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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction by Various

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VOL. XX. NO. 562.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 18, 1832. [PRICE 2d.

* * * * *


[Illustration: Falls of the Genesee.]

The Genesee is one of the most picturesque rivers of North America.
Its name is indeed characteristic: the word Genesee being formed from
the Indian for _Pleasant Valley,_ which term is very descriptive of
the river and its vicinity. Its falls have not the majestic extent
of the Niagara; but their beauty compensates for the absence of such

The Genesee, the principal natural feature of its district, rises
on the _Grand Plateau_ or table-land of Western Pennsylvania, runs
through New York, and flows into Lake Ontario, at Port Genesee, six
miles below Rochester. At the distance of six miles from its mouth are
falls of 96 feet, and one mile higher up, other falls of 75 feet.[1]
Above these it is navigable for boats nearly 70 miles, where are other
two falls, of 60 and 90 feet, one mile apart, in Nunda, south of
Leicester. At the head of the Genesee is a tract six miles square,
embracing waters, some of which flow into the gulf of Mexico, others
into Chesapeake Bay, and others into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. This
tract is probably elevated 1,600 or 1,700 feet above the tide waters
of the Atlantic Ocean.

[1] It may be as well here to quote the formation of Cataracts
and Cascades, from Maltebrun's valuable _System of Universal
Geography._ "It is only the sloping of the land which can at first
cause water to flow; but an impulse having been once communicated
to the mass, the pressure alone of the water will keep it in
motion, even if there were no declivity at all. Many great rivers,
in fact, flow with an almost interruptible declivity. Rivers which
descend from primitive mountains into secondary lands, often form
_cascades and cataracts_. Such are the cataracts of the Nile,
of the Ganges, and some other great rivers, which, according to
Desmarest, evidently mark the limits of the ancient land.
Cataracts are also formed by lakes: of this description are the
celebrated Falls of the Niagara; but the most picturesque falls
are those of rapid rivers, bordered by trees and precipitous
rocks. Sometimes we see a body of water, which, before it arrives
at the bottom, is broken and dissipated into showers, like the
Staubbach, (see _Mirror,_ vol. xiv. p. 385.); sometimes it forms
a watery arch, projected from a rampart of rock, under which the
traveller may pass dryshod, as the "falling spring" of Virginia;
in one place, in a granite district, we see the Trolhetta, and the
Rhine not far from its source, urge on their foaming billows
among the pointed rocks; in another, amidst lands of a calcareous
formation, we see the Czettina and the Kerka, rolling down
from terrace to terrace, and presenting sometimes a sheet, and
sometimes a wall, of water. Some magnificent cascades have been
formed, at least in part, by the hands of man: the cascades of
Velino, near Terni, have been attributed to Pope Clement VIII.;
other cataracts, like those of Tunguska, in Siberia, have
gradually lost their elevation by the wearing away of the rocks,
and have now only a rapid descent."--_Maltebrun_, vol. i.

The Engraving includes the falls of the river, with the village
of Rochester, seven miles south of Lake Ontario. This place, for
population, extent, and trade, will soon rank among the American
cities: it was not settled until about the close of the last war;
its progress was slow until the year 1820, from which period it has
rapidly improved. In 1830 it contained upwards of 12,000 inhabitants:
the first census of the village was taken in December, 1815, when the
number of inhabitants was three hundred and thirty-one. The aqueduct
which takes the Erie canal across the river forms a prominent object
of interest to all travellers. It is of hewn stone, containing eleven
arches of 50 feet span: its length is 800 feet, but a considerable
part of each end is hidden from view by mills erected since its

