CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL

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

 No. 442. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, JUNE 19, 1852. PRICE 1-1/2_d. _

THE OLD HOUSE IN CRANE COURT. 

The roaring pell-mell of the principal thoroughfares of London iscuriously contrasted with the calm seclusion which is often found atno great distance in certain lanes, courts, and passages, and theeffect is not a little heightened when in these by-places we lightupon some old building speaking of antique institutions or bygonehabits of society. We lately had this idea brought strikingly beforeus on plunging abruptly out of Fleet Street into Crane Court, insearch of the establishment known as the Scottish Hospital. We wereall at once transferred into a quiet narrow street, as it might becalled, full of printing and lithographic offices, tall, dark, andrusty, while closing up the further end stood a dingy building ofnarrow front, presenting an ornamental porch. A few minutes served tointroduce us to a moderate-sized hall, having a long table in thecentre, and an arm-chair at the upper end, while several old portraitsgraced the walls. It was not without a mental elevation of feeling, aswell as some surprise, that we learned that this was a hall in whichNewton had spent many an evening. It was, to be quite explicit, themeeting-place of the Royal Society from 1710 till 1782, and, consequently, during not much less than twenty years of the latterlife of the illustrious author of the _Principia_, who, as anoffice-bearer in the institution, must have often taken an eminentplace here. We were not, however, immediately in quest of theantiquities of the Royal Society. Our object was to form someacquaintance with the valuable institution which has succeeded to itin the possession of this house. 

We must advert to a peculiarity of our Scottish countrymen, which canbe set down only on the credit side of their character--their sympathywith each other when they meet as wanderers in foreign countries. Scotland is just a small enough country to cause a certain unity offeeling amongst the people. Wherever they are, they feel that Scotsmenshould stand, as their proverb has it, _shoulder to shoulder_. Themore distant the clime in which they meet, they remember with the moreintensity their common land of mountain and flood, their historicaland poetical associations, the various national institutions whichages have endeared to them; and the more disposed are they to take aninterest in each other's welfare. This is a feeling in which time andmodern innovations work no change, and it is one of old-standing. 

When James VI. Acceded to the throne of Elizabeth, he was followedsouthward by some of his favourite nobles, and there was of course anend put to that exclusive system of the late monarch which had keptdown the number of Scotsmen in London, to what must now appear theastonishingly small one of fifty-eight. Perhaps some exaggerationshave been indulged in with regard to the host of traders and craftsmenwho went southward in the train of King James, but there can be nodoubt, that it was considerable in point of numbers. But where wealthis sought for, there also, by an inevitable law of nature, is poverty. The better class of Scotchmen settled in London, soon found theirfeelings of compassion excited in behalf of a set of miserablefellow-countrymen who had failed to obtain employment or fixthemselves in a mercantile position, and for whom the stated charitiesof the country were not available. Hence seems to have arisen, soearly as 1613, the necessity for some system of mutual charity amongthe natives of Scotland in London. So far as can be ascertained, itwas a handful of journeymen or hired artisans, who in that yearassociated to aid each other, and prevent themselves from becomingburdensome to strangers--an interesting fact, as evincing in a remoteperiod the predominance of that spirit of independence for which themodern Scottish peasantry has been famed, and which even yet survivesin some degree of vigour, notwithstanding the fatally counteractiveinfluence of poor-laws. The funds contributed by these worthy men wereput into a box, and kept there--for in those days there were no banksto take a fruitful charge of money--and at certain periods thecontributors would meet, and see what they could spare for the reliefof such poor fellow-countrymen as had in the interval applied to them. We have still a faint living image of this simple plan in the _boxes_belonging to certain trades in our Scottish towns, or rather thesurvivance of the phrase, for the money, we must presume, is noweverywhere relegated to the keeping of the banks. The institution inthose days was known as the SCOTTISH BOX, just as a money-dealingcompany came to be called a bank, from the table (_banco_) which itemployed in transacting its business. From a very early period in itshistory, it seems to have taken the form of what is now called aFriendly Society, each person contributing an entrance-fee of 5s. , and6d. Per quarter thereafter, so as to be entitled to certain benefitsin the event of poverty or sickness. Small sums were also lent to thepoorer members, without interest, and burial expenses were paid. Wefind from the records that, in 1638, when the company was twenty innumber, and met in Lamb's Conduit Street, it allowed 20s. For acertain class of those of its members who had died of the plague, and30s. For others. The whole affair, however, was then on a limitedscale--the quarterly disbursements in 1661 amounting only to L. 9, 4s. Nevertheless, upwards of 300 poor Scotsmen, swept off by thepestilence of 1665-6, were buried at the expense of the Box, whilenumbers more were nourished during their sickness, without subjectingthe parishes in which they resided to the smallest expense. We havenot the slightest doubt, that not one of these people felt thebitterness of a dependence on alms. If not actually entitled to reliefin consideration of previous payments of their own, they would feelthat they were beholden only to their kindly countrymen. It would belike the members of a family helping each other. Humiliation couldhave been felt only, if they had had to accept of alms from thoseamongst whom they sojourned as strangers. Such is the way, at least, in which we read the character of our countrymen. 

In the year 1665, the Box was exalted into the character of acorporation by a royal charter, the expenses attendant on which weredisbursed by gentlemen named Kinnear, Allen, Ewing, Donaldson, &c. When they met at the Cross Keys in 'Coven Garden, ' they found theirreceipts to be L. 116, 8s. 5d. The character of the times is seen inone of their regulations, which imposed a fine of 2s. 6d. For everyoath used in the course of their quarterly business. The institutionwas now becoming venerable, and, as usual, members began to exhibittheir affection for it by presents. The Mr Kinnear just mentioned, conferred upon it an elegant silver cup. James Donaldson presented anivory mallet or hammer, to be used by the chairman in calling order. Among the contributors, we find the name of Gilbert Burnet (afterwardsBishop) as giving L. 1 half-yearly. They had an hospital erected inBlackfriars Street; but experience soon proved that confinement to acharity workhouse was altogether uncongenial to the feelings andhabits of the Scottish poor, and they speedily returned to the plan ofassisting them by small outdoor pensions, which has ever since beenadhered to. In those days, no effort was made to secure permanency bya sunk fund. They distributed each quarter-day all that had beencollected during the preceding interval. The consequence of this notvery Scotsman-like proceeding was that, in one of those periods ofdecay which are apt to befall all charitable institutions, theScottish Hospital was threatened with extinction; and this wouldundoubtedly have been its fate, but for the efforts of a few patrioticScotsmen who came to its aid. 

Through the help of these gentlemen, a new charter was obtained(1775), putting the institution upon a new and more liberal footing, and at the same time providing for the establishment of a permanentfund. Since then, through the virtue of the national spirit, considerable sums have been obtained from the wealthier Scotch livingin London, and by the bequests of charitable individuals of thenation; so that the hospital now distributes about L. 2200 per annum, chiefly in L. 10 pensions to old people. [1] At the same time, a specialbequest of large amount (L. 76, 495) from William Kinloch, Esq. , anative of Kincardineshire, who had realised a fortune in India, allowsof a further distribution through the same channel of about L. 1800, most of it in pensions of L. 4 to disabled soldiers and sailors. Thusmany hundreds of the Scotch poor of the metropolis may be said to bekept by their fellow-countrymen from falling upon the parochial funds, on which they would have a claim--a fact, we humbly think, on whichthe nation at large may justifiably feel some little pride. As part ofthe means of collecting this money, there is a festival twice a year, usually presided over by some Scottish nobleman, and attended by agreat number of gentlemen connected with Scotland by birth orotherwise. A committee of governors meets on the second Wednesday ofevery month, to distribute the benefactions to the regular pensionersand casual applicants; and, in accordance with the national habits offeeling, this ceremony is always prefaced by divine service in thechapel, according to the simple practice of the Presbyterian Church. Since 1782, these transactions, as well as the general concerns of theinstitution, have taken place in the old building in Crane Court, where also the secretary has a permanent residence. 

Such, then, is the institution which has succeeded to the possessionof the dusky hall in which the Royal Society at one time assembled. Itwas with a mingled interest that we looked round it, reflecting on thepresence of such men as Newton and Bradley of old, and on the manyworthy deeds which had since been done in it by men of a differentstamp, but surely not unworthy to be mentioned in the same sentence. Aportrait of Queen Mary by Zucchero, and one of the Duke of Lauderdaleby Lely--though felt as reminiscences of Scotland--were scarcelyfitted of themselves to ornament the walls; but this, of course, is asthe accidents of gifts and bequests might determine. We felt it to bemore right and fitting, that the secretary should be our old friendMajor Adair, the son of that Dr Adair who accompanied Robert Burns onhis visit to Glendevon in 1787. He is one of those men of activity, method, and detail, joined to unfailing good-humour, who areinvaluable to such an institution. He is also, as might be expected, entirely a Scotsman, and evidently regards the hospital with feelingsakin to veneration. Nor could we refrain from sympathising in hisviews, when we thought of the honourable national principle from whichthe institution took its rise, and by which it continues to besupported, as well as the practical good which it must be continuallyachieving. To quote his own words: 'From a view of the numbersrelieved, it is evident, that while this institution is a realblessing to the aged, the helpless, the diseased, and the unemployedpoor of Scotland, resident in London, Westminster, and theneighbourhood, extending to a circle of ten miles radius from the hallof the corporation, it is of incalculable benefit to the community atlarge, who, by means of this charity, are spared the pain of beholdingso great an addition, as otherwise there would be, of our destitutefellow-creatures seeking their wretched pittance in the streets, liable to be taken up as vagrants and sent to the house of correction, and probably subjected to greater evils and disgrace. ' The major has apet scheme for extending the usefulness of the institution. It impliesthat individuals should make foundations of from L. 300 to L. 400 each, in order to produce pensions of L. 10 a year; these to be in the careand dispensation of the hospital, and each to bear for ever the nameof its founder; thus permanently connecting his memory with theinstitution, and insuring that once a year, at least, some humblefellow-countryman shall have occasion to rejoice that such a person ashe once existed. The idea involves the gratification of a fine naturalfeeling, and we sincerely hope that it will be realised. And why, since we have said so much, should we hesitate to add the more generalwish, that the Scottish Hospital may continue to enjoy an undiminishedmeasure of the patronage of our countrymen? May it flourish for ever!

FOOTNOTES:

[1] _Note by an Englishman. _--It is not one of the least curiousparticulars in the history of the Scottish Hospital, that itsubstantiates by documentary evidence the fact, that Scotsmen, whohave gone to England, occasionally find their way back to their owncountry. It appears from the books of the corporation, that in theyear ending 30th November 1850, the sum of L. 30, 16s. 6d. Was spent in'passages' from London to Leith; and there is actually a correspondingsociety in Edinburgh to receive the _revenants_, and pass them on totheir respective districts. 

THE HUNCHBACK OF STRASBOURG. 

In the department of the Bas-Rhin, France, and not more than about twoleagues north of Strasbourg, lived Antoine Delessert, who farmed, orintended farming, his own land--about a ten-acre slice of 'national'property, which had fallen to him, nobody very well knew how, duringthe hurly-burly of the great Revolution. He was about five-and-thirty, a widower, and had one child, likewise named Antoine, but familiarlyknown as Le Bossu (hunchback)--a designation derived, like hisfather's acres, from the Revolution, somebody having, during one ofthe earlier and livelier episodes of that exciting drama, thrown thepoor little fellow out of a window in Strasbourg, and broken his back. When this happened, Antoine, _père_, was a journeyman _ferblantier_(tinman) of that city. Subsequently, he became an active, thoughsubordinate member of the local Salut Public; in virtue of whichpatriotic function he obtained Les Près, the name of his magnificentestate. Working at his trade was now, of course, out of the question. Farming, as everybody knows, is a gentlemanly occupation, skill inwhich comes by nature; and Citizen Delessert forthwith betook himself, with his son, to Les Près, in the full belief that he had stepped atonce into the dignified and delightful position of the oustedaristocrat, to whom Les Près had once belonged, and whose haughty headhe had seen fall into the basket. But envious clouds will darken thebrightest sky, and the new proprietor found, on taking possession ofhis quiet, unencumbered domain, that property has its plagues as wellas pleasures. True, there was the land; but not a plant, or a seedthereon or therein, nor an agricultural implement of any kind to workit with. The walls of the old rambling house were standing, and theroof, except in about a dozen places, kept out the rain with somesuccess; but the nimble, unrespecting fingers of preceding patriotshad carried off not only every vestige of furniture, usually socalled, but coppers, cistern, pump, locks, hinges--nay, some of thevery doors and window-frames! Delessert was profoundly discontented. He remarked to Le Bossu, now a sharp lad of some twelve years of age, that he was at last convinced of the entire truth of his cousinBoisdet's frequent observation--that the Revolution, glorious as itmight be, had been stained and dishonoured by many shameful excesses;an admission which the son, with keen remembrance of his compulsoryflight from the window, savagely endorsed. 

