CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

 CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF 'CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE, ' 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE, ' &c. 

 No. 436. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, MAY 8, 1852. PRICE 1-1/2_d. _

THE MUSICAL SEASON. 

'The English are not a musical people. ' The dictum long stoodunquestioned, and, in general estimation, unquestionable. All theworld had agreed upon it. There could be no two opinions: we had nonational airs; no national taste; no national appreciation of sweetsounds; musically, we were blocks! At length, however, the creed beganto be called in question--were we so very insensible? If so, considering the amount of music actually listened to every year inLondon and the provinces, we were strangely given to an amusementwhich yielded us no pleasure; we were continually imposing onourselves the direst and dreariest of tasks; we were tormentingourselves with symphonies, and lacerating our patience with sonatasand rondos. What was the motive? Hypocrisy was very generallyassigned. We only affected to love music. It was intellectual, spiritual, in all respects creditable to our moral nature, to be ableto appreciate Mozart and Beethoven, and so we set up for connoisseurs, and martyrised ourselves that Europe might think us musical. Is theremore truth in this theory than the other? Hypocrisy is not generallyso lasting as the musical fervour has proved itself to be. A fashionis the affair of a season; a mania goes as it came; but regularly andsteadily, for many years back, has musical appreciation beenprogressing, and as regularly have the opportunities for hearing goodmusic of all kinds been extending. 

Take up a daily newspaper, published any time between April andAugust, and range your eye down the third or fourth column of thefirst page--what an endless array of announcements of music, vocal andinstrumental! Music for the classicists; music for the crowd;symphonies and sonatas; ballads and polkas; harmonic societies; choralsocieties; melodists' clubs; glee clubs; madrigal clubs. Here you havethe quiet announcement of a quartett-party; next to it, theadvertisement of one of the Philharmonic Societies--the giants of themusical world; pianoforte teachers announce one of their series ofclassic performances; great instrumental soloists have each a concertfor the special behoof and glorification of the _bénéficiaire_. MrSo-and-so's grand annual concert jostles Miss So-and-so's annualbenefit concert. There are Monday concerts, and Wednesday concerts, and Saturday concerts; there are weekly concerts, fortnightlyconcerts, and monthly concerts; there are concerts for charities, andconcerts for benefits; there are grand morning concerts, and grandevening concerts; there are _matinées musicales_, and _soiréesmusicales_; there are meetings, and unions, and circles, andassociations--all of them for the performance of some sort of music. There are musical entertainments by the score: in the City; in thesuburbs; at every institute and hall of science, from one end ofLondon to the other. One professor has a ballad entertainment; asecond announces a lecture, with musical illustrations; a thirdapplies himself to national melodies. All London seems vocal andinstrumental. Every dead wall is covered with naming _affiches_, announcing in long array the vast army of vocal and instrumentaltalent which is to assist at such and such a morning performance; andthe eyes of the owner of a vast musical stomach are dazzled anddelighted by programmes which will at least demand five hours in theperformance. 

So is London, in the course of the season, the congress of nearly allthe performing musical notabilities of Europe. Time has been when theycame to London for cash, not renown: now they come for both. A Londonreputation is beginning to rival a Parisian vogue, besides being tentimes more profitable; and, accordingly, from every musical corner inChristendom, phenomena of art pour in, heralded by the utmost possibleamount of puffing, and equally anxious to secure English gold and aLondon reputation. It is strange to observe how universally themusical tribute is paid. A tenor turns up from some Russian provincialtown; a basso works himself to London from a theatre inConstantinople; rumours arrive of a peerless prima donna, with a voicewhich is to outstrip everything ever heard of, who has been dug out, by some travelling amateur, from her native obscurity in a Spanish orNorwegian village; an extraordinary soprano has been discovered inAlexandria; a wondrous contralto has been fished up from Riga. Theinstrumental phenomena are not one whit scarcer. Classical pianistspour in from Germany principally; popular pianists, who delight infantasias rather than concertos, and who play such tricks with thekeyboards, that the performances have much more of the character oflegerdemain than of art, arrive by scores; violinists, violoncellists, professors of the trombone, of the ophicleide, of the bassoon, ofevery unwieldy and unmanageable instrument in fact, are particularlyabundant; and perhaps the most popular of all are the particularlyclever gentlemen who, by dint of a dozen years' or so unremittingpractice, have succeeded in making one instrument sound like another. Quackery as this is, it is enormously run after by no small proportionof the public. Not that they do not appreciate the art of the deviceat its proper level, but that the trick is curious and novel; and mostpeople, even the dignified classicists, have a gentle toleration for alittle--just a little--_outré_ amusement of the kind in question. Paganini was the founder of this school. He might have played on fourstrings till he was tired, without causing any particular sensation;but the single string made his fortune. Sivori is one of the cleverestartists of the present day, who resorts to tricks with his violin, andwonderfully does he perform them. At a concert last season, heimitated the singing of a bird with the strangest and happiest skill. The 'severe' shook their heads, but smiled as they did so, and ownedthat the trick was clever enough, and withal agreeable to hear. But itis gentlemen who make one instrument produce the sounds of another, or, at all events, who extract from it some previously unknown effect, who carry all before them. The present phenomenon in this way isBottesini, who, grasping a huge double-bass, the most unwieldy ofinstruments, tortures out of it the notes of a violin, of an oboe, andof a flute. A season or two ago, M. Vivier took all London by storm, by producing a chord upon the French horn, a feat previouslyconsidered impossible, and probably only the fruit of the mostdetermined and energetic practice, extending over many years. At allthe popular concerts, this trick-music is in immense request. Bottesini was the lion of Jullien's last series; but in his place inthe orchestra of the Philharmonic, he plays his part and holds hisinstrument like any ordinary performer. Bagpipe music is not muchappreciated on the banks of the Thames; but I can assure anyenterprising Scotsman, that if he can only succeed in producing thenotes of the bagpipe out of the trombone, he will make a fortune infive seasons or less. 

Such is musical London, then--rushing from concert to concert, andopera to opera--from severe classicism to the most miscellaneous_omnium gatherum_--from solemn ecclesiastical harmonic assemblages tothe chanting of merry glees, and the warbling of sentimental ballads. Let us, then, contemplate a little closer the different kinds ofconcerts--their features and their character--their performers andtheir auditories. Our sketch must be very hurried and very vague, butit will give an idea of some of the principal characteristics of theLondon musical season. 

First, then, among the performances of mingled vocal and instrumentalmusic, stand the two Sacred Harmonic Societies, which executeoratorios and similar works in Exeter Hall. The original SacredHarmonic Society has within the last couple of years split into twobodies. It had long contained within itself the elements of division. There were the Go-ahead party and the Conservative party--the first, eager to try new ground, and aim at new effects; the second, lovers ofthe beaten way. At length, the split took place. The progressistasflung themselves into the arms of M. Costa, the famous conductor ofthe Royal Italian Opera orchestra, and the highest and most Napoleonicof musical commanders. The Tories of the society went peaceably on inthe jog-trot ways of Mr Sarman, the original conductor. Each societycan now bring into the field about 800 vocal performers, the immensemajority of them amateurs, and their concerts take placealternately--Exeter Hall being invariably crammed upon eitheroccasion. The Costaites, no doubt, have the _pas_. The discipline oftheir chief is perfect, and as rigid as it is excellent. The powerwhich this gentleman possesses over his musical troops is verycurious. The whole mass of performers seem to wait upon his will asthe spirits did on Prospero. At the spreading of his arms, the musicdies away to the most faintly-whispered murmurs. A crescendo ormusical climax works gradually up step by step, and bar by bar, untilit explodes in a perfect crash of vocal and instrumental tempest. Theextraordinary choral effects produced in the performance of the_Huguenots_ almost bewildered the hearers; and the wondrous lights andshades of sound given in many of the oratorios, are little behind thedramatic achievement. The aspect of Exeter Hall on an oratorio nightis one of the grandest things in London. The vastness of theassemblage, the great mountain of performers, crested by the organ, and rising almost to the ceiling, are thoroughly impressive, while thefirst burst of the opening chorus is grand in the extreme. Theoratorio is, in fact, the Opera of the 'serious' world. It is at oncea place in which to listen to music and a point of social reunion. There are oratorio _habitués_ as well as Opera _habitués_; and betweenthe parts of the performance, the same buzzing hum of converse risesfrom the assemblage which you hear in the Opera corridors and lobbies. A glance at the audience will enlighten you as to their character. They represent the staid respectability of the middle class. Thedresses of the ladies are often rich, seldom brilliant, and there islittle sparkle of jewellery. You very frequently perceive familyparties, under the care of a grave _pater familias_ and hisstaid and stately partner. Quakers abound; and the number ofecclesiastically-cut coats shews how many clergymen of the church arepresent. The audience are in the highest degree attentive. The rulesforbid applause, but a gentle murmur of admiration rises at the closeof almost every _morceau_. Here and there, you have a practicalamateur, or a group of such with the open score of the oratorio beforethem, eagerly following the music. Often these last gentlemen aremembers of the rival Society, and, as might be expected, pick plentyof holes in the execution of their opponents, for which charitablepurpose only they have probably attended. But in M. Costa's Society, at all events, the task is difficult; the orchestra 'goes, ' as thephrase is, like one instrument, and the singers are beautifully underthe control of the master-spirit who directs them. 

Let us pass from Exeter Hall to Hanover Square. Here, in the Queen'sConcert Room--a _salle_ which once was smart, and the decorations ofwhich were fashionable seventy years ago--we have unnumbered concerts, and chief among them the twelve annual performances of thePhilharmonic Society. The 'Philharmonic, ' as it is conversationallycalled, holds almost the rank of a national institution. The sovereignpatronises it in an especial manner. It is connected with the RoyalAcademy of Music, and Her Majesty's private band is recruited from theranks of its orchestra. The Philharmonic band may be indeed taken asthe representative of the nation's musical executive powers; and, assuch, comparisons are often instituted between it and the French, Austrian, and Prussian Philharmonics. The foreigners who hold placesin the orchestra are resident, and in some sort naturalised, but thebulk of the executants are English. To be a member of the Philharmonicorchestra is, indeed, to take a sort of degree in executive music, andat once stamps the individual as a performer of distinguished merit. The music performed is entirely classic, and principally instrumental. New compositions are seldom given; and, in fact, it was the practiceof adhering so exclusively to the standard works of great composerswhich started the new Philharmonic Society, which has just come intoexistence. The elder body stick stanchly to the safe courses of Bach, Gluck, Beethoven, Mozart, and Mendelssohn. The newly-createdassociation proclaim that their mission is to look after aspirants, aswell as to honour the veterans of the art; and accordingly they bringforward many compositions experimentally--a meritorious policy, butone not without its dangers. Few unprofessional people are aware ofthe cost of producing elaborate compositions. When _William Tell_ wasplayed some years ago at Drury Lane--to mention one single item--theprice of copying the parts from the full score, at 3d. A page, came toL. 350. All the old music is of course to be had printed; and to thesestandard scores the steady-going Philharmonic principally devotesitself. Each performance consists in general of two symphonies, or asymphony and an elaborate concerto, each occupying at leastthree-quarters of an hour, with two overtures, and solos, vocal andinstrumental--the former generally sung by performers from eitherOpera, but usually from Covent Garden. M. Costa wields the baton atHanover Square as at Exeter Hall; and under his management, the bandhave attained a magnificent precision and _ensemble_ of effect. Itsmusical peculiarity over ordinary orchestras is the vast strength ofstringed instruments, which gives a peculiar _verve_ and light vigourto the performances. The rush of the violins in a rapid passage isoverwhelming in its impetuosity and vigour, and is said, of late yearsespecially, to beat the 'attack, ' as it is technically called, of anyof the continental Philharmonic Societies. The Philharmonic concertsare very fashionable. It is good taste, socially and artistically, tobe present; and, consequently, the room is always crowded by anassemblage who display most of the characteristics of an Operaaudience. The musical notabilities of town always muster in full forceat the Philharmonic. Composers, executants, critics, amateurs, andconnoisseurs, are all there, watching with the greatest care theexecution of those famous works, the great effect of which can only beproduced by the most wary and appreciative tenderness of rendering. Inthe interval between the first and second parts, the very general humof conversation announces how great the degree of familiaritysubsisting among the _habitués_. There is none of the common stiffnessof waiting one sees at ordinary entertainments. Everybody seems toknow everybody else, and one general atmosphere of genial intercourseprevails throughout the room. 