On the brink of the island which separates the main stream of the
river from that produced by the waste water from the mill-race,
will be seen _a scaffold or platform_ from which an eccentric but
courageous adventurer, named _Sam Patch_, made a desperate leap into
the gulf beneath. Patch had obtained some celebrity in freaks of this
description, though his feats be not recorded, like the hot-brained
patriotism of Marcus Curtius in olden history. At the fall of Niagara,
Patch had before made two leaps in safety--one of 80 and the other of
130 feet, in a vast gulf, foaming and tost aloft from the commotion
produced by a fall of nearly 200 feet. In November, 1829, Patch
visited Rochester to astonish the citizens by a leap from the falls.
His first attempt was successful, and in the presence of thousands of
spectators he leaped from the scaffold to which we have directed the
attention of the reader, a distance of 100 feet, into the abyss, in
safety. He was advertised to repeat the feat in a few days, or, as he
prophetically announced it his "last jump," meaning his last jump that
season. The scaffold was duly erected, 25 feet in height, and Patch,
an hour after the time was announced, made his appearance. A multitude
had collected to witness the feat; the day was unusually cold, and Sam
was intoxicated. The river was low, and the falls near him on either
side were bare. Sam threw himself off, and the waters (to quote the
bathos of a New York newspaper) "received him in their cold embrace.
The tide bubbled as the life left the body, and then the stillness of
death, indeed, sat upon the bosom of the waters." His body was found
past the spring at the mouth of the river, seven miles below where
he made his fatal leap. It had passed over two falls of 125 feet
combined, yet was not much injured. A black handkerchief taken from
his neck while on the scaffold, and tied about the body, was still
there. He is stated to have had perfect command of himself while in
the air; and, says the journalist already quoted, "had he not been
given to habits of intoxication, he might have astonished the world,
perhaps for years, with the greatest feats ever performed by man."

The Genesee river waters one of the finest tracts of land in the state
of New York. Its alluvial flats are extensive, and very fertile. These
are either natural prairies, or Indian clearings, (of which, however,
the present Indians have no tradition,) and lying, to an extent of
many thousand acres, between the villages of Genesee, Moscow, and
Mount Morris, which now crown the declivities of their surrounding
uplands; and, contrasting their smooth verdure with the shaggy hills
that bound the horizon, and their occasional clumps of spreading
trees, with the tall and naked relics of the forest, nothing can
be more agreeable to the eye, long accustomed to the uninterrupted
prospect of a level and wooded country.

* * * * *


_By G.R. Carter._


Away o'er the dancing wave,
Like the wings of the white seamew;
How proudly the hearts of the youthful brave
Their dreams of bliss renew!

And as on the pathless deep,
The bark by the gale is driven,
How glorious it is with the stars to keep
A watch on the beautiful heaven.

The winds o'er the ocean bear
Rich fragrance from the flow'rs,
That bloom on the sward, and sparkle there
Like stars in their dark blue bow'rs.

The visions of those that sail
O'er the wave with its snow-white foam,
Are haunted with scenes of the beauteous vale
That encloses their peaceful home.

They have wander'd through groves of the west,
Illumed with the fire-flies' light;
But their native land kindles a charm in each breast,
Unwaken'd by regions more bright.

The haunts that were dear to the heart
As an exquisite dream of romance,
Strew thoughts, like sweet flow'rs, round its holiest part,
And their fancy-bound spirits entrance.

Then away with the fluttering sail!
And away with the bounding wave!
While the musical sounds of the ocean-gale
Are wafted around the brave!

* * * * *

Ray wittily observes that an obscure and prolix author may not
improperly be compared to a Cuttle-fish, since he may be said to hide
himself under his own ink.

* * * * *



_Written on the morning of the Battle of Daenneberg._

Doubt-beladen, dim and hoary,
O'er us breaks the mighty day,
And the sunbeam, cold and gory,
Lights us on our fearful way.
In the womb of coming hours,
Destinies of empires lie,
Now the scale ascends, now lowers,
Now is thrown the noble die.
Brothers, the hour with warning is rife;
Faithful in death as you're faithful in life,
Be firm, and be bound by the holiest tie,

In the shadows of the night,
Lie behind us shame and scorn;
Lies the slave's exulting might,
Who the German oak has torn.
Speech disgrac'd in future story,
Shrines polluted (shall it be?)
To dishonour pledg'd our glory,
German brothers, set it free.
Brothers, your hands, let your vengeance be burning,
By your actions, the curses of heaven be turning,
On, on, set your country's Palladium free.

Hope, the brightest, is before us,
And the future's golden time,
Joys, which heaven will restore us,
Freedom's holiness sublime.
German bards and artists' powers,
Woman's truth, and fond caress,
Fame eternal shall be ours,
Beauty's smile our toils shall bless.
Yet 'tis a deed that the bravest might shake,
Life and our heart's blood are set on the stake;
Death alone points out the road to success.

