Chambers' Edinburgh Journal

CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.

either on the surface or beneath it, and all the time pretending to demonstrate to him the results at which they had arrived. Sometimes the party would be stooping a rectangular form; sometimes they would be wading up to the knees in coal mud; sometimes they would be reduced, for a quarter of a mile together, to crawl on their hands and knees, also in deep mud. At one place the engineers passed through an aperture barely wide enough for themselves, who were men of moderate size, but which was evidently too narrow for Bruce. When they had passed, they said they were afraid it would be difficult for him to get through; but he was too proud to own himself defeated-tried the aperture, and fairly stuck in it. They had to pull him out by the head and shoulders; and a sore pull it was. Thus they led him about, he evidently sinking with fatigue and disgust, but never uttering a word of complaint, and they, course, greatly enjoying his distress, till towards dinner-time, when at length they brought him back to the bottom of the pit, the only place where he could stand upright. The figure which he now cut-one tall mass of black mud and rags-is not to be described. Nevertheless, up to the very last moment he maintained his usual composure, and the only remark he now made, that seemed to denote his feelings, was, that he did not think the wastes had been so dirty. It may be supposed that next day he showed himself a good deal more ready than he had formerly been to admit the conclusions to which experience and observation had brought his scientific advisers.

REMARKABLE CASES OF CIRCUMSTANTIAL
EVIDENCE.

BRADFORD THE INNKEEPER.*
JONATHAN BRADFORD kept an inn in Oxfordshire, on
the London road to Oxford. He bore a respectable
character. Mr Hayes, a gentleman of fortune, being
on his way to Oxford on a visit to a relation, put up
at Bradford's. He there joined company with two
gentlemen, with whom he supped, and in conversation
unguardedly mentioned that he had then about him a
considerable sum of money. In due time they retired
to their respective chambers; the gentlemen to a two-
bedded room, leaving, as is customary with many, a
candle burning in the chimney corner. Some hours
after they were in bed, one of the gentlemen, being
awake, thought he heard a deep groan in an adjoining
chamber; and this being repeated, he softly awoke
his friend. They listened together, and the groans
increasing as of one dying and in pain, they both in-
stantly arose, and proceeded silently to the door of
the next chamber, from which the groans had seemed
to come. The door being ajar, they saw a light in
the room. They entered, but it is impossible to paint
their consternation on perceiving a person weltering
in his blood in the bed, and a man standing over him
with a dark lantern in one hand, and a knife in the
other! The man seemed as much petrified as them-
selves, but his terror carried with it all the appearance
of guilt. The gentlemen soon discovered that the
murdered person was the stranger with whom they
had that night supped, and that the man who was
standing over him was their host. They seized Brad-
ford directly, disarmed him of his knife, and charged
him with being the murderer. He assumed by this
time the air of innocence, positively denied the crime,
and asserted that he came there with the same humane
intentions as themselves; for that, hearing a noise,
which was succeeded by a groaning, he got out of bed,
struck a light, armed himself with a knife for his de-
fence, and had but that minute entered the room be-
fore them. These assertions were of little avail; he
was kept in close custody till the morning, and then
taken before a neighbouring justice of the peace.
Bradford still denied the murder, but with such appa-
rent indications of guilt, that the justice hesitated not
to make use of this extraordinary expression on writ-
ing his mittimus," Mr Bradford, either you or myself

committed this murder."

This remarkable affair became a topic of conversation to the whole country. Bradford was condemned by the general voice of every company. In the midst of all this predetermination, came on the assizes at Oxford. Bradford was brought to trial; he pleaded not guilty. Nothing could be stronger than the evidence of the two gentlemen. They testified to the finding Mr Hayes murdered in his bed, Bradford at the side of the body with a light and a knife, and that knife, and the hand which held it, bloody. They stated, that, on their entering the room, he betrayed all the signs of a guilty man; and that, but a few minutes preceding, they had heard the groans of the deceased.

Bradford was executed shortly after, still declaring agreed to go up to his room; Jennings was fast asleep;
drawn forth a purse, containing exactly nineteen
that he was not the murderer, nor privy to the mur- his pockets were searched, and from one of them was
der, of Mr Hayes; but he died disbelieved by all.
Yet were these assertions not untrue! The murder guineas. Suspicion now became certainty; for the
was actually committed by the footman of Mr Hayes; gentleman declared the purse and guineas to be iden-
and the assassin, immediately on stabbing his master, tically those of which he had been robbed. Assistance
was called; Jennings was awakened, dragged out of
This bed, and charged with the robbery. He denied it
rifled his pockets of his money, gold watch, and snuff-
box, and then escaped back to his own room.
could scarcely have been effected, as after-circum- firmly, but circumstances were too strong to gain him
stances showed, more than two seconds before Brad- belief. He was secured that night, and next day taken
Brunell deposed to the facts upon oath, and Jennings,
ford's entering the unfortunate gentleman's chamber. before a justice of the peace. The gentleman and Mr
cence which could not be credited, was committed to
The world owes this information to a remorse of con-
science on the part of the footman (eighteen months having no proofs, nothing but mere assertions of inno-
after the execution of Bradford) when laid on a bed
of sickness. It was a death-bed repentance, and by take his trial at the next assizes.
that death the law lost its victim.

Bradford's defence on his trial was the same as before; he had heard a noise; he suspected that some villany was transacting; he struck a light, snatched up the knife, the only weapon at hand to defend himself, and entered the room of the deceased. He averred that the terrors he betrayed were merely the feelings natural to innocence, as well as guilt, on beholding so horrid a scene. The defence, however, could not but be considered as weak, contrasted with the several powerful circumstances against him. Never was circumstantial evidence so strong, so far as it went. There was little need for comment from the judge in summing up the evidence; no room appeared for extenuation, and the prisoner was declared guilty by the jury without their even leaving the box.

*This case, the reader will remark, is not unlike, in some points, that of Thomas Harris, in No. 182,

He was

It were to be wished that this account could close
here, but there is more to be told. Bradford, though
innocent of the murder, and not even privy to it, was
nevertheless a murderer in design. He had heard, as
well as the footman, what Mr Hayes had declared at
supper, as to the having a sum of money about him;
same dreadful intentions as the servant.
and he went to the chamber of the deceased with the
He could not believe his
struck with amazement on beholding himself an-
ticipated in the crime.
senses; and in turning back the bed-clothes to assure
himself of the fact, he in his agitation dropped his
knife on the bleeding body, by which means both his
hands and the weapon became bloody. These circum-
stances Bradford acknowledged to the clergyman who
attended him after sentence, but who, it is extremely
probable, would not believe them at the time.

Besides the graver lesson to be drawn from this
extraordinary case, in which we behold the simple in-
tention of crime so signally and wonderfully punished,
these events furnish a striking warning against the
careless, and, it may be, vain display of money or other
property in strange places. To heedlessness on this
score, the unfortunate Mr Hayes fell a victim. The
temptation, we have seen, proved too strong for two
persons out of the few who heard his ill-timed disclosure.

BRUNELL'S CASE.