'Peste!' exclaimed the new proprietor, after a lengthened and painfulexamination of the dilapidations, and general nakedness of hisestate--'this is embarrassing. Citizen Destouches was right. I mustraise money upon the property, to replace what those brigands havecarried off. I shall require three thousand francs at the very least. '

The calculation was dispiriting; and after a night's lodging on thebare floor, damply enveloped in a few old sacks, the financial horizondid not look one whit less gloomy in the eyes of Citizen Delessert. Destouches, he sadly reflected, was an iron-fisted notary-public, wholent money, at exorbitant interest, to distressed landowners, and wasdriving, people said, a thriving trade in that way just now. His pulsemust, however, be felt, and money be obtained, however hard the terms. This was unmistakably evident; and with the conviction tugging at hisheart, Citizen Delessert took his pensive way towards Strasbourg. 

'You guess my errand, Citizen Destouches?' said Delessert, addressinga flinty-faced man of about his own age, in a small room of Numéro 9, Rue Béchard. 

'Yes--money: how much?'

'Three thousand francs is my calculation. '

'Three thousand francs! You are not afraid of opening your mouth, Isee. Three thousand francs!--humph! Security, ten acres of middlingland, uncultivated, and a tumble-down house; title, _droit deguillotine_. It is a risk, but I think I may venture. Pierre Nadaud, 'he continued, addressing a black-browed, sly, sinister-eyed clerk, 'draw a bond, secured upon Les Près, and the appurtenances, for threethousand francs, with interest at ten per cent. '----

'Morbleu! but that is famous interest!' interjected Delessert, thoughtimidly. 

'Payable quarterly, if demanded, ' the notary continued, withoutheeding his client's observation; 'with power, of course, to thelender to sell, if necessary, to reimburse his capital, as well as allaccruing _dommages-intérêts_!'

The borrower drew a long breath, but only muttered: 'Ah, well; nomatter! We shall work hard, Antoine and I. '

The legal document was soon formally drawn: Citizen Delessert signedand sealed, and he had only now to pouch the cash, which the notaryplaced upon the table. 

'Ah ça!' he cried, eyeing the roll of paper proffered to hisacceptance with extreme disgust. 'It is not in those _chiffons_ ofassignats, is it, that I am to receive three thousand francs, at tenper cent. ?'

'My friend, ' rejoined the notary, in a tone of great severity, 'takecare what you say. The offence of depreciating the credit or money ofthe Republic is a grave one. '

'Who should know that better than I?' promptly replied Delessert. 'Thepaper-money of our glorious Republic is of inestimable value; but thefact is, Citizen Destouches, I have a weakness, I confess it, forcoined money--_argent métallique_. In case of fire, for instance, it'----

'It is very remarkable, ' interrupted the notary with increasingsternness--'it is very remarkable, Pierre' (Pierre was an influentialmember of the Salut Public), 'that the instant a man becomes a landedproprietor, he betrays symptoms of _incivisme_: is discovered to be, in fact, an _aristocq_ at heart. '

'I an _aristocq_!' exclaimed Delessert, turning very pale; 'you arejesting, surely. See, I take these admirable assignats--three thousandfrancs' worth at ten per cent. --with the greatest pleasure. Oh, nevermind counting among friends. '

'Pardon!' replied Destouches, with rigid scrupulosity. 'It isnecessary to be extremely cautious in matters of business. Deductingthirty francs for the bond, you will, I think, find your moneycorrect; but count yourself. '

Delessert pretended to do so, but the rage in his heart so caused hiseyes to dance and dazzle, and his hands to shake, that he couldscarcely see the figures on the assignats, or separate one from theother. He bundled them up at last, crammed them into his pocket, andhurried off, with a sickly smile upon his face, and maledictions, which found fierce utterance as soon as he had reached a safedistance, trembling on his tongue. 

'Scélérat! coquin!' he savagely muttered. 'Ten per cent. For thismoonshine money! I only wish---- But never mind, what's sauce for thegoose is sauce for the gander. I must try and buy in the same waythat I have been so charmingly sold. '

Earnestly meditating this equitable process, Citizen Delessert soughthis friend Jean Souday, who lived close by the Fossé des Tanneurs(Tanners' Ditch. ) Jean had a somewhat ancient mare to dispose of, which our landed proprietor thought might answer his purpose. Cocottewas a slight waif, sheared off by the sharp axe of the Place de laRévolution, and Souday could therefore afford to sell her cheap. Fiftyfrancs _argent métallique_ would, Delessert knew, purchase her; butwith assignats, it was quite another affair. But, courage! He mightsurely play the notary's game with his friend Souday: that could notbe so difficult. 

'You have no use for Cocotte, ' suggested Delessert modestly, afterexchanging fraternal salutations with his friend. 

'Such an animal is always useful, ' promptly answered Madame Souday, asharp, notable little woman, with a vinegar aspect. 

'To be sure--to be sure! And what price do you put upon this usefulanimal?'

'Cela dépend'---- replied Jean, with an interrogative glance at hishelpmate. 

'Yes, as Jean says, that depends--entirely depends'---- responded thewife. 

'Upon what, citoyenne?'

'Upon what is offered, parbleu! We are in no hurry to part withCocotte; but money is tempting. '

'Well, then, suppose we say, between friends, fifty francs?'

'Fifty francs! That is very little; besides, I do not know that Ishall part with Cocotte at all. '

'Come, come; be reasonable. Sixty francs! Is it a bargain?'

Jean still shook his head. 'Tempt him with the actual sight of themoney, ' confidentially suggested Madame Souday; 'that is the only wayto strike a bargain with my husband. '

Delessert preferred increasing his offer to this advice, and graduallyadvanced to 100 francs, without in the least softening Jean Souday'sobduracy. The possessor of the assignats was fain, at last, to adoptMadame Souday's iterated counsel, and placed 120 paper francs beforethe owner of Cocotte. The husband and wife instantly, as silently, exchanged with each other, by the only electric telegraph then in use, the words: 'I thought so. '

'This is charming money, friend Delessert, ' said Jean Souday; 'farmore precious to an enlightened mind than the barbarous coin stampedwith effigies of kings and queens of the _ancien régime_. It is verytempting; still, I do not think I can part with Cocotte at any price. '

Poor Delessert ground his teeth with rage, but the expression of hisanger would avail nothing; and, yielding to hard necessity, he atlength, after much wrangling, became the purchaser of the old mare for250 francs--in assignats. We give this as a specimen of the bargainseffected by the owner of Les Près with his borrowed capital, and asaffording a key to the bitter hatred he from that day cherishedtowards the notary, by whom he had, as he conceived, been soegregiously duped. Towards evening, he entered a wine-shop in thesuburb of Robertsau, drank freely, and talked still more so, fatigueand vexation having rendered him both thirsty and bold. Destouches, heassured everybody that would listen to him, was a robber--a villain--avampire blood-sucker, and he, Delessert, would be amply revenged onhim some fine day. Had the loquacious orator been eulogising someone's extraordinary virtues, it is very probable that all he saidwould have been forgotten by the morrow, but the memories of men aremore tenacious of slander and evil-speaking; and thus it happened thatDelessert's vituperative and menacing eloquence on this occasion wasthereafter reproduced against him with fatal power. 

Albeit, the now nominal proprietor of Les Près, assisted by his sonand Cocotte, set to work manfully at his new vocation; and by dint ofworking twice as hard, and faring much worse than he did as ajourneyman _ferblantier_, contrived to keep the wolf, if not far fromthe door, at least from entering in. His son, Le Bossu, was acheerful, willing lad, with large, dark, inquisitive eyes, lit up withmuch clearer intelligence than frequently falls to the share ofpersons of his age and opportunities. The father and son were greatlyattached to each other; and it was chiefly the hope of bequeathing LesPrès, free from the usurious gripe of Destouches, to his boy, thatencouraged the elder Delessert to persevere in his well-nigh hopelesshusbandry. Two years thus passed, and matters were beginning to assumea less dreary aspect, thanks chiefly to the notary's not having madeany demand in the interim for the interest of his mortgage. 

'I have often wondered, ' said Le Bossu one day, as he and his fatherwere eating their dinner of _soupe aux choux_ and black bread, 'thatDestouches has not called before. He may now as soon as he pleases, thanks to our having sold that lot of damaged wheat at such a capitalprice: corn must be getting up tremendously in the market. However, you are ready for Destouches' demand of six hundred francs, which itis now. '

'Parbleu! quite ready; all ready counted in those charming assignats;and that is the joke of it. I wish the old villain may call or sendsoon'----

A gentle tap at the door interrupted the speaker. The son opened it, and the notary, accompanied by his familiar, Pierre Nadaud, quietlyglided in. 

'Talk of the devil, ' growled Delessert audibly, 'and you are sure toget a whisk of his tail. Well, messieurs, ' he added more loudly, 'yourbusiness?'

'Money--interest now due on the mortgage for three thousand francs, 'replied M. Destouches with much suavity. 

'Interest for two years, ' continued the sourly-sardonic accents ofPierre Nadaud; 'six hundred francs precisely. '

'Very good, you shall have the money directly. ' Delessert left theroom; the notary took out and unclasped a note-book; and Pierre Nadaudplaced a slip of _papier timbré_ on the dinner-table, preparatory towriting a receipt. 

'Here, ' said Delessert, re-entering with a roll of soiled paper in hishand, 'here are your six hundred francs, well counted. '

The notary reclasped his note-book, and returned it to his pocket;Pierre Nadaud resumed possession of the receipt paper. 

'You are not aware, then, friend Delessert, ' said the notary, 'thatcreditors are no longer compelled to receive assignats in payment?'

'How? What do you say?'

'Pierre, ' continued M. Destouches, 'read the extract from _Le bulletindes Lois_, published last week. ' Pierre did so with a ringingemphasis, which would have rendered it intelligible to a child; andthe unhappy debtor fully comprehended that his paper-money wascomparatively worthless! It is needless to dwell upon the furymanifested by Delessert, the cool obduracy of the notary, or thecynical comments of the clerk. Enough to say, that M. Destouchesdeparted without his money, after civilly intimating that legalproceedings would be taken forthwith. The son strove to soothe hisfather's passionate despair, but his words fell upon unheeding ears;and after several hours passed in alternate paroxysms of stormy rageand gloomy reverie, the elder Delessert hastily left the house, takingthe direction of Strasbourg. Le Bossu watched his father's retreatingfigure from the door until it was lost in the clouds of blinding snowthat was rapidly falling, and then sadly resumed some indooremployment. It was late when he retired to bed, and his father had notthen returned. He would probably remain, the son thought, atStrasbourg for the night. 

The chill, lead-coloured dawn was faintly struggling on the horizonwith the black, gloomy night, when Le Bossu rose. Ten minutesafterwards, his father strode hastily into the house, and threwhimself, without a word, upon a seat. His eyes, the son observed, wereblood-shot, either with rage or drink--perhaps both; and his entireaspect wild, haggard, and fierce. Le Bossu silently presented him witha measure of _vin ordinaire_. It was eagerly swallowed, thoughDelessert's hand shook so that he could scarcely hold the pewterflagon to his lips. 

'Something has happened, ' said Le Bossu presently. 

'Morbleu!--yes. That is, ' added the father, checking himself, 'something _might_ have happened, if---- Who's there?'

'Only the wind shaking the door. What _might_ have happened?'persisted the son. 

