Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

what was now, Pacific.*

in a single night, raised above the Soon after this event, an intelligent British traveller who visited the place,+ observed that, inland, till a height of about fifty feet above the level of the sea, there was a succession of terraces, composed of mingled shingle and sea-shells, and in all respects resembling the beach which had lately been left dry

No doubt was entertained that these had each in succession been the sea-coast, and that the land had undergone as many elevations as there were terraces. We must now take our readers from the west coast of South America, and request them to accompany us to the shores of the Baltic. Sweden, and the other countries bordering on this inland sea, are well known to be little subject to earthquakes or any of the other demonstrations of volcanic violence; yet there can be no doubt that, for centuries past, some parts of the coasts of the Baltic have been slowly rising above the level of the sea. This fact has been the subject of philosophical observation since the early part of the last century. It has been found that, in many places, the land has been left uncovered by the sea; sea-ports have become inland towns; and the sea near the land has been much shallowed. Upwards of a hundred years ago, lines marking the then surface of the sea were made, under the direction of scientific men, upon cliffs rising above the waters; and it has consequently been ascertained that the land in those places is rising at the rate of about forty-five English inches in a century, or a foot every twenty-five years. Here, also, the popular opinion is, that the sea is retiring; but the real state of the case is strikingly proved in this instance by the fact, that, in some places, the ground is at the same level as it was several centuries ago, and in others is sinking. If the sea were from any cause retiring, it would sink every where to the same extent. Other proofs of the rising of the land are to be found in the great quantities of sea-shells which are imbedded in the soil on the considerably elevated grounds. At Uddevalla, in Gotheburg, a port at the entrance of the Baltic, there is a raised beach of the general character of those on the coast of Chili, full of shells, many of them entire and some broken, as is usual on beaches, and of the same species as those existing on the neighbouring coasts. This beach is two hundred feet above the present level of the Baltic. It rests on a great platform of gneiss rock, which rises in a cliff above it, and on that cliff the shells of barnacles are still found attached, the animals having taken up their residence there many ages ago, when the sea daily rose and fell in tides against the face of the rock !§ The publication of the above facts has caused attention to be directed to similar wonders in our own country, and it is now ascertained that raised beaches exist in many parts of Great Britain and Ireland, not only near the present coasts, but in many inland situations. In the vale of the Ribble in Lancashire, Mr Murchison found terraces at various elevations under three hundred feet, composed of loose sands, gravels, and marls, such as are deposited by the sea upon beaches. Along both sides of the Firth of Forth, there runs a terrace about twenty feet above the present level of the sea, and which may be traced at generally a short distance from the shore, with a bank rising above it, and a narrow level space between it and the present line of coast: this terrace, which, on being dug, is found full of marine shells, is nothing but a beach which has been raised to a higher level by a general elevation of the land. A similar terrace is a striking feature in the coast scenery of the Firth of Clyde. It is between thirty and forty feet above the present high-water mark, and is conspicuous wherever the violence of the Atlantic has not made inroads upon it. The grand cliffs which rise on the northern coast of Ayrshire, at a little distance inland, are conceived to have been formed by the beating of the sea at their base in old times. The Firth of Cromarty also presents indubitable remains of raised beaches, the present town of Cromarty being seated on one of them. They

are best defined on what are or have been the coasts of inland seas, for there the water is comparatively quiet, so as to allow of a bank of soft or loose matter being formed on the brink of the sea. The shells of at least the Forth and Clyde terraces are

[blocks in formation]

identical or nearly so with those of the present seas, thus showing that the same general circumstances existed at the time when the old beaches were formed, as at present; but we are not for that reason to suppose that the rise which they argue in the land is of modern date. There is good reason to conclude that the British island is not higher at present than in the days of the Romans. The rise, whenever it took place, was probably abrupt and effected at once, like the rises which take place in Chili, for if it had been slow and gradual, the old beach would not have been left entire.

to one level; the great piles of strata had been intersected by many wide valleys; and the trees, now changed into silex, were exposed projecting from the volcanic soil, now changed into rock, whence formerly, in a green and budding state, they had raised their lofty heads. Now, all is utterly irreclaimable and desert; even the lichen cannot adhere to the stony coats of former trees. Vast, and scarcely comprehensible as such changes must ever appear, yet they have all occurred within a period recent, when compared with the history of the Cordillera; and that Cordillera itself is modern as compared with some other of the fossiliferous strata of South America."

But raised beaches not only encincture the present coasts of our inland seas: they are found marked on The time here spoken of as recent is probably very the sides of mountains now far from the sea, and at a remote; but both elevations and depressions of the great height above its level. Most of our readers pro- surface are clearly ascertained to have taken place to bably are acquainted more or less with what are a considerable extent within times which even civil usually called the parallel roads of Glenroy, in Inver- history does not call distant. From remains of articles ness-shire, namely, a range of terraces which mark, at of human workmanship found imbedded in the alludifferent heights, the sides of that vale, as well as the vium or clayey and gravelly deposit where the sea sides of some glens adjacent to it. The traveller who formerly stood, it is certain that Sweden has risen 60 enters those lonely vales unprepared, is surprised to and Chili 85 feet above the present level of the sea, observe three level lines proceeding along the moun- since the countries were first inhabited by man. When tain sides, exactly parallel to each other, and each at we turn to that part of the coast of Italy which is one side exactly corresponding in level with one at the specially under volcanic influence, we find a lively and other. It has lately been nearly made out to the most interesting proof of still more modern elevation satisfaction of the scientific world, that these terraces and depression. On that coast, near Puzzuoli, on a were once the borders of inland seas, like those which platform nearly on a level with the sea, and occasionstill penetrate the West Highlands, and that they were ally soaked by it, there are the remains of a fine buildraised into their present situation by a succession of ing, which apparently had been constructed in ancient general elevations of the land.* Similar terraces are times as a public bath, although usually called the found in the vale of the Spey, in Glen Tilt, and in the Temple of Serapis. From the pavement, which is vale of the Tay between Perth and Dunkeld. still entire, spring three or four tall columns, which and even continents have risen, either slowly or by Above that point, however, for nine or ten feet, the We are, then, to understand that great islands for twelve feet from the base are clean and unworn. quick and abrupt movements, out of the sea. But stone has been pierced by great numbers of a marine land also occasionally sinks. Some parts of the shores shell-fish, called the lithodomus, the prominent inof the Baltic are stationary, or have fallen to a lower stinet of which leads it to take that means of forming level than formerly. The existence of submarine for itself a quiet residence. As these animals could forests on some parts of the British coast shows that, have had no access to the pillars elsewhere than in have sunk. A curious proof of the sinking of great the sea, it is evident that the temple, and the ground at a comparatively recent period, portions of our soil upon which it stands, must have been at one time let chains of mountains has recently been detected by the down into the waters of the bay, and, after an intereminent Agassiz, on the fronts of some of the Alps, val, once more raised to their present situation. To near his residence at Neufchatel in Switzerland. The account for the stone being uninjured for the first caked snow (glaciers) of those mountains is known to twelve feet, we must suppose it to have been protected wards along the slopes, new snow being constantly be constantly though imperceptibly moving down- for that space by an accumulation of mud or rubbish. The top of the part perforated by the lithodomus, and added above. As the mass descends, it wears and which we consequently suppose to have been exposed polishes the rock below. Masses of stone are also to the sea, is twenty-three feet above the existing level sometimes detached from projecting cliffs, and carried of the bay. Consequently, the subsidence and subsedown fixed in the under surface of the glacier, so as quent elevation must have been to that extent at to cut deeply into the smoothed surface. The Alps, least. Both events have probably taken place since therefore, in the parts covered by snow, present a the Christian era.* It is at the same time worthy of smoothed and scratched exterior. It is also to be re- remark, that the Mediterranean is found, in many old marked, that, at the place where congelation ceases, ports along its shores, to maintain exactly the same and the glacier melts, the detached stones, left disen-level as in the days of the Romans. gaged, are accumulated in a kind of mound, or what is locally called a moraine, around the side of the mountain. Now, it is a very striking fact, that moraines exist much below the present point of congelation, and that when the soil is taken off the lower flanks of the mountains, even in places where the vine grows, the surface of the rock is smoothed and scratched exactly as it is in the parts now covered by snow. To us these facts argue that the hills were once higher than at present, and enveloped in the region of perpetual ice, and that they have since sunk many hundred feet.