In the year 1742, another case of a very remarkable
nature occurred near Hull. A gentleman travelling
to that place was stopped late in the evening, about
seven miles from the town, by a single highwayman,
with a mask on his face, who robbed the traveller of a
purse containing twenty guineas. The highwayman
rode off by a different path, full speed, and the gentle-
man, frightened, but not injured except in purse, pur-
sued his journey. It was growing late, however, and
being naturally much agitated by what had passed, he
rode only two miles farther, and stopt at the Bell
Inn, kept by Mr James Brunell. He went into the
kitchen to give directions for his supper, where he
related, to several persons present, the fact of his
having been robbed; to which he added this peculiar
circumstance, that when he travelled he always gave
his gold a peculiar mark, and that every guinea in
the purse taken from him was thus marked. Hence
he hoped that the robber would yet be detected.
Supper being ready, he retired. He had not long
finished his supper, when Mr Brunell came into the
parlour where he was, and after the usual inquiries of
landlords as to the guest's satisfaction with his meal,
"I have, sir," was the
observed, "Sir, I understand you have been robbed,
not far hence, this evening."
reply. "And your money was marked?" continued
the landlord. It was," said the traveller. "A cir-
cumstance has arisen," resumed Mr Brunell, "which
leads me to think that I can point out the robber.
Pray, at what time in the evening were you stopped?"
"It was just setting in to be dark," replied the tra-
"The time confirms my suspicions," said the
veller.
landlord; and he then informed the gentleman that
he had a waiter, one John Jennings, who had of late
been so very full of money, and so very extravagant,
that he (the landlord) had been surprised at it, and
had determined to part with him, his conduct being
every way suspicious; that long before dark that day,
he had sent out Jennings to change a guinea for him;
that the man had only come back since the arrival of
the traveller, saying he could not get change; and
that, seeing Jennings to be in liquor, he had sent him
off to bed, determining to discharge him in the morn-
ing. Mr Brunell continued to say, that when the
guinea was brought back to him, it struck him that
it was not the same which he had sent out for change,
there being on the returned one a mark, which he was
very sure was not upon the other; but that he should
probably have thought no more of the matter, Jen-
nings having frequently had gold in his pocket of late,
had not the people in the kitchen told him what the
traveller had related respecting the robbery, and the
circumstance of the guineas being marked. He (Mr
Brunell) had not been present when this relation was
made, and unluckily before he heard of it from the
people in the kitchen, he had paid away the guinea to
a man who lived at some distance, and who had now
gone home. "The circumstance, however," said the
landlord in conclusion, "struck me so very strongly,
that I could not refrain, as an honest man, from com-
ing and giving you information of it."

Mr Brunell was duly thanked for his candid dis-
closure. There appeared from it the strongest reason
for suspecting Jennings; and if, on searching him,
any others of the marked guineas should be found,
and the gentleman could identify them, there would
It was now
then remain no doubt in the matter.

So strong seemed the case against him, that most of the man's friends advised him to plead guilty, advice he rejected, and, when arraigned, pled not and throw himself on the mercy of the court. This guilty. The prosecutor swore to the fact of the robto the person of the prisoner, but thought him of the bery; though, as the thing took place in the dusk, and same stature nearly as the man who robbed him. To the highwayman was in a mask, he could not swear the purse and guineas, when they were produced in court, he swore-as to the purse, positively, and as to the marked guineas, to the best of his belief; and he testified to their having been taken from the pocket of the prisoner.

The prisoner's master, Mr Brunell, deposed as to the sending of Jennings for the change of a guinea, and to the waiter's having brought back to him a marked one, in the room of one he had given him unmarked. He also gave evidence as to the discovery of the purse and guineas on the prisoner. To consummate the proof, the man to whom Mr Brunell had paid the guinea, as mentioned, came forward and produced the coin, testifying at the same time that he had received it on the evening of the robbery from the prisoner's master, in payment of a debt; and the traveller, or prosecutor, on comparing it with the belief, one of the twenty marked guineas taken from other nineteen, swore to its being, to the best of his him by the highwayman, and of which the other nineteen were found on Jennings.

The judge summed up the evidence, pointing out all the concurring circumstances against the prisoner; and the jury, convinced by this strong accumulation of circumstantial evidence, without going out of court brought in a verdict of guilty. Jennings was executed some little time afterwards at Hull, repeatedly declaring his innocence up till the very moment of his execution.

Within a twelvemonth afterwards, Brunell, the master of Jennings, was himself taken up for a robbery committed on a guest in his house, and the fact being proved on trial, he was convicted, and ordered for execution. The approach of death brought on repentance, and repentance confession. Brunell not only acknowledged himself to have been guilty of many highway robberies, but owned himself to have comThe account which Brunell gave was, that after mitted the very one for which poor Jennings suffered. robbing the traveller, he had got home before him by swifter riding and by a nearer way. That he found a man at home waiting for him, to whom he owed a money in his pocket, he gave away one of the twenty little bill, and to whom, not having enough of other guineas which he had just obtained by the robbery. Presently came in the robbed gentleman, who, whilst Brunell, not knowing of his arrival, was in the stable, told his tale, as before related, in the kitchen. The gentleman had scarcely left the kitchen before Brunell entered it, and there, to his consternation, heard of the facts, and of the guineas being marked. He became dreadfully alarmed. The guinea which he had paid away he dared not ask back again; and as the affair of the robbery, as well as the circumstance of the marked guineas, would soon become publicly known, he saw nothing before him but detection, disgrace, and death. In this dilemma, the thought of accusing and sacrificing poor Jennings occurred to him. The an opportunity of concealing the money in the waiter's state of intoxication in which Jennings was, gave him pocket. The rest of the story the reader knows.

TROPICAL DELIGHTS.

Insects are the curse of tropical climates. The hete rouge lays the foundation of a tremendous ulcer. In a

moment you are covered with ticks. Chigoes bury themselves in your flesh, and hatch a large colony of young every chigoe sets up a separate ulcer, and has his own chigoes in a few hours. They will not live together, but private portion of pus. Flies get entry into your mouth, into your eyes, into your nose; you eat flies, drink flies, and breathe flies. Lizards, cockroaches, and snakes, get on the foot. Every thing bites, stings, or bruises; every into the bed; ants eat up the books; scorpions sting you of animal life that nobody has ever seen before, except second of your existence you are wounded by some piece Swammerdam and Meriam. An insect with eleven legs is

is struggling in the small beer, or caterpillar with several swimming in your tea-cup, a nondescript with nine wings dozen eyes in his belly is hastening over the bread and butter! All nature is alive, and seems to be gathering all her entomological hosts to cat you up, as you are standing, out of your coat, waistcoat, and breeches. Such are the tropics. All this reconciles us to our dews, fogs, vapours, and drizzle-to our apothecaries rushing about with gargles and tinctures-to our old, British constitutional coughs, sore throats, and swelled faces.Rev. Sydney Smith,

THE DEPUTY.

[From Pictures of the French, drawn by Themselves.] AUGUSTE was elected, two years ago, Deputy for the arrondissement of * * *.

On his arrival in Paris he called upon me. He was almost afraid of what he had dared to undertake. The formidable honour, once obtained, preyed on his mind. He was nervous and agitated, and looked up to me for advice; he seemed to be as giddy as if suddenly conveyed to the top of a lofty monument. I tried to compose him as well as I could, not daring to laugh at his terrors; for symptoms of gratified vanity shone through his fear, making it manifest that he was not a little proud of his dignity.

his care he was to go and see them often at college, and to send for and amuse them on holidays; and was actually to be responsible for the faults of four or five law and medical students, whose conduct he was commissioned to inspect. Nor was this all. His arrondissement had numerous claims on the budget, and instructed him to sue the government for grants of money, books, pictures, and statues. They set forth their claims to new bridges and new roads; they had valleys to fill up, mountains to level, and rivers to divert from their course; they wanted a regiment to enliven their principal towns, &c. &c. &c. Auguste was unable to stand it. Heaps of letters were brought him by every post, and incessant were the demands made upon his purse. The character of guardian angel of a country district is not maintained without a world of trouble. Auguste's door was besieged every morning by crowds of eager applicants. He had countless letters of introduction to write, and all his time was taken up by innumerable visitors. He was the natural comforter of all the misfortunes of his department. An unceasing call was made upon his cash-box, for loans or for charity. In the Chamber he was assailed by fresh importunities. Some came and for them he could do no less than procure tickets of up from the country on purpose to see and hear him, admission to the Chambers, and to view the public monuments. He was, moreover, expected to devote a few hours a-day to do the honours of Paris to his constituents, and to introduce at least the leading men amongst them to the minister.

