me and mine." Is it not good and pleasant to hear of such worthy people? I was much struck by an anecdote she related of her eldest child, a little girl of only eight years old; and as it serves to illustrate the character of courage and energy which I have before attributed to our young Canadians, I shall fill out my sheet by relating it to you in the words of the mother, as near as I can recall them.

"My husband was out at work many miles from home, and I was alone with my little ones, when about midnight I found myself taken very poorly. Indeed, ma'am, my confinement was at hand, and my pains came upon me so exceedingly fast, that no time was to be lost in getting help, for my little girl was too young to be of any service at a time like that. In this sore distress, I knew not what to do; but I woke up Elizabeth, and told her I was ill, and bade her light up the fire. This she quickly did, and set on water to warm. Mammy,' said she, you look very badly; lie down on the bed again, and I will go for Mrs ;' a neighbour's wife, who lived about half a mile higher up through the bush.

'My child,' said I, you will not dare to go at this time of night alone through the dark woods. Mammy,' said she again, 'I can carry a cedar torch; there is dry bark on the roof.'

"Take your brother with you, then, for company,' said I to her. No, mammy, he will only hinder me by falling over the sticks and logs; I will run all the way, and soon be back again with Mrs and the little thing, with the thoughtfulness of an older person, begged me to make myself easy, and lie down till she returned. And away she went, and I looked out after her into the dark night, and watched her with the torch till I saw her take the right path; but she had not been gone long before I began to reproach myself for having suffered her to go alone into the woods. What if she should miss the blazed line, and wander off the track, and get lost in the swamps or devoured by wolves or bears?' thought I; and when this notion came over me, I became like one out of my senses; I ran to the edge of the clearing, calling upon the child to return, and then I came in and sat me down and cried, to think how I had sacrificed my child. Time passed on, and I grew worse and worse. 'Now,' I said to myself, I must perish, for there is no one to help me; and the child will be lost, and my poor girl; and what will my poor husband say when he returns? But God was merciful beyond my deserts, for even as the last pangs of a mother seized me, I heard the quick step of my child before the door, and her voice calling out cheerfully that Mrs was coming; and in that moment of thankfulness and joy the baby was born, even before they could close the door and come to my help."

The little girl had twice strayed from the path, but by good fortune discovered her error before it was too late, and had thus succeeded in bringing the needful help to her poor mother. Ilow few children of eight

years of age dared have ventured forth on such an errand at such an hour! Yet this is only one instance among many of fearless and devoted courage displayed by our young folks: I could almost term it infant heroism.

LORD CLIVE.

THE empire acquired by the British in Hindostan, whether it prove for good or bad to either party, forms certainly one of the most remarkable chapters in modern history. Its foundations were mainly laid by the singular energy of one man, originally an obscure gentleman, and one whose qualities seemed at first of a most unpromising kind, but who, cast

accidentally into a sphere where his peculiar abilities were fully brought out, ultimately became one of the most eminent men of his age.

as

Robert Lord Clive was descended from a family long settled near Market-Drayton, in Shropshire, and possessed of a small estate in that county. At the family seat there, on the 29th of September 1725, Robert Clive was born, being the eldest of a numerous offspring. His strangely resolute and combative character was early evinced. A relative, writing of him when he was seven or eight years of age, described him "immeasurably addicted to fighting." No enterprise was too dangerous for him to attempt, no feat too difficult for him to accomplish, in the usual line of boyish adventure. It may be supposed that a boy with such qualities and predilections could not be a very attentive or promising scholar, and in reality none of the many masters under whom he was placed could find out the way to tame or instruct him. In his eighteenth year, his despairing relatives were glad to give their heir a younger son's fate, and ship him off in the capacity of a writer for the East India Company's settlement of Madras.

The Company could at this time boast of no further possessions in India than their trading ports, and a few square miles of the surrounding country, which they rented from the native princes. Clive's landing was a moment much more worthy of an omen than that of Cæsar in Britain, or even of Cortez in Mexico. But the young and obscure writer entered Madras and assumed the duties of his office, without any peculiar notice from the elements or man. These duties, as might be expected, were very distasteful to him, and he soon fell into such a state of melancholy, that he twice raised a pistol to his head to take away his life. Both times, however, the weapon failed to go off; and Clive, it is said, was impressed by the circumstance with a belief that something great was in store for him. One fortunate result of his depression of spirits was his resorting to books for amusement. The governor granted the entrée of his library to the young writer, who made use of it so freely as to retrieve to a very considerable extent the consequences of his early idleness.

War existed at this time between the British and French; and not long after Clive's arrival, Madras fell into the hands of Dupleix, governor of Pondicherry. A number of the inhabitants left the place. Our youthful writer went with others to Fort St David; and as the circumstances of the hour were calculated to awaken his natural spirit, he sought and received the commission of an ensign in the Company's service. In some subsequent operations against the French, his coolness and intrepidity called down on him the notice of one of the best soldiers then in India, Major Lawrence. Still more attention, however, was drawn to him by his quelling, in a desperate duel, the pride of a military bully, long the terror of Fort St David. When, by the restoration of peace at home, Madras was delivered up to its proper owners, Clive returned for a short time to his desk; but circumstances soon drew him back into his proper sphere. At this period Hindostan was in a most unsettled state. The heir and successor of the Mogul emperors still lived at Delhi, and claimed the sovereignty of the entire peninsula, but in reality the authority was possessed by numerous independent and hereditary princes, who named themselves viceroys and sub-viceroys, but paid no tribute, excepting perhaps an occasional present. Dupleix, the French governor of Pondicherry, a subtle and ambitious man, saw how easy it would be for a civilised power to gain the virtual authority in the peninsula, if a footing were but once fairly obtained. An opportunity for this occurred, and he grasped at it. Rival claimants started up for the viceroyship of the Deccan and the nabobship of the Carnatic, and Dupleix, taking the part of certain of the pretenders, triumphantly placed them in power, with the help of French troops. Chunda-Sahib, one of those whom he assisted, became the nominal ruler of the Carnatic, but in truth the puppet of Dupleix. This acquisition of supremacy by the French in the very province in which Madras was situated, threatened nothing less than absolute ruin to the British interests in India. The Madras authorities felt this, and looked on in dismay, while their ally, the true heir of the throne of the Carnatic, was besieged by Chunda-Sahib and the French in Trinchinopoly, his only remaining possession. They might count upon seeing themselves next assailed, their property destroyed, and their lives thrown into jeopardy. They had scarcely any force to defend themselves, and in consequence all was anxiety and alarm.