If we were to go back to the early geological epochs when the coal strata were formed, we might show more wonderful examples of changes of level in the earth's surface, for it is held by many geologists that each bed must have at one time been a forest exposed to the open air; that it must in time have gone down into the sea, and been covered over by mud or sand forming a new soil; that, the ground being once more raised, a new forest grew on the place, afterwards to be submerged and covered over as before, and this for twenty or thirty times, or as often as there may be strata of coal at the spot. But we are disposed to both great depression and great elevation as having recent epochs, namely, those immediately before and Another most remarkable circumstance, proving limit our views for the present to the comparatively taken place at a particular part of the earth's surface, since man's appearance on the earth. The great queswas observed by Mr Darwin in South America. In tion remains, By what agency are those risings and a dangerous excursion which he made across the fallings occasioned? Can it be from the working of to the great Cordillera was composed of submarine inflammations brought about by great chemical unions Andes, observing that the lower chain of hills parallel molten matter beneath the crust of the globe, or from lavas and sedimentary deposits, he made search for taking place in the same quarter, or has electric agency silicified or petrified wood, which is often found con- any thing to do with it? Science is yet unable to nected with those rocks, and soon was gratified in an answer these questions, but we may in the mean time extraordinary manner. He saw on a bare slope, at an look on and admire the great ends which appear to elevation of probably 7000 feet, some snow-white pro- be in view. The dry land is known to have once been petrified trees, of a kind allied to the araucaria. jecting columns, which on examination proved to be very limited, only a few islands being scattered, for "It instance, over the space now composing Europe. required," he says in his journal,+ "little geological South America was once but a long range of islands, practice to interpret the marvellous story which this which have since become the tops of the Cordillera of scene at once unfolded; though I confess I was at the Andes. But a constant progress has been made the plainest evidence of it. I saw the spot where a first so much astonished, that I could scarcely believe by the subterranean agency in causing the land to cluster of fine trees had once waved their branches appear. Little islands must have risen till they became large; then they must have become connected on the shores of the Atlantic, when that ocean (now with each other, and finally they would be aggregated driven back 700 miles) approached the base of the An- into continents. Vast tracts must occasionally have des. I saw that they had sprung from a volcanic soil, been laid bare by a comparatively slight elevation, for that this dry land, with its upright trees, had been sub-continent for less than a thousand feet would submerge which had been raised above the level of the sea, and it is stated that the sinking of the South American sequently let down to the depths of the ocean. There it the whole of the vast tract between the Andes and was covered by sedimentary matter, and this again by the Atlantic. Thus there has gradually been rescued from the enveloping sea the firm platform which was necessary as a theatre in which mankind were to live and move, and work out all those great moral problems which make them so much a wonder even to

enormous streams of submarine lava-one such mass alone attaining the thickness of a thousand feet; and had been five times spread out alternately. The ocean these deluges of melted stone and aqueous deposits which received such a mass must have been deep; but again the subterranean forces had exerted their power, and I now beheld the bed of that soa forming a chain of mountains more than 7000 feet in altitude. Nor had those antagonist forces been dormant, which are always at work to wear down the surface of the land

* Darwin's Memoir on the Parallel Roads of Glenroy, 1839. Narrative of the Surveying Voyages of H. M. S. Adventure and Beagle, between the years 1826 and 1836. London, 1839.

themselves. It is probable that the chief part of the business has long been over; but still it may be necessary that both the gradual and the abrupt elevations should not altogether cease, for the air and the water and the wind are so many agents constantly at work to wear down elevated land and carry it back into the sea, so that it could not fail in time to be entirely submerged, unless there were some counter

* Lyell's Principles of Geology, ii. 264.

CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.

[blocks in formation]

THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY

LORREQUER.*

THE Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, to which we have previously referred, originally appeared in the pages of the Dublin University Magazine, where they

excited much attention from their vivid and accurate delineations of Irish and of military life. They delineated a state of manners fast fading away. The condition of Ireland within the last twenty years has been more changed than that of any other country in Europe; the aspect of society has undergone a still greater alteration; and those who have visited it at long intervals, feel as if they met a different country and a different people. It is much easier to perceive such a change than to describe its nature. It will perhaps be sufficient to notice the most marked difference: business is more a pleasure, and pleasure is less a business. However advantageous such a change may be, it is fatal to the originality of character, the developement of whim, the pranks of humour, and the ebullitions of wit, which were common in earlier days. A change in the habits of military men is scarcely less perceptible. At the close of the war there was an abundant supply of old campaigners, full of the reckless jollity, the keen sense of present enjoyment, and the disregard of consequences, naturally produced by the hardships and vicissitudes of such a war as that of the Peninsula. To such men, Ireland, with its excitable population, ever ready for frolic or for mischief, and always preferring the practical jokes which unite both, was far more agreeable than the solemn steadiness of England and the acute caution of Scot

ar

mon expenses of our wedding tour. My calculation was
this the reconciliation will possibly, what with delays of
post, distance, and deliberation, take a month-say five
actly two hundred pounds, such being the precise limit
weeks; now, at forty pounds per week, that makes ex-
of my exchequer, when, blessed with a wife, a man, and
a maid, three imperials, a cap-case, and a poodle,
rived at the Royal Hotel' in Edinburgh. Had I been
Lord Francis Egerton, with his hundred thousand a-year,
looking for a new distraction' at any price; or, still
more, were I a London shopkeeper, spending a Sunday
in Boulogne-sur-Mer, and trying to find out something
expensive, as he had only one day to stay, I could not
extravagance, and each day contrived to find out some
have more industriously sought out opportunities for
two or three acquaintances to bring home to dinner.
Mary felt less genee among strangers, and we got on
And as I affected to have been married for a long time,
famously. Still the silence of the colonel weighed upon
her mind, and although she partook of none of my anxie-
ties from that source, being perfectly ignorant of the
ject, that I at length yielded to her repeated solicitations,
state of my finances, she dwelt so constantly upon this sub-
and permitted her to write to her father. Her letter was
a most proper one; combining a dutiful regret for leaving
as to excuse her rashness, or, at least, palliate her fault.
her home, with the hope that her choice had been such
It went to say, that her father's acknowledgment of her
was all she needed or cared for, to complete her happi-
This was the substance of the letter, which, upon the
ness, and asking for his permission to seek it in person.
whole, satisfied me, and I waited anxiously for the reply.
At the end of five days the answer arrived. It was
'DEAR MARY-You have chosen your own path in life,
thus:-
and having done so, I have neither the right nor inclina-
tion to interfere with your decision; I shall neither re-
ceive you nor the person you have made your husband;
that as I leave this to-morrow, any future letters you
and, to prevent any further disappointment, inform you,
might think proper to address will not reach me.-Your's
very faithful,

Hydrabad Cottage.'

C. KAMWORTH.

This was a tremendous coup, and not in the least anticipated by either of us; upon me the effect was stunwere nearly expended. Mary, on the other hand, who ning, knowing as I did that our fast diminishing finances once from her depression, and after a hearty fit of crying, neither knew nor thought of the exchequer, rallied at dried her eyes, and putting her arm round my neck, said, Well, Jack, I must only love you the more, since papa land. From 1815 to 1830, Ireland seemed made for "I wish he would his purse though,' muttered I, as I the army, and the army for Ireland; both have since will not share any of my affection.' changed, but the recollection of former days of merhappy. riment is not yet effaced, and a more worthy chro-pressed her in my arms, and strove to seem perfectly nicler than Harry Lorrequer could not be found to give them a permanent record.