Meanwhile, in the midst of these tribulations, honours came to console him: he was invited to court. He now

He frequently repeated his calls for some time after, anxious to consult with me about his line of conduct; but it was not long ere he offered me his patronage. A complete change, certainly rapid, if not sudden, came over my friend's manners. He speedily got rid of his natural timidity, I had almost said, his modesty; and I was never more struck by the powerful effect of the elective mandate, than when I saw how quickly it enlarged the intellectual faculties of my honourable friend, his talent for observation, his foresight, and, above all, his ability as a leader. A month had not yet elapsed, and I no longer recognised in Auguste the same man I had shortly before seen so frightened by his new duties, and so anxious to discharge them creditably. Auguste had already acquired perfect selfconfidence. On his first visits, he had spoken with began to think much of himself, and to consider whether great humility of what he wished to obtain from some high office of state would not suit him. After government for his native district; soon afterwards, he having so often exerted his influence in the service of others, he felt that he had some right not entirely to forexpatiated with energy on sundry improvements required in his department. Now, the interest and hap-get his own interest. Without any very strong political piness of France were uppermost in his thoughts, and played a stern hostility to power; but when he entered bias, and free from unjust prejudices, Auguste never disviews and projects embracing the whole world often public life, he wisely determined to avoid any engageengrossed his mind. It is right to add, that these ment that would hazard his independence. I cannot extended views of general politics effectually banished affirm whether any change has since taken place in his from his memory his pledges to forward and support convictions; but he lately told me, that if those fierce the local interests of his constituents, as he used to opponents who are always combating men in power, had call the elective body of his district. more opportunities to see them at less distance, they would undoubtedly be less severe.

[From less to more, Auguste shakes off his conscientiousness, forgets his legislatorial duty, and becomes a dangler at the levées and drawing-rooms of the great. His friend now calls upon him.]

Auguste seemed to me to be threatened by some terrible crisis; he was gloomy, and evidently preoccupied, his whole appearance betrayed his inward agitation. He had received letters from the country; his constituents were disappointed with him, and vexed to look in vain for the report of his speeches. Many questioned his abilities, while others ascribed his silence to the unsteadiness of his political opinions. There was no means to avoid it the time was come when he must speak. He was rather disappointed to find a troublesome duty interfere with his charming arrangements for his Parisian life. A bill closely affecting the local interests of his constituency was about to come under discussion. Nothing could justify his silence on such a question: and he came to the determination of making his maiden speech. The composition of Auguste's extempore speech took him three days. In order to make himself perfectly its master, he recited it several times with and without the manuscript to the chairs in his apartment. The next day, Auguste, prepared for all contingencies, ascended the rostrum, and delivered his speech without any hesitation, and most accurately. Nobody paid the least attention to it; the Chamber was very thin, the president had just taken the chair, and my honourable friend was only listened to by a few ladies, whom he had favoured with tickets for the grand occasion, and were, with myself, the only persons in the secret of the forthcoming debut.

I felt anxious to know the sensations of the new orator, rather expecting an ostentatious display. To my great surprise, Auguste was humble and diffident. He confessed that the rostrum had seemed to him raised to an extraordinary elevation; that at first he felt giddy, his tongue was tied, his mouth parched, and without the assistance of the eau sucrée he would have been unable to utter a syllable.

In Burns's Epistle to J. Lapraik, an old Scottish Bard," which appears among his poetical productions,

the following lines occur:

On fasten-een we had a rockin',

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin',
An' there was muckle fun an' jokin',
Ye needna doubt;
At length we had a hearty yokin'
At sang about.

There was de sang amang the rest,
A boon them a' it pleased me best,
That some kind husband had addrest
To some sweet wife;

It thirl'd the heart-strings through the breast,
A' to the life.

The following is Lapraik's song here referred to, as slightly altered and improved by Burns:When I upon thy bosom lean

And fondly clasp thee a' my ain,

I glory in the sacred ties

That made us ane, wha ance were twain:
A mutual flame inspires us baith-
The tender look, the melting kiss ;
Even years shall ne'er destroy our love,
But only gie us change o' bliss.
Hae I a wish? it's a' for thee;

I ken thy wish is me to please;
Our moments pass sae smooth away,
That numbers on us look and gaze.
Weel pleas'd they see our happy days,

Nor envy's sel' finds aught to blame;
And aye when weary cares arise,

Thy bosom still shall be my hame.
I'll lay me there, and tak' my rest;
And if that aught disturb my dear,
I'll bid her laugh her cares away,

And beg her not to drap a tear.
Hae I a joy? it's a' her ain;

United still her heart and mine;
They're like the woodbine round the tree,
That's twined till death shall them disjoin.

SLAVE TRAFFIC IN THE EAST.

Delivered under the most unfavourable circumstances, Auguste's speech was one of those to which reporters invariably apply the following stock phrase "The Honourable Deputy spoke in a very low tone of voice, which failed to reach us in the gallery." But I, foreseeing this, had taken measures accordingly. Assisted by Auguste, I had prepared four copies of the extempore speech, and sent them to the leading newspapers; and in the evening we went round to revise the proofs, and insert at the conclusion of the most striking paragraphs the sympathetic words, "Hear! hear!" "Profound sensation," and "General applause." We ventured to alter a few words, escaped in the warmth of the discussion; and a paragraph or two added after the debate, gave relief to the weak points of the speech. Such are the precautions constantly taken by every Deputy careful of his reputation as a speaker, and ours secured for Auguste the well-earned congratulations of his constituents. Numerous and flattering were the felicitations he received. He was the true protector of his district, the saviour of his country, and the glory of France. Every letter teemed with praise, which was accompanied in every instance by a request, a commission, a petition, or the demand for some favour. Each constituent had a wish to express, certain hopes to reveal, some expectations to hint. The Deputy was become on a sudden the guardian angel of his district, but it was not intended to leave him in the quiet enjoyment of a sinecure. He had purchases to make for the ladies of his neighbourhoodbooks, millinery, jewellery, china, and furniture; he had to advocate every claim; to support all rights, old and new, past, present, and future; to foster all complaints; to countenance all pretensions, and all petty, insatiable ambitions. Two or three schoolboys were entrusted to | Kolff's Voyages.

The Papuas, a people of the Molluccan Archipelago, are very jealous of foreigners, and their principal trade is in slaves. In no part of the world is this odious traffic carried to greater excess. "The price given for a slave on the coast is usually two pieces of white calico, valued at from eight to ten Spanish dollars; from sixty to seventy rupees (five or six pounds sterling) being obtained by the traders for them at Bali, and other places in that direction. Natives worthy of belief have assured me, that if a Papua of the coast is struck by a desire to obtain any articles brought by the foreign trader, for which he has no productions to give in exchange, he will not hesitate to barter one or two of his children for them; and if his own are not at hand, he will ask the loan of those of his neighbour, promising to give his own in exchange when they come to hand-this request being rarely refused. This appeared to me to be almost incredible; but the most trustworthy natives bore unanimous evidence to its truth. The mountaineers themselves sometimes sell their children also. In other places, I have known parents sell their children when their maintenance became too heavy a burden for them to bear, without heeding whether they would ever see them again." Such a total absence of feeling certainly brings these savage people below the level of dumb animals !