Let us change the scene to a classic concert of quite another kind. Ina quiet West-end street, we are in a room of singular construction. Itis in the form of a right-angled triangle; and at the right angle, upon a small dais, is placed the pianoforte and the desks, and soforth, for the performers. The latter are thus visible from allpoints; but about one-half the audience in each angle of the room isquite hidden from the other. Everybody is in evening dress; the ladiesvery gay, and the party very quiet--a still, drawing-room sort of airpresides over the whole. Many of the ladies are young--quite girls;and a good many of the gentlemen are solemn old foggies, who appearstrongly inclined to go to sleep, and, in fact, sometimes do. Meantime, the music goes on. A long, long sonata or concerto--pianoand violin, or piano, violin, and violoncello--is listened to inprofound silence, with a low murmur of applause at the end of eachmovement. Then perhaps comes a little vocalism--sternly classicthough--an aria from Gluck, or a solemn and pathetic song fromMendelssohn: the performer being either a well-known concert-singer, or a young lady--very nervous and a little uncertain--who, it iswhispered, is 'an Academy girl;' a pupil, that is, of the institutionin question. Sometimes, but not often--for it is _de rigueur_ thatentertainments of this species shall be severely classic--we have aphenomenon of execution upon some out-of-the-way instrument, whoperforms certain miracles with springs or tubes, and in some degreewakens up the company, who, however, not unfrequently relapse into alltheir solemn primness, under a concerto manuscript, or a triomanuscript, the composition of the _bénéficiaire_. Between the parts, people go quietly into a room beneath, where there are generally somemild prints to be turned over, some mild coffee to drink, some mildconversation about mild things in general; and then the party remountthe stairs, and mildly listen to more mild music. This is the commonroutine of a classical pianoforte soirée. The _bénéficiaire_ is afashionable teacher, and, in a small way, a composer. He gives, everyseason, a series, perhaps two or three series, of classic evenings. The pupils and their families form the majority of the audience, interspersed with a few pianoforte amateurs, and those _fanatici perla musica_ who are to be found wherever a violin is tuned, or a pianois opened. 

Another species of classic concert is to be found in thequartett-meetings. These take place in some small concert-room, suchas that I have described, or at the houses of the executants; and theaudience comprehends a far larger proportion of gentlemen than thelast-mentioned entertainments. The performers are four--pretty sure tobe gentlemen of the highest professional abilities. The instrumentsare first and second violin, viola, and violoncello; and three or fourquartetts by the great masters, or, very probably, as manycompositions, marking the different stages of Beethoven's imagination, are played with the most consummate skill and the tenderest regard forlight and shade. People not deep in the sympathies and tastes of themusical world, have no idea how these compositions are loved andstudied by the real disciples of Mozart, Beethoven, and Haydn; howparticular passages are watched for; and how old gentlemen nod theirheads, or shake them at each other, according as they agree ordisagree in the manner of the interpretation. Half the audienceprobably know every bar of the music by heart, and no inconsiderablenumber could perhaps perform it very decently themselves. It is indeedat these quartett and quintett meetings, that you see genuinespecimens of musical knowledge and musical enthusiasm. They take placeby half-dozens during the season; and you always find the same classof audience, often the same individuals, regularly ranged before theexecutants. 

But place now for the real grand, miscellaneous, popular, and populousmorning concert! Now for elephantine dimensions and leviathan bills offare. It is nominally, perhaps, or really, perhaps, the annual benefitconcert of some well-known performer, or it is the speculation of agreat musical publishing house, in the name of one of their composingor performing _protégés_. The latter is, indeed, a very commonpractice. But whether the music-publishing and opera-box-letting firmbe the real concert-giver, or merely the agent, to it is left thewhole of the nice operation of 'getting up' the entertainment. It hasthen exhausted all the dodges of puffery in pumping up an unusualdegree of excitement. The affair is to be a 'festival' or a 'jubilee;''all the musical talent' of London is to be concentrated; thecontinent has been dragged for extra-ordinary executive attractions;every musical hit of the season is to be repeated; every effect is tobe got up with new _éclat_: never was there to be such a _super extra, ne plus ultra_ musical triumph. The day approaches. Rainbow-hued_affiches_ have done their best; placard-bearers, by scores, haveparaded, and are parading, the streets; advertisements have blazonedthe scheme day after day, and week after week; the gratis-tickets havebeen duly 'planted;' puffs, oblique and implied, have hinted at thecoming attraction in every Sunday paper; and programmes are flutteringin every get-at-able shop-front. The day comes. A long line offashionable carriages, strangely intermingled with shabby cabs, fileup to the doors, and the gay morning dresses, flaunting with colours, disappear between the two colossal placards which grace the entrance. The room is filled. _Habitués_, and knowing musical men on town, recognise each other, and congregate in groups, laughingly comparingnotes upon the probabilities of what artists announced will make anappearance, and upon what apologies will be offered in lieu of thosewho don't. A couple of these last are probably already in circulation. Madame Sopranini is confined to bed with an inflammatory attack; andSignor Bassinini has got bronchitis. Nevertheless, the concert begins;and oh! the length thereof. The principal vocalists seem to havemostly mistaken the time at which they would be wanted; and thechopping and changing of the programme are bewildering. Bravuras takethe place of concertos; a duet being missing, an aria closes theranks; a solo on the trombone not being forthcoming, a vocal trio(unaccompanied) is hurriedly substituted. Still, there is plenty ofthe originally announced music; all the favourite airs, duets, andtrios from the fashionable operas; all the ballads in vogue--the musicpublished by the house which has set the whole thing on foot, ofcourse; all the phenomena of executive brilliance are there, or aremomentarily expected to appear. We begin after an overture with, say, an air from the _Puritani_, by a lovely tenor; another, from the_Somnambula_, by a charming soprano; a fantasia by a legerdemainpianist, with long hair, and who comes down on the key-board as thoughit was his enemy; the famous song from _Figaro_--encored; themadrigal, 'Down in a Flowery Vale'--the latter always a sure card; aduet from _Semiramide_, by two young ladies--rather shaky; solo on theclarionet, by a gentleman who makes the instrument sound like afiddle--great applause; 'In manly Worth, ' by an oratorio tenor; theoverture to _Masaniello_, by the band; concerto (posthumous, Beethoven), by a stern classical man--audience yawn; pot pourri, by aromantic practitioner--audience waken up; ballad, 'When Hearts aretorn by manly Vows, ' by an English tenor--great delight, andencouragement of native talent; glee, 'Glorious Apollo, ' or, 'TheRed-cross Knight'--very well received; recitative and aria, from_Lucia di Lammermoor_--very lachrymose; violin solo, by SignorRosinini, who throws the audience into a paroxysm of delight byimitating a saw and a grindstone; 'The Bay of Biscay, ' by the'veteran' Braham, being positively his last appearance (the 'veteran'is announced for four concerts in the ensuing week!); ballad, again, by the native tenor, 'When Vows are torn by slumbering Hearts'--moregreat applause; the page's song from the _Huguenots_, for thecontralto; 'When the Heart of a Man, ' _Beggars' Opera_; quartett forfour pianofortes, great bustle arranging them, and then only threeperformers forthcoming--an apology--attack of bronchitis--but MrBraham will kindly (thunders of applause) sing 'The Death of Nelson;'quartett for double-bass, trombone, drum, and triangles--curiouseffect; the audience hardly know whether they like it or not; thebravura song of the 'Queen of Night, ' from _Zauberflöte_; overture to_William Tell_; ballad, 'When Slumber's Heart is torn by Vows;' duet, 'I know a Bank, ' by the Semiramide young ladies; fantasia pianoforte, from the _Fille du Régiment_; 'Rode's air, with variations, ' from thetext; and the storm movement of the _Sinfonia Pastorale_, byBeethoven!

Such may be taken as a fair specimen-slice of a _Concert Monstre_; andin listening to this wild agglomeration of chaotic music, the daypasses, very likely from two o'clock until six. In a future paper, Imay touch upon the peculiarities of the artists performing. 

 A. B. R. 

THE TALLOW-TREE OF CHINA. 

It is one happy recommendation of the Natural system of botany, thatmany of its orders form groups of plants distinguished not only by thecharacteristics of general physiognomy, and the more accuratedifferences of structure, but in an especial manner by the medicinaland economical properties which they possess, and which are indeedfrequently peculiar to the order. Such is the case with the naturalorder _Euphorbiaceæ_, or spurge family, to which the tallow-tree ofChina belongs. The order includes 2500 species, all of which are moreor less acrid and poisonous, these properties being especiallydeveloped in the milky juices which abound in the plants, and whichare contained, not in its ordinary tissues, but in certain specialvessels. Many important substances are derived from this order, notwithstanding its acrid and poisonous character. Castor-oil isobtained from the seeds of _Ricinus communis_; croton-oil, and severalother oleaginous products of importance in medicine and the arts, areobtained from plants belonging to the order. The root of _JaniphaManihot_, or Manioc-plant, contains a poisonous substance, supposed tobe hydrocyanic acid, along with which there is a considerableproportion of starch. The poisonous matter is removed by roasting andwashing, and the starch thus obtained is formed into the cassava-breadof tropical countries, and is also occasionally imported into Europeas Brazilian arrow-root. 

Many of the important economical productions of China are little knownin this country; we are, however, daily gaining additions to ourknowledge of them; and within the last few years, much valuableinformation has been obtained respecting the productive resources ofthe Eastern Empire. The grass-cloth of China only became known inEurope a few years ago, but it now ranks as one of the importantfabrics of British manufacture. Daily discoveries seem to shew thatthere are Chinese products of equal importance, as yet unknown to us. On the present occasion, we call the attention of our readers to asubstance which has been long known, as well as the plant whichproduces it, but neither of which has hitherto been prominentlybrought into general notice in Britain. For our information respectingthe uses of the tallow-tree, we express our chief obligations to apaper by Dr D. J. Macgowan, published in the Journal of theAgricultural and Horticultural Society of India. [1]

The tallow-tree of China is the _Stillingia sebifera_ of botanists; aplant originally indigenous to China, where it occurs in wetsituations, but which is now somewhat common in various parts of Indiaand America, chiefly as an ornamental tree. In Roxburgh's time, it wasvery common about Calcutta, where, in the course of a few years, itbecame one of the most common trees; and it has become almostnaturalised in the maritime parts of South Carolina. In China alone, however, is it as yet appreciated as an economical plant, and therealone are its products properly elaborated. It is chiefly prized forthe fatty matter which it yields, and from which it derives itsappropriate name; but it affords other products of value: 'its leavesare employed as a black dye; its wood being hard and durable, may beeasily used for printing-blocks and various other articles; and, finally, the refuse of the nut is employed as fuel and manure. . . . Itgrows alike on low alluvial plains and on granite hills, on the richmould at the margin of canals, and on the sandy sea-beach. The sandyestuary of Hangchan yields little else; some of the trees at thisplace are known to be several hundred years old, and thoughprostrated, still send forth branches and bear fruit. . . . They areseldom planted where anything else can be conveniently cultivated--butin detached places, in corners about houses, roads, canals, andfields. '

The sebaceous matter, or vegetable tallow, is contained in theseed-vessels of the _Stillingia_. The processes adopted forabstracting it are of importance, and meet with due consideration inDr Macgowan's valuable paper. The following clear account is given ofthe whole process, as practised in China:--'In midwinter, when thenuts are ripe, they are cut off with their twigs by a sharpcrescentric knife, attached to the extremity of a long pole, which isheld in the hand, and pushed upwards against the twigs, removing atthe same time such as are fruitless. The capsules are gently poundedin a mortar, to loosen the seeds from their shells, from which theyare separated by sifting. To facilitate the separation of the whitesebaceous matter enveloping the seeds, they are steamed in tubs, having convex open wicker bottoms, placed over caldrons of boilingwater. When thoroughly heated, they are reduced to a mash in themortar, and thence transferred to bamboo sieves, kept at a uniformtemperature over hot ashes. A single operation does not suffice todeprive them of all their tallow; the steaming and sifting aretherefore repeated. The article thus procured becomes a solid mass onfalling through the sieve; and to purify it, it is melted and formedinto cakes for the press. These receive their form from bamboo hoops, a foot in diameter, and three inches deep, which are laid on theground over a little straw. On being filled with the hot liquid, theends of the straw beneath are drawn up and spread over the top; andwhen of sufficient consistence, are placed with their rings in thepress. This apparatus, which is of the rudest description, isconstructed of two large beams, placed horizontally so as to form atrough capable of containing about fifty of the rings with theirsebaceous cakes; at one end it is closed, and at the other adapted forreceiving wedges, which are successively driven into it by ponderoussledge-hammers, wielded by athletic men. The tallow oozes in a meltedstate into a receptacle below, where it cools. It is again melted, andpoured into tubs, smeared with mud, to prevent its adhering. It is nowmarketable, in masses of about eighty pounds each--hard, brittle, white, opaque, tasteless, and without the odour of animal tallow;under high pressure, it scarcely stains bibulous paper, and it meltsat 104 degrees Fahrenheit. It may be regarded as nearly purestearine. . . . The seeds yield about 8 per cent. Of tallow, which sellsfor about five cents per pound. '

There is a separate process for pressing the oil, which is carried onat the same time. The kernels yield about 30 per cent. Of oil, whichanswers well for lamps. It is also employed for various purposes inthe arts, and has a place in the Chinese pharmacopoeia, because of itsquality of changing gray hair to black, and other imaginary virtues. 