God! united we will dare it;
Firm this heart shall meet its fate,
To the altar thus I bear it,
And my coming doom await.
Fatherland, for thee we perish,
At thy fell command 'tis done,
May our loved ones ever cherish
Freedom, which our blood has won.
Liberty, grow o'er each oak-shadow'd plain,
Grow o'er the tombs of thy warriors slain,
Fatherland, hear thou the oath we have sworn.

Brothers, towards your hearts' best treasures,
Cast one look, on earth the last,
Turn then from those once prized pleasures,
Wither'd by the hostile blast.
Though your eyes be dim with weeping,
Tears like these are not from fear,
Trust to God's own holy keeping,
With your last kiss, all that's dear.
All lips that pray for us, all hearts that we rend
With parting, O father, to thee we commend,
Protect them and shield them from wrongs and despair.--H.

* * * * *


Goodness of temper may be defined, to use the happy imagery of Gray,
"as the sunshine of the heart." It is a more valuable bosom-attendant
under the pressure of poverty and adversity, and when we are
approaching the confines of infirmity and old age, than when we are
revelling in the full tide of plenty, amid the exuberant strength and
freshness of youth. Lord Bacon, who has analyzed some of the human
accompaniments so well, is silent as to the softening sway and
pleasing influence of this choice attuner of the human mind. But
Shaftesbury, the illustrious author of the _Characteristics_, was so
enamoured of it, that he terms "gravity (its counterpart,) the essence
of imposture;" and so it is, for to what purpose does a man store his
brain with knowledge, and the profitable burden of the sciences, if he
gathers only superciliousness and pride from the hedge of learning?
instead of the milder traits of general affection, and the open
qualities of social feelings. I remember, when a youth, I was
extremely fond of attending the House of Commons, to hear the debates;
and I shall never forget the repulsive loftiness which I thought
marked the physiognomy of Pitt; harsh and unbending, like a settled
frost, he seemed wrapped in the mantle of egotism and sublunary
conceit; and it was from the uninviting expression of this great man's
countenance, that I first drew my conceptions as to how a proud and
unsociable man looked. With very different emotions I was wont to
survey the mild but expressive features of his great opponent, Fox:
there was a placidity mixed up with the graver lines of thought and
reflection, that would have invited a child to take him by the hand;
indeed, the witchcraft of Mr. Fox's temper was such, that it formed a
triumphant source of gratulation in the circle of his friends, from
the panegyric of the late Earl of Carlisle, during his boyish days at
Eton, to the prouder posthumous circles of fame with which the elegant
author of _The Pleasures of Memory_, has entwined his sympathetic
recollections. The late Mr. Whitbread, although an unflinching
advocate for the people's rights, and an incorruptible patriot in
the true sense of the word, was unpopular in his office as a country
magistrate, owing to a tone of severity he generally used to those
around him. The wife of that indefatigable toiler in the Christian
field, John Wesley, was so acid and acrimonious in her temper, that
that mild advocate for spiritual affection, found it impossible to
live with her. Rousseau was tormented by such a host of ungovernable
passions, that he became a burden to himself and to every one around
him. Lord Byron suffered a badness of temper to corrode him in the
flower of his days. Contrasted with this unpleasing part of the
perspective, let us quote the names of a few wise and good men, who
have been proverbial for the goodness of their tempers; as Shakspeare,
Francis I., and Henry IV. of France; "the great and good Lord
Lyttleton," as he is called to the present day; John Howard,
Goldsmith, Sir Samuel Romilly, Franklin, Thomson, the poet,
Sheridan,[2] and Sir Walter Scott. The late Sir William Curtis was
known to be one of the best tempered men of his day, which made him a
great favourite with the late king. I remember a little incident of
Sir William's good-nature, which occurred about a year after he had
been Lord Mayor. In alighting from his carriage, a little out of the
regular line, near the Mansion House, upon some day of festivity, he
happened inadvertently, with the skirts of his coat, to brush down a
few apples from a poor woman's stall, on the side of the pavement. Sir
William was in full dress, but instead of passing on with the hauteur
which characterizes so many of his aldermanic brethren, he set himself
to the task of assisting the poor creature to collect her scattered
fruit; and on parting, observing some of her apples were a little
soiled by the dirt, he drew his hand from his pocket and generously
gave her a shilling. This was too good an incident for John Bull to
lose: a crowd assembled, hurraed, and cried out, "Well done, Billy,"
at which the good-natured baronet looked back and laughed. How much
more pleasing is it to tell of such demeanour than of the foolish
pride of the late Sir John Eamer, who turned away one of his
travellers merely because he had in one instance used his bootjack.