Lord Bacon once said of a story that was told him, "I believe it, not because it is like the truth, but because it is so unlike the truth that I would not give any human being the credit of the invention." The remark is applicable not only to Harry Lorrequer's anecdotes, but to most Irish stories. All the circumstances noted by the Edinburgh reviewers as improbable in Miss Edgeworth's Patronage, were proved to have occurred in the history of her own family; and the principal incident in Rory O'More, the conviction of a man for murder after his supposed victim had been produced in court, which some critics denounced as the most improbable of inventions, was unexpectedly confirmed by Chief-Justice Bushe, who, we believe, acted as counsel for the prisoner on that memorable

occasion.

At a future opportunity, we will take the liberty of culling a few of the more striking drolleries with which the volume abounds, in the meanwhile contenting ourselves with an abridgement of an off-hand sketch respecting one of Lorrequer's continental adventures, called

JACK WALLER'S STORY. "And now, Jack, tell me something of your own for tunes since the day you passed me in the post-chaise and four."

"The story is soon told. You remember that when I carried off Mary, I had no intention of leaving England whatever my object was, after making her my wife, to open negociations with the old colonel, and after the approved routine of penitential letters, imploring forgiveness, and setting forth happiness only wanting his sanction to make it heaven itself, to have thrown ourselves at his feet, sobbed, blubbered, blown our noses, and dressed for dinner, very comfortable inmates of that particularly snug residence, 'Hydrabad Cottage.' Now, Mary, who behaved with great courage for a couple of days, after that got low-spirited and depressed; the desertion of her father, as she called it, weighed upon her mind, and all my endeavours to rally and comfort her were fruitless and unavailing. Each day, however, I expected to hear something of or from the colonel that would put an end to this feeling of suspense; but nothree weeks rolled on, and although I took care that he knew of our address, we never received any communica

tion.

I shall not prolong my story by dwelling upon the agi-
tation this letter cost me; however, I had yet a hundred
pounds left, and an aunt in Harley Street, with whom I
had always been a favourite. This thought, the only
rallying one I possessed, saved me for the time; and as fret-
ting was never my forte, I never let Mary perceive that
respect, that my good spirits raised hers, and we set out
any thing had gone wrong, and managed so well in this
for London one fine sunshiny morning, as happy a looking
When we arrived at the 'Clarendon,' my first care was
couple as ever travelled the north road.
to get into a cab and drive to Harley Street. [Here Jack
found that his aunt had gone to Paris, and next morning,
he continues]-I called upon her lawyer, and having ob-
write her a letter before post hour. As I scanned over
tained her address, sauntered to the Junior Club,' to
the morning papers, I could not help smiling at the flam-
ing paragraph which announced my marriage to the only
worth. Not well knowing how to open the correspon-
daughter and heiress of the millionaire, Colonel Kam-
dence with my worthy relative, I folded the paper con-
taining the news, and addressed it to Lady Lilford,

Hotel de Bristol, Paris.'

a

6

[ocr errors]

After the usual routine of sea-sickness, fatigue, and
To have an adequate idea of the state of my feelings as
poisonous cookery, we reached Paris on the fifth day, and
put up at the Hotel de Londres,' Place Vendome,
I trod the splendid apartments of this princely hotel,
taste suggest, you must imagine the condition of a man
surrounded by every luxury that wealth can procure, or
who is regaled with a sumptuous banquet on the eve of
his execution. The inevitable termination to all my
present splendour was never for a moment absent from
my thoughts, and the secrecy with which I was obliged
of my misery. The coup, when it does come, will be sad
to conceal my feelings, formed one of the greatest sources
the deception as long as it lasts, without suffering as I
enough, and poor Mary may as well have the comfort of
do. Such was the reasoning by which I met every re-
such the frame of mind in which I spent my days at
solve to break to her the real state of our finances, and
Paris---the only really unhappy ones I can ever charge
my memory with.

We had scarcely got settled in the hotel, when my
came over to see us, and wish us joy. She had seen the
aunt, who inhabited the opposite side of the Place,
She was delighted with Mary, and despite the natural
paragraph in the Post, and like all other people, with
reserve of the old maiden lady, became actually cordial,
plenty of money, fully approved a match like mine.
and invited us to dine with her that day, and every suc
ceeding one we might feel disposed to do so. So far so well,
if she knew of what value even this small attention is to
thought I, as I offered her my arm to see her home; but
time is to be lost; I cannot live in this state of hourly
us, am I quite so sure she would offer it? However, no
agitation; I must make some one the confidant of my
sorrows, and none so fit as she who can relieve as well as
advise upon them. Although such was my determina-
tion, yet somehow I could not pluck up courage for the
effort. My aunt's congratulations upon my good luck
upon the beauty and grace of my wife, topics I fully con-
made me shrink from the avowal; and while she ran on
prudential and proper motives which led to the match.
Twenty times I was on the eve of interrupting her, and
curred in, I also chimed in with her satisfaction at the
saying, But, madam, I am a beggar--my wife has not a
shilling---I have absolutely nothing.'

Such were my thoughts, but whenever I endeavoured to speak them, some confounded fulness in my throat trembled; and whether it was shame, or the sickness of nearly choked me; my temples throbbed, my hands beauty, or some vapid eulogy upon my own cleverness in despair, I cannot say, but the words would not come, and all that I could get out was some flattery of my wife's securing such a prize.

But this is growing tedious, Harry; I must get over the ground faster. Two months passed over at Paris, during which we continued to live at the Londres,' giving dinners, soirées, dejeuners, with the prettiest equipage in the Champs Elyseés.' We were quite the mode. My wife, which is rare enough for an Englishwoman, knew how to dress herself. Our evening parties were the most recherche things going; and if I were capable of partaking all the pigeon-matches in the Bois de Boulegard, and The continual round of occupation in which pleasure of any pleasure in the eclat, I had my share, having won involves a man, is certainly its greatest attraction-reflecbeat Lord Henry Seymour himself in a steeple-chase. tion is impossible-the present is too full to admit any of the past, and very little of the future; and even I, with ence. To this state of fatalism, for such it was becoming, all my terrors awaiting me, began to feel a half indifference to the result in the manifold cares of my then existhad I arrived, when the vision was dispelled in a moment was to set out that evening, but hoped to find us in Paris by a visit from my aunt, who came to say, that some on her return. business requiring her immediate presence in London, she

[ocr errors]

[Jack now summons up sufficient courage to hint, in the course of a conversation with his aunt, the nature of When I arrived at the Clarendon,' I found my wife his situation and wishes, which she appeared so readily Indeed,' she replied, 'I think I have anticipated your and her maid surrounded by cases and band-boxes; to comprehend as to spare particular explanation.] laces, satins, and velvets, were displayed on all sides, while an emissary from Storr and Mortimer' was arranging wish in the matter; but as time presses, and I must grand review of jewellery on a side table, one half of look after all my packing, I shall say good bye for a few grah would have ruined the Rajah of Mysore to pur-weeks, and in the evening Jepson, who stays here, will Good bye, my dearest, kindest friend,' said I, taking a What an excellent chase. My advice was immediately called into requisi- bring you "what I mean," over to your hotel; once more, tion; and pressed into service, I had nothing left for it then, good bye.' but to canvass, criticise, and praise, between times, which creature she is!' said I, half aloud, as I turned towards I did with a good grace, considering that I anticipated most tender adieu of the old lady. the Fleet' for every flounce of Valenciennes lace. home; how considerate, how truly kind!---to spare me If there be a flask of Johannisberg in the too all the pain of explanation! Now I begin to breathe "Londres," I'll drink your health this day, and so shall Mary.' So saying, I entered the hotel with a lighter heart and a firmer step than ever it had been my fortune [During the evening, a packet arrives from her ladyto do hitherto. ship; and the servants having left the room, Jack hastened to open it.]

As at length one-half of the room became filled with millinery, and the other glittered with jewels and bijouterie, my wife grew weary with her exertions, and we found ourselves alone.

When I told her that my aunt had taken up her residence in Paris, it immediately occurred to her, how pleasant it would be to go there too; and although I concurred in the opinion for very different reasons, it was at length decided we should do so; and the only difficulty now existed as to the means--for though the daily papers teem with four ways to go from London to Paris,' they all resolved themselves into one, and that one, unfortunately to me, the most difficult and impracticable--by money.

once more.

en

I read, with what feelings I leave you to guess, the folness, a ticket on the Frankfort Lottery, of which lowing: DEAR NEPHEW AND NIECE, the enclosed will convey to you, with my warmest wishes for your happithat I have purchased the Hungarian pony for Maryclose the scheme. I also take the opportunity of saying which we spoke of this morning. It is at Johnston's stable, and will be delivered on sending for it.'