At this contingency, Clive, who was yet but twentyfive years of age, started forward, to change, by his daring and genius, the whole aspect of affairs. Obtaining the rank of captain and commissary, he proposed to his superiors, as the only way of saving themselves and freeing the Carnatic, that they should give him a force to attack the capital of Arcot, by which means the French would certainly be drawn off Trinchinopoly. The bold proposal was assented to, and Clive, at the head of two hundred Europeans and three hundred sepoys, marched to Arcot, in spite of thunder, rain, and storm. The result which followed was merited by the intrepidity of the young leader. At his approach the garrison of Arcot fled in a panic, and the English entered without opposition. Knowing, however, that Chunda-Sahib would instantly attempt his dislodgement, Clive was no sooner installed in his conquest than he began to collect provisions and strengthen the place. His first assailants were the late holders of the garrison, who returned in a body, to the number of three thousand men. Clive allowed them to sit down before the walls in peace, and then made a night sortie, which ended in their total dispersion, with greatly diminished numbers, while the garrison lost not one man. ChundaSahib, enraged by this unexpected opposition, now sent his son, Rajah Sahib, to the recovery of Arcot; and Clive, with his own numbers reduced by casualties to three hundred and twenty men, found himself besieged by ten thousand. The fortifications were wretched and ruinous, yet for fifty days the young commander defended the walls against all assaults. Rajah Sahib now attempted to bribe Clive, but the vast sums offered were rejected with scorn. At length the rajah determined upon a decisive night attack. The leader of the garrison heard of it, and was on his guard. When the enemy advanced, therefore, driving before them elephants armed with strong head-pieces of iron, in the hope of forcing the gates by their united efforts, Clive directed incessant shots against the animals, which caused them to turn in agony upon their drivers, and trample them under foot. Thrice afterwards did the beleaguering force make a desperate onset on the place, and as often was repelled with great slaughter, till, finally, Rajah Sahib gave orders to his troops to fly from the spot. Next morning the garrison of Arcot saw before them no enemy.

The elated people of Madras sent the young victor a reinforcement of two hundred English, and seven hundred sepoys. With this force at command, he was not the man to remain idle. He immediately took steps to clear the Carnatic of every foe of its legitimate ruler, Mohammed Ali. Effecting a junction with one or two thousand native troops in the pay of that prince, he seized on the strong fort of Timery, and suddenly, by forced marches, presented himself before his old foe Rajah Sahib, then at the head of five thousand men. Over this prince he gained a decisive victory, and captured all the rajah's valuable military stores. Had the Madras authorities now supported the victor in an efficient way, he would have made no halt until he had closed the war; but they were dilatory, and allowed time to Rajah Sahib to collect a new army and menace the main British settlement itself. Clive, however, again surprised and defeated him signally.

Major Lawrence now came from England to assume the chief command. Clive showed his magnanimity by serving cheerfully as second to his friend, who well knew the young captain's value, and called him, in letters to friends, "a man of undaunted resolution, of a cool temper, and of a presence of mind which never left him in the greatest danger-born a soldier." Under Lawrence and Clive, the arms of Britain triumphed every where. The whole Carnatic was overrun, and Chunda-Sahib taken prisoner, in which situation he died, a victim to Mohammed Ali's jealousy. Dupleix tried every art to restore the French supremacy, but in vain. The conquest of the Carnatic, however, cost Clive his health, which he was forced to recruit by a journey to England. Before his departure he married Miss Maskelyne, daughter of the well-known astronomer and mathematician, Dr Maskelyne.

The eyes of the people of England were at this time directed anxiously to India, chiefly, perhaps, because no contest existed to arrest their attention in any other quarter of the world. France and Britain had concluded a peace, being content to look upon the strife in Hindostan as one not national, but concerning only two private trading companies. However, its importance was not underrated, and the gallant young captain (Clive was yet but twentyseven), who had conquered the Carnatic, and effected a most extraordinary change in the aspect of British affairs in the east, was welcomed by his countrymen with the loudest acclamations. The East India Company tendered him a vote of thanks, and presented to him a magnificent sword set with diamonds. His family, who had formerly looked upon him as a hopeless scape-grace, now regarded him as a hero, and the hope and pride of their ancient house. Constitutionally generous, he devoted a large part of the prizemoney which he brought home to relieving the pecuniary distresses of his father. The remainder was chiefly dissipated upon a contested parliamentary election, at the close of which the young soldier found himself unseated, and again poor. He then thought once more of India, and the offer of service which he made to the Company was at once accepted. He received the governorship of Fort St David, and was