The husks are used to feed the furnaces; the residuary tallow-cakesare also employed for fuel--a small quantity remaining ignited a wholeday. The oil-cake forms a valuable manure, and is of course carefullyused for this purpose in China, where so very great regard is paid tothe collecting of manures. This kind is particularly used forenriching tobacco-fields, its powerful qualities recommending it forsuch a scourging crop. 

With regard to the uses of the vegetable tallow, Dr Macgowan observes:'Artificial illumination in China is generally procured by vegetableoils, but candles are also employed. . . . In religious ceremonies, noother material is used. As no one ventures out after dark without alantern, and as the gods cannot be acceptably worshipped withoutcandles, the quantity consumed is very great. With an unimportantexception, the candles are always made of what I beg to designate asvegetable stearine. When the candles, which are made by dipping, areof the required diameter, they receive a final dip into a mixture ofthe same material and insect-wax, by which their consistency ispreserved in the hottest weather. They are generally coloured red, which is done by throwing a minute quantity of alkanet-root (_Anchusatinctoria_), brought from Shan-tung, into the mixture. Verdigris issometimes employed to dye them green. ' We are not aware that thevegetable tallow has as yet been imported into Britain to any extent. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] 'Uses of the _Stillingia Sebifera_, or Tallow-Tree, &c. , by D. J. Macgowan, M. D. , &c. ' The substance of the same communication was laidbefore the Botanical Society of Edinburgh, 12th February, 1852, havingbeen communicated by Dr Coldstream. 

THE TOLLMAN'S STORY. 

Some local travellers of about twenty-five years' practice, may stillremember the keeper of a toll-bar on one of the western approaches toGlasgow, known in his neighbourhood as English John. The prefix wasgiven, I believe, in honour of his dialect, which was remarkably pureand polished for one of his station in those days; and the solution ofthat problem was, that he had been from childhood, till the gray wasthickening on his hair, in the service of an English family, who hadcome into possession, and constantly resided on, a handsome estate inhis native parish in Dumbartonshire. 

Through their interest, he had been appointed to the office of powerand trust in which I made his acquaintance. John was one of myearliest friends, though the remnant of his name was never heard norinquired after by me. The great town has now grown much nearer histoll-house, which then stood alone on the country road, with nobuilding in sight but the school, at which I, and some two score ofthe surrounding juveniles, were supposed to be trained in wisdom'sways, by the elder brother of our parish minister. A painstaking, kindly teacher he was; but the toll-house was a haunt more pleasant toour young fancies than his seminary. John was the general friend andconfidant of all the boys; he settled our disputes, made the best topsand balls for us, taught us a variety of new tricks in play, andsometimes bestowed upon us good advices, which were much soonerforgotten. John never married. He had a conviction, which wasoccasionally avowed, that all women were troublesome; and whether thisevidence be considered _pro_ or _con_, he was a man of rough sense andrustic piety, of a most fearless, and, what the Germans call, aself-standing nature--for solitude or society came all alike to John. You would as soon expect a pine-tree to be out of sorts, as his hard, honest face, and muscular frame. John was never sick, or disturbed inany way; he performed his own domestic duties with a neatness andregularity known to few housekeepers, and was a faithful and mostuncompromising guardian of the toll-bar. I well remember how our youngimaginations were impressed with the fact, that no man could pass, without, as it were, paying tribute to him; and George IV. , though heappeared on the coppers with which we bought apples, cast by no meansso mighty a shadow on our minds as English John. Before this glorywaned, I was removed from his neighbourhood, being sent to cheer theheart and secure the legacy of a certain uncle who was a writer to theSignet in Edinburgh, and believed to be in profitable practice andconfirmed bachelorhood. The worthy man has long ago married hislandlady's daughter, and been blessed with a family sufficient to filla church-pew. My own adventures--how I grew from garment to garment, how I became a law-student, and at length a writer myself--have littleto do with the present narrative, and are therefore spared the readerin detail; but the first startling intelligence I received from homewas, that English John had resigned his important office at thetoll-house, and gone, nobody knew whither!

Years had passed; my professional studies were finished, and I hadoccasion to visit a Fife laird near the East Neuk. The gentleman wasnotable for his taste in kitchen-gardening; and having a particularlyfine bed of Jerusalem artichokes which I must see, he conducted me tothe scene of his triumphs, when, hard at work with the rake and hoe, whom should I find as the much esteemed gardener, but my old friendEnglish John! His hair had grown quite gray, and his look strangelygrave, since last I saw him: time had altered me still more;nevertheless, John knew me at once--he had always a keen eye--but Iperceived it was his wish not to be recognised at all in presence ofthe laird. That worthy was one of those active spirits who extendtheir superintendence to every department. He commanded in the pantryas well as on the farm; and while expatiating over the artichokes, aprivate message from his lady summoned him back to the house, as Isincerely believe, on some matter connected with the dinner; and heleft me, with an understood permission to admire the artichokes, andthe garden in general, as long as I pleased. Scarcely was he fairlyout of sight, till I was at the gardener's side. 'John, my oldfellow, ' cried I, grasping his hand, 'I'm glad to see you once again. How has the world behaved to you these many years?'

'Pretty well, Master Willie, ' said John, heartily returning my shake;'and I'm glad to see you too; but your memory must be uncommon good, for many a one of the boys has passed me by on street and highway. Howhave they all turned out?' And he commenced a series of inquiriesafter schoolmates and old neighbours, to which my answers were asusual in such cases--some were dead, some were married, and some gonefar away. 

'But, John, ' said I at last, determined to make out the mystery whichhad so long puzzled me and the entire parish--'in exchange for all mynews, tell me why you left the toll-house? It was surely a betterplace than this?'

'You know what the old proverb says, Master Willie: "Change islightsome, "' said John, beginning to dig, as if he would fain staveoff the explanation. 

'Ha, John, that wont do!' said I; 'your mind was never so unsteady. Tell me the truth, for old times' sake; and if there is anything inthe story that should not be made public, you know I was always acapital secret-keeper. Maybe it was a love-matter, John: are youmarried yet?'

'No, Master Willie, ' cried my old friend, with a look of the mostsincere self-gratulation I ever saw. 'But it's a queer story, and oneI shouldn't care for telling; only, you were always a discreet boy, and it rather presses on my mind at times. The master won't be backfor awhile; he'll have the roast to try, and the pudding to taste--notto talk of seeing the table laid out, for there are to be somehalf-dozen besides yourself to-day at dinner. That's his way, you see. And I'll tell you what took me from the toll-house--but mind, nevermention it, as you would keep peace in the west country. '

This is John's story, as nearly in his own words as I can call them tomind:--

 * * * * *

The family in whose service I was brought up lived on their estate inDumbartonshire, which came through the mistress of the mansion, whohad been heiress of entail, and a lady in her own right; we called herLady Catherine, and a prouder woman never owned either estate ortitle. Her father had been a branch of the Highland family to whom theproperty originally belonged. Her mother was sprung from the oldFrench nobility, an emigrant of the first Revolution, and she had beenbrought up in England, and married in due time to an Honourable Mr---- there. When she first came to the estate, her husband had beensome years dead, and Lady Catherine brought with her a son, who was tobe heir--at that time a boy like myself--and two handsome grown-updaughters. The castle was a great fabric, partly old and partly new. It stood in the midst of a noble park, with tall trees and red deer init. Its last possessor had been a stingy old bachelor; but after LadyCatherine's coming, the housekeeping was put on a grand scale. Therewas a retinue of English servants, and continual company. I rememberit well, for just then my poor mother died. She had been a widow, living in a low cottage hard by the park-wall, with me and a gray catfor company, and her spinning-wheel for our support. I was but a childwhen she died; and having neither uncle nor aunt in the parish, theytook me, I think, by her ladyship's order, into the castle, to runsmall errands, and help in the garden; from which post, in process oftime, I rose to that of footman. Lady Catherine was in great odourwith the country gentry for her high-breeding, her fashionableconnections, and her almost boundless hospitality. She was popularwith the tenantry too, for there was not a better managed estate inthe west, and the factor had general orders against distress andejectment. 

They said her ladyship had been reckoned a beauty in Londondrawing-rooms, and our parish thought her wonderfully grand for thegay dresses and rich jewellery she wore. Doubtless, these were but thecast-offs of the season, for regularly every spring she and the familywent up to London, where they kept a fine house, and what is calledthe best society. How much the gay dresses had to do with the beautyis not for me to say, but Lady Catherine was a large, stately woman, with a dark complexion, and very brilliant red, which the servantswhispered was laid on in old court fashion. Her manner to her equalswas graceful, and to her inferiors, gracious; but there was a look ofpride in her dark gray eyes, and a stern resolution about thecompressed lips, which struck my childish mind with strange fear, andkept older hearts in awe. Her daughters, Florence and Agnes, werepictures of their mother--proud, gay ladies, but thought the flower ofthe county. Their portions were good, and they would have beenco-heiresses but for their brother Arthur. He was the youngest, but sodifferent from his mother and sisters, that you wouldn't have thoughthim of the same family. His fair face and clear blue eyes, his curlybrown hair and merry look, had no likeness to them, though he was nota whit behind them in air or stature. At eighteen, there was not afiner lad in the shire; and he had a frank, kindly nature, which madethe tenantry rejoice in the prospect of his being their futurelandlord. 

Near the castle there stood a farmhouse, occupied by an old man whosegreat-grandfather had cultivated the same fields. He was not rich, butmuch respected by his neighbours for an honest, upright life. His wifewas as old as himself. They had been always easy-living people, andhad no child but one only daughter. Menie was a delicately prettygirl, a little spoiled, perhaps, in her station, for both father andmother made a queen of her at home. She was never allowed to do anyrough work, was always dressed, and her neighbours said, kept in theparlour. Menie had a great many admirers, but her parents thought hertoo good for everybody, and had a wonderful belief of their own, thatshe was somehow to get a great match, and be made a lady. There was astrange truth in that notion, as things turned out, for we servants atthe castle began to remark how often the young master was seen goingand coming about the farmhouse. Maybe the old farmer and his wifeencouraged him, for they had a story concerning their own descent fromsome great chief of the western Highlands, and a family of wild proudcousins, who lived up among the hills; but of this I know nothingmore, only that the farmer's daughter was the prettiest girl in theparish. Master Arthur was beginning his nineteenth year, and there wasa storm up stairs, such as had never been heard before in the castle, when Lady Catherine found out what was going on, as I think throughour minister, who considered it his duty to let her know what everyone talked of, but nobody else would dare to mention in her presence. Whether the tempest was more than Master Arthur could stand, orwhether Lady Catherine, in her fury--for she had no joke of a tongueand temper--said something of Menie which drove the boy to finish thebusiness in his own way, was long a disputed point in the servants'hall; but next morning he was missed in the castle, and in the courseof my duties the same forenoon, I brought a letter from the villagepost-office, the reading of which sent the young ladies off inhysterics, and made Lady Catherine retire to her room--for itannounced that her heir of entail and the farmer's daughter were goneto get married in Glasgow. 