Think of that, Jack-the Borghese pony, with the the princess had refused every offer for it.' silky tail; mine-oh! what a dear good old soul; it was the very thing of all others I longed for, for they told me

There was, however, one last resource open---the sale me to resolve upon this; the determination was a painful of my commission. I will not dwell upon what it cost. one, but it was soon come to; and before five o'clock that day, Cox and Greenwood had got their instructions to sell out for me, and had advanced a thousand pounds of the purchase. Our bill settled--the waiters bowing to the ground--(it is your ruined man that is always most the road, I took my place beside my wife, while my valet liberal)---the post-horses harnessed, and impatient for You are aware that when I married, I knew Mary held a parasol over the soubrette in the rumble, all in prived me for a moment of all thought, and it was several the approved fashion of those who have an unlimited credit with Coutts and Drummond; the whips cracked, the leaders capered, and with a patronising bow to the proprietor of the Clarendon,' away we rattled to Dover.

had, or was to have, a large fortune; and that I myself had not more than enough in the world to pay the com

* Dublin, Curry; London, Orr.

While Mary ran on in this strain, I sat mute and stupified; the sudden reverse my hopes had sustained deminutes before I could rightly take in the full extent of my misfortunes.

How that crazy old maid, for such, alas, I called her to myself now, could have so blundered all my meaning

-how she could so palpably have mistaken, I could not conceive. What a remedy for a man overwhelmed with debt!-a ticket in a German lottery, and a creamcoloured pony, as if my whole life had not been one continued lottery, with every day a blank; and as to horses, I had eleven in my stables already. Perhaps she thought twelve would read better in my schedule, when I, next week, surrendered as insolvent.

Unable to bear the delight, the childish delight, of Mary, on her new acquisition, I rushed out of the house, and wandered for several hours in the Boulevards. At last I summoned up courage to tell my wife. I once more turned towards home, and entered her dressingroom, where she was having her hair dressed for a ball at the embassy. My resolution failed me-not now, thought I---to-morrow will do as well---one night more of happiness for her, and then- I looked on with pleasure and pride, as ornament after ornament, brilliant with diamonds and emeralds, shone in her hair and upon her arms, heightening her beauty, and lighting up with a dazzling brilliancy her lovely figure. But it must come --and whenever the hour arrives, the reverse will be fully as bitter. Besides, I am able now; and when I may again be so, who can tell? Now then be it, said I, as I told the waiting-maid to retire; and taking a chair beside my wife, put my arm round her.

There, John, dearest, take care; don't you see you'll crush all that great affair of Malines lace that Rosetta has been breaking her heart to manage this half hour?' 'And then,' said I.

And then? I could not go to the ball, naughty boy.

I am bent on a great conquest to-night; so pray don't mar such good intentions.'

And you should be greatly disappointed were you not to go?'

·

Of course I should. But what do you mean?-is there any reason why I should not? You are silent, John;

the colonel.'

[ocr errors]

speak---oh, speak---has any thing occurred to my— No, no, dearest; nothing that I know has occurred to 'Well, then, who is it? Oh, tell me at once. "Oh, my dear, there is no one in the case but ourselves;' so saying, despite the injunction about the lace, I drew her towards me, and in as few words, but as clearly as I was able, explained all our circumstances--my endeavour to better them---my hopes---my fears---and now my bitter disappointment, if not despair.

The first shock over, Mary showed not only more courage but more sound sense than I could have believed. All the frivolity of her former character vanished at the first touch of adversity, just, as of old, Harry, we left the tinsel of our gay jackets behind, when active service called upon us for something more sterling. She advised, counselled, and encouraged me by turns; and in half an hour the most poignant regret I had was, in not having sooner made her my confidante, and checked the progress of our enormous expenditure somewhat earlier.

I shall not now detain you much longer. In three weeks we sold our carriages and horses; our pictures (we had begun this among our other extravagances) and our china followed; and under the plea of health set out for Baden; not one among our Paris acquaintances ever suspecting the real reason of our departure, and never attributing any monied difficulties to us, for we paid our debts.

The same day we left Paris, I dispatched a letter to my aunt, explaining fully all about us, and suggesting that as I had now left the army for ever, perhaps she would interest some of her friends---and she has powerful ones--to do something for me.

After some little loitering on the Rhine, we fixed upon Hesse Cassel for our residence. It was very quiet---very cheap-the country around picturesque--and last, but not least, there was not an Englishman in the neighbourhood. The second week after our arrival brought us letters from my aunt. She had settled four hundred a year upon us for the present, and sent the first year in advance; promised us a visit as soon as we were ready to receive her; and pledged herself not to forget when an opportunity of serving me should offer.

From that moment to this," said Jack, "all has gone well with us. We have, it is true, not many luxuries, but we have no wants, and, better still, no debts. The dear old aunt is always making us some little present or other; and somehow I have a kind of feeling that better luck is still in store; but faith, Harry, as long as I have a happy home, and a warm fireside, for a friend when he drops in upon me, I scarcely can say that better luck need be wished for."

"There is only one point, Jack, you have not enlightened me upon; how came you here?" "Oh! that was a great omission in my narrative; but come, this will explain it; see here." So saying, he drew from a little drawer a large lithographic print of a magnificent castellated building, with towers and bastions, keep, moat, and even drawbridge, and the walls bristling with cannon, and an eagled banner floating proudly above them.

"What in the name of the Sphynxes is this ?" "There," said Jack, "is the Schloss von Eberhausen; or, if you like it in English, Eberhausen Castle, as it was the year of the deluge; for the present mansion that we are now sipping our wine in bears no very close resemblance to it. But to make the mystery clear, this was the great prize in the Frankfort lottery, the ticket of which my aunt's first note contained, and which we were fortunate enough to win. We have been here only a few weeks, and though the affair looks somewhat meagre, we have hopes that in a little time, and with some pains, much may be done to make it habitable. There is a capital chasse of some hundred acres; plenty of wood and innumerable rights, seignorial, manorial, &c., which, fortunately for my neighbours, I neither understand nor care for; and we are therefore the best friends in the world. Among others I am styled the graf or count." "Well, then, Monsieur le Comte," said Mary," do you intend favouring me with your company at coffee this evening, for already it is ten o'clock; and considering

my former claim upon Mr Lorrequer, you have let me enjoy very little of his society."

We now adjourned to the drawing-room, where we gossipped away till past midnight; and I retired to my room, meditating over Jack's adventures, and praying in my heart, that despite all his mischances, my own might end as happily.

DEMORALISING AND IMPOVERISHING EFFECTS OF PARTY SPIRIT.

[Abridged from Dr Mitchell's Report to Parliament on the Condition of Hand-Loom Weavers.]

THERE is no cause which has had so direful an effect on the prosperity of the trade in Norwich, as party spirit. In almost every town possessing parliamentary representation, there is a complaint of party spirit; but in Norwich it far exceeds that of any other place, and is carried to an extent which is utterly amazing. The people are distinguished by colours; "purple and orange" denote the Tories, and "blue and white" the Whigs or Radicals. The party to which every man in Norwich belongs, from the highest to the lowest, is as well known as if he daily wore clothes of the colours by which it is designated. The exasperation of the one party against the other is such as to make every man lament that human nature should be capable of such feelings.

The spirit of party enters into every thing; every institution of the town is a subject of party spirit; it is like two towns in one, and acting in hostility against each other. It may be asked, why machinery and other improvements in trade have not been introduced into the town, so that it may keep pace with other places. The cause is the violent and odiously virulent party spirit. This feeling continues to operate, as it has always done, to defeat all attempts to improve the state of the city, pecuniarily, morally, or mentally. No man of either political party, be it which it may, could introduce machinery into this city, though it were as evident as the sun at noonday that it must necessarily be for the general good, but he would in all probability, at some paltry election contest (particularly if he took an active part in it), be held up as an obnoxious individual, perhaps as one who had been the cause of the lowering of wages, or some such absurdity, and his property, and perhaps his life, would be endangered; and whilst the present detestable party animosity exists, no one will attempt to keep pace with any other manufacturing communities.