THE SPOTTED FLY-CATCHER. WE extract the following anecdotic sketch of this creature from a communication made to the Kendal Natural History Society, and published lately in the Kendal Mercury :

"A pair of small birds (the spotted fly-catcher of Bewick) built their nest lately in a corner of my bedroom window. I happened to see them when they were about beginning their little structure; but my attention was withdrawn for two or three days, and when I looked again it was finished, so that I unfortunately lost the opportunity (so seldom afforded) of witnessing the mode of building of those tiny architects. So soon, however, as the young were hatched, did these indefatigable birds feed them with flies of different descriptions, from five or six o'clock in the morning until ten at night; and often so quickly as every minute or half minute. The male as well as the female took part in this labour of love: for they were frequently both present at the nest at the same time; though, from their similarity of plumage, they are not easily distinguished. There were five young ones, and when a fly was brought, it was deposited in one of the could not ascertain the method by which they congaping mouths, without hesitation, though I regret I trived not to cram one too much, while another was left wanting, for the little cormorants were all ready to swallow when the food came. Whether each of the parents had its own part of the offspring to attend to, or however it was managed, I have little doubt they made an equitable distribution, and that no pets or pampered nestlings were allowed in this feathered household. I once took notice of three of them being fed in succession. A small white-winged butterfly was brought to the young, but not having been previously killed, instead of being swallowed, it was making its escape with what speed it could muster, but was pounced upon and seized before it had took it) had fed her young one, but before she flew away, got a foot from the nest. Another time, the hen (as I the cock came and sat down, when, without ceremony, she took the food from his bill, and gave it to one of the nestlings herself, as if, like a good mother, she had some doubt of her helpmate's sound discretion in the matter. She would often, after having delivered her fly, stay awhile and look around on her little family, as if to indulge a mother's fondness, or perhaps for the purpose of clearing away the excrement, which was done with wonderful dexterity the moment it was ejected. And it was curious I could never see any thing come from the young, except when one of the old birds was there to remove it. When the young were feathered, and had increased in size, they were a good deal incommoded for want of room in the nest. Indeed, they filled it above the brim; and it was amusing to see two or three of these little creatures clambering over and sitting on the backs of the others; yet, although the nest was placed close to the edge of the window sill, such was their instinct of self-preservation, they took care not to fall from it, which would have been almost instant destruction. After they had left the nest, they sat near it in a row, for two or three days, on the outside of the window, where the old ones fed them as usual. They did not take their final departure all together, at the same time; on one day, two went away; on the day following, another; and the remaining two on the next. It appears as if they had immediately removed to some distance, as I have never since been able to get a sight of my little fly-catchers. The last disappeared on the 1st of July. Perhaps I ought to mention, that in order to witness the goings-on in the nest, unobserved myself, I heaped up a pile of books and newspapers to form a screen, through an opening in which I could view the nest and its inhabitants.

I noticed one circumstance so remarkable, that I must not forget to mention it. The nest was sheltered from the rays of the forenoon and noontide sun by a projection of a part of the house; but when he came round to three or four o'clock in the afternoon on a clear day, his warm beams shone right against the corner where the nest was placed, to the great distress of the poor little nestlings. (The old birds had evidently not foreseen this, for the inconvenience would have been nearly prevented, had they built in the other corner of the window.) One warm afternoon, the young ones were panting with open bills from the great heat; and judge my surprise and pleasure to see one of the old birds (the female, I supposed) seated on the sunward side of the nest, and stretching over them with wings a little extended, to shield and protect them, and apparently, from her open mouth, suffering as much or more than themselves! Here she would continue till the sun got lower. I observed them for at least three sunny afternoons; and when the young were suffering from the heat, one of the old birds was never absent, sitting at the nest side, if not to shelter, to lean over with open bill, as if, at least, to sympathise with her distressed brood!

In respect to this beautiful trait in the character of these little birds, shielding their young from the burning rays of the sun, I have certainly read of something of the same kind related of the swallow or martin, though I do not recollect where. It is undoubtedly a very striking circumstance, but I shall not comment upon it. Yet one thing may be remarked. It is clear they could perceive the distress of their young; they could infer the cause, and they took the most effectual means in their power to ward off the inconvenience. The more intimately we are acquainted with the habits of the inferior animals, the more shall we be convinced of the surprising degree of intelligence conferred upon them by their Great Creator, whether we choose to call it instinct or reason."

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CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,"

"CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c.

NUMBER 422.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 29, 1840.

JUSTICE IN BYGONE TIMES. JUSTICE is now administered in this island with so much care and impartiality on the part of the judges, that, among all the complaints of the age, we never hear the slightest insinuation against the honour of our courts of law. The case was not always so. Little more than two hundred years have elapsed since even the illustrious Bacon was degraded from his office of Lord Chancellor for taking bribes. The custom of making new-year presents to judges was then recognised as one inferring no dishonour either in the giver or the receiver. We have not much information on this subject regarding the English courts of law, but some curious particulars have lately fallen under our attention, with respect to the course of justice in our own northern soil. Of these we propose to give a condensed view: most readers will, we think, be amused with them, and it will be generally matter of surprise that judicial corruption so recently flourished amongst us.

For the last three hundred years the supreme administration of law in Scotland has, as must be generally known, rested in the Court of Session, a tribunal composed till very lately of fifteen judges (now thirteen), some of whom hear causes in the first instance (called outer-house procedure), while others hear them in the second and final instance (called inner-house procedure). This court, in the latter part of the sixteenth century, is described by Buchanan as extremely arbitrary, and by a nearly contemporary historian (Johnston) as infamous for its dishonesty. An advocate or barrister is described by the latter writer as taking money from his clients, and dividing it among the judges for their votes. At this time we find the chancellor (Lord Fyvie) superintending the lawsuits of a friend, and writing to him the way and manner in which he proposed they should be conducted. But the strongest evidence of the corruption of “ the lords” is afforded by an act of 1579, prohibiting them "be thame selffis or be their wiffis or cervandes, to tak in ony time cuming, buddis, brybes, gudes or geir, fra quhatever persone or persons presentlie havand, or that heirefter sall happyne to have, any actionis or caussis pursewit befoir thame, aither fra the persewer or defender," under pain of confiscation. Had not bribery been common amongst the judges, such an act as this could never have been passed.

In the curious history of the family of Somerville there is a very remarkable anecdote illustrative of the course of justice at that period. Lord Somerville and his kinsman Somerville of Cambusnethan had long carried on a litigation. The former was at length advised to use certain means for the advancement of his cause with the Regent Morton, it being then customary for the sovereign to preside in the court. Accordingly, having one evening caused his agents to prepare all the required papers, he went next morning to the palace, and being admitted to the Regent, informed him of the cause, and entreated him to order it to be

called that forenoon. He then took out his purse, as if to give a few pieces to the pages or servants, and slipping it down upon the table, hurriedly left the presence-chamber. The earl cried several times after him, "My lord, you have left your purse," but he had no wish to stop. At length, when he was at the outer porch, a servant overtook him with a request that he would go back to breakfast with the regent. He did so, was kindly treated, and soon after was taken by Morton in his coach to the court-room in the city. "Cambusnethan, by accident, as the coach passed, was standing at Niddry's Wynd head, and having inquired who was in it with the regent, he was answered, None but Lord Somerville and Lord Boyd ; upon which he struck his breast, and said, "This day my cause is lost !' and indeed it proved so."

"Anecdotes of the Early Administration of Justice in Scotland;" being a paper in the curious miscellany entitled "The Court of Session Garland. Edinburgh, Thomas Stevenson, 1839."

By twelve o'clock that day, Lord Somerville had gained a cause which had been hanging in suspense for years. In those days, both civil and criminal procedure was conducted in much the same spirit as a suit at war. When a great noble was to be tried for some monstrous murder or treason, he appeared at the bar with as many of his retainers, and as many of his friends and their retainers, as he could muster, and justice only had its course if the government chanced to be the strongest, which often was not the case. It was considered dishonourable not to countenance a friend in troubles of this kind, however black might be his moral guilt. The trial of Bothwell for the assassination of Darnley is a noted example of a criminal outbraving his judges and jury. Relationship, friendly connection, solicitation of friends, and direct bribes, were admitted and recognised influences to which the civil judge was expected to give way. If a difficulty were found in inducing a judge to vote against his conscience, he might at least perhaps be induced by some of those considerations to absent himself, so as to allow the case to go in the desired way. If we are to judge by the story of Christie's Will, in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, even force would be sometimes resorted to, to cause the absence of a judge. The Earl of Traquair, having a law-suit which was expected to turn upon the voice of the president (Gibson of Durie), hired Christie's Will, the last of the Border freebooters (it was about 1630) to kidnap that judge. The man accordingly seized his lordship one day as he was riding on the Sands near Leith, and carried him off, muffled up and hoodwinked, to a tower in Annandale, where he kept him immured for several months. The president was given up for dead; another was appointed in his place; and the cause went in favour of Traquair. The freebooter then muffled up the judge once more, and, carrying him back to Leith, set him down on the very same spot where he had originally seized him. This is a strange story, but there is good reason for believing it to be in the main true. What makes the circumstance the more remarkable, Traquair was a man who held high state offices under Charles I., being at one time lord treasurer, and at another commissioner, or representative of the king, in parliament.