The young ladies recovered in about two hours, and her ladyship cameout, but only to prepare for a journey to Paris; and quick work shemade of it. Within twenty-four hours from the receipt of that letter, she and her daughters were off in the family carriage; the best partof the servants despatched to live at their town-house on board-wages;all the good rooms locked up, and nobody but the gardener, akitchen-girl, and myself left with the old housekeeper at the castle. The next news we heard was, that the old farmer and his wife had setout to bring home their daughter and son-in-law, saying--poor people, in their pride or folly--that Menie and her husband could live withthem till Providence cleared their way to the estate, which nobodycould keep from them. I believe it was that speech, coming to her earsby some busy tongue or other, that made Lady Catherine so bitterafterwards; but Master Arthur and his bride came home to thefarmhouse, where the parlour and the best bedroom were set apart fortheir use; and the poor old father and mother were proud to serve andentertain them. They were a young pair; for, as I have said, he was inhis nineteenth, and she in her seventeenth year--a handsome pair, too, and more alike than one would have supposed from the difference oftheir birth. Menie had a genteel, quiet carriage, and really lookedlike a lady in the church-pew beside our young master, whom we seldomsaw but at a distance--for his spirit was too high to come near thecastle--and though it wasn't just told us, we all knew that going tothe farmhouse would be reckoned the full value of our places. 

It was the fall of the year when Lady Catherine left us--all thatwinter she spent in Paris; and when the spring again came round, weheard of her opening house with even more than usual gaiety in London. That was a great season with her ladyship. In its course, she got herdaughters both married to her mind. The one wedded a baronet, and theother a right honourable; but scarcely had the newspapers fullyannounced his sisters' wedding-breakfasts, and how the happy pairs setout, when Master Arthur was seized with sudden sickness. He had beenfishing in a mountain-lake, and got drenched to the skin by the rainof a thunder-storm, overexerted himself in walking home, and caught apleurisy. The whole parish felt for the poor young man, who had beenso hardly used by his mother, and many were the inquiries made for himat the farmhouse. There was wild wo there, for every day he got worse;and within the week, Menie was left a widow. Lady Catherine had goneback to Paris at the close of the season; one of her married daughterswas in Italy, and the other in Switzerland; but two cousins of theirfather were to be found in England; and Master Arthur was laid in thefamily vault, under our old parish church, before the intelligencereached them. Lady Catherine came back in deep mourning, and alone, but not a whit subdued in spirit: she had been heard to say, that herson was better dead than disgraced; and her estate was at least safefrom being shared by peasants. Of her daughter-in-law, she never tookthe slightest notice. People said, the poor young widow's heart wasbroken, for she had thought more of Arthur than of his rank andproperty, and kept well out of the proud, hard woman's way. Herladyship did not seem to like living at the castle; she stayed only toregulate matters with the factor at Martinmas, and went back again toLondon. Before she went, a report began to rise, that poor Menie haddrooped and pined into a real sickness. They said it was a rapiddecline, and a dog would have pitied the father and mother's grief. How strangely they strove to keep that only child, asking the prayersof the congregation, and sending for the best doctors; but all was invain, for Menie died some days before Christmas. The girl had a simplewish to rest beside Arthur. It was the last words she spoke; and herrelations believed that, being his wife, she had a right to a place inthe vault without asking anybody's leave. So they laid her quietlybeside her husband, no one about the castle caring to interfere, except the factor, who thought it incumbent on him to let her ladyshipknow. 

By way of answer to his letter, down came Lady Catherine herself, onedark, wintry morning; and, without so much as changing her travellingdress, she sent for four labourers, took them with her to the church, and saying her family burying-place was never intended for a peasant'sdaughter, made them take out Menie's coffin, and leave it at herparents' door. They said that the old pair never got over that sight;and the mother, in her bitterness of heart, declared that Providencehad many a way to punish pride, and the woman who had disturbed herdead child, would never be suffered to keep her own grave in peace. 

The story made a marvellous stir in our parish, and grand as LadyCatherine was, she did not escape blame from all quarters. There was agreat gathering of Highland relatives and Lowland friends to a secondfuneral, when they laid poor Menie among her humble kindred in thechurch-yard. It was but a little way from the park gate, and I stoodthere to see the crowd scatter off in that frosty forenoon. Many a sadand angry look was cast in the direction of the castle; but myattention was particularly drawn to an old man and two boys, who stoodgazing on the place. He was close on the threescore-and-ten--they werelittle more than children; but all three had the same gaunt, yetpowerful frames; dark-red hair, which in the old man was but slightlysprinkled with gray; almost swarthy complexions; and a fierce, hardlook in the deep-set eyes. By after inquiries, I learned that thesewere the father of the Highland cousin family, and his two youngestsons. There were three elder brothers, but they were married, andsettled on rough sheep-farms; and the old man intended to maintain theancient honours of his house, by putting his younger boys into some ofthe learned professions. 

The married sisters, now heiresses of entail, never visited the castleagain in my time. Lady Catherine came regularly at the terms fromLondon, where she lived constantly; but her stay was no longer thanthe rent-roll required, and her maid said she rested but badly atnight. So years passed on, and I rose in the service. On one of hervisits, Lady Catherine thought I would do for a footman, which shehappened to want, and sent me to be trained at the house in London. What great and gay doings I saw there needn't be told just now. LadyCatherine kept the best and most fashionable company, and she wasnever at home an evening that the house was not full. There was moneyto be made, and plenty of all things; but I did not like it; andhaving saved a trifle, one of her ladyship's sons-in-law--he was thebest of the two--got me the place at the toll-bar. 

You remember me there, Master Willie, and what great times we had onSaturday afternoons. You may recollect, too, how many foot-passengersused to come and go. It was my amusement to watch them when I hadnothing better to do; but of all who passed my window, there were nonetook my attention so completely as two young men, who always walkedarm-in-arm, and seemed to be brothers. I thought I had seen theirstrongly-marked Highland faces before, and by degrees learned thatthey were none other than the old man's two sons, who had been at poorMenie's last funeral, but were now grown up, and studying for themedical profession at the college in Glasgow. Their father evidentlykept them on short allowance, judging from their coarse tartanclothes, and continual munching of oaten cakes: but I was told theywere hard students, and particularly clever in the anatomy class. Onedark, dreary morning, about the Christmas-time, I noted that LadyCatherine and her family had been in my dreams all night--their grandhouse, and gay goings-on in London, mingling strangely with the oldstory of Master Arthur and the farmer's daughter. When the newspaper, which I shared with the schoolmaster, came, judge of my astonishmentto read that her ladyship had died suddenly in a fit of apoplexy, which came upon her at the whist-table, and her remains had beenconveyed to the family vault in Dumbartonshire. There was a lesson onthe uncertainty of life! and it is my trust that I found in it a useof warning; but the continual news and strangers at the toll-bar, theexact gathering in of the dues, which was not always an easy task, andyour own merry schoolmates, Master Willie, had in a manner shuffled itout of my mind before the second evening. 

It had been a dark, foggy day, and I went early to sleep, there beingfew travellers; but in the dead of night, between twelve and one, Iwas roused by a thundering summons at the toll-bar. The night was calmand starless, a mass of heavy clouds covered the sky, broken at timesby gusts of moaning wind from the west, and broad bursts of moonlight. I threw on my coat, lit my lantern, and hurried out. There stood alarge gig with three persons. They must have been tightly packed init, and I never saw a more impatient horse. There was some delay ingetting out the silver, and I had time to see that the two men whosat, one on each side, were the Highland brothers. There was a womanbetween them, in a dingy cloak and bonnet, with a thick black veil. She neither moved nor spoke, though the toll somehow puzzled thestudents. I was determined to have it any way, and one of them sayingsomething to his companion in Gaelic, reached a half-crown to me. Iknew I had no change, and told him so. 'I'll call in the morning, 'said he; but the horse gave a bound, and the silver flew out of hisfingers. Both the brothers looked down after it. I had a strangecuriosity about their companion, and that instant a gust of wind blewback the veil, and the moonlight shone clear and full upon the face:it was the dead visage of Lady Catherine! I saw but one glance of it;the next moment the heavy veil had fallen. 'Get the silver yourself, and keep it all, ' cried the two men, as I opened for them without aword: and from that day to this, no one has ever heard the story fromme. I put the half-crown in the poor's-box next Sabbath. But, MasterWillie, after that night I never cared for keeping the toll-bar. Thesound of wheels coming after dark had always a strange effect on me, and I could never see a gig pass without shivering. So I gave up mysituation, and took to the old trade of gardening again. The pleasantplants and flowers bring no dark stories to one's mind. But yonder'sthe laird: dinner will be ready by this time. 

 * * * * *

And John was right; for it was ready, with a jovial party to despatchit. But I never saw my old friend after. He emigrated to Canada withhis managing master in the following spring; and, having at least keptthe real names with enjoined secrecy, it seems at this distance oftime no breach of trust to repeat the toll-keeper's story. 

CARDINAL MEZZOFANTI. 

Among the lions of Rome during the last twenty years, not the leastattractive, especially for literary visitors, was the celebratedCardinal Mezzofanti. Easy of access to foreigners of every condition, simple, unpretending, cheerful, courteous even to familiarity, henever failed to make a most favourable impression upon his visitors;and marvellous as were the tales in circulation concerning him, theopportunity of witnessing more closely the exercise of his almostpreternatural powers of language, served but to deepen the wonder withwhich he was regarded. The extent, the variety, and the solidity ofhis attainments, and, still more, his complete and ready command, forthe purposes of conversation, of all the motley stores which he hadlaid up, were so far beyond all example, whether in ancient or moderntimes, as not only to place him in the very first rank of thecelebrities of our generation, but to mark him out as one of the mostextraordinary personages recorded in history. 

Giuseppe (Joseph) Mezzofanti was born at Bologna in 1774, of anextremely humble family. His father was a poor carpenter; and theeminence to which, by his own unassisted exertions, Mezzofanti, without once leaving his native city, attained in the exercise of thefaculty of language--which is ordinarily cultivated only by thearduous and expensive process of visiting and travelling in thedifferent countries in which each separate language is spoken--is notthe least remarkable of the many examples of successful 'pursuit ofknowledge under difficulties, ' which literary history supplies. He waseducated in one of the poor schools of his native city, which wasunder the care of the fathers of the celebrated Congregation of theOratory; and the evidence of more than ordinary talent which heexhibited, early attracted the notice of one of the members of theorder, to whose kind instruction and patronage Mezzofanti was indebtedfor almost all the advantages which he afterwards enjoyed. This goodman--whose name was Respighi, and to whose judicious patronage ofstruggling genius science is also indebted for the eminent success ofthe distinguished naturalist Ranzani, the son of a Bolognese barber, and a fellow-pupil of Mezzofanti--procured for his young protégé theinstruction of the best masters he could discover among his friends. He himself, it is believed, taught him Latin; Greek fell to the shareof Father Emmanuel da Ponte, a Spanish ex-Jesuit--the order had atthis time been suppressed; and the boy received his first initiationinto the great Eastern family of languages from an old Dominican, Father Ceruti, who, at the instance of his friend Respighi, undertookto teach him Hebrew. Beyond this point, Mezzofanti's knowledge oflanguages was almost exclusively the result of his own unassistedstudy. 

From a very early age, he was destined for the church, and he receivedholy orders about the year 1797. During the period of his probationarystudies, however, he obtained, through the kindness of his friend F. Respighi, the place of tutor in the family of the Marescalchi, one ofthe most distinguished among the nobility of Bologna; and theopportunities for his peculiar studies afforded by the curious andvaluable library to which he thus enjoyed free access, may probablyhave exercised a decisive influence upon his whole career. 