Besides impoverishing, politics greatly demoralise the place; they hold out the temptation of drinking, and the temptation of money to induce men to violate their consciences; "it is not only in the election of members of Parliament, but in the municipal elections also. Ten pounds are given commonly enough in a municipal election; I have known L.100 to be given when the contest was likely to run very close. We have eight wards in this city; two of them are so deother ward, inhabited by the aristocracy, is Tory, and cidedly Whig, that there is little contest there. Anthere is no contest there. But the other five wards must be regularly bought, and the real contest is merely which party has got the best purse. The Whigs are as bad as the Tories, and the Tories are as bad as the Whigs, and there is not a pin to choose between them.

There is not an election of any sort into which polithe poorest parish in Norwich to the election of the tics do not enter, from the election of the sexton of mayor of the city. In our charities, and in our literary institutions, and in every thing, it is the same. In choosing the committee of the public library there is always a struggle between the Whigs and the Tories. The last general election at Norwich was followed by an election amongst the boys, which, although amusing, shows how fully, even from their earliest youth, the nativ s of Norwich are imbued with party spirit. When the parents thus train them in the way that they should go, we may feel but too sure that when they are old they will not depart from it. every formality duly observed. At first all the voters It was a real contest, carried on with great zeal, and were unpaid; but as the contest drew towards a close, every means fair and foul was adopted to get boys to the poll; some were seized by force, others were induced by hire. At first marbles were given for votes; by and bye the price rose to pence; and towards the very close, from 1s. to 1s. 6d. was the reward of the suffrage. The blue and white' had a majority. There was a chairing procession, and a grand dinner and ball to celebrate the event. That might pass for tragedy in Norwich. a comedy, but politics render every thing more of a

[ocr errors]

triumph of the blue and white' party; the lower Their success in the boys' election was not the only the one a blue and white,' and the other a purple orders had their triumph also. Two pugilistic heroes, and yellow,' agreed to decide in their way the merits of their principles. The Whig hero was a weaver, in the employment of Mr Etheridge; that gentleman states, The man was a month in training. About a fortnight before the battle he declined a piece of work because he could not be spared from preparatory

exercises. The man is in my employment now. Many of my weavers went to see the battle; there was a strong muster of the operative politicians on both sides of the question, and a grand dinner among the blue and white' men afterwards, to celebrate the triumph of their champion. You may see the parties when you come to my warehouse.' Men present at the battle were afterwards seen, and the following further particulars were stated:Mr Edward Painter, formerly a professional pugilist, supplied the ropes and stakes; the scene of action was about eight miles from Norwich; each party went out with cockades in their pockets, and when the 'purple and yellow' hero could not come to time, the blue and white' partisans mounted their cockades, and displayed their flag, and they returned with shouts of triumph to the city. The purple and yellow' weavers, however, console themselves with the fact that their hero, though unfortunate in his inferior science, displayed a valour and hardihood which, under better tuition, would have secured him the victory."

[ocr errors]

The last general election at Norwich afforded a striking view of the party spirit of the city, and of the practices by which the leading men have acted on the poverty, the necessities, and the frailty and wickedness of the poorer citizens, many of whom are weavers, and whose interests have much suffered in consequence. The number of voters for the purple and orange' candidates was 1865 and 1863; and for the blue and white' candidates, 1843 and 1831; of whom 1400 voted under the influence of the most open application of pecuniary temptation.

The money spent, according to the information given to me by two gentlemen who could not but now, was about L.44,000. The blue and white party spent more money than the 'purple and orange' party; and this is attributable to what many consider to have been a blunder in their tactics, and which is thus explained.

The purple and orange' party had felt secure that there would be no opposition; and if the blue and election, which was on a Tuesday, it is supposed that white' party had kept quiet until close on the day of they might have taken their opponents by surprise, and snatched a victory. But they commenced operations on the Wednesday, being six days before the election, and began actively to buy votes, and to carry off the voters' into coop. They had thus the expense of six days to defray. But as soon as the 'purple and orange' party saw what was doing, they sent off to they had time to buy back their friends from the London for money, which arrived on Saturday, and

blue and white' party; and those whom they carried into coop, they had to keep only three days, which was much less expensive than keeping them six days. One of the chiefs of the blue and white' party admitted the impolicy of their early declaration of a contest, but said that his views had been overruled in the committee.

The contest was carried on very openly. There was no hypocrisy, no concealment, on either side. There were 1400 to be bought, and about these lay the struggle. One gentleman stated to me that he himself had the distribution of money to the voters on the day of election. He sat at a table in a large room, havof L.15, of L.20, of L.25, of L.30, of L.35, of L.40 ing before him parcels coiled up of bank-notes of L.10, value, all in readiness, that there might be no loss of time in counting. The voters, one at a time, entered at one door, passed through the room, and out at another door. Every man was asked what he had agreed for, and it was handed to him. One man would be so innocent as to ask for only L.10; the next man would ask for L.20; and both were paid with equal ask for L.15, and it would be paid; but with a caution readiness. Then might come, perhaps, one who would given to him not to spoil the market by letting any body know that he had got more than L.10. But the other sums were given. A grocer or other substantial tradesman looked for L.40, and there were the cases of two professional men who each had L.50.

The gentleman who paid the money gave this infor mation with the most hearty frankness; and when told that the guilt of all these doings rested upon him, and on the other criminals who composed the committee, he laughed, consoling himself that he had many coadju tors with whom to support the burden. Towards the victory; every vote therefore was sought out, and no close of the poll, nobody could say on which side lay the money was thought too much. The case of one poor man deserves to be particularised. Some years ago, being then in great distress, a manufacturer took pity on him, and gave employment both to him and his wife. They proved steady people, and they were never allowed to be out of work. A general election came on, and the man was offered L.15, and he refused it, and voted on the same side with his employer. Another election came on, and he was again tempted, and again stood firm. He said that the manufacturer had now for many years employed him and his wife, and a comfortable living, and he should consider himself he had never been without work, and thereby had had vote against him. After the close of the last election, the most ungrateful of men, if for money he were to the manufacturer was told that this man had voted against his party, and he sent for him, and made the inquiry. The man looked very uneasy, and said that not say that you would be the most ungrateful of men it was really so. The manufacturer said, 'Did you if you ever voted against me?' 'I did so,' said he,

' and I never intended to do otherwise; but there was a great deal of money offered me, a great deal indeed, and I was quite unable to resist it. The manufacturer said,And what might be the money; was it L.100? The man said, 'Sir, a great deal more than that.' It is known that the sum paid was L.135. This statement was made to me by the manufacturer himself. To pass by the base seducers, and to bestow blame on the poor man to whom such an irresistible sum was offered, would be demanding from poor men a strength of feeling which the condition of human nature does not entitle us to expect. At the election previous to the last, the number of voters to be bought was 900; at the last election it was 1400. It is the tendency of the system to extend its corrupting ravages, and on every returning occasion to draw more and more within its vortex.

Independent of the loss of about a month's work at these contested elections, the city languishes from the continual absorption of mental energy in party politics. But for this, long before now the town would have had an efficient police, and the majesty of the law would have attained respect; enterprising men would then have ventured to establish machinery in their manufactures, which they have not dared to do. The probability is, that in such circumstances the vast spaces of ground now empty within the walls, and much land in the vicinity, would have been covered with buildings, and the population, instead of 60,000 or 70,000, would have been 120,000, or 180,000; the ground would be yielding a rental many times over what it does at present; there would have been many more opulent manufacturers and tradesmen of every description, and Norwich would have been one of the chief places in the empire. Such, however, has not been the case, and until party spirit subside, little hope can be entertained of its prosperity.

SONGS OF BERANGER.