[2] May we not, however, say the friendless Sheridan?

_The Author of "A Tradesman's Lays."_

* * * * *

Probably our correspondent may recollect Sir William and the orange,
at one of the contested City elections. A "greasy rogue" before the
hustings, seeing the baronet candidate take an orange from his pocket,
_put up_ for the fruit, with the cry "Give us that orange, Billy." Sir
William threw him the fruit, which the fellow had no sooner sucked
dry, than he began bawling with increased energy, "No Curtis," "No
Billy," etc. Such an ungrateful act would have soured even Seneca; but
Sir William merely gave a smile, with a good-natured shake of the
head. Sir William Curtis possessed a much greater share of shrewdness
and good sense than the vulgar ever gave him credit for. At the
Sessions' dinners, he would keep up the ball of conversation with the
judges and gentlemen of the bar, in a fuller vein than either of his
brother aldermen. It is true that he had wealth and distinction,
all which his fellow citizens at table did not enjoy; and these
possessions, we know, are wonderful helps to confidence, if they do
not lead the holder on to assurance.--Ed. M.

* * * * *


* * * * *



Secunderabad, 1828.

A short time since, a brother sub. in my regiment was riding out round
some hills adjoining the cantonment, when a _cheetar_, small tiger
(or panther,) pounced on his dog. Seeing his poor favourite in the
cheetar's mouth, like a mouse in Minette's, he put spurs to his horse,
rode after the beast, and so frightened him, that he dropped the dog
and made off. Three of us, including myself, then agreed to sit up
that night, and watch for the tiger, feeling assured that his haunt
was not far from our cantonment. So we started late at night, armed
_cap-a-pied_, and each as fierce in heart as ten tigers; arrived
at the appointed spot, and having selected a convenient place for
concealment, we picketed a sheep, brought with us purposely to entice
the cheetar from his lair. Singular to relate, this poor animal, as if
instinctively aware of its critical situation, was as mute as if
it had been mouthless, and during two or three hours in which we
tormented it, to make it utter a cry, our efforts were of no avail.
Hour after hour slipped away, still no cheetar; and about three
o'clock in the morning, wearied with our fruitless vigil, we all began
to drop asleep. I believe I was wrapped in a most leaden slumber, and
dreaming of anything but watching for, and hunting tigers, when I was
aroused by the most unnatural, unearthly, and infernal roaring ever
heard. This was our friend, and for his reception, starting upon our
feet, we were all immediately ready; but the cunning creature who
had no idea of becoming our victim, made off, with the most hideous
howlings, to the shelter of a neighbouring eminence; when sufficient
daylight appeared, we followed the direction of his voice, and had the
felicity of seeing him perched on the summit of an immense high rock,
just before us, placidly watching our movements. We were here, too far
from him to venture a shot, but immediately began ascending, when the
creature seeing us approach, rose, opened his ugly red mouth in a
desperate yawn, and stretched himself with the utmost _nonchalance_,
being, it seems, little less weary than ourselves. We presented, but
did not fire, because at that very moment, setting up his tail, and
howling horribly, he disappeared behind the rock. Quick as thought
we followed him, but to our great disappointment and chagrin, he had
retreated into one of the numerous caverns formed in that ugly place,
by huge masses of rock, piled one upon the other. Into some of these
dangerous places, however, we descended, sometimes creeping, sometimes
walking, in search of our foe; but not finding him, at length returned
to breakfast, which I thought the most agreeable and sensible part of
the affair. Some wit passed amongst us respecting the propriety of
changing the name _cheetar_, into _cheat-us_; but were, on the whole,
not pleased by the failure of our expedition; and I have only favoured
you with this _romantic_ incident in the life of a sub. as a specimen
of the sort of amusement we meet with in quarters.

[3] Communicated by M.L.B., Great Marlow, Bucks.