'I will tell you, Antoine. I set off for Strasbourg yesterday, to seeDestouches once again, and entreat him to accept the assignats inpart-payment at least. He was not at home. Marguérite, the oldservant, said he was gone to the cathedral, not long since reopened. Well, I found the usurer just coming out of the great westernentrance, heathen as he is, looking as pious as a pilgrim. I accostedhim, told my errand, begged, prayed, stormed! It was all to nopurpose, except to attract the notice and comments of the passers-by. Destouches went his way, and I, with fury in my heart, betook myselfto a wine-shop--Le Brun's. He would not even change an assignat totake for what I drank, which was not a little; and I therefore owe himfor it. When the gendarmes cleared the house at last, I was nearlycrazed with rage and drink. I must have been so, or I should neverhave gone to the Rue Béchard, forced myself once more into thenotary's presence, and--and'----

'And what?' quivered the young man, as his father abruptly stopped, startled as before into silence by a sudden rattling of the crazydoor. 'And what?'

'And abused him for a flinty-hearted scoundrel, as he is. He orderedme away, and threatened to call the guard. I was flinging out of thehouse, when Marguérite twitched me by the sleeve, and I stepped asideinto the kitchen. "You must not think, " she said, "of going home onsuch a night as this. " It was snowing furiously, and blowing ahurricane at the time. "There is a straw pallet, " Marguérite added, "where you can sleep, and nobody the wiser. " I yielded. The good womanwarmed some soup, and the storm not abating, I lay down to rest--torest, do I say?' shouted Delessert, jumping madly to his feet, andpacing furiously to and fro--'the rest of devils! My blood was in aflame; and rage, hate, despair, blew the consuming fire by turns. Ithought how I had been plundered by the mercenary ruffian sleepingsecurely, as he thought, within a dozen yards of the man he hadruined--sleeping securely just beyond the room containing the_secrétaire_ in which the mortgage-deed of which I had been swindledwas deposited'----

'Oh, father!' gasped the son. 

'Be silent, boy, and you shall know all! It may be that I dreamed allthis, for I think the creaking of a door, and a stealthy step on thestair, awoke me; but perhaps that, too, was part of the dream. However, I was at last wide awake, and I got up and looked out on thecold night. The storm had passed, and the moon had temporarily brokenthrough the heavy clouds by which she was encompassed. Marguérite hadsaid I might let myself out, and I resolved to depart at once. I wasdoing so, when, looking round, I perceived that the notary'soffice-door was ajar. Instantly a demon whispered, that although thelaw was restored, it was still blind and deaf as ever--could not seeor hear in that dark silence--and that I might easily baffle thecheating usurer after all. Swiftly and softly, I darted towards thehalf-opened door--entered. The notary's _secrétaire_, Antoine, waswide open! I hunted with shaking hands for the deed, but could notfind it. There was money in the drawers, and I--I think I should havetaken some--did perhaps, I hardly know how--when I heard, or thought Idid, a rustling sound not far off. I gazed wildly round, and plainlysaw in the notary's bedroom--the door of which, I had not beforeobserved, was partly open--the shadow of a man's figure clearly tracedby the faint moonlight on the floor. I ran out of the room, and out ofthe house, with the speed of a madman, and here--here I am!' Thissaid, he threw himself into a seat, and covered his face with hishands. 

'That is a chink of money, ' said Le Bossu, who had listened in dumbdismay to his father's concluding narrative. 'You had none, you said, when at the wine-shop. '

'Money! Ah, it may be as I said---- Thunder of heaven!' cried thewretched man, again fiercely springing to his feet, 'I am lost!'

'I fear so, ' replied a commissaire de police, who had suddenlyentered, accompanied by several gendarmes--'if it be true, as wesuspect, that you are the assassin of the notary Destouches. '

The assassin of the notary Destouches! Le Bossu heard but these words, and when he recovered consciousness, he found himself alone, save forthe presence of a neighbour, who had been summoned to his assistance. 

The _procès verbal_ stated, in addition to much of what has beenalready related, that the notary had been found dead in his bed, at avery early hour of the morning, by his clerk Pierre Nadaud, who sleptin the house. The unfortunate man had been stifled, by a pillow it wasthought. His _secrétaire_ had been plundered of a very large sum, amongst which were Dutch gold ducats--purchased by Destouches only theday before--of the value of more than 6000 francs. Delessert'smortgage-deed had also disappeared, although other papers of a similarcharacter had been left. Six crowns had been found on Delessert'sperson, one of which was clipped in a peculiar manner, and was swornto by an _épicier_ as that offered him by the notary the day previousto the murder, and refused by him. No other portion of the stolenproperty could be found, although the police exerted themselves to theutmost for that purpose. 

There was, however, quite sufficient evidence to convict Delessert ofthe crime, notwithstanding his persistent asseverations of innocence. His known hatred of Destouches, the threats he had uttered concerninghim, his conduct in front of the cathedral, Marguérite's evidence, andthe finding the crown in his pocket, left no doubt of his guilt, andhe was condemned to suffer death by the guillotine. He appealed ofcourse, but that, everybody felt, could only prolong his life for ashort time, not save it. 

There was one person, the convict's son, who did not for a momentbelieve that his father was the assassin of Destouches. He wassatisfied in his own mind, that the real criminal was he whose stepDelessert had dreamed he heard upon the stair, who had opened theoffice-door, and whose shadow fell across the bedroom floor; and hiseager, unresting thoughts were bent upon bringing this conviction hometo others. After awhile, light, though as yet dim and uncertain, brokein upon his filial task. 

About ten days after the conviction of Delessert, Pierre Nadaud calledupon M. Huguet, the procureur-général of Strasbourg. He had a seriouscomplaint to make of Delessert, _fils_. The young man, chiefly, hesupposed, because he had given evidence against his father, appearedto be nourishing a monomaniacal hatred against him, Pierre Nadaud. 'Wherever I go, ' said the irritated complainant, 'at whatever hour, early in the morning and late at night, he dogs my steps. I can in nomanner escape him, and I verily believe those fierce, malevolent eyesof his are never closed. I really fear he is meditating some violentact. He should, I respectfully submit, be restrained--placed in a_maison de santé_, for his intellects are certainly unsettled; orotherwise prevented from accomplishing the mischief I am sure hecontemplates. '

M. Huguet listened attentively to this statement, reflected for a fewmoments, said inquiry should be made in the matter, and civillydismissed the complainant. 

In the evening of the same day, Le Bossu was brought before M. Huguet. He replied to that gentleman's questioning by the avowal, that hebelieved Nadaud had murdered M. Destouches. 'I believe also, ' addedthe young man, 'that I have at last hit upon a clue that will lead tohis conviction. '

'Indeed! Perhaps you will impart it to me?'

'Willingly. The property in gold and precious gems carried off has notyet been traced. I have discovered its hiding-place. '

'Say you so? That is extremely fortunate. '

'You know, sir, that beyond the Rue des Vignes there are three housesstanding alone, which were gutted by fire some time since, and are nowonly temporarily boarded up. That street is entirely out of Nadaud'sway, and yet he passes and repasses there five or six times a day. When he did not know that I was watching him, he used to gazecuriously at those houses, as if to notice if they were beingdisturbed for any purpose. Lately, if he suspects I am at hand, hekeeps his face determinedly _away_ from them, but still seems to havean unconquerable hankering after the spot. This very morning, therewas a cry raised close to the ruins, that a child had been run over bya cart. Nadaud was passing: he knew I was close by, and violentlychecking himself, as I could see, kept his eyes fixedly _averted_ fromthe place, which I have no longer any doubt contains the stolentreasure. '

'You are a shrewd lad, ' said M. Huguet, after a thoughtful pause. 'Anexamination shall at all events take place at nightfall. You, in themeantime, remain here under surveillance. '

Between eleven and twelve o'clock, Le Bossu was again brought into M. Huguet's presence. The commissary who arrested his father was alsothere. 'You have made a surprising guess, if it _be_ a guess, ' saidthe procureur. 'The missing property has been found under ahearth-stone of the centre house. ' Le Bossu raised his hands, anduttered a cry of delight. 'One moment, ' continued M. Huguet. 'How dowe know this is not a trick concocted by you and your father tomislead justice?'

'I have thought of that, ' replied Le Bossu calmly. 'Let it be givenout that I am under restraint, in compliance with Nadaud's request;then have some scaffolding placed to-morrow against the houses, as ifpreparatory to their being pulled down, and you will see the result, if a quiet watch is kept during the night. ' The procureur andcommissary exchanged glances, and Le Bossu was removed from the room. 

It was verging upon three o'clock in the morning, when the watchersheard some one very quietly remove a portion of the back-boarding ofthe centre house. Presently, a closely-muffled figure, with adark-lantern and a bag in his hand, crept through the opening, andmade direct for the hearth-stone; lifted it, turned on his lightslowly, gathered up the treasure, crammed it into his bag, andmurmured with an exulting chuckle as he reclosed the lantern and stoodupright: 'Safe--safe, at last!' At the instant, the light of half adozen lanterns flashed upon the miserable wretch, revealing the sternfaces of as many gendarmes. 'Quite safe, M. Pierre Nadaud!' echoedtheir leader. 'Of that you may be assured. ' He was unheard: thedetected culprit had fainted. 

There is little to add. Nadaud perished by the guillotine, andDelessert was, after a time, liberated. Whether or not he thought hisill-gotten property had brought a curse with it, I cannot say; but, atall events, he abandoned it to the notary's heirs, and set off with LeBossu for Paris, where, I believe, the sign of 'Delessert et Fils, Ferblantiers, ' still flourishes over the front of a respectablyfurnished shop. 

PHILOSOPHY OF THE SHEARS. 

The vestiarian profession has always been ill-treated by the world. Men have owed much, and in more senses than one, to their tailors, andhave been accustomed to pay their debt in sneers and railleries--oftenin nothing else. The stage character of the tailor is stereotyped fromgeneration to generation; his goose is a perennial pun; and hishabitual melancholy is derived to this day from the flatulent diet onwhich he _will_ persist in living--cabbage. He is effeminate, cowardly, dishonest--a mere fraction of a man both in soul and body. He is represented by the thinnest fellow in the company; his starvedperson and frightened look are the unfailing signals for a laugh; andhe is never spoken to but in a gibe at his trade:

 'Thou liest, thou thread, Thou thimble, Thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail; Away thou rag, thou quantity, thou remnant; Or I shall so bemete thee with thy yard, As thou shalt think on prating while thou liv'st!'

All this is not a very favourable specimen of the way in which thestage holds the mirror up to nature. We may suppose that a certaincharacter of effeminacy attached to a tailor in that olden time whenhe was the fashioner for women as well as men; but now that he has noprofessional dealings with the fair sex but when they assume masculine'habits, ' it is unreasonable to continue the stigma. In like manner, when the cloth belonged to the customer, it was allowable enough tosuspect him of a little amiable weakness for cabbage; but now that heis himself the clothier, the joke is pointless and absurd. Tailors, however, can afford to laugh, as well as other people, at theirconventional double--or rather _ninth_, for at least in our own daythey have wrought very hard to elevate their calling into a science. The period of lace and frippery of all kinds has passed away, and thisis the era of simple form, in which sartorial genius has only cloth towork upon as severely plain as the statuary's marble. It is true, weourselves do not understand the 'anatomical principles' on which themore philosophical of the craft proceed, nor does our scholarshipcarry us quite the length of their Greek (?) terminology; but weacknowledge the result in their workmanship, although we cannot tracethe steps by which it is brought about. 

Very different is the plan now from what it was in the days of Shemusnan Snachad, James of the Needle, hereditary tailor to Vich Ian Vohr, when men were measured as classes rather than as individuals, and whena cutter had only to glance at the customer to ascertain to whichcategory he belonged. 

'You know the measure of a well-made man? Two double nails to thesmall of the leg'----

'Eleven from haunch to heel, seven round the waist. I give your honourleave to hang Shemus, if there's a pair of shears in the Highlandsthat has a baulder sneck than her ain at the _camadh an truais_ (shapeof the trews). ' And so the thing was done, without tape or figures, without a word of Greek or anatomy! However, the anatomical tailors weshall not meddle with for the present, because we do not understandtheir science; nor with the Greek tailors, because we fear to takethe liberty; nor with the Hebrew tailors, because we are only aGentile ourselves. Our object is to draw attention to the doings of anindividual who interferes with no science but his own, and whopatronises exclusively his mother-tongue, which is not Hebrew, butbroad Scotch. 