THOUGH Beranger was in heart and mind a republican, he could not help being dazzled by the intellectual greatness of Napoleon, and again and again in his writings he has given vent to expressions of admiration for the genius of the emperor, and regret for his fall. Considering the height of power to which Napoleon raised the people of France, there is indeed every excuse to be made for a native of the country on this score. The more fervent the patriotism of such a one, the more apt would he be to mistake the sword-sustained greatness of France under Bonaparte for something substantial and durable, and to accord praise to him from whom it flowed. Hence it is that we must not judge harshly of Beranger for the tenor and tone of such pieces as the one that follows, and which is much admired by his countrymen. He calls it "Les Souvenirs du Peuple"-" The Recollections of the People."

They will speak of all his glory

Round the fire for many a day; Lowly hearths will hear his story, When all other themes decay. Villagers at eve will cry

To some dame with temples grey "With the tale of times gone by, Grandame, while an hour away. Though he toiled us sore," they'll say, "Yet his name we still revere; His fame no time can dim:

Of him, good mother, let us hear

Oh speak to us of him!"

• Through this village, children, know,

King-attended, did he pass;

Ah, how long it is ago!

Newly wedded then I was.

Where to look on him I sat,

Up the hill he made his way, Drest in treble-peakéd hat,

And with riding-suit of grey. Much abashed I felt that day, But he cried, 'Good morn, my dear, 'Good morn, my dear,' he cried." "Then he spoke, grandame, when near? He spoke when by your side?" "In another twelvemonth's date, Then I saw him once again Walk to Notre-Dame in state, Followed by his courtly train. Pleasure beamed in every eye,

All admired the great display; 'Glorious time!' was then the cry, • Heaven favours him alway!' Ah, how sweet his smile that day' Heaven willed that he a sire becameOne son rejoiced his view!" "Oh what a day for you, grandame ! How bright a day for you!" "When the land of France anon Fell a prey to stranger hordes, Braving every foe alone,

Strove he to unloose our cords.
Scarce a day it seems to me,

Since a knock came to my door;
Opening it-good Heavens! 'twas he'
With an escort small and poor.
Where I sit, he sat before;
Oh this war!' did he exclaim,
'Oh what a war of care!'"
"Was he seated there, grandame?
Oh was he seated there?"

"Hunger prest him sore, and I

Had to give but bread and beer.
Then his dress he tried to dry,

And awhile he slumbered here.
Much I wept, but, when awake,
He exclaimed, 'Be hopeful still!
Paris soon shall see nie take
Vengeance fit for France's ill!

I have kept, and ever will,
Like gem of price, the glass-the same
From which he drank that night."
"Have you still the glass, grandame?
Oh give it to our sight!"

"See it here. But foemen found

Strength to lay the hero low;
He whose brows a pope had crowned,
Sleeps afar where sea-waves flow.
Long we disbelieved his loss,

Crying, 'He will re-appear!
Soon the ocean he will cross,

And our foes will find their peer!'
When the truth became too clear,
Sore, indeed, was my distress,
As heavy as the ill!"

"But, grandame, kind Heaven will bless

Will cheer and bless you still!"

There can be no doubt that this is a true picture. The whole land of France, without the exception of one single little village within its bounds, must abound in such recollections of Napoleon. This verisimilitude has made the song extremely popular. In the following piece, we find another faithful sketch of circumstances which must have been of but too common occurrence during the late war. A dialogue takes place between mother and daughter :

THE PRISONER of war.
"See, the shepherd's star is shining'
Mary, quit thy long day's toil."
"Mother, one we love lies pining,
Captive on a foreign soil.

Seized at sea, far, far away,
He yielded--but the last, they say."
Spin, poor Mary, toil and spin,
For the captive one afar :
Spin, poor Mary, toil and spin,
For the prisoner of war!
"At your call, I light my lamp.

But, my child, why yet in tears'
"Mother, he in dungeon damp

Wastes-the sport of foemen's jeers.
Adrian loved me from a boy:

His presence filled our home with joy."
Spin, &c.

"Child, for him I too would spin,
But I am so old and frail."
"All I toil for, all I win,

Goes to him I love and wail.
To her wedding, Rose in vain

Invites me-hark! the minstrel's strain!"
Spin, &c.

"Child, draw nigh the fire, I pray;
Chill it grows as day declines.”

"Mother, Adrian, they say,

In a floating dungeon pines:
Strangers, men of cruel mood,
Repulse his hand stretched out for food."
Spin, &c.

"Cheerly, daughter! I of late

Dreamed that you were Adrian's bride,
And my dreams, like hests of fate,
In one month are ratified."
"What! before the grass be green,
Shall my dear warrior here be seen!"
Spin, poor Mary, toil and spin,
For the captive one afar!
Spin, poor Mary, toil and spin,
For the prisoner of war!

Embodied in the most beautiful and polished language-not imitable, unfortunately, in an English version-these sentiments and pictures went home to the hearts of the French people. Even the bitterest opponents of Napoleon could not deny the beauty of such pieces as "The Recollections," or refrain from expressing their general admiration of the poet's genius. Between Chateaubriand and Beranger, men, in many respects, the opposite of each other, letters have recently passed, full of reciprocal respect and kindly sympathy. These epistles were published in 1832, in the Book of the Hundred and One. Beranger's is in the form of an ode, and begins thus: Why from thy land, Chateaubriand, dost thou flyFly from her loving cares and ours afar? Dost thou not hear thy country sadly cry,

"My bright sky mourns for one departed star!
"Where is my son?" that tender mother says.
Battered by storms God only can abate,
Poor as old Homer was in other days,

Alas! he knocketh at the stranger's gate! This whole ode is very touching, and the generous regret which it expresses for the misfortunes of Chateaubriand, who became an exile at the political crisis of 1830, called forth a reply from the banished noble, as honourable to his character as the verses alluded to were to that of his brother-poet, but political adversary. "Pierre de Beranger (says Chateaubriand) is pleased to call himself a song-writer, but, like Jean de la Fontaine, who chose to name himself

a fabulist, he has taken rank among our popular immortalities. I predict to you, sir, that your repute, great as it already is, will yet increase. Few critics at this day are capable of appreciating the perfect finish of your verses; few ears are delicate enough to taste their full harmony. The most exquisite art there lies hid under the garb of nature and ease."

In the following piece, translated by a friend, we find Beranger lamenting the dissipation of the romantic fancies, which, in his youthful mind, were coupled with the phenomena of wild-fires, or what we term in Britain Jack-a-lantern and Will-o'-the-wisp.

THE WILD-FIRES.

Oh summer eve, and village peace,

Clear skies, sweet odours, gushing streams!
Ye blest my childhood's simple dreams,
To cheer my age, oh do not cease!
World-wearied, here I love to dwell,
For ev'n these merry wild-fires tell
Of youth and sweet simplicity.

Oft did my heart with terror swell
As from their dance I wont to fly.
I've lost that blissful ignorance;
Dance, merry wild-fires, dance, dance.
On wakeful nights, the tale went round
Of Jack-a-lantern, cunning, cruel,
With watch-fires of no earthly fuel,
Guardian of treasures under ground.
They told of goblins, unblest powers,
Ghosts, sorcerers, and mysterious hours,
Of dragons huge that ever flitted

Around all dark and ancient towers: Such tales my easy faith admitted.

Age hath dispelled my youthful trance; Dance, pretty wild-fires, dance, dance. Scarce ten years old, one winter night, Bewildered on the lonely swamp,

I saw the wild-fire trim his lamp;
"It is my grandame's cheerful light-
A pretty cake she has for me,"

I said, and ran with infant glee.

A shepherd filled my soul with dread;
"Oh foolish boy, the lamp you see
Lights up the revels of the dead."
Dispelled is now my youthful trance;
Dance, merry wild-fires, dance, dance.
Love-stirred, at sixteen once I stole
By the old curate's lonely mound:
The wild-fires danced his grave around:
I paused to bless the curate's soul.
From regions of the slumbering dead,
Methought the aged curate said,
"Alas! unhappy reprobate,

So soon hath beauty turned thy head!" That night I feared the frowns of fate. Still let the voice my ear entrance; Dance, merry wild-fires, dance, dance.

Now, from such pleasing errors free,
I feel the chilling touch of time:
The visions of my early prime
Have bowed to stern reality.