[4] Vide _Mirror_, vol. xviii. p. 343.--_Note_.

_Natural Zoological Garden_.


Your description of the London Zoological Garden, reminds me that
there is, what I suppose I must term, a most beautiful _Zoological
Hill_, just one mile and a half from the spot whence I now write; on
this I often take my recreation, much to the alarm of its inhabitants;
viz. sundry cheetars, bore-butchers, (or leopards) hyenas, wolves,
jackalls, foxes, hares, partridges, etc.; but not being a very capital
shot, I have seldom made much devastation amongst them. Under the hill
are swamps and paddy-fields, which abound in snipe and other game.
Now, is not this a Zoological Garden on the grandest scale?


* * * * *


* * * * *


(_From "England's Heroical Epistles[5]._")

Faire stood the wind for France,
When we, our sayles advance,
Nor now to proue our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the mayne,
At Kaux, the mouth of Sene,
With all his martiall trayne,
Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnished in warlike sort,
Marcheth towards Agincourt,
In happy houre.
Skirmishing day by day,
With those that stop'd his way,
Where the French gen'ral lay
With all his power.

Which in his hight of pride.
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to prouide,
To our king sending.
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile,
Their fall portending.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry, then,
"Though they to one be ten,
Be not amazed,
Yet have we well begunne,
Battells so bravely wonne,
Have ever to the sonne,
By fame beene raysed."

"And for myself," quoth he,
"This my full rest shall be,
England ne'er mourn for me,
Nor more esteem me.
Victor I will remaine,
Or on this earth be slaine,
Never shall shee sustaine
Losse to redeeme me."

Poiters and Cressy tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell.

No lesse our skill is,
Then when oure grandsire great,
Clayming the regall seate,
By many a warlike feate,
Lop'd the French lillies.

The Duke of York so dread,
The vaward led,
Wich the maine Henry sped,
Amongst his Hench_men_,
Excester had the rere,
A brauer man not there,
O Lord, how hot they were,
On the false Frenchmen.

They now to fight are gone,
Armour on armour shone,
Drumme now to drumme did grone,
To hear was wonder,
That with cryes they make,
The very earth did shake,
Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became
O noble Erpingham,
Which didst the signall ayme,
To our hid forces;
When from a meadow by,
Like a storme suddenly,
The English archery
Struck the French horses.

With Spanish Ewgh so strong,
Arrowes a cloth yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather.
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.

When downe their bowes they threw,
And forth their bilbowes drew,
And on the French they flew,
Not one was tardie;
Armes were from shoulders sent,
Scalpes to the teeth were rent,
Down the French pesants went,
Our men were hardie.

This while oure noble king,
His broad sword brandishing,
Downe the French host did ding,
As to o'erwhelme it.
And many a deep wound lent,
His armes with bloud besprent,
And many a cruel dent
Bruised his helmet.

Glo'ster, that duke so good,
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,
With his braue brother,
Clarence, in steele so bright,
Though but a maiden knight.
Yet in that furious light
Scarce such another.

Warwick, in bloud did wade,
Oxford, the foe inuade,
And cruel slaughter made;
Still as they ran up,
Suffolk, his axe did ply,
Beavmont and Willovghby,
Ferres and Tanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's day,
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay,
To England to carry.
O when shall English men,
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed againe
Such a King Harry.

[5] A Collection of Poems of the Sixteenth Century.--Communicated
by J.F., of Gray's Inn. We thank our Correspondent for the
present, and shall be happy to receive further specimens from the
same source.

* * * * *


* * * * *


[The very recent publication of the ninth volume of the Encyclopaedia
Americana[6] enables us to lay before our readers the following
interesting notices, connected with the national weal and internal
economy of the United States of North America.]

_Navy_.--Since the late war, the growth and improvement of our navy
has kept pace with our national prosperity. We could now put to sea,
in a few mouths, with a dozen ships of the line; the most spacious,
efficient, best, and most beautiful constructions that ever traversed
the ocean. This is not merely an American conceit, but an admitted
fact in Europe, where our models are studiously copied. In the United
States, a maximum and uniform calibre of cannon has been lately
determined on and adopted. Instead of the variety of length, form,
and calibre still used in other navies, and almost equal to the Great
Michael with her "bassils, mynards, hagters, culverings, flings,
falcons, double dogs, and pestilent serpenters," our ships offer flush
and uniform decks, sheers free from hills, hollows, and excrescences,
and complete, unbroken batteries of thirty-two or forty-two pounders.
Thus has been realized an important desideratum--the greatest possible
power to do execution coupled with the greatest simplification of the

[6] Philadelphia, Carey and Lea, 1832.