His attainments gradually attracted the notice of his fellow-citizens. In the year 1797, he was appointed professor of Arabic in theuniversity; a few years later, he was named assistant-librarian of thecity library; and in 1803, he succeeded to the important chair ofOriental Languages. This post, which was most congenial to his tastes, he held, with one interruption, for a long series of years. In 1812, he was advanced to a higher place in the staff of the library; and in1815, on the death of the chief librarian, Pozetti, he was appointedto fill his place. When it is considered how peculiarly engrossing thestudy of languages is known to be, and especially how attractive foran enthusiastic scholar like Mezzofanti, it might be supposed that forhim the office of librarian could have been little more than a nominalone. But the library of Bologna to the present day bears abundantevidence that it was far otherwise. The admirable order in which theGreek and Oriental manuscripts are arranged, the excellent _catalogueraisonné_ of these manuscripts, and the valuable additions to thenotices of them by Assemani and Talmar which it contains, are all thefruit of Mezzofanti's labour as librarian. 

During his occupancy of this office, too, he continued to hold hisprofessorship of Oriental languages, and, for a considerable part ofthe time, that of Greek literature in addition. Nor was he exempt fromthose domestic cares and anxieties which are often the most painfuldrawback upon literary activity. The death of a brother, which threwupon him the care of an unprovided family of eleven children, was theseverest trial sustained in Mezzofanti's otherwise comparatively quietcareer; and by driving him to the ordinary expedient of distressedscholars--that of giving private lectures--it tended more than all hispublic occupations to trench upon his time, and to abridge hisopportunities of application to his favourite study. 

Perhaps, indeed, of all who have ever attained to the same eminence inany department which Mezzofanti reached in that of languages, therehardly ever was one who had so little of the mere student in hischaracter. In the midst of these varied and distracting occupations, he was at all times most assiduous in his attendance upon the sick inthe public hospitals, of which he acted as the chaplain. There wasanother also of his priestly duties, for the zealous discharge ofwhich he was scarcely less distinguished, and which became subsidiary, in a very remarkable way, to his progress in the knowledge oflanguages. In the absence, up to the present time, of any regularmemoir of him, it is impossible to fix with precision the history ofhis progress in the acquisition of the several languages. But it iswell known, that at a very early period he was master of all theleading European languages, and of those Oriental tongues which arecomprised in the Semitic family. Very early, therefore, inMezzofanti's career, he was marked out among the entire body of theBolognese clergy as in an especial manner the 'foreigners' confessor'(_confessario dei forestieri_). In him, visitors from every quarter ofthe globe had a sure and ready resource; and in several cases, it wasto the very necessity thus created he was indebted for theacquisition, or at least the rudimentary knowledge, of a new language. More than once, it occurred that a foreigner, introduced to the_confessario dei forestieri_, for the purpose of being confessed, found it necessary to go through the preliminary process of_instructing his intended confessor_. For Mezzofanti's marvellous andalmost instinctive power of grasping and systematising the leadingcharacteristics even of the most original language, the names of a fewprominent ideas in the new idiom sufficed to open a first means ofcommunication. His prodigious memory retained with iron tenacity everyword or phrase once acquired; his power of methodising, by the veryexercise, became more ready and more perfect with each new advance inthe study; and, above all, a faculty which seemed peculiar to himself, and which can hardly be described as other than instinctive, ofseizing and comprehending by a single effort the general outlines ofthe grammatical structure of a language from a few faintindications--as a comparative anatomist will build up an entireskeleton from a single bone--enabled him to overleap all thedifficulties which beset the path of ordinary linguists, and toattain, almost by intuition, at least so much of the required languageas enabled him to interchange thought with sufficient freedom anddistinctness for the purposes of this religious observance, which isso important in the eyes of Catholics. And he used to tell, that itwas in this way he acquired more than one of his varied store oflanguages. For it will hardly be believed, that this prodigy of thegift of tongues had never, till his forty-eighth year, travelledbeyond the precincts of his native province; and that, up to theperiod of his death, his most distant excursion from Rome, in whichcity he had fixed his residence in 1832, did not exceed a hundredmiles--namely, to Naples, for the purpose of visiting the ChineseCollege which is there established. 

It is true that at the period of which we speak, Bologna lay upon thehigh-road to Rome, and that travellers more frequently rested for aspace upon their journey, than in these days of steam-boat and railwaycommunication. But, even then, the opportunities of intercourse withforeign-speaking visitors in Bologna were few and inconsiderablecompared with the prodigious advances which, under all hisdisadvantages, Mezzofanti contrived to make. The ordinary Europeanlanguages presented but little difficulty; the frequent passings andrepassings of the allied forces during the later years of the war, afforded him a full opportunity of acquiring Russian; and theoccasional establishment of Austrian troops in Bologna, brought himinto contact with the motley tongues of that vast empire--the Magyar, the Czechish, the Servian, the Walachian, and the Romani; but beyondthis, even his spirit of enterprise had no vent in his native city;and all his further conquests were exclusively the result due to hisown private and unassisted study. 

His fame, nevertheless, began to extend to foreign countries. Amongmany distinguished foreigners to whose acquaintance his extraordinaryfaculties as a linguist became a passport, was the celebrated Russiangeneral, Suwarrow; and with him Mezzofanti long maintained the mostfriendly relations. From the Grand-Duke of Tuscany he received apressing invitation to fix himself at Florence; and Napoleon himself, with that engrossing spirit which desired to make Paris the centre ofall that is great in science, in art, and in literature, offered him amost honourable and lucrative appointment, on condition of hisremoving to the French capital. But Mezzofanti declined both theinvitations, and continued to reside in his native city, till the year1832. At the close of those political disturbances, of which Bolognawas the centre, in the early part of the pontificate of Gregory XVI. , it was resolved to send a deputation to Rome on the part of thecitizens. Of this deputation, Mezzofanti, as the chief celebrity ofthe city, was naturally a leader; and the pope, who had long knownhim, and who, before his elevation to the pontificate, had frequentlycorresponded with him on philological subjects, urged him so earnestlyto remain at Rome, that with all his love of Bologna he was induced toconsent. He was immediately appointed, in 1832, a canon of St Peter's;and on the translation of the celebrated Angelo (now Cardinal) Mai tothe office of secretary of the Propaganda, he was named to succeedhim in the honourable post of librarian of the Vatican. 

In this office Mezzofanti continued till the year 1840, when, inconjunction with the distinguished scholar just named, he was raisedto the cardinalate. During the interval since his fixing his residenceat Rome, he had enjoyed the confidence and friendship of Gregory XVI. ;and although his narrow resources were utterly unequal to the veryconsiderable expense which the state of a cardinal entails, Gregory, in acknowledgment of his distinguished merit, himself settled thenecessary income upon the humble Bolognese; and even, withcharacteristic delicacy, supplied from his own means the equipage andother appurtenances which a new cardinal is obliged to provide onentering upon his office. 

From this period, Mezzofanti continued to reside at Rome. Far, however, from relaxing in the pursuit of his favourite study after hiselevation, he only used the opportunities thus afforded for thepurpose of cultivating it with more effect. When the writer of thesepages first had the honour of being presented to him, he was in thefull flush of the excitement of a new study--that of the language ofthe California Indians, two of whom had recently come as pupils to theCollege of the Propaganda; and up to his very last year, the same zealcontinued unabated. His death occurred March 16, 1849, in theseventy-fifth year of his age, and was most probably hastened by theexcitement and distress caused by the political troubles of theperiod. 

Such is a brief outline of the quiet and uneventful career of thisextraordinary man. It remains that we give a short account of thenature and extent of his prodigious attainments as a linguist. It isobserved by the author of an interesting paper read a few weeks sinceat a meeting of the Philological Society, that, taking the account ofthe linguistic accomplishments of King Mithridates even in the mostexaggerated form in which it is given by the ancients, who representhim as speaking the languages of twenty-two nations, it fades intoinsignificance in contrast with the known and ascertained attainmentsof Mezzofanti. A Russian traveller, who published in 1846 a collectionof _Letters from Rome_, writes of Mezzofanti:--'Twice I have visitedthis remarkable man, a phenomenon as yet unparalleled in the learnedworld. He spoke eight languages fluently in my presence. He expressedhimself in Russian very purely and correctly. Even now, in advancedlife, he continues to study fresh dialects. He learned Chinese notlong ago. I asked him to give me a list of all the languages anddialects in which he was able to express himself, and he sent me thename of GOD written with his own hand in _fifty-six_ languages, ofwhich thirty were European, not including their dialects; seventeenAsiatic, also without counting their dialects; five African, and fourAmerican!' We should add, however, from the cardinal's own avowal toourselves, that of the fifty-six languages here alluded to, there weresome which he did not profess to speak, and with which hisacquaintance was more limited than with the rest; an avowal thehonesty of which will be best appreciated when it is considered, onthe one hand, how difficult it would have been to test his knowledgeof the vast majority among these languages; and, on the other, howmarvellously perfect was his admitted familiarity with those which hedid profess really to know. 

The author of the memoir submitted to the Philological Society, hascollected a number of notices of Mezzofanti by travellers in Italy, who had seen him at different periods of his career. Mr Stewart Rose, in 1817, tells of him that a Smyrniote servant, who was with him, declared that he might pass for a Greek or a Turk throughout thedominions of the Grand Seignior. A few years later, while he was stillresiding at Bologna, he was visited by the celebrated Hungarianastronomer, Baron Zach, editor of the well-known _CorrespondencesAstronomiques_, on occasion of the annular eclipse which was thenvisible in Italy. 'This extraordinary man, ' writes the baron, February1820, 'speaks thirty-two languages, living and dead--in the manner Iam going to describe. He accosted me in Hungarian, with a complimentso well-turned, and in such excellent Magyar, that I was quite takenby surprise. He afterwards spoke to me in German, at first in goodSaxon, and then in the Austrian and Swabian dialects, with acorrectness of accent that amazed me to the last degree, and made meburst into a fit of laughter at the thought of the contrast betweenthe language and the appearance of this astonishing professor. Hespoke English to Captain Smyth, Russian and Polish to PrinceVolkonski, with the same volubility as if he had been speaking hisnative tongue. ' As a last trial, the baron suddenly accosted him in_Walachian_, when, 'without hesitation, and without appearing toremark what an out-of-the-way dialect had been taken, away went thepolyglot with equal volubility;' and Zach adds, that he even knew theZingller or gipsy language, which had long proved a puzzle to himself. Molbech, a Danish traveller, who had an interview with him in 1820, adds to his account of this miraculous polyglotist, that 'he is notmerely a linguist, but is well acquainted with literary history andbibliography, and also with the library under his charge. He is a manof the finest and most polished manners, and at the same time, of themost engaging good-nature and politeness. '

It would be easy to multiply anecdotes, shewing the enthusiasm withwhich Mezzofanti entered on the study of language after language. Hesought out new tongues with an insatiable passion, and may be said tohave never been happy but when engaged in the mastering of words andgrammars. No degree of bad health interrupted his pursuit. Till theday of his death, he was engaged in his darling task: life closed onhim while so occupied. He died just as he had acquired a thoroughproficiency in Californian--a singular instance of the power of mindexercised on a favourite subject, and shewing what may be accomplishedwhen men set their heart on it. The career of this remarkablelinguist, however, cannot be considered exemplary. We would recommendno person to plunge headlong into an absorbing passion for anyaccomplishment. Mezzofanti was a curiosity--a marvel--the wonder ofthe world of letters; and it is chiefly as such that a notice of himhere will be considered interesting. 

CURIOSITIES OF POSTHUMOUS CHARITY. 