But oh! I loved fair nature more,
Ere I was taught the pedant's lore.
The dear delusions of my youth,

Which bound my heart in days of yore,
Have fled before the torch of truth.
Dearest to me my youthful trance,
Dance, merry wild-fires, dance, dance.

With one other piece we shall close our notice of Beranger on this occasion. It is an address of the poet to his old coat, and exhibits that union of sententiousness with gaiety, so characteristic of the majority of his lyrics. The Lisette mentioned in it, as well as in so many other pieces, is understood to have had no existence but in the poet's fancy.

BERANGER TO HIS OLD COAT.

Be faithful still, thou poor dear coat of mine!

We, step for step, are both becoming old.

Ten years these hands have brushed that nap of thine
And Socrates did never more, I hold.

When to fresh tear and wear the time to be

Shall force thy sore-thinned texture to submit,
Be philosophic and resist like me:
Mine ancient friend, we must not sunder yet.
Full well I mind, for I forget not much,
The day that saw thee first upon me put:
My birth-day 'twas, and as a crowning touch
Unto my pride, my friends all praised thy cut.
Thy indigence, which does me ne disgrace,
Has never caused these kindly friends to flit.
Each at my fête yet shows a gladsome face:
Mine ancient friend, we must not sunder yet.
A goodly darn I on thy skirts espy,
And thereby hangs a sweet remembrance still.
Feigning one eve from fond Lisette to fly,
She held by thee to baulk my seeming will.
The tug was followed by a grievous rent,
And then her side of course I could not quit;
Two days Lisette on that vast darning spent:
Mine ancient friend, we must not sunder yet.
Have e'er I made thee reek with musky steams,
Such as your self-admiring fools exhale?
Have I exposed thee, courting great men's beams,
To levoc mock or antechamber rail?

A strife for ribbons all the land of France,
From side to side, well nigh asunder split:
From thy lapelle nothing but wild flowers glance:
Mine ancient friend, we must not sunder yet.

Fear no renewal of those courses vain,

Those madcap sports which once employed our hours—
Hours of commingled joyfulness and pain,

Of sunshine chequered here and there with showers.

I rather ought, methinks, thy faded cloth From every future service to acquit: But wait a while-one end will come to both Mine ancient friend, we shall not sunder yet. Beranger now lives at Tours, enjoying a small but comfortable independence. He is not a very old man,

and is understood to be employing his yet unimpaired faculties in writing a history of the stirring scenes amid which he passed his life. Being an intimate friend of Manuel, Gohier, David, and many others of the most distinguished men of modern France, his annals cannot fail to possess a lively and powerful interest.

BIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES.

AMBROSE PAREY.

sacre of St Bartholomew, would in all probability
have perished with "the good Coligny" and other
victims, had not the weak and wicked author of the
catastrophe, Charles IX., expressly interfered to save
the great surgeon from the fate to which others were
The king sent for Parey, and
pitilessly doomed
ordered him not to stir from the royal apartments till
the danger was past. There was no true generosity
here; Parey was a man whose services were too valu-
able to be lost. And, indeed, through his whole
lengthened career of eighty-one years, he owed his
favour at court to the same cause: he was too honest
to hold it by common courtier-like servility. The
other physicians hated him for his uncompromising
straightforwardness, and their waspish hostility drew
down on them some smart castigations from the old
surgeon. Here is a sample of the style in which he
treated a foe in his writings. Speaking of a gentle-
man whose limb he had amputated, he says, "I dressed
him, and God cured him. I sent him to his house
merry, with his wooden leg, and content, saying, that
he had escaped cheaply, not to have been miserably
burnt, as you write in your book."

Ambrose Parey's writings, consisting of tracts on military surgery, on anatomy, on the plague, &c., have been several times collected and published. An English translation of them was published in 1634, by Thomas Johnson, surgeon, and by him dedicated to Lord Herbert of Cherbury.

could I satisfy so great a number of hurt people." The great secret of Parey's success as a surgeon, both in military and other cases, was his plan of securing the blood-vessels; and to comprehend the precise nature of his process, it will be necessary to describe how amputations of limbs were performed previous to his day. From an early period, it was customary, in taking off a leg, arm, or finger, to sear the raw stump with a red-hot iron, so as to shrivel up the terminations of the arteries and other vessels, and stop the discharge of blood. Scalding oil was also applied to assist in this IN the roll of practical improvers of the useful sciences, rude and cruel operation. It is almost needless to few are entitled to a higher place than Ambrose Parey, say, that the danger attending this style of operating was very great; the least exertion or warmth caused or Paré, an illustrious" chirurgeon" of France in the the partially secured arteries to burst forth, and the sixteenth century, and one to whom his successors in the profession have unanimously accorded the title of unhappy sufferer, in too many instances, bled to death before a new cauterisation with a red-hot iron could Father of Modern Surgery. Parey was born at Laval, be applied. It was common for those who had lost a in the province of Maine, in the year 1509. He was placed under the charge of a country chaplain, in order leg or arm, to be found dead in bed, in consequence of the warmth of the dressings and bed-clothes having to receive a knowledge of Latin, but the parents of the opened the mouths of the arteries afresh. Such was boy were too poor to be able properly to indemnify the state of surgery when Ambrose Parey, a man of the teacher, and the latter accordingly extracted an equivalent for his fees from his pupil, by making him enlarged understanding and active habits, introduced dig in the garden, curry the mule, and perform other since been in universal use. a new practice into operative surgery, which has ever In the case of a leg or such labours. From these humble beginnings, Parey arm being amputated, or on any occasion where an rose to be medicine-compounder to a surgeon of Laval, and, while in this situation, had an opportunity of artery was divided, whether by accident or by the knife witnessing an operation for stone, which was performed of the surgeon, Parey gave security to the sufferer by by a Parisian lithotomist, brought from town on pur- ends, if these were exposed, or at some convenient tying the important vessel or vessels, either at their pose. The sight inspired the youth with the deter- point between the divided part and the heart. The some situation where he might prosecute to good pur- stopped. This improvement, like all great improvemination to go to Paris, and endeavour to get into flux of blood from that organ was thus effectually pose the study of the surgical art. At Paris he was ments, seems extremely simple, and one, apparently, fortunate enough to get into the favour of Goupil, a medical professor in the college of France, and from demanding no particular inventive powers. Yet its this time forward enjoyed the best advantages for full value can scarcely be estimated. It has given a acquiring the art to which he felt so strong a vocation. degree of security to all branches of operative surgery, In defending his character against the calumniationstation of a finger frequently caused a fatal loss of blood which was altogether unknown before. The mere ampuof an adversary, Parey at a later period gave the fol- in the days of preceding surgeons, but since the introlowing account of his professional education :-" I was duction of the ligature by Parey, the largest vessel in resident the space of three years in the hospital of the body may be divided with every prospect of safety Paris [the Hotel Dieu], where I had the means to use and learn divers works of surgery upon divers dis- French surgeon, therefore, deserves ever to be held in to the patient whose malady may require it. The great eases, together with the anatomy upon a great number of dead bodies; as oftentimes I have sufficiently grateful remembrance by mankind. Parey also made an accidental discovery of another kind, which was of made trial publicly in the Physicians' School of Paris, great service in military surgery. Under the impresand my good luck hath made me see much more. sion that wounds caused by powder had a certain "veneFor, being called to the service of the king of France nosity" about them, surgeons were in the habit of (four of whom I have served), I have been in company "cauterising the wounds with oil of elder, scalding at battles, skirmishes, assaults, and besieging of cities hot." On one occasion (says Parey) "I wanted oil, and fortresses; as also I have been shut up in cities and was constrained, instead of it, to apply a digestive with those that have been besieged, having charge to of yolks of eggs, oil of roses, and turpentine. In the parations of the evening. The last or five o'clock boat

dress those which were hurt." He concludes by say ing, with just pride, that in the famous city of Paris, for many long years, "there was not any cure, were it ever so difficult and great," where his hand and his counsel were not required.