It is a general tradition in Scotland, that the English judges whom Cromwell sent down to administer the law in Scotland, for the first time made the people acquainted with impartiality of judgment. It is added, that after the Restoration, when native lords were again put upon the bench, some one in presence of the President Gilmour, lauding the late English judges for the equity of their proceedings, his lordship angrily remarked, "De'il thank them-a wheen kinless loons!" That is, No thanks to them; a set of fellows without relations in the country, and who consequently had no one to please by their decisions.

After the Restoration, there was no longer direct bribing, but other abuses still flourished. The judges were tampered with by private solicitation. Decisions went in favour of the man of most personal or family influence. The following anecdote of the reign of Charles II. rests on excellent authority: "A Scotch gentleman having entreated the Earl of Rochester to speak to the Duke of Lauderdale upon the account of a business that seemed to be supported by a clear and undoubted right, his lordship very obligingly promised to do his utmost endeavours to engage the duke to stand his friend in a concern so just and reasonable as his was; and, accordingly, having conferred with his grace about the matter, the duke made him this very odd return, that, though he questioned not the right of the gentleman he recommended to him, yet he could not promise him an helping hand, and far less success in business, if he knew not first the man, whom perhaps his lordship had some reason to conceal, 'because,' said he to the earl, if your lordship were as well acquainted with the customs of Scotland as I

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

One peculiar means of favouring a particular party was then in the power of the presiding judge: he could call a cause when he pleased. Thus he would watch till one or more judges who took the opposite view to his own were out of the way, either in attendance on other duties, or from illness, and then calling the cause, would decide it according to his predilection. Even the first President Dalrymple, afterwards Viscount Stair, one of the most eminent men whom the Scottish law-courts have ever produced, condescended to favour a party in this way. An act, enjoining the calling of causes according to their place in a regular roll, was passed in the reign of Charles II.; but the practice was not enforced till the days of President Forbes, sixty years later. We have a remarkable illustration of the partiality of the bench, in a circumstance which took place about the time of the Revolution. During the pleadings in a case between Mr Pitilloch, an advocate, and Mr Aytoun of Inchdairnie, the former applied the term briber to Lord Harcarse, a judge seated at the moment on the bench, and who was father-in-law to the opposite party. The man was imprisoned for contempt; but this is not the point. Not long after, in this same cause, Lord Harcarse went down to the bar in his gown, and pleaded for his son-in-law Ay

toun !

About that period, a curious indirect means of influencing the judges began to be notorious. Each lord had a dependent or favourite, generally some young relative practising in the court, through whom it was understood that he could be prepossessed with a favourable view of any cause. This functionary was called a Peat or Pate, from a circumstance thus related in Wilkes's North Briton :-" One of the

former judges of the Court of Session, of the first character, knowledge, and application to business, had a son at the bar, whose name was Patrick; and when the suitors came about, soliciting his favour, his question was, Have you consulted Pat ?. If the answer was affirmative, the usual reply of his lordship was, I'll inquire of Pat about it; I'll take care of your cause; go home and mind your business.' The judge, in that case, was even as good as his word, for, while his brother judges were robing, he would tell them what pains his son had taken, and what trouble he had put himself to, by his directions, in order to find out the real circumstances of the dispute; and as no one on the bench would be so unmannerly as to question the veracity of the son, or the judgment of the father, the decree always went according to the information of Pat. At the present era, in case a judge has no son at the bar, his nearest relation (and he is

sure to have one there) officiates in that station. But, as it frequently happens, if there are Pats employed on each side, the judges differ, and the greatest interest-that is, the longest purse-is sure to carry it." There is a rhyme of the latter part of the seventeenth century, satirising the three sons of George first Earl of Melville :

"Three brave sons and all gallant statesmen,
There's Crooked Son, and Wicked Son, the third son is a
Pateman,

And if your purse be full enough, it will end all debate, man." This Pateman was James Melville of Balgarvie : his two elder brothers were successively Earls of Melville. There is another satirical poem of the same era, entitled "Robert Cook's Petition to the Lords of Session against the Peats." It is curious and humorous; but

*A Moral Discourse on the Power of Interest. By David Abercromby, M.D. London, 1691. p. 60.

CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.

in such matters one does not know how much to be- getting any thing done was, that it has been so long lieve. The writer, after stating

"That he's likely to starve unless he's made 2 peat," wishes to know

"Whose peat he must be:
The President's he cannot, because he has three.
And for my lord Hatton, his son now Sir John
By all is declared to be peattie patron.

It's true my lord Register3 at first did appear

A vacant place to have, but your petitioner doth fear,
For no other end did his brother of late

His ensign's place sell, but to be made a pate.
Old Nevoy by all is judged such a sot,

That his peatship could ne'er be thought worth a groat;
Yet John Hay of Murie, his peaty as I hear,

By virtue of his daughter, makes thousands a-year
Newbyth heretofore went snips with the peats,
But, having discovered them all to be cheats,
Resolves for the future his son Willie Baird
Should be peat for his house, as well as young la
My lord Newton, a body that gladly would live,
Is ready to take whate'er men would give,
Who wisely considers when peat to himself,
He avoids all danger in parting the pelf."
He then concludes his petition with craving

"To be a peat to some peat,

Or in Pittenweem's language to make his peat's meat." At the Union, a strong sense of the partiality of the Court of Session pervaded the public mind in Scotland, and it was in consequence of this feeling that an appeal to the House of Lords was then established. In a pamphlet of that time, in which the appeal was ably contended for, the absolute power hitherto enjoyed by the Court of Session was said to have filled the nation "What shall they think," says this with discontent. writer," of the absolute power, who observe that men take not ordinarily their measures according to the justice or injustice of their suits, but their influence and interests with the lords, adhering to the old compend of the Scots law, Show me the man, and I'll show you the law." From this time, moreover, the national feelings to which the evil was in some measure to be traced, began to decline. Formerly, Scotland was a small, secluded country, of little population, and yet always placed in competition with a powerful and populous one. Hence, an intense self-love, like that which animates Holland at this day, took possession of it. Accustomed to look at every thing through the spectacles of national prepossession, and to defend every thing Scotch without the least regard to its real merits, it is not wonderful that men became affected by still narrower considerations, that they loved their own relatives too well to do justice upon them, and would stand by a friend not only in promoting his legitimate welfare, but in wreaking out his worst pas It was not with them "God defend the right," but "God defend the good Hamilton's regiment, right or wrong." But during the last century, when Scotland had become almost an integral part of another country, these prejudices gradually gave way. Public morality improving at the same time from the operation of other causes, partiality of judgment on the bench was gradually extinguished.

sions.

We bring the subject to a conclusion by a quotation from the Court of Session Garland :-"Even so far down as 1737, traces of the ancient evil may be found. Thus, in some very curious letters which passed between William Foulis, Esq., of Woodhall, and his agent Thomas Gibson of Dury, there is evidence that private influence could even then be resorted to. The agent writes to his client, in reference to a pending Lawsuit (23d November 1735): I have spoke to Strachan and several of the lords, who are all surprised Sir Francis Kinloch)7 should stand that plea. By Lord St Clair's advice, Mrs Kinloch is to wait on Lady Cairnie to-morrow, to cause her ask the favour of Lady St Clair to solicit Lady Betty Elphingston and Lady Dun. My lord promises to back his lady, and to ply both their lords, also Leven and his cousin Murkle. He is your good friend, and wishes success; he is jealous Mrs Mackie will side with her cousin Beatie. St Clair says, Leren? has only once gone wrong upon his hand since he was a Lord of Session. Mrs Kinloch has been with Miss Pringle, Newhall. Young Doctor Pringle is a good agent there, and discourses Lord Newhall10 strongly on the law of nature,' &c.