The curious observer, in his rambles about town, is occasionallystruck with some singular demonstrations for which he is at a loss toaccount. Sometimes they assume a benevolent form, and sometimes theyhave a holiday-making aspect, yet with a touch of the lugubrious. InLondon, or in some one of the thriving towns lying within a score ofmiles of it, he strolls into a church, where he sees a number ofloaves of bread piled up at the back of the communion-table, orranged, as they are in a baker's shop, upon shelves against the wall. It is a pleasant sight, but apt to be somewhat puzzling. Perhaps hesaunters into a country church-yard, and there finds amongst the rankgrass and moss-grown and neglected memorials of the silent multitude, one trim and well-tended monument, uninvaded by cryptogamia, free fromall stain of the weather, and the surrounding grassy sward neatly mownand fenced in, it may be, with budding willow branches or a circle ofclipped box. Or he finds his way through a suburban village, blockedup some fine morning by a crowd of poor women and girls, clusteredround the door of a retired tradesman or the curate of the place, fromwhich three or four at a time emerge with gratified looks, and goabout their business, while others enter in their turn. Suchdemonstrations as these, and we might mention many others, have theirorigin in certain charitable dispositions and bequests, many of whichare of considerable antiquity. There is one in operation to this day, near Winchester, which dates from the time of William of Wykeham; byvirtue of which every traveller passing that way, if he choose to makethe demand, is regaled with a pint of beer and a meal of bread andcheese. There is another similar antique charity in operation inWiltshire, near Devizes, where, on one occasion, the dispenser of thebenevolence, in the exercise of his privilege to feed the hungry, threw a loaf of bread into the carriage of George III. As the royal_cortège_ passed the spot. The name of these post-mortem charities islegion. They abound in every city, burgh, town, and hamlet in England, to an extent absolutely startling to a person who looks into thesubject for the first time. The number of them belonging to the cityof London alone--that is, originating among her citizens, and mostlydispensed under the direction of the several worshipful companies--canhardly be fewer than 1500, if so few. The parochial charities only ofLondon city yield an income of nearly L. 40, 000 a year. The history ofall these charities would fill many bulky volumes. We propose merelyto take a passing glance at a few, which are interesting from theirsingularity, or from the light which they reflect upon the benevolentaspect of a certain section of society in times long past; and which, perhaps, may be found in some degree instructive and suggestive, asillustrating the operation of post-mortem benevolence. 

At St ---- Church, not a hundred miles from St Martin's Le Grand, there prevails an amusing instance of the perversion of the funds of acharity to purposes which could not possibly have been intended by thefounder. Many centuries ago, a Roman Catholic gentleman, dying, bequeathed to that church a small estate, the proceeds of which hedirected should be devoted to the purpose of supplying the officiatingpriests with refreshment on the Sabbath-day. The Roman Catholicservice has long since given place to a Protestant one, and the bandof officiating priests has dwindled down to one clergyman--while thevalue of the estate has increased perhaps fiftyfold. At the presentmoment, the sum which the estate originally produced is paid over tothe church-wardens, who are at times a little puzzled as to what to dowith it. They get rid of a good portion in this way: at every servicewhich is held in the church, they place a bottle of the best sherrywhich can be procured for money upon the vestry-table; from this the'officiating priest' strengthens his inner man with a glass or twobefore commencing his ministrations, and then the church-wardens sitdown and finish the remainder comfortably by themselves, while thereverend gentleman is in the reading-desk or the pulpit. The cost ofthe wine, however, does not amount to half the sum in their hands, andthe remainder goes to form a fund from which the church is painted, repaired, decorated, and kept in apple-pie order--the whole fabricundergoing a thorough revision and polish both outside and in as oftenas a pretext can be found. What becomes of the bulk of theproperty--the large surplus arising from the increased value of thedevised estate--this deponent sayeth not: the reader may be in acondition to guess by the time he has read to the end of this paper. 

In the year 1565, a Mr Edward Taylor willed to the Leathersellers'Company a messuage, tenement, and melting-house, in the parish of StOlave, and other messuages in the same parish, upon condition thatthey should, quarterly and for ever, distribute among the poorest andneediest people in the Poultry Compter one kilderkin of beer andtwelve pennyworths of bread, and the same to the poor of Wood StreetCompter, Newgate, and the Fleet, the King's Bench, and the Marshalseaprisons. Under this bequest, the Company are at present in possessionof considerable property, vastly increased in value since the date ofthe will; in respect of which property, 1s. Worth of penny-loaves, and2s. In money, in lieu of beer, are sent by them every quarter to thepoor prisoners in each of the prisons mentioned in the originaltestament!

Robert Rogers devised in 1601 the sum of L. 400 to the Leathersellers'Company, 'to be employed in lands, the best pennyworth they couldget;' and that the house should have 40s. Of it a year for ever. Theremainder was to be bestowed upon poor scholars, students ofdivinity--two of Oxford, and two of Cambridge, for four years; andafter them to two others of each university; and after them, toothers; and so on for ever. He also, by the same will, devised L. 200to be lent to four young men, merchant adventurers, at L. 6, 13s. 4d. , for the L. 200, interest. The whole of the interest was to be spent inbread--to be distributed among poor prisoners--and coal for poorpersons, with the exception of some small fees and gratuities to theparish clerk and beadle, for their trouble in carrying out hisintentions. 

Lewisham, once a town in Kent, but now nothing more than a suburb ofLondon, enjoys the benefactions of the Rev. Abraham Colfe, who, in1656, bequeathed property for the maintenance of numerous charities. Some of them are singularly characteristic. Having provided for theerection of three strong alms-houses, he directed that certainalms-bodies should be periodically chosen, who were to be 'godly poorinhabitants of Lewisham, and being single persons, and threescoreyears old, past their hard bodily labour, and able to say the Lord'sPrayer, the Belief, and the Ten Commandments, ' &c. &c. All thesealms-bodies were to have '3d. Each allowed them every day for theircomfortable sustenance--that is, 21d. A week--to be paid them everymonth during their _single_ life, and as long as they should behavethemselves honestly and godly, and duly frequent the parish church. 'They were to be summarily removed if guilty of profane or wickedconduct. The alms-bodies were not to exceed five in number at any onetime. He directed a buttery to be built for their convenience, andalso a little brick room, with a window in it, for the fivealms-bodies to assemble in daily for prayer, and that the schoolmasterof the reading-school should pray with them there. He further directedthe enclosure of gardens, of sixteen feet broad at the least, fortheir recreation. Mr Colfe also left money for lectures at LewishamChurch, as well as a sum for the purchase of Bibles, until they shouldamount to the number of thirty or forty, which were to be chained tothe pews, or otherwise preserved; and he left 12d. A quarter to theclerk for writing down the names of those that should use them; also2s. 8d. To him for taking care of the clock and dial; also, 10s. For asermon on the 5th of November, and 12d. In bread for the poor whoshould come and hear it, and 6d. To the parish clerk; also 20s. , to bedistributed a penny at a time, to the children and servants who couldbest say their catechism, and 6d. To the minister for catechisingthem; also, a yearly sum of money for distributing on everyLord's-day after the morning service, seven penny wheaten loaves, toseven of the most honest, peaceable, and godly poor householders ofLewisham, who could say the Lord's Prayer, the Belief, and the TenCommandments; also, 5s. A year to poor maid-servants, who at the timeof their marriage had continued seven years with their master ormistress in Lewisham; with numerous other bequests. He further leftmoneys for the preservation of his father's, grandfather's, hiswife's, and his own monument--his own being an oaken plank oiled, anda stone 'a foot square every way, and three feet long. ' The stone andplank were removed many years ago, and an inscribed tablet has beenset into the outer wall of the church. 

The practice of leaving money for the sustentation of tomb-stones andmonuments, appears to have prevailed for many generations; and may bevery naturally accounted for, by the repugnance which most men wouldfeel, to the idea of having their bones knocked about by the sexton'sspade, and then wheeled off to the bone-house, if there happens to bea bone-house, or shot into the neighbouring river, or on a farmer'sdung-heap, if there is no such convenience as a bone-house at hand. Itwas this feeling that induced the celebrated sculptor, Chantrey, tomake sure of a quiet resting-place for his remains. [2] In so doing, hewas, though perhaps unconsciously, but following the example of manywho have gone before him. We have more than once encountered a soberparty upon their annual visit to some country church-yard tomb, ofwhich, by virtue of some bequest--which provides them with a gooddinner upon the occasion--they are the appointed guardians. Theworshipful members of the London companies sometimes choose to restfrom their labours in a rural grave; and when they do, survivors arealways to be found not unwilling to enjoy once a year a pensiveholiday, coupled with the creature comforts, which the quiet comradewhose behest they execute has taken care to provide for them. It wouldbe perhaps difficult to find a single church in all the little townsand hamlets within a dozen miles of London, which does not contain onetenant at least who has thus secured permanent possession of his lastresting-place. So strong is this feeling in some individuals, thatthey shrink from confiding even in the stone-vaults in the interior ofa city church. Thus, Sir William Rawlins, not so very long ago, bequeathed a certain sum of money for the preservation of his tomb andmonument in Bishopsgate Church. The bequest provides for theremuneration of the visitors, who are specified parish functionaries, and entertains them with a good dinner on the day of the annualvisitation, which they are bound to make--to inspect the monument andtomb, and to guarantee their good condition. In many instances, thesum originally devised for the sustentation of a grave or monument isnot sufficient, in the present day, to remunerate residents in Londonfor looking after it, and the money has been transferred to the parishin which the testator lies, and has become the perquisite of thesexton. 

In the year 1635, one John Fletcher bequeathed to the Fishmongers'Company the sum of L. 120, to supply 10s. Every month to the poor of StPeter's Hospital, to provide them with a dinner on Sunday. 

In the year 1653, Mr James Glassbrook bequeathed, after his wife'sdeath, the sum of L. 500 in the following words: 'and L. 500 more tosuch uses as follow--to the poor of the parish of St Bololph Without, in which I dwell, L. 5 in bread yearly; L. 5 to the poor of St Giles'syearly in bread; to the poor of St Sepulchre's yearly in bread, L. 5, to be given every Sabbath-day in the churches. ' The amount of bread atthe present time given away in London under this disposition, supplemented by some smaller bequests, is sixty-eight half-quarternloaves a week. The same poor persons, when they once get on the list, continue to receive the bread during their whole lives, unless theycease to reside in the parish, or are struck off the list ofpensioners for misconduct. 

One Daniel Midwinter, in 1750, left L. 1000 to the Stationers' Company, to pay L. 14 a year to the parish of St Faith's; and a like sum toHornsey parish, to be applied in apprenticing two boys or girls of theseveral parishes, and to fit them out in clothes. At the present time, the money is paid over to the parties receiving the apprentices, witha recommendation to lay it out in clothes for the children. 

By the will of John Stock, the parish of Christchurch received, amongother legacies, the sum of L. 100, the interest of which was directedto be applied in the following manner: one guinea to be paid to thevicar for a sermon to be preached by him on Good-Friday; 10s. To thecurate for reading the prayers on that day; _and the remainder to beequally distributed among such poor women as chose to remain andreceive the sacrament after the service!_

A Mr James Wood, amongst other curious provisions, devised to thechurch-wardens of the parish of St Nicholas Cole Abbey, the sum of15s. Annually, to be given away in twopences to such poor people asthey should meet in the streets when going and returning from churchon a specified day. 

The inhabitants of Watling Street, and other districts in the vicinityof St Antholin's Church, are familiar with the sound of what is knownin the neighbourhood as the 'Fish-bell. ' This is a bell which ringsout every Friday night from St Antholin's tower, to summon theinhabitants to evening prayers: very few people attend to the summons, which comes at an inconvenient time for that busy locality. Therestands almost against the walls of the church a pump, which is alwaysin good repair, and yields an excellent supply of water, greatly tothe convenience of the neighbourhood. Both the pump and the prayersare the legacy of an old fish-woman of the last century. It is said, that for forty years of her life she was in the habit of purchasingfish in the small hours of the morning at Billingsgate Market; theseshe washed and prepared for her customers at a small spring near StAntholin's Church, and afterwards cried them about the town upon herhead. Having prospered in her calling, she bequeathed a sufficient sumto perpetuate a weekly service in the church, and a good and efficientpump erected over the spring of which she had herself enjoyed alife-long privilege. 

In St George's in the East, there is a charity, well-known as Raine'sCharity, which was founded by Henry Raine, Esq. , in the earlier partof the last century. The charity consists of two endowed schools, sufficiently well provided for the maintenance and instruction offifty boys and as many girls, and the payment and support of a masterand mistress. It is one part of the system of management, that sixpupils of either sex leave the schools every year, to make room for asmany new ones. By a somewhat whimsical provision in the will of thefounder, a species of annual lottery comes off at the discharge of thesix girls. If they have behaved well, have been attentive andobedient, and punctual and exact in the observance of their religiousduties, they are entitled to draw lots for the sum of L. 100, which will be paid to the fortunate holder of the prize as amarriage-portion upon her wedding-day. It is further provided, thatthe wedding is to take place on the 1st day of May; and that, inaddition to the portion, L. 5 is to be expended upon a marriage-dinnerand a merry-making. 