This individual is Mr Macdonald, a near neighbour of ours, who, abouteighteen years ago, listened with curiosity, but not with dread, tothe clamorous pretensions of the craft to which he belonged. At thattime, every man had a 'new principle' of his own for the sneck of theshears, some theoretical mode of cutting, which was to make the coatfit like the skin. Our neighbour, who had a practical and mechanical, rather than a speculative head, resolved not to be behind in the raceof competition, but to proceed in a different way. 'It is all verywell, ' thought he, 'to talk of principles and theories; but with therequisite apparatus, the human figure may be measured as accurately asa block of stone;' and accordingly he set to work, not to invent atheory, but to construct a machine. This machine, though exhibitedsome time ago in the School of Arts, and received with great favour, we happened not to hear of till a few days ago; but a visit to ourneighbour puts it now in our power to report that his apparatus doesmuch more, as we shall presently explain, than measure a customer. 

The machine consists of three perpendicular pieces of wood, the centreone between six and seven feet high, with a plinth for the measuree tostand upon. The wood is marked from top to bottom with inches andparts of an inch, and is furnished with slides, fitting closely, butmovable at the pleasure of the operator. When the customer placeshimself upon this machine, standing at his full height, he has muchthe appearance of a man suffering the punishment of crucifixion, onlyhis arms, instead of being extended, hang motionless by his sides, with the fingers pointed. A slide is now run up between the victim'slegs, to give the measurement of what is technically called the fork;while others mark in like manner upon the inch scale, the position ofthe knees, hips, tips of the fingers, shoulder, neck, head, &c. Whenthe operator is satisfied that he has thus obtained the accurateadmeasurement of the figure, in its natural position when standingerect, the gentleman steps from the machine, and turning round, seesan exact diagram, in wood, of his own proportions. 

This instrument, it will be seen, is very well adapted for the objectfor which it was intended; but it would, nevertheless, have escapedour inspection but for the other purposes of observation to which ithas been applied by the ingenious inventor. He has measured in allabout 5000 adults, registering in a book the measurement of each, withthe names written by themselves. Among the autographs, we find that ofSir David Wilkie in the neighbourhood of the names of half a dozenAmerican Indians. Here would be a new branch of inquiry for those whoare addicted to the study of character through the handwriting. Withsuch abundant materials before them, they would doubtless be able todetermine the height and general proportions of their unseencorrespondents. In the article of height, many men correspond to theminutest portion of an inch; but in the other proportions of thefigure, it would seem that no two human beings are alike. So great isthe disparity in persons of the same height, that the trunk of anindividual of five feet and a half, is occasionally found to be aslong as that of a man of six feet. In fact, Mr Macdonald, in an earlyperiod of his measurements, was so confounded by the difference in theproportions, that he at once came to the conclusion, that ourpopulation is made up of mixed tribes of mankind. 

In the midst of all this diversity, the question was, What were theproper proportions? or, in other words, What proportions constituted ahandsome figure? and here our vestiarian philosopher was for a longtime at a loss. At length, however, he took 300 measurements, withoutselection, including the length of the trunk, of the head and neck, and of the fork, and adding them all together, struck the average:from which it resulted, that the average head and neck gives 10-1/2inches; trunk, 25 inches; and fork, 32 inches; making the wholefigure, from the crown of the head to the sole of the _shoe_, 5 feet7-1/2 inches. The word we have italicised is the drawback: a tailormeasures with the shoes on; and Mr Macdonald can only approximate tothe truth when he deducts half an inch for the sole, and declares theaverage height of our population to be five feet seven inches. On thisbasis, however, he constructed a scale of beauty applying to allheights: If a man of 5 feet 7 inches give 10-1/2 inches for head andneck, 25 for trunk, and 31-1/2 for fork, what should another give, of6 feet, or any other height? The approximation of a man's actualmeasurement to this rule of three determines his pretensions in theway of symmetry; and the inventor of the _shibboleth_ has found it sofar to answer, that a figure coming near the rule invariably pleasesthe eye, and gives the assurance of a handsome man. Independently ofthis advantage, a man of such proportions has great strength, and isable to withstand the fatigue of violent exercise for a longer periodthan one less symmetrically formed. 

The term 'adult, ' however, used by Mr Macdonald to designate those hemeasured, is not satisfactory--it does not inform us that the personsmeasured had reached their full development; for men continue to grow, as has been shewn by M. Quetelet, even after twenty-five. The heightgiven, notwithstanding--five feet seven inches--in all probabilityapproximates pretty closely to the true average; and the verydifferent result shewn in Professor Forbes's measurements in theUniversity must be set pretty nearly out of the question. The numberof Scotsmen measured by the professor was 523 in all; but these wereof eleven different ages, from fifteen to twenty-five, all averagedseparately; and supposing the number of each age to have been alike, this would give less than fifty of the age of twenty-five--the averageheight of whom was 69. 3 inches. But independently of the smallness ofthe number, the professor's customers were volunteers, and it is notto be supposed that under-sized persons would put themselves forwardon such an occasion. It may be added, that even the height of theboot-heels of young collegians of twenty-five would tend to falsifythe average. 

Men do not only differ in their proportions from other men, but fromthemselves. The arms and legs may be paired, but they are not matched, and in every respect one side of the body is different from the other:the eyes are not set straight across the face, neither is the mouth;the nose is inclined to one side; the ears are of different sizes, andone is nearer the crown of the head than the other; there are not twofingers, nor two nails on the fingers, alike, and the samedisagreement runs through the whole figure. This, however, is socommon an observation, that we should not have thought it necessary tomention it, but for the bearing the facts given by our statist haveupon the common theory by which the irregularity is sought to beaccounted for. This declares, that use is the cause of the greatergrowth of one limb, &c. : that the right hand, for instance, is largerthan the left, because it is in more active service. It appears, however, that although the left limbs are in general smaller, this isnot, as it is usually supposed, invariably the case; while the earsand eyes, that are used indiscriminately, present the same relativedifference of size. We do not, therefore, make our own proportions inthis respect: we come into the world with them, and our occupationsmerely exaggerate a natural defect. An idle man will have one arm halfan inch longer than the other; while a woman, who has been accustomedin early years to carry a child, exhibits a difference amountingsometimes to an inch and a half. 

When these facts were first mentioned to us, we looked with somecuriosity at the machine from which we had just stepped out; and therewe found an illustration of them not highly flattering to ourself-esteem. Knees, hips, shoulders, ears, all were so ill-assorted, that it seemed as if Nature had been actually trying her 'prenticehand upon our peculiar self. It was in vain to bethink ourselves ofthe physical eccentricities of the distinguished men of other times:

 'Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high; Such Ovid's nose, and, sir, you have an eye!'--

we might have gone through tho whole inventory of the figure, andconcluded the quotation:

 'Go on, obliging creatures, make me see All that disgraced my betters met in me. Say, for my comfort, languishing in bed, Just so immortal Maro held his head; And when I die, be sure you let me know-- Great Homer died three thousand years ago!'

What we had seen, however, was only the length of the figure; but wewere informed by our philosophic tailor, that the limbs, &c. , arelikewise irregularly placed as regards breadth. The trunk of the bodyis of various shapes, which he distinguishes as the oval, thecircular, and the flat. The first has the arms placed in the middle;in the second, they are more towards the back, and relatively long;and in the third, more towards the front, and relatively short. Thelength of the forearm should be the length of the lower part of theleg, and if either longer or shorter, the difference appears in thewalk. If shorter, the walk is a kind of waddle, the elbows incliningoutwards; if longer, it is distinguished by a swinging motion, as ifthe person carried weights in his hands. If the circumference of thebody, measured with an inch-tape just below the shoulders, be smallerthan the circumference of the hips, the person will rock in walking, and plant his feet heavily upon the ground. If greater, so that thechief weight is above the limbs, the step will be light, as isfamiliarly seen in corpulent men, whose delicate mode of walking wewitness with ever-recurring surprise. If the shoulders slopedownwards, with the spine bending inwards, the individual 'cannotthrow a stone, or handle firearms with dexterity. ' When inclinedforwards, and well relieved from the body, he may be a proficient inthese exercises. A peculiarity in walking is given by the size of thehead and neck being out of proportion; and an instance is mentioned ofa man being discharged from the army, on account of his conformationrendering it impossible for him to keep his head steady. 

All these are curious and suggestive particulars. It is customary torefer awkwardness of manner to bad habit, and such diseases asconsumption either to imprudence or hereditary taint; but it may bedoubted whether taints are not mainly the result of originalconformation. Habit and imprudence may doubtless aggravate the evil, just as exercise may enlarge a member of the body; but it is naturewhich sows the seeds of decay in her own productions. Physically, thechild is a copy of the parents, even to their peculiarities of gait;and these peculiarities would seem to depend on the correct orincorrect balance of the members of the body. When the conformation isof a kind which interferes with the play of the lungs, the sametransmission of course takes place, and consumption may be the fatalinheritance. If the arrangement of the parts were perfect, it may bedoubted--for symmetry is the basis of health as well asbeauty--whether we should ever hear of such a thing as 'taint in theblood. ' If this theory were to gain ground, it would simplify much thepractice of medicine; for the disease would stand in visible andtangible presence before the eyes, and the employment of inventions, to counteract and finally conquer the eccentricities of nature, wouldbe governed by science, and thus relieved from the suspicion ofquackery, which at present more or less attaches to it. To pursuethese speculations, however, would lead us too far; and beforeconcluding, we must find room for a few more of our practicalphilosopher's observations. 

All good mechanics, it seems, have large hands and thick and shortfingers; which is pretty nearly the conclusion arrived at byD'Arpentigny in _La Chirognomonie_, although the captain adds, thatthe hands must be _en spatule_--that is to say, with the end of thefingers enlarged in the form of a spatula. The hand is generally thesame breadth as the foot: a fact recognised by the country people, who, when buying their shoes at fairs--which were the usualmart--might have been seen thrusting in their hand to try the breadth, when they had ascertained that the length was suitable. A short footgives a mincing walk, while a long one requires the person to bringhis body aplomb with the foot before taking the step, which thusresembles a stride. Good dancers have the limbs short as compared withthe body, which has thus the necessary power over them; but if tooshort, there is a deficiency of dexterity in the management of thefeet. 

In conclusion, it will be seen, we think, that there is much to belearned even in the business of the shears. There is no trade whateverwhich will not afford materials for thought to an intelligent man, andthus enlarge the mind and elevate the character. 

THE NIGHTINGALE:

A MUSICAL QUESTION. 

Is the song of the nightingale mirthful or melancholy? is a questionthat has been discussed so often, that anything new on the subjectmight be considered superfluous, were it not that the very fact of thediscussion is in itself a curiosity worthy of attention. The note indispute was heard with equal distinctness by Homer and Wordsworth; andindeed there are few poets of any age or country who have not, at onetime or other in their lives, had the testimony of their own ears asto its character. Whence, then, this difference of opinion? Listen toThomson's unqualified assertion, given with the seriousness of anaffidavit:

 ----'all abandoned to despair, she sings Her sorrows through the night, and on the bough Sole sitting still at every dying fall Takes up again her lamentable strain Of winding wo; till wide around the woods Sigh to her song and with her wail resound. '

Then Homer in the _Odyssey_, through Pope's paraphrase:

 'Sad Philomel, in bowery shades unseen, To vernal airs attunes her varied strains. '

Virgil, as rendered by Dryden:

 ----'she supplies the night with mournful strains And melancholy music fills the plains. '

Milton, too:

 ----'Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest, saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustom'd oak: Sweet bird, that shun'st the noise of folly-- Most musical, most melancholy. '

And again in _Comus_:

 ----'the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well. '

And Shakspeare makes his poor banished Valentine congratulate himself, that in the forest he can

 ----'to the nightingale's complaining note Tune his distresses and record his wo. 