Again, upon the 23d of January 1737, he writes :-
'I can assure you that when Lord Primrose left this
town, he staid all that day with Lord J(ustice) C(lerk),11
and went to Andrew Bromfield at night, and went
off post next morning; and what made him despair of

1 Lord Stair.

2 Mr Charles Maitland, afterwards Earl of Lauderdale.

3 Sir Archibald Primrose.

Sir David Nevoy, admitted a judge in 1061.

5 Sir John Baird, made a judge in 1664.

Sir David Falconer. This gentleman was grandfather to
David Hume by the mother's side.
7 He died 2d March 1747. His grandfather was an Edinburgh
clothier, who, acquiring considerable wealth, became Dean of
Guild, and subsequently Lord Provost of Edinburgh. Sir Walter
Scott used to tell an anecdote of one of the family who act up as
a man of fashion, and who being present at a meeting of the free-
holders of Haddington, took occasion to rally an old gentleman
who was there upon the antique cut of his garments, remarking
that he was very much delighted with their elegance and fashion.
"Deed, my man (was the reply), so you ought, for they were
made by your grandfather."

8 John Sinclair of Murkle, appointed a Lord of Session in 1733.
9 Alexander Leslie, advocate, succeeded his nephew as fifth
Earl of Leven, and fourth Earl of Melville, in 1729. He was
named a Lord of Session and took his seat on the bench on the
11th of July 1734. He died 2d February 1754.

10 Sir Walter Pringle of Newhall, raised to the bench in 1718.
11 Andrew Fletcher of Milton was appointed, on the resignation
of James Erskine of Grange, Lord Justice-Clerk, and took his
on the bench 21st June 1735.

delayed, after promising so frankly, when he knew

the one could cause the other trot to him like a
penny-dog, when he pleased. But there's another
hindrance: I suspect much Pentyl has not been in
town as yet, and I fancy it's by him the other must
be managed. The Ld. J(ustice) Clerk) is frank
clippies. I met
enough, but the other two are
with Bavelaw and Mr Wm. Tuesday last. I could
not persuade the last to go to a wine-house, so away
we went to an aquavity-house, where I told Mr Wm.
what had passed, as I had done before that to Bavelaw.
They seemed to agree nothing could be done just now,
but to know why Lord Drummore dissuaded bringing
in the plea last winter. I have desired Lord IIaining
to speak, but only expect his answer against Tuesday
or Wednesday.'

It is not our intention to pursue these remarks
further, although we believe that judicial corruption
continued long after the Union. We might adduce
Lord President Forbes as a witness on this point, who,
one of the most upright lawyers himself, did not take
any pains to conceal his contempt for many of his
brethren. A favourite toast of his is said to have been
-here's to such of the judges as don't deserve the
gallows.'3 Latterly, the complaint against the judges
was not so much for corrupt dealing, with the view of
enriching themselves or their pet' lawyer, but for
weak prejudices and feelings, which but ill accorded
with the high office they filled.

These abuses, the recapitulation of which may amuse and instruct, are now only matter of history-the spots that once sullied the garments of justice are effaced, and the old compend,Show me the man, and I'll show you the law,' is out of date."

PEROUROU, OR THE BELLOWS-MENDER.
I was born in one of those little hamlets situated in
the neighbourhood of Montelemart, in the south of
France. My father had made many a fruitless effort
to raise himself above indigence. His last resource in
his old age arose from the exercise of a talent which
he had acquired in his youth, that of bellows-mending.
This, too, was the humble profession which I was
destined to follow. Being endowed by nature with
quick and lively faculties, both of mind and body, I
soon grew skilful in my trade, and, having an ambi-
tious spirit, set off for Lyons, to prosecute my calling
there. I was so far successful, that I became a great
favourite with the chamber-maids, who were my chief
employers, and whom my good looks and youth inte-
rested in my favour.

One evening, however, as I was returning home after
my day's rounds, I was accosted by four well-dressed
young men, who threw out a few pleasantries on my
profession, which I answered in a style of good-hu-
moured raillery, that seemed to surprise and please
them. I saw them look significantly at one another,
and heard one of them say, "This is our man."
"Perourou," said one, you shall sup
The words alarmed me, but my fears were speedily
We have a scheme which may do you
dispelled.
with us.
good. If you do not agree to it, we shall not harm
you, but only ask you to keep our secret. Do not be
afraid, but come with us." Seeing all of them to be
gentlemen in appearance, I did not hesitate to accept
the offer. They conducted me through a number of
cross-streets, and at last entered a handsome house,
in an apartment of which we found six other young
men, who appeared to have been waiting impatiently
for my conductors. A few explanatory words passed
respecting me, and soon afterwards we sat down to
supper. Being young, thoughtless, and light-hearted,
I gave way to the enjoyment of the hour, and vented
a succession of pleasantries which seemed highly to

1 Probably Gibson of Pentland.

2 Hew Dalrymple of Drummore, appointed a Lord of Session in
1726.
3A story is told of one of the judges of the old school, which, if

correct, indicates, that not quite a century since there still did
exist some of the old leaven. It is said that a law-suit had for some

time depended between the magistrates of a certain circuit town
and some neighbouring proprietor, which had been brought to a

termination unfavourable to the wishes of the former, by the ad

who happened to be a justiciary judge, had occasion officially to
mirable management of one of the judges. This eminent person,
visit the town in question, where he was received with becoming
gratitude and attention by the gratified magistrates. At a feast
-whether given by the judge or his clients we forget-the magis-
trates gravely thanked the learned lord for his kind exertions, and
trusted he would continue his patronage. My lord smiled and
bowed, and looked particularly amiable; presuming on his good
nature and complacent demeanour, one of the number ventured
to hint, that his lordship's services might again be required, as
they, emboldened by their former success, had commenced an-
other new suit, and he was humbly requested to carry them
through with that case also. "Na, na, I canna do that," ex-
"Why?" exclaimed all the astonished magis-
claimed my lord.
trates, amazed probably at what they conceived to be a most
"Because," rejoined the
opposite party."
judge, "you're too late; I've already gi'en my promise to the

uncalled-for scruple of conscience.

4 In addition to the extraordinary and intrinsic interest which attaches to the above story of real life in France, and which we abridge from the original narrative, it possesses the additional attraction of having afforded the groundwork of a very popular piece, by one of our most distinguished modern English authors. That gentleman has himself made an admission of this fact. We shall not anticipate the interest of the story, by the mention of

own history.

names at present. Perourou, or the Bellows-Mender, relates his
5 Perourou is a name familiarly given to bellows-menders in
Lyons, probably from their mode of crying in the streets.

addressed me thus: "The ten persons whom you see
silent and thoughtful ere long, and finally one of them
please my chance companions. But they all grew
before you," said he, " are all engravers and citizens
of Lyons. We are all in good circumstances, and
make a very handsome living by our occupation. We
are all attached to one another, and formed a happy
society, till love stepped in to disturb us. In the street
of St Dominic there lives a picture-merchant, a man
of respectable station, but otherwise an ordinary per-
sonage. He has, however, a daughter, a creature pos-
sessed of every accomplishment, and endowed with
every grace, but all whose amiable qualities are shaded
by one defect-pride, insupportable pride. As an
example of the way in which this feeling has led her
dresses to her, and was approved of by her father, as
to treat others, I will own that I myself paid my ad-
one by birth and circumstances much their superior.
But what was the answer which the insolent girl her-
self gave to my suit? Do you think, sir, that a young
be the wife of an engraver?'
woman like me was born for nothing better than to

Her charms and her pride have been equally felt by us all," continued the speaker, " and we hold that she has cast a slur both on us and our profession. We therefore have resolved to show this disdainful girl, that she has not indeed been born to the honour of charming woman, who to attain perfection wants only being the wife of an engraver. Now, will you (adto have her pride mortified and her vanity punished?" dressing me) venture to become the husband of a "Yes," answered I, spurred on by the excitement of the moment; "I comprehend what you would have me do, and I will fulfil it in such a manner that you shall have no reason to blush for your pupil."