Bequests for the portioning of poor girls and virtuous servant-maidsare, indeed, not at all uncommon. In the village of Bawburgh, inNorfolk, there is one founded in the last century by a Quakergentleman, who left a sum of money, the interest of which is sharedamong the servant-girls in the place who get married. The amount isnot payable until twelve months after the wedding. The village beingsmall, it will sometimes happen that a good sum accumulates before anapplicant comes forward who can substantiate a claim upon it. Theobject of such bequests as these is sufficiently plain: the donors hadevidently in view the counteracting of the wretched tendency of theold poor-law, which, by giving the mother of an illegitimate child aclaim upon the parish funds, actually placed a premium upon femalefrailty. 

In London, there are charitable dispositions and bequests for thenursery of every virtue that could be named, but more especially ofindustry, providence, and thrift. A man may be brought into the worldby voluntary contributions; he may be maintained and educated at afoundling asylum, if his parents, as thousands do, choose to throw himupon the public compassion; he may ride into a good business upon theback of a borrowed capital, for which he pays but a nominal interest;and if he fail to realise a competence by his own endeavours, he mayperchance revel in some corporation sinecure, or, at the worst, luxuriate in an alms-house, and be finally deposited in thechurch-yard--and all at other people's expense. On the other hand, ifhe be made of the right metal, he may carve his way to fortune and tocivic fame, and may die full of years and honours--in which case, heis pretty sure to add one more to the list of charitable donors whoselegacies go to swell the expectancies of the city poor. It would bedifficult for any eccentric testator in the present day to hit upon anew method of disposing of the wealth which he can no longer keep. Every device for the exercise of posthumous generosity seems to havebeen exhausted long ago. 

The trust-estates, the source of so many of the city of Londoncharities, are mostly, if not all, under the control of the corporatecompanies. How they are managed, is a secret altogether unknown to thepublic, and of which, indeed, the livery and freemen of some of thecompanies have but a very limited knowledge. The revenue derived fromthe trust-estates, according to their own shewing, is not much lessthan L. 90, 000 a year; but they have large revenues, of which they donot choose to shew any account at all. These are supposed to arisemainly from the increase in value of property originally devised tocharitable uses--which increase it is their custom to appropriate asthey please. 'Thus, for example, ' says a writer on this subject, 'if atestator left to any one of these companies a piece of land then worthL. 10 per annum, directing that L. 10 should be annually appropriated tothe support of a school, and the land subsequently increases in valueto L. 500, then the master and wardens of the company claim the rightof appropriating to their own uses the surplus of L. 490. In noequitable view of the case can this be deemed to be private property. 'It seems probable that these things will be looked into before long. From a motion lately made in the House of Commons, we learn that athorough investigation is contemplated into the management andapplication of all charities throughout the kingdom, the inquiry to beconducted at the cost of the several charities, the largest of whichare not to pay more than L. 50, and the smaller ones twopence in thepound, upon the amount of their capital. Perhaps this inquiry may leadto the recovery of some of the charities which are stated to be lost, and of which nothing but the titles, under the denomination ofSo-and-so's gift, remain upon the corporation records. 

The secret management of the trust-estates contrasts curiously withthe pompous exhibition which some of the worshipful companies make oftheir deeds of benevolence. Some of the smaller and older churches ofLondon are stuck over in the interior with enormous black boards, asbig as the church door almost, upon which are emblazoned, in giltletters, the donations to the poor, to the school, to the repair ofthe fabric, &c. From the worshipful company of This and That, from thedays of King James--the inscriptions of whose time are illegiblethrough the smoke and damp of centuries--down to the days of QueenVictoria, and the donations of last Christmas, fresh and glitteringfrom the hands of the gilder. Thus, the interesting old church of StBartholomew the Great is lined with the eleemosynary exploits of theworshipful Ironmongers' Company, whose multitudinous banners of blackand gold are in abominable discordance with the severe and simplearchitecture of the ancient edifice. 'Let not thy left hand know whatthy right hand doeth, ' is a monition apparently not much in reputeamong the corporate companies. 

The reader may gather from the perusal of the above desultoryexamples, selected from a mass of similar ones, some idea of theenormous amount of the funds, intended for benevolent purposes, whichChristian men have bequeathed to the world; and they may perhaps serveto enlighten the curious observer on the subject of some of theunobtrusive phenomena which occasionally excite his admiration andarouse his conjecture. They are the silent charities of men in thesilent land. How much good they do, and how much harm, and on whichside the balance is likely to lie--these are questions which for thepresent we have neither time nor space to discuss. 

FOOTNOTES:

[2] See _Chambers's Pocket Miscellany_, vol. Iv. 

LABOUR STANDS ON GOLDEN FEET. 

The condition of the working-classes in this country is a subject ofintense interest to all thinking men; but it is profitable as well asamusing to transfer our attention sometimes to the same portions ofsociety in other countries. In Germany, for instance, the people areas busy as we are with their 'hand-workers, ' and the questions offreedom of industry and general instruction are as warmly discussed asat home. We have now before us a little volume by the philosopher andhistorian, Zschokke, which, in the form of a fictitious narrative, treats very fully of the status of the mechanic in Fatherland; and weare tempted to cull a few extracts which may afford the readermaterials for perhaps an interesting comparison. [3]

The real hero of the story is Hand-labour, and his progress isdescribed throughout three generations of men. He is the Thought ofthe book, illustrated by adventure and vicissitude; living when thehuman agents die in succession; and leaving a distinct and continuoustrack in the reader's mind, when the names and persons fade orconglomerate in his memory. And yet some of these names and personsare not feebly individualised. The father, the son, and the grandsonstand well out upon the canvas; and while the family likeness isstrictly preserved from generation to generation, the men are seenindependent and alone, each in his own special development. Thepatriarch was a travelling tinker, who wheeled his wares about thecountry in a barrow; and then, rising in the world, attained thedignity of a hawker, with a cart of goods, drawn by a little gray ass. His son Jonas trotted on foot beside him in all his journeys, dininglike his father on bread and water, and sleeping in barns or stables. But when the boy was old enough, he was turned off to pick up his ownsubsistence like the redbreasts, the sparrows, and the woodpeckers. 'Listen, my lad, ' quoth Daddy Thaddaeus; 'this is the spring. Look forsloes and elderberries, rose-leaves and others for ointment; marjoram, spurge, and thyme, wherever thou mayst and canst. These we will sellto the apothecaries. In summer, gather basketfuls of strawberries, bilberries, and raspberries; carry them to the houses: they will yieldmoney. In winter, let us gather and dry locks of wool, for thesaddlers and tapestry-makers, and withes for the basket and matmanufacturers. From the table of the bountiful God, a thousand crumbsare falling for us: these we will pick up. They will give thee cheeseto thy bread, and a piece of meat to thy potatoes. Only get to work! Iwill give thee a little barrow, and a belt for thy shoulders. '

This was his first essay in business on his own account, and he workedhard and throve well. His separation from his father taught him how tostand on his own legs--an important piece of knowledge in a world thatis as full of leave-takings as of meetings; and when they did cometogether, and the boy counted out his kreutzers, and the father pattedhim approvingly on the cheek, that boy would have changed places withno prince that ever sat on a throne. Jonas was at length apprenticedto a girdler, or worker in metals; and the old tinker in due timedied, leaving his son the parting advice, to 'work, save, and pray, 'and a box containing a thousand guilders. 

Jonas's apprenticeship passed on pretty much according to universalrule; that is, he did the drudgery of the house as well as learned thetrade, and received kicks and cuffs from the journeymen. But in fiveyears his servitude was out, and he was a journeyman himself. He wasnow, by the rules of his guild, obliged to travel for improvement; hespent five or six years in going to and fro upon the earth, and thencame back to Altenheim an accomplished girdler. To become a master, itwas necessary to prepare his 'master-piece, ' as a specimen of what hecould do; and the task allotted to him was to engrave on copper, without rule or compass, the prince's family-crest, and then to gildthe work richly. This accomplished, he was received into the guild ofmasters with much pomp, strange ceremonies, and old-fashionedfeasting--all at the charge of the poor beginner. 'Without reckoningthe heavy expenses of his mastership, or of clothing, linen, andfurniture, in the hired lodgings and workshops, no small sum wasrequisite for the purchase of different kinds of tools--a lathe, ananvil, crucibles, dies, graving-implements, steel pins, hammers, chisels, tongs, scissors, &c. ; and also for the purchase of brass andpinchbeck ware, copper, silver, lead, quicksilver, varnish, brimstone, borax, and other things indispensable for labour. He had also taken, without premium, an apprentice, the child of very poor people, to helphim. He would have been very glad to put the rest of his money out tointerest again; but he had to provide the means of subsistence for atleast one year in advance, for he had to begin with neither wares norcustomers. '

Jonas now appears in the character of a lover, and his wooing is oneof the most beautiful pictures in the book. His choice has fallen upona servant-girl, whom he had known in boyhood. 

'One morning, Master Jordan sent his apprentice with a message: "MissFenchel was to come to him directly: he had found a good place forher. " Martha hastened thither gladly. 

'"Hast thou found a place for me, dear Jonas?" asked she, giving himher hand gracefully. "Thank God! I began to fear becoming troublesometo our kind friends. Come, tell me where?"

'He looked anxiously into her joyous blue eyes; then, in confusion, down to the ground; then again upwards to the roof of the room, andround the four sides, as though he were seeking something lost. 

'"Come, tell me, then?" repeated she. "Why art thou silent?"

'He collected himself, and began, hesitating: "It is--but Martha--thoumust not be angry with me. "

'In surprise, she smiled. "Angry with thee, Jonas! If I would be, andshould be, could I be?"

'"Listen, Martha; I will shew thee--I must tell thee--I know a mananxious to have thy heart and hand--who--even who"----

'"O Jonas, reproach me rather, but do not make mockery of me, a poormaiden!" exclaimed she, shocked or hurt, while her face lost all itscolour, and she turned from him. 

'"Martha, look at me. He is assuredly no bad man. I will bring him tothee; I will give him to thee myself. "

'"No, Jonas! no! From thee, least of all, can I receive a lover. "

'"From me, least of all!" asked he with visible emotion. "From me, least of all! And if--I don't know--if I would give thee myself--Lookat me, Martha! Tell me. "

'Here silence ensued. She stood before him with downcast eyes andglowing cheeks, and played with her apron-string. Then, as if stilldoubting, she looked up again, her eyes swimming with tears, and said, with trembling lips: "What must I say, then?"

'Jonas took courage, and whispered, half aloud: "Dost thou love mewith all thy heart?"

'Half aloud, Martha whispered back: "Thy heart knows it. "

'"Canst thou be satisfied with dry bread and salt?"

'"Rather salt from thee than tears from me!"

'"Martha, I will work for thee; wilt thou save for me?"

'"I will be sparing in everything, except my own pains!"

'"Well then, darling, here is my hand! Take it. Wilt thou be mine?"

'"Was I not thine eight years ago and more? Even as a child? Yet no!It ought not to be, Jonas. "

'Alarmed, he looked in her face, and asked: "Not be? and why?"

'"Think well over it, Jonas! Do thyself no injustice. I am a poorcreature, without portion or property. Any other burgher's daughter inthe town would be glad to give thee her hand and heart, and a gooddowry beside. Thou mightst live much better. "

'"Say nothing about that, " cried Jonas, stretching out both his handsimploringly. "Be still: I shall feel that I am but beginning to live, if thou wilt promise to live with me. "

'"Live, then!" said she, in blushing embarrassment, and gave him herhand. 

'He took her hand, and at the same time clasped his bride to hisbosom, that heaved with unwonted emotion. She wept on his breast insilent joy. '

We would fain, if we had room, add to this the marriage sermon, preached by the bridegroom, and well preached too; for Jonas hadknowledge, although, as he said himself, he never found half so muchin books as is lying everywhere about the road. 