The four kings of France whom Ambrose Parey served, and to each of whom, in succession, he was principal surgeon - in- ordinary, were Henry II., Francis II., Charles IX., and Henry III. In the course of the eighty-one years of his long and useful existence, Parey witnessed an amazing number of military actions; for so great was the estimation in which he was held, that the princes, nobles, and officers of France, would scarcely take the field without his attendance, and even the common soldiery participated in the same feelings. When accompanied by their great surgeon, all classes went cheerfully to battle, assured that if human aid could save them, none would perish. The truth of this statement is forcibly shown by some circumstances which occurred at the siege of Metz, in which city a small but select band of the noblesse and soldiery of France was long shut up by Charles V., at the head of an army of 100,000 men. The besieged forces petitioned their sovereign to send Ambrose Parey to them, and he was with great difficulty introduced into the city. He arrived at midnight, and the governor, who was immediately awakened to receive the good news, was so deeply sensible of the value of his acquisition, that he begged Parey to go next morning and show himself upon the breach. He did so, and was received with joy and triumph by the French army. His presence inspired them with such confidence, that the Emperor Charles found his assaults fruitless, and raised the siege, after leaving beneath the city walls not less than thirty thousand of his bravest followers. All writers have concurred in the admission, that the obstinacy of the defence was mainly owing to the presence of Ambrose Paroy attained to this high eminence while yet comparatively a young man. At the age of forty he was surgeon-in-ordinary to Henry II. We derive our acquaintance with the particulars of his career, chiefly from his own defensive or "Apologetic Treatise," containing an account of the journies which he made to divers places, at the command of his sovereign, or in pursuit of professional knowledge.

Parey.

The number of lives which Parey was personally instrumental in saving, during his numerous campaigns, is represented as having been beyond all calculation. His toils and his celebrity may be alike estimated from his own words. "When I entered into one lodging, soldiers attended me at the door to go and dress others at another lodging; when I went forth, there was striving who should have me; and they carried me, like a holy body, not touching the ground with my foot, in spite one of another. Nor

night I could not sleep in quiet, fearing some default
in not cauterising, and that I should find those, to
impoisoned, which made me rise very early to visit
whom I had not used the burning oil, to have died
them, where, beyond my expectation, I found those to
whom I had applied my digestive medicine to feel little
pain, and their wounds without inflammation or tu-
mour, having rested reasonably well that night. The
others, to whom was used the burning oil, I found fever
ish, with great pain and tumour about the edges of
their wounds. And then I resolved with myself never
This discovery led to a great and beneficial change in
so cruelly to burn poor men wounded by gun-shot."
surgical practice-a change scarcely less important
than that effected by the introduction of ligatures.
The forge and burning coals, and the scalding oil,
were from that time needed no more.

In the "Voyage to Boulogne in 1545," Parey men-
tions a curious incident which took place in the skir-
mishes between the English and the French. "One
day, going through the camp to dress my hurt people,
the enemies who were in the Tower of Order shot off
a piece of ordnance, thinking to kill horsemen who
staid to talk with one another. It happened that the
him to the ground, and it was thought the said bullet
bullet passed very near one of these men, which threw
had touched him, which it did not at all, but only the
wind of the said bullet in the midst of his coat, which
went with such a force that all the outward part of
the thigh became black and blue, and he had much
ado to stand. I dressed him, and made divers scari-
fications to evacuate the effused blood, which the wind
of the said bullet had made; and the rebounds that
the ball made from the ground killed four soldiers,
which remained dead in the place." The idea enter-
tained by Parey, regarding the destructive powers of
the wind of a bullet, continued current up almost till
the present day, and indeed some surgeons yet hold
the passage of cannon bullets, without presenting any
the same belief. That men are frequently killed by
trace of serious injury on their bodies, is an unques-
tionable fact. In some cases there are no marks even
of a bruise on the skin. In these circumstances, it
was not unnatural for Parey and others to suppose
that the ball had never touched the body. But, it has
been asked, if the wind of a ball is of such potency,
how does it happen that buttons, feathers, and even
noses and ears, are carried away by balls without the
slightest injury to the vital parts which are thus closely
passed? The opinion of the highest modern medical
authorities seems to be, that a spent ball, striking the
body obliquely, may cause a fatal concussion, without
injuring the skin by the stroke. It would be difficult
ball is now generally deemed incapable of producing
to explain how this should be so; but the wind of a
the effect ascribed to it.

GUIANA.

THE following article has accidentally met our eyes in a
BLACK LABOURERS' FANCY BALL IN BRITISH
Liverpool paper, into which it is stated to have been co-
pied from the Royal Gazette of British Guiana, of the 26th
December 1839. It describes a most extraordinary, and

surely in some important respects highly pleasing affair

a fancy ball given by a black labourer to his friends of instance and example of good feeling between the labourthe same order, and the neighbouring gentlemen. As an ing and employing class in a colony lately under the influence of slavery, and as a curious picture of manners, it seems to us entitled to extensive notice :

"On Christmas-eve, Vincent Paradise, head labourer on the estate of Vreed-en-Hoop, entertained the sable ladies and gentlemen of his acquaintance with a fancy ball. Ten or fifteen days previously to the 24th, cards of invitation, executed in the most fashionable style, were issued, not only to such as were to appear in fancy dresses, but also to numbers of white gentlemen of the first respectability in the neighbourhood. The whole day was fine, and admirably fitted for arranging the pre

from the town-side of the ferry was crowded from stem to stern, and from larboard to starboard, with people of all classes and colours, from the metropolis; the deck was covered over its length and breadth with baskets, tin canisters, and band-boxes, filled with the robes of dukes and duchesses, of lords and ladies, and of peasants and country girls. Knots, epaulettes, plumes, and such ornaments as would suffer from being bruised, were laid carefully on the binnacle, on canister-lids, or carried in the hands. On arriving at the Vreed-en-Hoop Ferry Stelling, all was found to be hurry, joy, and expectation; happiness beamed on every countenance, and the greatest enemy of the colony would have sought in vain for any, even the least, symptom of the distress and oppression fering. The room in which the assembly met is a large under which they have represented the labourers as suflogie among the buildings on Vreed-en-Hoop; and to it, from all directions, were seen hurrying gentlemen in great numbers, some in gigs, and others on horseback. Many of the girls and boys who were to appear in characters, drove to the place in the chaises and conveyances of their employers, in order to prevent their dresses and ornaments from being injured by walking. Proprietors, attorneys, and managers of estates up the river and down the coast, merchants, doctors, lawyers, magistrates, and private gentlemen from town and country, all assembled to participate and rejoice in the evening's amusement.

The apartment that was fitted up for the occasion is in length eighty-seven feet, and in breadth thirty-six, and and elegant. It was entered at one end, so that to a its decorations were on a style in the highest degree grand spectator going in at the door, a full view of the whole length of the room, and supports the floor above it, exactly scene presented itself. A large beam runs the entire in the middle. From this was suspended a Hogarthian line of waving drapery, richly embroidered with scarlet and gold, having arched spaces at intervals, through which persons could pass from one side to the other. It divided the apartment, through the whole length, into two equal parts, leaving a space of eighteen feet broad on each side for the dancers. From the centre of the ceiling of each and at the outer extremity of both sides was suspended side-division was hung a row of brilliant chandeliers, fantastically bedecked with variously-coloured ornaments, a similar row of lamps, the whole composing a beautiful greens and rich flowers, a device comprising the initials illumination. At the upper end were executed, of everof Victoria Regina, and between them the crown of Great Britain. On each side of this burned a lamp of extraor dinary brightness; the whole was overarched and embowered by two trees of liberty, which were planted so that their unfading and luxuriant boughs were entangled together above. A colonnade of green branches rested on the floor, close to the sides of the room; these ran the

entire length of the eighty-three feet, and their foliage

was trained so as to overhang the chandeliers in the mid

dle of the side spaces. The orchestra was decorated in

a tasteful and fantastic manner.

and it was really difficult to know whether to admire About eight o'clock the fancy guests began to assemble, most the costliness and elegance of the dresses, or their Parey was a Protestant, and at the era of the mas-appropriateness to the rank and character they were

[ocr errors]
« ZurückWeiter »