The three months that followed this strange scene were wholly occupied with preparations for the part me from a plain bellows-mender into a fine gentleman. I was to perform. Preserving the strictest possible secrecy, my confederates did their best to transform other of the engravers devoted himself to the task of Bathing, hairdressers, &c., brought my person to a fitting degree of refinement, while every day one or teaching me music, drawing, and other accomplishments; and nature had furnished me with a disposition to study, and a memory so retentive that my friends were astonished at the progress of their disBut the time came when I was to be made sensible, for ciple. Thoughtless of all else, I felt the deepest delight in acquiring these new rudiments of education. entered upon. The confederates at length thought the first time, of the true nature of the task I had me perfect, and in the character of the rich Marquis of Rouperon, proprietor of large estates in Dauphiny, I was installed in the first hotel in Lyons. It was under this title that I presented myself to the picture dealer in St Dominic Street. I made a few purchases from him, and seemed anxious to purchase more. After a little intercourse of this kind, he sent me word one morning that he had just received a superb call and see them. I did so, and was received not by collection of engravings from Rome, and begged me to got of that lovely girl, and, for the first time in my him, but by Aurora. This was the first sight I had life, my young and palpitating heart felt the power of beauty. A new world unfolded itself before my eyes; I soon forgot my borrowed part; one sentiment absorbed my soul, one idea enchained my faculties. The fair Aurora perceived her triumph, and seemed to listen with complacency to the incoherent expressions The intoxication of enof passion which escaped my lips. That interview fixed my destiny for ever! joying her presence hurried me on, blind to every thing else. For several months I saw her every day, and enjoyed a state of happiness only damped by the self-accusing torments of solitary hours, and by the necessity I was under of regularly meeting my emplcyers, who furnished me with money, jewels, every thing I could require. At length Aurora's father gave a little fête in the country, of which I was evidently the hero. A moment occurred, in which, at her feet. She heard me with modest dignity, while thoughtless of all but my love, I threw myself a suitor a tear of joy, which dimmed for a moment her fine eyes, convinced me that pride was not the only emotion which agitated her heart-yes, I discovered that I was beloved!

In her presence I was an impostor, but, heaven is my witness, I deceived her not without remorse.

I remembered nothing but herself; but in the stillness
of solitude, sophistry and passion disappeared, leaving
When I associated
a dreadful perspective before me.
soon to fall upon her, when I figured to myself her deli-
the idea of Aurora with the miserable fate which was
cate hands employed in preparing the coarsest nourish-
with a cold perspiration. But self-love would come to
ment, I shrunk back with horror, or started up covered
my aid, and I thought, if she truly loved me, she might
yet be happy. I would devote my life, I swore, to the
task of strewing flowers along her path. But all my
hopes, all my fears cannot be told. Suffice it to say,
that her father believed me when I represented my
estates as being in Dauphiny, a distant province. I
would not allow a farthing of Aurora's portion to be
settled otherwise than on herself. So there was one
At the altar, a shivering ran through all my veins-a
baseness of which I was not guilty. We were married.
general trepidation seized my whole frame and I
tears had not come to my relief. The silly crowd
should infallibly have sunk to the earth, if a flood of

around mistook the last cry of expiring virtue for an excess of sensibility. A fortnight after the marriage, as had been arranged by my employers, at whose mercy I was, we started for Montelemart, my unfortunate bride believing that we were going to a far different place. Several of the engravers were themselves our attendants, disguised, and acting as couriers to our magnificent equipage. The awful moment of exposure arrived; and when it did come, it proved more terrible than even I had anticipated. The engravers made the equipage be drawn up before a mean and miserable cottage, at the door of which sat my humble but venerable father. Now came the awful disclosure. The poor, deceived, and surprised Aurora, was handed out. The engravers came up; they pulled off their disguises; and he whom Aurora had so pointedly refused, exclaimed to her, "No, madam, no, you have not been born or brought up for an engraver; such a lot would have done too much honour to you. A bellows-mender is worthy of you, and such is he whom you have made your husband!" Trembling and boiling with rage, I would have replied; but the engravers entered the coach, and, like the shifting of a scene in a theatre, all our grandeur disappeared with them!

Poor Aurora scarcely heard what had been said. The truth had flashed upon her, and she sank back in a swoon. Recollect that I had now acquired a considerable share of sensibility and delicacy from my late life. At that cruel moment I trembled alike at the thought of losing the woman I adored, and of seeing her restored to life. I lavished on her the most tender cares, yet almost wished that those cares might be unavailing. She recovered at length her senses, but the moment that her frenzied eye met mine, "Monster!" she exclaimed, and again became insensible. I profited by her condition to remove her from the sight of those who had gathered around, and to place her on a humble straw couch. Here I remained beside her till she opened her eyes; mine shrunk from her glance. The first use she made of speech was to interrupt the broken exclamations of love, shame, and remorse, which fell from my lips, and to beg to be left alone for a time. The niece of the curate of the parish, however, who chanced to be by, remained beside her, and the poor young victim of my villany, for she was but eighteen, seemed glad of her attentions.

How shall I describe the horrible night which I then passed? It was not on my own account that I suffered or feared. She, she alone was in my thoughts. I dreaded above all, for my love was still predominant, to see that heart alienated whose tenderness was necessary to my existence, to read coldness in that eye on whose 100k my peace depended. But could it be otherwise? Had I not basely, vilely darkened all the prospects of her life, and overwhelmed her with intolerable shame and anguish? That night was a punishment that would almost have wiped out any lesser sin. Frequently, it may be believed, I sent to know how Aurora was. She was calm, I was told; and, indeed, to my surprise she entered in the morning the room where I was. She was pale, but collected. I fell before her on the ground, and spoke not. "You have deceived me," said she; it is on your future conduct that my forgiveness shall depend. Do not take advantage of the authority you have usurped. The niece of the curate has offered me an asylum. There I will remain till this matter can be thought of with calm

ness."

Alas, these were soothing but deceitful words! Within a day or two after this event, the interval of which I spent in forming wild hopes for the future, I received at once two letters. The first was from the engravers, the causes of my exaltation and my fall. They wrote to me that "my acquaintance had begot in them a friendship for me; that they had each originally subscribed a certain sum for the execution of their plot; that they wished not to carry their revenge too far; and that they would supply me with money and every thing necessary for entering into some business, and ensuring the creditable support of myself and Aurora." The other letter was from Aurora. "Some remains of pity," she said, "which I feel for you, notwithstanding your conduct, induce me to inform you that I am now in Lyons. It is my intention to enter a convent, which will rid me of your presence; but you will do well to hold yourself in readiness to appear before every tribunal in France, till I have found one which will do me justice, and break the chains in which you have bound your

victim."

This letter threw me into despair. I hurried to the curate's, but could learn nothing of Aurora's retreat, although I became assured that the curate and his niece, despising my mean condition, had been the urgent advisers of the step Aurora had taken. I then hastened to Lyons, where the affair had now created a great sensation. I lived unknown, however, and obscure, and saw only the engravers, who, notwithstanding the base plot which they had through me effected, were men of not ungenerous dispositions. As they had driven me out of my former means of livelihood, I conceived myself at liberty to accept a sum which they offered nie to enter into trade with. They advised me how to dispose of it at once, and I laid it out in a way which speedily, and without trouble to me, augmented it greatly. Meanwhile, the father of Aurora had made every preparation for annulling the marriage. This could only be done by publicly detailing the treachery which had been practised.

Never, perhaps, was court-house more crowded than that of Lyons on the day on which the case was heard. Aurora herself appeared, and rivetted the eyes of all present, not to speak of my own. Unknown and unseen, I shrunk into a corner, like a guilty thing. The counsel for Aurora stated the case, and pleaded the victim's cause with so much eloquence as to draw tears from many eyes. No counsel arose for me, and Aurora, who merely sought a divorce, without desiring to inflict that punishment which she might easily have brought down on the offenders, would at once have gained her suit, had not one man arisen to speak for me. It was one of the engravers, the one who had been refused, as mentioned, by Aurora. He made a brief pleading for me; he praised my character, he showed and confessed how I had been tempted, and how I fell. At last he concluded by addressing Aurora. "Yes, madam," said he, "the laws may declare that you are not his wife, but you have been the wife of his bosom. The contract may be annulled, and no stain may rest upon you. But a stain may be cast on another. Can you, will you throw the blot of illegitimacy upon one even more innocent than yourself?" The appeal was understood, and was not made in vain. The trembling Aurora exclaimed, “No, no!" and her tears fell fast as she spoke.