Martha was just the wife for the honest, sensible hand-worker; and asit frequently happens with such characters, his affairs prosperedfrom the date of his marriage. He took a larger house in abetter situation for trade; and having presented the useless'master-piece'--which nobody would buy--to the prince, he was rewardedby the dignity of 'Master-girdler to the Court. ' But still 'uprightlyand hardily the court-girdler lived with his wife, just as before;active in the workshop and warehouse, at markets and at fairs. Yearafter year fled, though, before the last guilder could be paid off, ofthe debt on the house. Days of joy and of sorrow succeeded each otherin turn. They were all received with gratitude to God--these as wellas those. '

We now come hastily to the third generation; for Jonas had a soncalled Veit, who was first apprenticed to his father, and then sent totravel as a journeyman. The patriarch had had no education at all;Jonas had snatched at his just as opportunities permitted; but Veitwent regularly through the brief and practical curriculum fitted for atradesman's son. He was, consequently, better informed and morerefined than either his father or grandfather; and spent so much timein gaining a thorough insight into the branches connected with his ownbusiness, that honest Jonas was quite puzzled. 'Where did the boy getall these notions?' said he. 'He did not get them from me, I'm sure. 'Veit had a bad opinion of the travelling custom, and for thesereasons: 'How should these men, most of them badly brought up, attainto any greater perfection in their business, if they have left homeand school without any preparation for it? No one can understand, ifhis understanding has not been developed. From one publican they go toanother, and from one workshop to another; everywhere they find theold common track--the mechanical, mindless life of labour, just as inthe very first place to which they were sent to learn their trade. Atmost, they acquire dexterity by practice. Now and then they learn atrick from a master, or get a receipt, which had been cautiously keptsecret; when possessed of this, they think something of themselves. Even the character of these ramblers is not seldom destroyed byintercourse with their fellows. They learn drinking and rioting, gambling and licentiousness, caballing and debating. Many are ruinedbefore they return to their native place. Believe me, dearest father, the time of travel is to very few a true school for life; one inwhich, through frequent change of good and evil days, the headacquires experience, the thoughts strength and clearness, the heartcourage, and reliance on God. Very few, even of those who bring ascientific education with them, can gain much of value for theircalling in life; extend their views, transfer and apply to their ownline of business the inventions and discoveries that have been made inother departments of art and industry. '

Jonas understood little of the refinements of his son, but he openedhis eyes when Veit obtained a lucrative appointment in a largemetallic manufactory, first in London and then in Paris. In a letterinforming his parents of this good-fortune, were enclosed the whole ofthe savings from his salary. 'Master Jordan shook his head at thispassage, and cried out, deeply moved, yet as though vexed, while atear of motherly tenderness stole down Martha's cheek: "No! no! by nomeans! What is the fool thinking of? He'll want the money himself--asimpleton. Let him wait till he comes to the master-piece. Whatpleases me most in the story, is his contentment and his humility. Heis not ashamed of his old silver watch yet. It is not everybody thatcould act so. There must be strong legs to support such extraordinarygood-luck. These the bursch has!"'

After years of absence, the young man at last walks suddenly into thepaternal home, on his father's birthday, and makes them all scream andweep with joy. '"Hark ye, bursch!" exclaimed Jonas, who regarded himwith fatherly delight, "thou seem'st to me almost too learned, toorefined, and too elegant for Veit Jordan. What turner has cut so neata piece of furniture out of so coarse a piece of timber?"' His stay, however, was short. M. And Mme Bellarme (his employer at Paris) 'hadbeen loth, almost afraid, to let him go. The feeble state of health ofthe former began to be so serious, that he durst not engage in thebulk of his affairs. In the space of a year, both felt so completeconfidence in Veit's knowledge of business, and in his honour, thatthey had taken him as a partner in trade, and in the foundry. Henceforth, M. Bellarme contributed his capital only; Veit hisknowledge, care, and industry. '

The reform of the guilds, and the establishment of a technologicalschool for the young hand-workers--both through the instrumentality ofJonas--we have no room to touch; for we must say a parting word on thereunion of the family by Veit's return permanently from abroad. Notwithstanding the prosperity of the now old couple, 'everything, ay, everything, was as he had left it years ago--as he had known it fromchildhood--only Christiane not. There stood yet the two well-scouredold deal-tables, wrinkled, though, from the protruding fibres of thewood; there were the straw-bottomed stools still; and at the window, Mother Martha's arm-chair, before which, as a child, he had repeatedhis lessons; there still hung the same little glass between thewindows; and the wall-clock above the stove sent forth its tic-tac asfastly as ever. Father Jonas, in his enlarged workshop, with morejourneymen and apprentices, smelted and hammered, filed and formedstill, from morning to night, as before. The noble housewife flewabout yet busy as a bee: she had managed the housekeeping without aservant since Christiane had been grown up. And Veit came back withthe same cheerful disposition that he had ever shewn. In thesimply-furnished rooms which Martha had fitted up for him, in theupper storey of the house, he forgot the splendid halls, the boudoirs, and antechambers of London, Paris, and the Bellarme estate; theGobelin tapestry, the gold-framed pictures; the convenience of elegantfurniture, and the artificial delicacies of the table onsilver-plate. ' Assisted by the patronage of the prince, he establisheda great foundry in his native town, of ball and cannon, bronze andbrass; and on his marriage with the aforesaid Christiane, thesovereign made him a handsome present, in a handsome manner, 'as asmall token of his gratitude to a family that had been so useful tothe country. '

In addition to the hand-workers' school, there now arose, under theauspices of this family, a training-school for teachers, alabour-school for females, and other establishments. The town wasembellished; the land in the neighbourhood rose in value;uncleanliness and barbarism in food, clothing and houses, disappeared. 'Only old men and women, grown rusty in the habits and the ignoranceof many years, complain that the times are worse; at the sight of ahigher civilisation, they complain of "the luxury and the pride of theworld now-a-days;" as superstition dies out, they complain of "humanincredulity, and the downfall of religion. " "The day of judgment, " saythey, "is at hand. "

'But Master Jonas, when seventy years had silvered his hair, stoodalmost equal to a strong man of thirty, happy, indeed, by the side ofthe pious Martha, in a circle of his children and children's children, honoured by his fellow-citizens, and honoured by his prince. He oftentold the story of his boyhood, how he used to go about hawking withFather Thaddaeus the tinker; and his face glowed with inwardsatisfaction, when he compared the former period with present changes, in the production of which he could never have imagined he was to haveso considerable a share. Then he used to exclaim: "Have I not alwayssaid it? Clear understanding only in the head, love to one'sneighbour in the heart, frugality in the stomach, and industry in thefingers--then: HAND-WORK STANDS ON GOLDEN FEET. "'

FOOTNOTES:

[3] _Labour Stands on Golden Feet; or, the Life of a Foreign Workman_, &c. By Heinrich Zschokke. London: Groombridge. 

LORD ROSSE'S DISCOVERIES. 

As Professor Nichol very truly remarks, 'investigation regarding suchaggregations is virtually a branch of atomic and molecular inquiry, 'with stars in place of atoms, mighty spheres in place of 'dust, ' 'thefirmament above' instead of 'the firmament beneath. ' In fact, theastronomer, in sweeping with his telescopic eye the 'blue depths ofether, ' is, as it were, some Lilliputian inhabitant of an atom pryinginto the autumnal structure of some Brobdignagian world of saw-dust;organised into spiral and other elementary forms, of life, it may be, something like our own. The infinite height appears, in short, likethe infinite depth, and we knowing not precisely where we standbetween the two immensities of depth and height! The shapes evolved bythe wonderful telescope of Lord Rosse are, many of them, absolutelyfantastical; wonder and awe are mingled with almost ridiculousfeelings in contemplating the strange apparitions--strangemonstrosities we had almost called them--that are pictured on thebackground of the illustrations. One aggregation looms forth out ofthe darkness like the skeleton face of some tremendous mammoth, orother monstrous denizen of ancient times, with two small fiery eyes, however, gazing out of its great hollow orbits; another consists of acentral nucleus, with arms of stars radiating forth in all directions, like a star-fish, or like the scattering fire-sparks of somepyrotechnic wheel revolving; a third resembles a great wisp of straw, or twist or coil of ropes; a fourth, a cork-screw, or other spiral, seen on end; a fifth, a crab; a sixth, a dumb-bell--many of themscroll or scrolls of some thin texture seen edgewise; and so on. It iseven a suggestion of the author's, that some of the spiral and armedwheels may be revolving yet in the vast ocean of space in which theyare engulfed. Thus has the telescope traced the 'binding' influencesof the Pleiades, loosened the bands of 'Orion'--erst the chief_nebulous_ hazy wonders, once and for all revealing its separatestars: and thus, in brief, has this wondrous instrument 'unrolled theheavens as a scroll. ' Yet even these astonishing results are asnothing to the fact, that those fantastic shapes which it has revealedin the depths of this _lambo_ of creation, are not shapes merely ofthe present time--that thousands of years have passed since the lightthat shewed them left the starry firmaments only now revealed--thatthe telescope, in short, in reflecting these astonishing shapes, deliver to the eye of mind turned inward on the long-stored records ofa universal and eternal memory of the past, than to a mere eye ofsense looking outward on the things of passing time!--_The Builder_. 

SOUTH-AFRICAN REPTILES. 

I was going quietly to bed one evening, wearied by a long day'shunting, when, close to my feet, and by my bedside, some glitteringsubstance caught my eye. I stooped to pick it up; but, ere my hand hadquite reached it, the truth flashed across me--it was a snake! Had Ifollowed my first natural impulse, I should have sprung away, but notbeing able clearly to see in what position the reptile was lying, orwhich way his head was pointed, I controlled myself, and remainedrooted breathless to the spot. Straining my eyes, but moving not aninch, I at length clearly distinguished a huge puff-adder, the mostdeadly snake in the colony, whose bite would have sent me to the otherworld in an hour or two. I watched him in silent horror: his head wasfrom me--so much the worse; for this snake, unlike any other, alwaysrises and strikes back. He did not move; he was asleep. Not daring toshuffle my feet, lest he should awake and spring at me, I took a jumpbackwards, that would have done honour to a gymnastic master, and thusdarted outside the door of the room. With a thick stick, I thenreturned and settled his worship. Some parts of South Africa swarmwith snakes; none are free from them. I have known three men killed bythem in one harvest on a farm in Oliphant's Hoek. There is an immensevariety of them, the deadliest being the puff-adder, a thick andcomparatively short snake. Its bite will kill occasionally within anhour. One of my friends lost a favourite and valuable horse by itsbite, in less than two hours after the attack. It is a sluggishreptile, and therefore more dangerous; for, instead of rushing away, like its fellows, at the sound of approaching footsteps, it halfraises its head and hisses. Often have I come to a sudden pull-up onfoot and on horseback, on hearing their dreaded warning! There is alsothe cobra-capello, nearly as dangerous, several black snakes, and theboem-slang, or tree-snake, less deadly, one of which I once shot sevenfeet long. The Cape is also infested by scorpions, whose sting islittle less virulent than a snake-bite; and by the spider called thetarantula, which is extremely dreaded. --_The Cape, by A. W. Cole_. 

LINES. 

 Ask me not with simple grace, Pearls of thought to string for thee; For upon thy smiling face, Perfect gems I see-- In thine eyes of beauty trace Lights that fadeless be. 

 Bid me not from Memory's land, Cull fair flowers of rich perfume; Love will shew with trembling hand, Where far fairer bloom-- Clustering on thy cheek they stand, Blushing deep--for whom?

 Bid me not with Fancy's gale Wake the music of a sigh; From thy breath a sweeter tale, Silver-winged, floats by; Melodies that never fail, Heard when thou art nigh!

 Ask me not--yet, oh! for thee Dearer thoughts my bosom fill, Dimmed with tears I cannot see To do thy gracious will: Take, then, my prayer--In heaven may we Behold thee lovelier still!

 PERCIE. 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF EXTREME MINUTENESS. 

Dr Wollaston obtained platinum-wire so fine, that 30, 000 pieces, placed side by side in contact, would not cover more than an inch. Itwould take 150 pieces of this wire bound together to form a thread asthick as a filament of raw silk. Although platinum is the heaviest ofthe known bodies, a mile of this wire would not weigh more than agrain. Seven ounces of this wire would extend from London to New York. Fine as is the filament produced by the silkworm, that produced by thespider is still more attenuated. A thread of a spider's web, measuringfour miles, will weigh very little more than a single grain. Every oneis familiar with the fact, that the spider spins a thread, or cord, bywhich his own weight hangs suspended. It has been ascertained thatthis thread is composed of about 6000 filaments. --_Lardner'sHandbook_. 

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