We might go on much longer in this strain. We might give, likewise, the mythological cause assigned for the imputed melancholy, and addthat some, not content with this, represent the bird as leaning itsbreast against a thorn--

 'To aggravate the inward grief, Which makes its music so forlorn. '

But we would rather pause to admit candidly, that two of the abovewitnesses might be challenged--Virgil and Thomson; who indeed shouldbe counted but as one, for the author of the _Seasons_, in the linesquoted, has translated, though not so closely as Dryden, from the_Georgics_ of the Latin poet. If you will read the passage--it mattersnot whether in Virgil, Dryden, or Thomson--you will perceive that itis a special occurrence that is spoken of: no statement whatever ismade as to the character of the nightingale's ordinary song. Thomson, in the course of his humane and touching protest against the barbarousart: 'through which birds are

 ---- by tyrant man Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage From liberty confined, and boundless air, '

represents the nightingale's misery when thus bereaved. This portionof the lines shall stand entire; none, we are sure, would wish usfurther to mangle the passage:

 'But chief, let not the nightingale lament Her ruined care, too delicately framed To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. Oft, when returning with her loaded bill, The astonished mother finds a vacant nest, By the rude hands of unrelenting clowns Robbed: to the ground the vain provision falls. Her pinions ruffle, and low drooping, scarce Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade; Where all abandoned to despair, she sings Her sorrows through the night. '

It will at once be seen that this description relates to anexceptional condition, and we have yet to seek what character Virgiland Thomson would give to the ordinary song of this paradoxicalmusician. For the Roman, we do not know that any passage exists in hisworks which can help us to a conclusion; but Thomson's testimony mustundoubtedly be ranged on the contra side, as appears from thefollowing lines in his _Agamemnon_:

 'Ah, far unlike the nightingale! she sings Unceasing through the balmy nights of May-- She sings from love and joy. '

In the passage from his Spring, which we have given, we cannot butfancy that the poet endeavoured--if we may so say--to effect acompromise between the opinion which, through the influence ofclassical poetry, generally prevailed as to the character of thebird's music, and the opposing convictions which his own senses hadforced upon him. It was desirable to describe its strains according tothe popular fancy, and therefore he borrowed from Virgil such adescription of the bird's sorrow as under the assumed circumstancesdid no violence to his own judgment. 

Thomson is not the only poet in whom we fancy we detect some suchattempt at compromise. It appears to us that Villega, the Anacreon ofSpain, in the following little poem, which we give in Mr Wiffen'stranslation, adopted, with a similar object, this idea of thenightingale robbed of her young. The truthful and somewhat minutedescription in the song, however, represents the bird's ordinaryperformance, and but ill suits the circumstances under which it issupposed to be uttered. The failure on the part of the poet may beascribed to his secret conviction, that the nightingale's was acheerful melody; and his labouring against that conviction to thenecessity he felt himself under of following his classical masters. 

 'I have seen a nightingale On a sprig of thyme bewail, Seeing the dear nest that was Hers alone, borne off, alas! By a labourer: I heard, For this outrage, the poor bird Say a thousand mournful things To the wind, which on its wings From her to the guardian sky Bore her melancholy cry-- Bore her tender tears. She spake As if her fond heart would break. One while in a sad, sweet note, Gurgled from her straining throat, She enforced her piteous tale, Mournful prayer and plaintive wail; One while with the shrill dispute, Quite o'er-wearied, she was mute; Then afresh, for her dear brood, Her harmonious shrieks renewed; Now she winged it round and round, Now she skimmed along the ground; Now from bough to bough in haste The delighted robber chased; And alighting in his path, Seemed to say, 'twixt grief and wrath: "Give me back, fierce rustic rude! Give me back my pretty brood!" And I saw the rustic still Answer: "That I never will!"'

Independently of the untruthfulness of which a naturalist wouldcomplain in this description--for no birds under such circumstances ofdistress sing, but merely repeat each its own peculiar piercing cry, never at any other time heard, and which cannot be mistaken--there isa palpable effort of ingenuity discoverable in the representation, which seems to tell us that the writer was making up a story, ratherthan uttering his own belief. It may even be doubted whether Virgilhimself, who seems first to have invented this fancy, and behind whosebroad mantle later poets have sheltered themselves, may not have feltan inclination to depart from the Greek opinion of Philomel's ditty. Why otherwise did he not simply and at once--as his masters Homer andTheocritus had done before him--describe her notes as mournful, instead of casting about for some cause that might excuse him forgiving them that character? But however this may be, we cannot concealfrom ourselves, that some stubborn passages still remain in the poets, proclaiming that there are men, and those among the greatest and mosttasteful, to whose fancy the voice of the nightingale has sounded fullof wo. 

Homer must be counted of this number--unless we think with Fox, in thepreface to his _History of Lord Holland_, that it is only as to herwakefulness Penelope is compared to the night singing-bird; and somust Milton (for although Coleridge has satisfactorily dealt with thepassage in _Il Penseroso_, the line of the Lady's song in _Comus_remains still); and Shakspeare himself, who could scarcely beinfluenced, as Milton might very possibly be, by the opinions of theGrecian poets. 

It is a strange contest we are here considering. Which of us would fora moment doubt our ability to decide in a dispute as to the livelinessor sadness of any given melody?--yet here we see the greatest poets, the favoured children of nature, utterly at variance on a pointconcerning which we should have expected to find even the mostordinary minds able to decide. 

The question becomes more involved from the fact, that some writerstake _both_ sides; for instance, Chiobrera in _Aleippo_: thenightingale

 'Unwearied still reiterates her lays, Jocund _or_ sad, delightful to the ear;'

and Hartley Coleridge, in the following beautiful song, which wetranscribe the more readily because it has not long been published, and may be new to many of our readers:

 ''Tis sweet to hear the merry lark, That bids a blithe good-morrow; But sweeter to hark in the twinkling dark To the soothing song of sorrow. Oh, nightingale! what doth she ail? And is she _sad_ or _jolly_? For ne'er on earth was sound of mirth So like to melancholy. 

 The merry lark he soars on high, No worldly thought o'ertakes him; He sings aloud to the clear blue sky, And the daylight that awakes him. As sweet a lay, as loud, as gay, The nightingale is trilling; With feeling bliss, no less than his Her little heart is thrilling. 

 Yet ever and anon a sigh Peers through her lavish mirth; For the lark's bold song is of the sky, And hers is of the earth. By night and day she tunes her lay, To drive away all sorrow; For bliss, alas! to-night may pass, And wo may come to-morrow. '

We must now cite one or two of the many passages which represent thenightingale's as an _absolutely_ cheerful song. We fear we cannotinsist so much as Fox is disposed to do, on the evidence of Chaucer, who continually styles the nightingale's a merry note, because it isevident that in _his_ day the word had a somewhat different meaningfrom that which it at present conveys. For example, the poet calls theorgan 'merry. ' Nor dare we lay stress upon the instance which Carycites--in a note to his _Purgatory_--of a 'neglected poet, ' Vallans, who in his _Tale of Two Swannes_ ranks the 'merrie nightingale amongthe cheerful birds, ' because we do not know whether, even at the timewhen Vallans wrote--the book was published, it seems, in1590--'merrie' had come to bear its present signification. 

We shall, however, find a witness among the writers of his period inGawain Douglas, who died Bishop of Dunkeld in 1522. He, in a prologueto one of his _Æneids_, applies not only the word 'merry' to our bird, but one of less questionable signification--'mirthful. ' If we comedown to more modern times, we shall find Wordsworth, who seems aboveall others, except Burns, to have had a catholic ear for the wholemultitude of natural sounds, not only refusing the character ofmelancholy to the nightingale's song, but placing it below thestock-dove's, because it is deficient in the pensiveness andseriousness which mark the note of the latter. 

However, of all testimonies which can be brought on this side of thequestion, the strongest is that of Coleridge. No other has soaccurately described the song itself; moreover, he alone has enteredthe lists avowedly as an antagonist, and confessing in so many wordsto the existence of an opinion opposite to his own. 

 'And hark! the nightingale begins its song, "Most musical, most melancholy" bird. A melancholy bird? oh, idle thought![2] In nature there is nothing melancholy. But some night-wandering man, whose heart was pierced With the resemblance of a grievous wrong, Or slow distemper, or neglected love, First named these notes a melancholy strain: And youths and maidens most poetical, Who lose the deepening twilight of the spring In ball-rooms and hot theatres, they still, Full of meek sympathy, must heave their sighs O'er Philomela's pity-pleading strains. My friend, and thou, our sister! we have learnt A different love: we may not thus profane Nature's sweet voices, always full of love And joyance! 'Tis the _merry_ nightingale That crowds and hurries and precipitates With fast-thick warble his delicious notes, As he were fearful that an April night Would be too short for him to utter forth His love-chant and disburden his full soul Of all its music!'

Little now remains to be said. We have laid before the readerspecimens of the two contending opinions, as well as of that which isset up as a golden mean between them; and he has but to put down ourpages, and to walk forth--provided he does not live too far north, orin some smoke-poisoned town--to judge for himself as to the truecharacter of the strains. Small risk, we think, would there be inpronouncing on which side his verdict would be given! Well do weremember the night when we first heard this sweet bird: how welistened and refused to believe--for we were young, and our idea hadof course been that his song was a melancholy one--that those madlyhilarious sounds could come from the mournful nightingale. Wordsworthattempts thus to account for the delusion under which the older poetslaboured on this subject:

 'Fancy, who leads the pastimes of the glad, Full oft is pleased a wayward dart to throw, Sending sad shadows after things not sad, Peopling the harmless fields with sighs of wo. Beneath her sway, a simple forest cry Becomes an echo of man's misery. What wonder? at her bidding ancient lays Steeped in dire grief the voice of Philomel, And that blithe messenger of summer days, The swallow, twittered, subject to like spell. '

It is curious that the people who first fixed the stigma of melancholyupon our bird--the Greeks, or at least the Athenians, and it is ofthem we speak--were perhaps the very gayest people that ever dancedupon the earth--absolute Frenchmen. The very sprightliness of theirtemper, however, by the universally prevailing law of contrast, mayhave induced in them a fondness for sad and doleful legends; and weconfess, for our own part, that while we from our hearts admire thepoetical beauty and elegance of their various fables, we do not alittle disrelish the constant vein of melancholy which pervades themall. Not the least sad of their fictions is that which relates to thenightingale; a story that has found its way--and even more universallythe opinion of the bird's music which it implied--amongst all thenations whom Greece has instructed and civilised. 

But we have yet another reply to the question, 'Why do most peoplecall the nightingale's a melancholy song?' It is heard by night, 'whilst our spirits are attentive, ' and the solemn gloom of the hourinfluences the judgment of the ear; for another false impression, which like the monster Error of Spenser, has bred a thousand youngones as ill-favoured as herself, ascribes melancholy to night. Thereis no good reason why we should think thus of the night, still lessthat the impression should influence our judgment in other matters;and we owe no small thanks to those who have endeavoured to reclaim totheir proper uses these misdirected associations, and to teach, that

 'In nature there is nothing melancholy;'

but on the contrary, 'Healing her wandering and distempered child, She pours around her softest influences, Her sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, Her melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing Amid the general dance and harmony; But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, His angry spirit healed and harmonised By the benignant touch of love and beauty. '

FOOTNOTES:

[2] _Note by Coleridge. _--'The passage in Milton possesses anexcellence far superior to that of mere description. It is spoken inthe character of the Melancholy Man, and has, therefore, a dramaticpropriety. The author makes this remark, to rescue himself from thecharge of having alluded with levity to a line of Milton's. '

THE TEA-COUNTRIES OF CHINA. 

About four years ago, Mr Fortune, author of _Three Years' Wanderingsin the Northern Provinces of China_, was deputed by the East IndiaCompany to proceed to China for the purpose of obtaining the finestvarieties of the tea-plant, as well as native manufacturers andimplements, for the government tea-plantations in the Himalaya. Beingacquainted with the Chinese language, and adopting the Chinesecostume, he penetrated into districts unvisited before byEuropeans--excepting, perhaps, the Catholic missionaries--exciting nofurther curiosity as to his person or pedigree, than what was due to astranger from one of the provinces beyond the great wall. Hisprincipal journeys were to Sung-lo, the great green-tea district, andto the Bohea Mountains, the great black-tea district; besides a flyingvisit to Kingtang, or Silver Island, in the Chusan archipelago. Thenarrative, which he has since published, [3] manifests a good facultyfor observation; but travelling as privately as possible, he sawlittle but the exterior aspects of the country, the appearance ofwhich he describes very graphically. As a botanist, he had a keen eyefor everything which promised to enlarge our knowledge of the Chineseflora, and discovered many useful and ornamental trees and shrubs, some of which, such as the funereal cypress, will one day produce astriking and beautiful effect in our English landscape, and in ourcemeteries. Of social and political information relative to theCelestial Empire, the book is quite barren; and we do not know thatthere is anything in it which will be so acceptable to the reader, asfresh and reliable information about his favourite beverage. To this, therefore, our attention will be confined. 