The marriage was not annulled-was no longer sought to be annulled. But while the contract (which I had signed with my own name, believed by them to be the family name of the Marquis de Rouperon) was declared valid, it was also determined that Aurora should remain unmolested by the adventurer who had so far deceived her. Every legal precaution was taken that I should have no control over her or her affairs. After this event I did not remain long in Lyons, where I heard my name branded every where with infamy. Master, by the means I have related, of a considerable sum, I went to Paris, where I assumed a feigned name. I entered into business, and, more to drown remembrance than from any other cause, pursued it with an ardour which few have evinced in the like circumstances. The wildest speculations were those which attracted me most, and fortune favoured me in a most remarkable way. I became the head of a flourishing commercial house, and ere five years passed away, had amassed considerable wealth. At times, however, the remembrance of my wife threw me into fits of anguish and despair. I dared not think, nevertheless, of attempting to go near her, until it chanced that I had it in my power very materially to serve a banker in Lyons, who pressed me much to pay him a visit. After much uneasiness and anxiety, I resolved to accept the invitation. Once more I entered Lyons, and on this occasion with an equipage which was not borrowed, though as handsome as my former one. My friend the banker, on being questioned, told me that Aurora still lived in the convent, and was admired for her reserved propriety of conduct, and for her unremitting attention to her child-her boy; but he told me that her father had just died, leaving her almost dependent on the charity of the abbess. This recital excited in me the most lively emotions. I took an opportunity soon afterwards of visiting one of the engravers, who scarcely knew me, changed as I was, but who received me warmly. I requested him to assemble the creditors of the father of Aurora, and to pay his debts, giving him funds for that purpose. I told him also to purchase some pieces of furniture which I knew to be prized by Aurora.

Every hour of my stay in Lyons strengthened my desire to see my wife, and at least to fold my boy in my arms. The feeling became at length irresistible, and I revealed myself to the banker, beseeching him to find some way of taking me to the convent. His astonishment to find in me the poor much-spoken-of bellows-mender, was beyond description. Happily, however, he was acquainted with the abbess, and assured me that it was easy for me at least to obtain a sight of my wife. Ere an hour passed away, my friend had taken me there. I was introduced as a Parisian merchant, and beheld, with emotions unspeakable, my wife seated in the convent-parlour, with a lovely child asleep on her knee, in conversation with her venerable friend. Aurora, now twenty-three years of age, seemed to me more lovely than ever. I had purposely wrapped myself closely up, and she knew me not, though I observed an involuntary start when she first saw me, as if my presence reminded her of some once familiar object. I could not speak; my friend maintained all the conversation. But the boy awoke. He saw strangers present, and descended from his mother's knee. Looking at my friend and myself for a moment, he came forward to me. Oh! what were my feelings when I found myself covered with the sweet caresses, the innocent kisses, of my child! An emotion which I had no power to subdue, made me rise hastily, and throw myself, with my child in my arms, at the feet of my pale and trembling wife. "Aurora! Aurora !" I exclaimed, in broken accents, " your child claims from you a father! Oh, pardon ! pardon !" The child clasped her knees, and seemed to plead with me. Aurora seemed ready to faint. Her lips quivered, and her eye was fixed, as if in stupor, upon me; but a flow of tears came to her relief, and she answered my appea! by throwing herself into my arms. "I know not," she sobbed," whether you again deceive me; but your child pleads too powerfully. Aurora is yours."

This event closes my history. I found Aurora much improved by adversity, and have tasted a degree of

happiness with her such as no penitence for my past offences could ever make me deserving of. One only incident in my history after my reconciliation with Aurora seems to be worthy of mention. I took my son and her with me to Paris, but at the same time, seeing it to be my wife's wish, bought a small country house for her near Lyons. Sometimes we spent a few weeks there, and on one occasion she invited me to go down with her to be present at a fête for which she had made preparations. Who were our guests! The ten engravers, who were the original cause of all that had passed! It was indeed a day of pride to me, when I heard Aurora thank them for the happiness, which, under the agency of a wonder-working providence, they had been the means of conferring upon her.

[Our readers, at least many of them, will have detected in this story the foundation of Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer's "Lady of Lyons," one of the most popular of our modern dramatic pieces.]

SKETCHES OF SUPERSTITIONS.
THE ANGLO-SAXONS AND THEIR SUPERSTITIONS.

THE invasion of the Romans, which took place shortly before the commencement of the Christian era, had some influence, doubtless, in effacing the mytholo gical system of the Druids, and in establishing a new order of things in the island. By the Romans. however, the country was not, properly speaking, colonised; they only occupied it as a military station important to them from its position and other circum stances. Very different was the case with respect to the successors of the Romans in the occupation and dominion of the south of Britain. These new invaders were the Anglo-Saxons, a race whose blood, language, and institutions, became so extensively and intimately intermixed with those of the former population, as almost to blot out all traces of the original Celtic peculiarities, and to create a new people, with new characters, customs, and laws.

The Anglo-Saxons were a branch of the great race which emigrated at an early period into central Europe from Asia, and which has received the various names of Scythian, Gothic, and German or Teutonic. The Saxon branch settled several centuries before the Christian era, to the west of the mouth of the Elbe occupying also the islands of Heligoland, Busen, and others in that estuary. The name of Saxon is supposed to be derived from the word Sakai-suna, signifying sons of the Sakai or Sacae, a great and primitive branch of the Scythian stock. About the birth of Christ, the Saxons had become an important and spreading people, devoted to maritime affairs. Other neighbouring Teutonic_tribes, and particularly two called the Angles and Jutes, formed an alliance with the Saxons, and augmented their strength. The Angles, destined to give a permanent name to the south of Britain and its people, were so called from the district of Anglen in which they lived, and which corresponded in site with the modern duchy of Sleswick. Feeling their power, these united tribes began to make excursions by land and sea, which terrified the Romans in the third and fourth centuries. In that period the Saxons spread from the Elbe to the Rhine. It was in the middle of the fifth century that they invaded Britain, which was at that time independent, the preceding conquerors having retired shortly before. In about a century afterwards, the whole of England, so called from the kingdoms of the Angles, had fallen into their hands, Wales excepted; and the conquerors had established eight separate kingdoms, usually called the heptarchy, but which should be named the octarchy. These kingdoms existed nearly to the time of Alfred, who reigned alone in England, and died at the close of the ninth century.

The settlement of the Anglo-Saxons introduced a new order of superstitions into Britain. Like the Scandinavians of the north, they deduced their descent from Odin, whom they worshipped along with Thor, Friga, or Freya, and other imaginary deities of the Gothic people. This savage mythology they brought with them to England, where it dispossessed the equally barbarous religion of the Druids, and existed for a short time till it disappeared before the advances of Christianity. Besides reverencing the prime gods of their idolatry, they worshipped idols emblematic of the sun, moon, earth, and various seasons and circumstances. In particular, they sacrificed to one goddess called Eostre, in the month of April, and her name still expresses the festival of Easter in the Christian church. In token of devotional feelings towards the sun, they solemnised a festival to that luminary on the day in December in which the days began to lengthen, a log of wood being burnt on the occasion as an emblem of returning light and heat. From this ancient practice, therefore, may be traced the custom of burning the Yule-log at Christmas, which is still continued among other observances of the olden time in various parts of England.

It is learned from legendary poems, which formed the only literature of the Anglo-Saxons, that they believed the world and all created things would ultimately be destroyed by fire, but that the just would be resuscitated, and enjoy existence in some new form. Strange to say, however, Odin and most of the good deities were to fall before the wicked ones, in attempting to resist this general destruction of earthly things. In one of the most ancient of these poems, the day of final doom is spoken of in the fol

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Books

Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, Band 9