The plant in cultivation about Canton, from which the Canton teas aremade, is known to botanists as the _Thea bohea_; while the morenorthern variety, found in the green-tea country, has been called_Thea viridis_. The first appears to have been named upon thesupposition, that all the black teas of the Bohea Mountains wereobtained from this species; and the second was called _viridis_, because it furnished the green teas of commerce. These names seem tohave misled the public; and hence many persons, until a few years ago, firmly believed that black tea could be made only from _Thea bohea_, and green tea only from _Thea viridis_. In his _Wanderings in China_, published in 1846, Mr Fortune had stated that both teas could be madefrom either plant, and that the difference in their appearancedepended upon manipulation, and upon that only. But the objection wasmade, that although he had been in many of the tea-districts near thecoast, he had not seen those greater ones inland which furnish theteas of commerce. Since that time, however, he has visited them, without seeing reason to alter his statements. The two kinds of tea, indeed, are rarely made in the same district; but this is a matter ofconvenience. Districts which formerly were famous for black teas, nowproduce nothing but green. At Canton, green and black teas are madefrom the _Thea bohea_ at the pleasure of the manufacturer, andaccording to demand. When the plants arrive from the farms fresh andcool, they dry of a bright-green colour; but if they are delayed intheir transit, or remain in a confined state for too long a period, they become heated, from a species of spontaneous fermentation; andwhen loosened and spread open, emit vapours, and are sensibly warm tothe hand. When such plants are dried, the whole of the green colour isfound to have been destroyed, and a red-brown, and sometimes ablackish-brown result is obtained. 'I had also noticed, ' says MrWarrington, in a paper read by him before the Chemical Society, 'thata clear infusion of such leaves, evaporated carefully to dryness, wasnot all undissolved by water, but left a quantity of brown oxidisedextractive matter, to which the denomination _apothem_ has beenapplied by some chemists; a similar result is obtained by theevaporation of an infusion of black tea. The same action takes placeby the exposure of the infusions of many vegetable substances to theoxidising influence of the atmosphere; they become darkened on thesurface, and this gradually spreads through the solution, and onevaporation, the same oxidised extractive matter will remain insolublein water. Again, I had found that the green teas, when wetted andredried, with exposure to the air, were nearly as dark in colour asthe ordinary black teas. From these observations, therefore, I wasinduced to believe, that the peculiar characters and chemicaldifferences which distinguish black tea from green, were to beattributed to a species of heating or fermentation, accompanied withoxidation by exposure to the air, and not to its being submitted to ahigher temperature in the process of drying, as had been generallyconcluded. My opinion was partly confirmed by ascertaining fromparties conversant with the Chinese manufacture, that the leaves forthe black teas were always allowed to remain exposed to the air inmass for some time before they were roasted. '

This explanation by Mr Warrington from scientific data, is confirmedby Mr Fortune from personal observation, and fully accounts, not onlyfor the difference in colour between the two teas, but also for theeffect produced on some constitutions by green tea, such as nervousirritability, sleeplessness, &c. ; and Mr Fortune truly remarks, thatwhat Mr Warrington observed in the laboratory of Apothecaries' Hall, may be seen by every one who has a tree or bush in his garden. Markthe leaves which are blown from trees in early autumn; they are brown, or perhaps of a dullish green when they fall, but when they have beenexposed for some time in their detached state to air and moisture, they become as black as our blackest teas. Without detailing the wholeprocess in the manufacture of either kind of tea, it may be stated inreference to green tea, _1st_, That the leaves are roasted almostimmediately, after they are gathered; and _2d_, That they are driedoff quickly after the rolling process. In reference to black tea, onthe other hand, it may be observed, _1st_, That after being gathered, the leaves are exposed for a considerable time; _2d_, That they aretossed about until they become soft and flaccid, and are then left inheaps; _3d_, That after being roasted for a few minutes and rolled, they are exposed for some hours to the air in a soft and moist state;and _4th_, That they are at last dried slowly over charcoal fires. After all, then, genuine green tea is, as might reasonably beconjectured, an article less artificial than black. There is, at thesame time, too much foundation for the suspicion, that the green teasso much patronised in Europe and America, are not so innocentlymanufactured. Mr Fortune witnessed the process of colouring them inthe Hung-chow green-tea country, and describes the process. Thesubstance used is a powder consisting of four parts of gypsum andthree parts of Prussian blue, which was applied to the teas during thelast process of roasting. 

'During this part of the operation, ' he says, 'the hands of theworkmen were quite blue. I could not help thinking, that if anygreen-tea drinkers had been present during the operation, their tastewould have been corrected, and, I may be allowed to add, improved. One day, an English gentleman in Shang-hae, being in conversation withsome Chinese from the green-tea country, asked them what reasons theyhad for dyeing the tea, and whether it would not be better withoutundergoing this process. They acknowledged that tea was much betterwhen prepared without having any such ingredients mixed with it, andthat they never drank dyed teas themselves; but justly remarked, thatas foreigners seemed to prefer having a mixture of Prussian blue andgypsum with their tea, to make it look uniform and pretty, and asthese ingredients were cheap enough, the Chinese had no objections tosupply them, especially as such teas always fetched a higher price!'The quantity of colouring matter used is rather more than an ounce to14-1/2 lbs. Of tea; so that in every 100 lbs. Of coloured green teaconsumed in England or America, the consumer actually drinks nearlyhalf a pound of Prussian blue and gypsum! Samples of theseingredients, procured from the Chinamen in the factory, were sent lastyear to the Great Exhibition. 

In the black-tea districts, as in the green, large quantities of youngplants are yearly raised from seeds. These seeds are gathered in themonth of October, and kept mixed up with sand and earth during thewinter months. In this manner they are kept fresh until spring, whenthey are sown thickly in some corner of the farm, from which they areafterwards transplanted. When about a year old, they are from nineinches to a foot in height, and ready for transplanting. This isalways done at the change of the monsoon in spring, when fine warmshowers are of frequent occurrence. The most favourable situations areon the slopes of the hills, as affording good drainage, which is ofthe utmost importance; and which, on the plains, is attained by havingthe lands above the watercourses. Other things being equal, amoderately rich soil is preferred. They are planted in rows about fourfeet apart (in poor soils, much closer), and have a very hedge-likeappearance when full grown. A plantation of tea, when seen at adistance, looks like a little shrubbery of evergreens. As thetraveller threads his way amongst the rocky scenery of Woo-e-shan, heis continually coming upon these plantations, which are dotted uponthe sides of all the hills. The leaves are of a rich dark-green, andafford a pleasing contrast to the strange, and often barren scenerywhich is everywhere around. The young plantations are generallyallowed to grow unmolested for two or three years, till they arestrong and healthy; and even then, great care is exercised not toexhaust the plants by plucking them too bare. But, with every care, they ultimately become stunted and unhealthy, and are never profitablewhen they are old; hence, in the best-managed tea-districts, thenatives yearly remove old plantations, and supply their places withfresh ones. About ten or twelve years is the average duration allowedto the plants. The tea-farms are in general small, and their produceis brought to market in the following manner: A tea-merchant fromTsong-gan or Tsin-tsun, goes himself, or sends his agents, to all thesmall towns, villages, and temples in the district, to purchase teasfrom the priests and small farmers. When the teas so purchased aretaken to his house, they are mixed together, of course keeping thedifferent qualities as much apart as possible. By this means, a chop(or parcel) of 600 chests is made; and all the tea of this chop is ofthe same description or class. The large merchant in whose hands it isnow, has to refine it, and pack it for the foreign market. When thechests are packed, the name of the chop is written upon each, or oughtto be; but it is not unusual to leave them unmarked till they reachthe port of exportation, when the name most in repute is, if possible, put upon them. When the chop is purchased in the tea-district, anumber of coolies are engaged to carry the chests on their shoulders, either to their ultimate destination, or to the nearest river. Thetime occupied in the entire transport by land and river, from theBohea country to Canton, is about six weeks or two months. Theexpenses of transit, of course, vary with localities, and othercircumstances; but, in general, those expenses are so very moderate, that the middlemen realise large profits, while the small farmers andmanipulators are subjected to a grinding process, which keeps them incomparative poverty. 

Of late years, some attempts have been made to cultivate the tea-shrubin America and Australia; but the result will not equal theexpectation entertained by the projectors of the scheme. The tea-plantwill grow wherever the climate and soil are suitable; but labour is somuch cheaper in China than in either of those countries, thatsuccessful competition is impossible. The Chinese labourers do notreceive more than twopence or threepence a day. The difference, therefore, in the cost of labour will afford ample protection to theChinese against all rivals whose circumstances in this respect are notsimilar to their own. 

India, however, is as favourably situated in all respects fortea-cultivation as China itself, and its introduction, therefore, intothat country is a matter of equal interest and importance. Inprocuring the additional seeds, implements, and workmen, Mr Fortunesucceeded beyond his expectations. Tea-seeds retain their vitality fora very short period, if they are out of the ground; and after tryingvarious plans for transporting them to their destination, he adoptedthe method of sowing them in Ward's cases soon after they weregathered, which had the effect of preserving them in full life. Thesame plan will answer as effectually in preserving other kinds ofseeds intended for transportation, and in which so much disappointmentis generally experienced. In due time, all the cases arrived at theirdestination in perfect safety, and were handed over to Dr Jameson, thesuperintendent of the botanical gardens in the north-west provinces, and of the government tea-plantations. When opened, the tea-plantswere found to be in a very healthy state. No fewer than 12, 838 plantswere counted, and many more were germinating. Notwithstanding theirlong voyage from the north of China, and the frequent transhipment andchanges by the way, they seemed as green and vigorous as if they hadbeen growing all the while on the Chinese hills. 

In these days, when tea is no longer a luxury, but a necessary of lifein England and her colonies, its production on Indian soil is worthyof persevering effort. To the natives of India themselves, it would beof the greatest value. The poor _paharie_, or hill-peasant, hasscarcely the common necessaries of life, and certainly none of itsluxuries. The common sorts of grain which his lands produce willscarcely pay the carriage to the nearest market-town, far less yieldsuch a profit as to enable him to procure any articles of commerce. Acommon blanket has to serve him for his covering by day and for hisbed at night, while his dwelling-house is a mere mud-hut, capable ofaffording but little shelter from the inclemency of the weather. Ifpart of these lands produced tea, he would then have a healthybeverage to drink, besides a commodity which would be of great valuein the market. Being of small bulk, and extremely light in proportionto its value, the expense of carriage would be trifling, and he wouldhave the means of making himself and his family more comfortable andmore happy. In China, tea is one of the necessaries of life, in thestrictest sense of the word. A Chinese never drinks cold water, whichhe abhors, and considers unhealthy. Tea is his favourite beverage frommorning to night--not what we call tea, mixed with milk and sugar--butthe essence of the herb itself drawn out in pure water. Thoseacquainted with the habits of the people, can scarcely conceive oftheir existence, were they deprived of the tea-plant; and there can beno doubt that its extensive use adds much to their health and comfort. The people of India are not unlike the Chinese in many of theirhabits. The poor of both countries eat sparingly of animal food; rice, and other grains and vegetables, form the staple articles on whichthey live. This being the case, it is not at all unlikely that theIndian will soon acquire a habit which is so universal in China. Butin order to enable him to drink tea, it must be produced at a cheaprate, not at 4s. Or 6s. A pound, but at 4d. Or 6d. ; and this can bedone, but only on his own hills. The accomplishment of this would bean immense boon for the government to confer upon the people, andmight ultimately work a constitutional change in their character andtemperament--ridding them of their proverbial indolence, and endowingthem with that activity of body and mind which renders the Chinese soun-Asiatic in their habits and employments. 

That our readers may, if they choose, have 'tea as in China, ' we quotea recipe from a Chinese author, which may be of service to them. 'Whenever the tea is to be infused for use, ' says Tüng-po, 'take waterfrom a running stream, and boil it over a lively fire. It is an oldcustom to use running water boiled over a lively fire; that fromsprings in the hills is said to be the best, and river-water the next, while well-water is the worst. A lively fire is a clear and brightcharcoal fire. When making an infusion, do not boil the water toohastily, as first it begins to sparkle like crabs' eyes, then somewhatlike fish's eyes, and lastly, it boils up like pearls innumerable, springing and waving about. This is the way to boil the water. ' Thesame author gives the names of six different kinds of tea, all ofwhich are in high repute. As their names are rather flowery, they maybe quoted for the reader's amusement. They are these: the 'firstspring tea, ' the 'white dew, ' the 'coral dew, ' the 'dewy shoots, ' the'money shoots, ' and the 'rivulet garden tea. ' 'Tea, ' says he, 'is of acooling nature, and, if drunk too freely, will produce exhaustion andlassitude. Country people, before drinking it, add ginger and salt, tocounteract this cooling property. It is an exceedingly useful plant;cultivate it, and the benefit will be widely spread; drink it, and theanimal spirits will be lively and clear. The chief rulers, dukes, andnobility, esteem it; the lower people, the poor and beggarly, will notbe destitute of it; all use it daily, and like it. ' Another authorupon tea says, that 'drinking it tends to clear away all impurities, drives off drowsiness, removes or prevents headache, and it isuniversally in high esteem. '

FOOTNOTES:

[3] _A Journey to the Tea-Countries of China. _ By Robert Fortune. 1852. 

THE GREAT OYER OF POISONING. 

In a previous article, an account was given of the proceedings againstthe Earl and Countess of Somerset for the murder of Sir ThomasOverbury. Though they were spared, several other persons were executedfor this offence; and the circumstances under which those who wererepresented as the chief criminals escaped, while the others, whoseguilt was represented as merely secondary, were executed, is among themost mysterious parts of the history. There was so much said aboutpoisoning throughout the whole inquiry, that Sir Edward Coke gave thetrials the name of 'The Great Oyer of Poisoning. ' Oyer has long been atechnical term in English law; and it is almost unnecessary toexplain, that it is old French for _to hear_--_oyer and terminer_meaning, to hear and determine. The same inscrutable reasons whichmake the evidence so imperfect against the chief offenders, affect thewhole of it. But while the exact causes of the death of Sir ThomasOverbury may be left in doubt, as well as the motives which led to it, enough is revealed in the trials of the minor offenders to throw aremarkable light on the strange habits of the time, and especially onthe profligacy and credulity of the court of King James. 

The first person put to trial was Richard Weston, who had beenappointed for the purpose of taking charge of Sir Thomas Overbury. Ifhe had been murdered by poison, there could be no doubt that Westonwas one of the perpetrators. He had been brought up as an apothecary;and it was said that he was selected on account of his being thusenabled to dabble in poisons. The charge against him is veryindistinct. He was charged that he, 'in the Tower of London, in theparish of Allhallows Barking, did obtain and get into his hand certainpoison of green and yellow colour, called rosalgar--knowing the sameto be deadly poison--and the same did maliciously and feloniouslymingle and compound in a kind of broth poured out into a certaindish. ' Weston long refused to plead to the indictment. Of old, aperson could not be put on trial unless he pleaded not guilty, anddemanded a trial. The law, however, provided for those who wereobstinate a more dreadful death than would be inflicted on thescaffold. To frighten him into compliance, the court gave him adescription of it, telling him that he was 'to be extended, and thento have weights laid upon him no more than he was able to bear, whichwere by little and little to be increased; secondly, that he was to beexposed in an open place near to the prison, in the open air, beingnaked; and lastly, that he was to be preserved with the coarsest breadthat could be got, and water out of the next sink or puddle. ' He wastold that 'oftentimes men lived in that extremity eight or nine days. 'People have sometimes endured the _peine forte et dure_, as it wascalled, because, unless they pleaded and were convicted, their estateswere not forfeited; and they endured the death of protracted torturefor the sake of their families. Weston's object was supposed to be toprevent a trial, the evidence in which would expose his great patronsthe Earl and Countess of Somerset. The motive was not, however, strongenough to make him stand to his purpose. He pleaded to the indictment, was found guilty, and executed at Tyburn. 

The next person brought up was of a more interesting character--AnneTurner, the widow of a physician. It is stated in the Report, thatwhen she appeared at the bar, the chief-justice Coke said to her:'that women must be covered in the church, but not when they arearraigned, and so caused her to put off her hat; which done, shecovered her hair with her handkerchief, being before dressed in herhair with her handkerchief over it. ' Although Mother Turner's pursuitswere of the questionable kind generally attributed to old hags--shedealt in philters, soothsaying, and poisoning--she must have been ayoung and beautiful woman. In some of the letters which were producedat the trials, she was called 'Sweet Turner. ' In a poem, called_Overbury's Vision_, published in 1616, and reprinted in the seventhvolume of the Harleian Miscellany, she is thus enthusiasticallydescribed--

 'It seemed that she had been some gentle dame; For on each part of her fair body's frame Nature such delicacy did bestow, That fairer object oft it doth not shew. Her crystal eye, beneath an ivory brow, Did shew what she at first had been; but now The roses on her lovely cheeks were dead; The earth's pale colour had all overspread Her sometime lovely look; and cruel Death, Coming untimely with his wintry breath, Blasted the fruit which, cherry-like in show, Upon her dainty lips did whilome grow. Oh, how the cruel cord did misbecome Her comely neck! And yet by law's just doom Had been her death. '

It might be said to be Mrs Turner's profession, to minister to allthe bad passions of intriguers. The wicked Countess of Essex employedher to secure to her, by magic arts and otherwise, the affection ofSomerset, and at the same time to create alienation and distaste onthe part of her husband. Among the documents produced at her trial wasone said to be a list of 'what ladies loved what lords;' and it isalleged that Coke prohibited its being read, because, whenever he casthis eye on it, he saw there the name of his own wife. Some mysteriousarticles were produced at the trial, which were believed to beinstruments of enchantment and diabolical agency. 'There were alsoenchantments shewed in court, written in parchment, wherein werecontained all the names of the blessed Trinity mentioned in theScriptures; and in another parchment + B + C + D + E; and in a third, likewise in parchment, were written all the names of the holy Trinity, as also a figure, on which was written this word, _corpus_; and on theparchment was fastened a little piece of the skin of a man. In some ofthese parchments were the devil's particular names, who were conjuredto torment the Lord Somerset, and Sir Arthur Manwaring, if their lovesshould not continue, the one to the Countess, the other to MrsTurner. ' Along with these were some pictures, as they were termed, or, more properly speaking, models of the human figure. 'At the shewing, 'says the report, 'of these, and inchanted papers, and other picturesin court, there was heard a crack from the scaffolds, which causedgreat fear, tumult, and confusion among the spectators, and throughoutthe hall, every one fearing hurt, as if the devil had been present, and grown angry to have his workmanship shewed by such as were not hisown scholars. '[4]

The small figures, which appeared to have created the chiefconsternation, were, we are inclined to believe, very innocent things. There was, it is true, a belief that an individual could be injured orslain by operations on his likeness. There was, however, anotherpurpose connected with Mrs Turner's pursuits to which small jointedimages, like artists' lay figures, were used. This was to exhibit theeffect of any new fashion, or peculiar style of dress. In this mannersmall figures, about the size of dolls, were long used in Paris. Wehave seen people expressing their surprise at pictures of full-grownFrenchwomen examining dolls, but in reality they were not moretriflingly occupied than those who now contemplate the latest fashionsin their favourite feminine periodical. Mrs Turner was very likely tohave occasion for such figures, for she was, with her other pursuits, a sort of dressmaker, or _modiste_; in fact, she seems to have been aready minister to every kind of human vanity and folly, as well as toa good deal of human wickedness. In the department of dress, she had aname in her own sex and age as illustrious as that of Brummel amongdandies in the beginning of this century. As he was the inventor ofthe starched cravat, she was his precursor in the invention of thestarched ruff, or, as it is generally said, of the yellow starch. 

The best account we have of the starched ruff is by a man who wrote toabuse it. An individual named Stubbes published an _Anatomy ofAbuses_. Having become extremely rare, a small impression of it waslately reprinted, as a curious picture of the times. Stubbes dealttrenchantly with everything that savoured of pride and ostentation indress; and he was peculiarly severe on Mrs Turner's invention, whichmade the ruff stand against bad weather. He describes the ruffs ashaving been made 'of cambric Holland lawn; or else of some other thefinest cloth that can be got for money, whereof some be a quarter of ayard deep; yea, some more--very few less. ' He describes with much gleethe elementary calamities to which, before the invention of thestarch, they were liable. 'If Æolus with his blasts, or Neptune withhis storms, chance to hit upon the crazy barque of their bruisedruffs, then they goeth flip-flap in the wind, like rags that flewabroad, lying upon their shoulders like the dish-clout of a slut. 'Having thus, with great exultation, described these reproofs to humanpride, he mentions how 'the devil, as he, in the fulness of hismalice, first invented these great ruffs, so hath he now found outalso two great pillars to bear up and maintain this his kingdom ofgreat ruffs--for the devil is king and prince over all the kingdom ofpride. ' One pillar appears to have been a wire framework--something, perhaps, of the nature of the hoop. The other was 'a certain kind ofliquid matter, which they call starch, wherein the devil hath willedthem to wash and dye their ruffs well; and this starch they make ofdivers colours and hues--white, red, blue, purple, and the like, which, being dry, will then stand stiff and inflexible about theirnecks. '

Mrs Turner, at her execution, was arrayed in a ruff stiffened with thematerial for the invention of which she was so famous. She had for herscientific adviser a certain Dr Forman--a man who was believed to bedeep in all kinds of dangerous chemical lore, and at the same time topossess a connection with the Evil One, which gave him powers greaterthan those capable of being obtained through mere scientific agency. Had he been alive, he would have undoubtedly been tried with the otherpoisoners. His widow gave some account of his habits, and of hiswonderful apparatus, such as 'a ring which would open like a watch;'but the glimpse obtained of him is brief and mysteriously tantalising. We remember that, about twenty-five years ago, this man was made thehero of a novel called _Forman_, which contains much effectivewriting, but did not somehow fit the popular taste. 

Notwithstanding the scientific ingenuity both of the males and femalesconcerned in this affair, the poisoning seems to have been conductedin a very bungling manner when compared with the slow and secretpoisonings of the French and Italians. It is believed that a female ofNaples, called Tophana, who used a tasteless liquid, named after her_Aqua Tophana_, killed with it 600 people before she was discovered tobe a murderess. The complete secrecy in which these foreignersshrouded their operations--people seeming to drop off around them asif by the silent operation of natural causes--was what made theirmachinations so frightful. Poisoning, however, is a cowardly as wellas a cruel crime, which has never taken strong root in English habits;and, as we have observed, the poisoners on this occasion, notwithstanding the skill and knowledge enlisted by them in theservice, were arrant bunglers. Thus, the confession of James Franklin, an accomplice, would seem to shew that Sir Thomas Overbury wassubjected to poisons enough to have deprived three cats of theirtwenty-seven lives. 

'Mrs Turner came to me from the countess, and wished me, from her, toget the strongest poison I could for Sir T. Overbury. Accordingly, Ibought seven--viz. , aquafortis, white arsenic, mercury, powder ofdiamonds, _lapis costitus_, great spiders, and cantharides. All thesewere given to Sir T. Overbury at several times. And furtherconfesseth, that the lieutenant knew of these poisons; for thatappeared, said he, by many letters which he writ to the Countess ofEssex, which I saw, and thereby knew that he knew of this matter. Oneof these letters I read for the countess, because she could not readit herself; in which the lieutenant used this speech: "Madam, the scabis like the fox--the more he is cursed, the better he fareth. " Andmany other speeches. Sir T. Never eat white salt, but there was whitearsenic put into it. Once he desired pig, and Mrs Turner put into it_lapis costitus_. The white powder that was sent to Sir T. In aletter, he knew to be white arsenic. At another time, he had twopartridges sent him by the court, and water and onions being thesauce, Mrs Turner put in cantharides instead of pepper; so that therewas scarce anything that he did eat but there was some poisonmixed. '[5]

It is impossible to believe that the human frame could stand out forweeks against so hot a siege. It would appear as if Franklin mustreally have confessed too much. It has already been said, that theconfused state of the whole evidence renders it difficult to find howfar a case was made out against the Earl and Countess of Somerset. Such a confession as Franklin's only makes matters still moreconfused. That Sir Thomas Overbury really was poisoned, one canscarcely doubt, if even a portion of what Franklin and the others sayis true; but the reckless manner in which the crime was gone about, and the confusion of the whole evidence, is extremely perplexing. Notthe least remarkable feature in this tragedy is the number of peopleconcerned in it. We find, brought to trial, the Earl and Countess ofSomerset and Sir Thomas Monson, who, though said to be the guiltiestof all, were spared: Weston, Franklin, and Mrs Turner, were executed:Forman, and another man of science who was said to have given aid, hadgone to their account before the trials came on. Then, in Franklin'sconfession, it was stated that 'the toothless maid, trusty Margaret, was acquainted with the poisoning; so was Mrs Turner's man, Stephen;so also was Mrs Home, the countess's own handmaid;' and several othersubordinate persons are alluded to in a similar manner. 

The quietness and secrecy of the French and Italian poisonings havebeen already alluded to. The poisoners, in general, instead of actingin a bustling crowd, generally prepared themselves for their dreadfultask by secretly acquiring the competent knowledge, so that they mightnot find it necessary to take the aid of confederates. They generallydid their work alone, or at most two would act together. It certainlyargues a sadly demoralised state of society in the reign of KingJames, that so many persons should be found who would coolly connectthemselves with the work of death; but still there was not so muchreal danger as in the quiet, systematic poisonings of such criminalsas Tophana and the Countess of Brinvilliers. The great Oyer ofpoisoning was, however, calculated to make a very deep impression onthe public mind. It filled London with fear and suspicion. Whenrumours about poisonings become prevalent, no one knows exactly howfar the crime has proceeded, and this and that event is remembered andconnected with it. All the sudden deaths within recollection arerecalled, and thus accounted for. People supposed to be adepts inchemistry were in great danger from the populace, and one man, namedLamb, was literally torn to pieces by a mob at Charing-Cross. Thepeople began to dwell upon the death of Prince Henry, the king'seldest son, who had fallen suddenly. It was remembered that he was ayouth of a frank, manly disposition--the friend and companion ofRaleigh and of other heroic spirits. He liked popularity, and wentinto many of the popular prejudices of the times--forming altogetherin his character a great contrast to his grave, dry, fastidious, andsuspicious brother Charles, who was to succeed to his vacant place. Hehad died very suddenly--of fever, it was said; but popular rumour nowattributed his death to poison. Nay, it was said that his own father, jealous of his popularity, was the perpetrator; and it was whisperedthat _this_ was the secret which King James was so afraid hisfavourite Somerset might tell if prosecuted to death. In a work called_Truth brought to Light_, a copy was given of an alleged medicalreport on a dissection of the body, calculated to confirm thesesuspicions: it may be found in the _State Trials_, ii. 1002. ArthurWilson, who published his life and reign of King James during theCommonwealth, said: 'Strange rumours are raised upon this suddenexpiration of our prince, the disease being so violent that the combatof nature in the strength of youth (being almost nineteen years ofage) lasted not above five days. Some say he was poisoned with a bunchof grapes; others attribute it to the venomous scent of a pair ofgloves presented to him (the distemper lying for the most part in thehead. ) They that knew neither of these are stricken with fear andamazement, as if they had tasted or felt the effects of thoseviolences. Private whisperings and suspicions of some new designsafoot broaching prophetical terrors that a black Christmas wouldproduce a bloody Lent, &c. ' Kennet, in his notes on Wilson's work, says that he possesses a rare copy of a sermon preached while thepublic mind was thus excited, 'wherein the preacher, who had been hisdomestic chaplain, made such broad hints about the manner of his(Prince Henry's) death, that melted the auditory into a flood oftears, and occasioned his being dismissed the court. '

But suspicion did not stop here. When King James himself died in muchpain, his body shewing the unsightly symptoms consequent on his grosshabits, poison was again suspected; and as it had been said on theformer occasion, that the father had connived at the death of his son, it was now whispered that the remaining son, anxious to commence hisill-starred reign, was accessory to hurrying his father from theworld. The moral character of Charles I. Is sufficient to acquit himof such a charge. But historians even of late date have not entirelyacquitted his favourite, Buckingham, who, it was said, finding thatthe king was tired of him, resolved to make him give place to theprince, in whose good graces he felt secure. The authors of thescandalous histories published during the Commonwealth, said that theduke's mother administered the poison externally in the form of aplaster. 

FOOTNOTES:

[4] _State Trials_, ii. 932. 

[5] _State Trials_, 941. 

NEURALGIA. [6]

Obstructives and sceptics are in one sense benefactors: although theydo not generally originate improved modes of thought and action, theyat least prevent the adoption of crude theories and ill-digestedmeasures. To meet the criticism of these opponents, inventive geniusmust more carefully bring its ideas and plans to the test of practicalexperiment and thorough investigation; and as truth must ultimatelyprevail, it cannot be considered unjust or injurious to insist uponits presenting its credentials. This is, we submit, one of thebenefits resulting from schools, colleges, and guilds: it is difficultto impress them with novel truths; but in a great degree they act asbreakwaters to the waves of error. In no department of social life isthis doctrine better illustrated than in the medical profession, whichis among the keenest and most sceptical of bodies in scrutinisingnovelty; but it has rarely allowed any real improvement to remainpermanently untested and unadopted. We believe this to be the fairview to take of a class of scientific men who have certainly had alarge share of sarcasm to endure. 

General readers, for whom we profess to cater, take no great interestin medical subjects and discussions; but as historians of what isdoing in the world of art, science, and literature, we think it ourduty to record, in a brief way, any information we can collect thatmay be beneficial to the suffering portion of humanity; and in this'miserable world' it is most probable that one-fourth part of ourreaders are invalids. Why should they not have their little troubles, whims, and maladies studied and cared for? The disease which gives atitle to this short notice is perhaps one of the most mysterious andvexatious to which our nature is liable; both its cause and cure areequally occult, and its _modus operandi_ is scarcely intelligible. Acontemporary thus playfully alludes to the subject in terms more funnythan precise:--'What is neuralgia? A nervous spasm, the cause of whichhas, however, not been satisfactorily and conclusively demonstrated;but we may, perhaps, obtain a clearer view of its nature, if we lookupon it as connected with "morbid nutrition. " Every one knows that thesystem is, or ought to be, constantly subject to a law of waste andrepair; and if the operation of this law is impeded by "cold, " "mentalexcitement, " or any other baneful condition, diseases more or lessunpleasant must ensue. The _vis naturæ_ uses certain particles ofmatter in forming nerves; others in forming membrane, bones, juices, &c. ; while used-up particles are expelled altogether from the system. We can readily conceive that each order of atoms is used by a distinctfunction, and has a different mission; and any morbid perversion ormingling of their separate destinies must end in disorder andsuffering--nature's violent endeavour to restore the regularity of heroperations. A cough is simply an effort of the lungs or bronchiæ toremove some offending intruder that ought to be doing duty elsewhere;and may we not call neuralgia _a cough of a nerve_ to get rid of adisagreeable oppression--nature's legitimate _coup d'état_ to put downand transport those "_red socialist_" particles that would interferewith the regularity of its constitution? Let us fancy, for a moment, adelicate little army of atoms marching obediently along, to form newnerve in place of the substance that is wasting away: another littlearmy of carbonaceous particles have just received orders to pack uptheir luggage and be off, to make way for the advancingnerve-battalion; but in their exodus they are met by a fiercedestroyer, in the shape of an east wind--a Caffre that suddenly throwsthe ranks of General Carbon into disorder, and drives them back uponthe brilliant and pugnacious array of General Nerve: a battle-royal isthe result. General Nerve immediately places lance in rest, andadvances to the charge with the unsparing war-cry of: "Mr Ferguson, you don't lodge here!" and if Caffre East-wind is not despised andtrifled with, he is generally beaten for a time; but great are thesufferings of humanity--the scene of this encounter--while the fightis raging. '

Now comes the question: How to get rid of this cruel invader? DrDowning has undertaken to give an answer, which we believe to besatisfactory. In addition to the proper medical and hygienictreatment, which is carefully and ably stated in the work before us, Dr Downing has invented an apparatus which appears to be veryefficacious; and we will therefore allow him to describe it in his ownwords:--'From considering tic douloureux as often a local disease, depending on a state of excessive irritability, sensibility, or spasmof a particular nerve, and from reflecting upon its causes, andobserving the effect of topical sedatives, I was led to theconclusion, that the most direct way of quieting this state was by theapplication of warmth and sedative vapour to the part, so as to soothethe nerves, and calm them into regular action. For this purpose, Idevised an apparatus which answers the purpose sufficiently well. Itis a kind of fumigating instrument, in which dried herbs are burned, and the heated vapour directed to any part of the body. It isextremely simple in construction, and consists essentially of threeparts with their media of connection--a cylinder for igniting thevegetable matter, bellows for maintaining a current of air through theburning material, and tubes and cones for directing and concentratingthe stream of vapour. The chief medicinal effects I have noticed inthe use of this instrument are those of a sedative character; but itsremedial influence is not alone confined to the use of certain herbs. A considerable power is attributable to the warm current or intenseheat generated. When the vegetable matter is ignited, and a current ofair is made to pass through the burning mass, a small or great degreeof heat can be produced at pleasure. Thus, when the hand is gentlypressed upon the bellows, a mild, warm stream of vapour is pouredforth which may act as a _douche_ to irritable parts; but by stronglyand rapidly compressing the same receptacle, the fire within thecylinder is urged like that of a smith's forge, and the blast becomesintensely hot and burning. '

Those who wish to know more of this mode of treatment, had betterrefer to the work itself. We must content ourselves with having simplydrawn our readers' attention to it. 

FOOTNOTES:

[6] _Neuralgia: its various Forms, Pathology, and Treatment. _ Beingthe Jacksonian Prize Essay of the Royal College of Surgeons for 1850;with some Additions. By C. Toogood Downing, M. D. , M. R. C. S. Churchill, London. 

ANCIENT GLACIERS IN THE LAKE COUNTRY. 

Mr Robert Chambers, in a recent tour of the lakes of Westmoreland(April 1852), has discovered that the valleys of that interestingdistrict were at one time occupied by glaciers. Glacialised surfaceswere previously observed in a few places not far from Kendal, butwithout any conclusion as to the entire district. By Mr Chambersconspicuous and unequivocal memorials of ice-action have been found inmost of the great central valleys, such as those of Derwentwater, Ulleswater, Thirlwater, and Windermere. The principal phenomena arerounded hummocks of rock on the skirts of the hills, and in the middleof the valleys; and as these hummocks, whatever may be the directionof the valleys, invariably present a smoothed side up, and an abruptside downwards (_stoss-seite_ and _lee-seite_ of the Scandinaviangeologists), it becomes certain that the glaciers proceeding from themountains at the upper extremities were local to the several valleys. The smoothed hummocks are very noticeable in Derwentwater orBorrowdale, the celebrated Bowderstone resting on one; a particularlyfine low surface appears at Grange, near the head of the lake. AtPatterdale, in Ulleswater Valley, the rocks are so much marked in thismanner, that the whole place bears a striking resemblance to thesterile parts of Sweden; and some small rocky islets, near the head ofthe lake, are unmistakable _roches moutonnées_. The two valleysdescending in opposite directions from Dunmail Raise, have hadglaciers proceeding from some central point: in that of Thirlwater, the rounded hummocks are conspicuous at Armboth; in the other, nearGrasmere, and near the Windermere Railway Station. In all these cases, the characteristic striation, or scratching produced on rock-surfacesby glaciers, is more or less distinct, according as the surface mayhave been protected in intermediate ages. Where any drift or alluvialformation has covered it, the polish and striation are as perfect asif they had been formed in recent times, and the lines are almostinvariably in the general direction of the valley. 

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