But, while we have thus improved upon the hitherto practised means of
naval warfare, we are threatened with a total change. This is by the
introduction of bombs, discharged horizontally, instead of shot from
common cannon. So certain are those who have turned their attention to
this subject that the change must take place, that, in France, they
are already speculating on the means of excluding these destructive
missiles from a ship's sides, by casing them in a cuirass of iron. Nor
are these ideas the mere offspring of idle speculation. Experiments
have been tried on hulks, by bombs projected horizontally, with
terrible effect. If the projectile lodged in a mast, in exploding it
overturned it, with all its yards and rigging; if in the side, the
ports were opened into each other; or, when near the water, an immense
chasm was opened, causing the vessel to sink immediately. If it should
not explode until it fell spent upon deck, besides doing the injury
of an ordinary ball, it would then burst, scattering smoke, fire, and
death, on every side. When this comes to pass, it would seem that
the naval profession would cease to be very desirable. Nevertheless,
experience has, in all ages, shown that, the more destructive are the
engines used in war, and the more it is improved and systematized, the
less is the loss of life. Salamis and Lepanto can either of them
alone count many times the added victims of the Nile, Trafalgar, and

One effect of the predicted change in naval war, it is said, will be
the substitution of small vessels for the larger ones now in use. The
three decker presents many times the surface of the schooner,
while her superior number of cannon does not confer a commensurate
advantage; for ten bombs, projected into the side of a ship, would be
almost as efficacious to her destruction as a hundred. As forming part
of a system of defence for our coast, the bomb-cannon, mounted on
steamers, which can take their position at will, would be terribly
formidable. With them--to say nothing of torpedoes and submarine
navigation--we need never more be blockaded and annoyed as formerly.
Hence peaceful nations will be most gainers by this change of system;
but it is not enough that we should be capable of raising a blockade:
we are a commercial people: our merchant ships visit every sea, and
our men-of-war must follow and protect them there.

_Newspapers_.--No country has so many newspapers as the United States.
The following table, arranged for the American Almanac of 1830, is
corrected from the Traveller, and contains a statement of the number
of newspapers published in the colonies at the commencement of the
revolution; and also the number of newspapers and other periodical
works, in the United States, in 1810 and 1828.

STATES. 1775. 1810. 1828.
Maine 29
Massachusetts 7 32 78
New Hampshire 1 12 17
Vermont 14 21
Rhode Island 2 7 14
Connecticut 4 11 33
New York 4 66 161
New Jersey 8 22
Pennsylvania 9 71 185
Delaware 2 4
Maryland 2 21 37
District of Columbia 6 9
Virginia 2 23 34
North Carolina 2 10 20
South Carolina 3 10 16
Georgia 1 13 18
Florida 1 2
Alabama 10
Mississippi 4 6
Louisiana 10 9
Tennessee 6 8
Kentucky 17 23
Ohio 14 66
Indiana 17
Michigan 2
Illinois 4
Missouri 5
Arkansas 1
Cherokee Nation 1

Total 37 358 802

The present number, however, amounts to about a thousand. Thus the
state of New York is mentioned in the table as having 161 newspapers;
but a late publication states that there are 193, exclusive of
religious journals. New York has 1,913,508 inhabitants. There are
about 50 daily newspapers in the United States, two-thirds of which
are considered to give a fair profit. The North American colonies, in
the year 1720, had only seven newspapers: in 1810, the United States
had 359; in 1826, they had 640; in 1830, 1,000, with a population
of 13,000,000; so that they have more newspapers than the whole 190
millions of Europe.

In drawing a comparison between the newspapers of the three freest
countries, France, England, and the United States, we find, as we have
just said, those of the last country to be the most numerous, while
some of the French papers have the largest subscription; and the whole
establishment of a first-rate London paper is the most complete. Its
activity is immense. When Canning sent British troops to Portugal, in
1826, we know that some papers sent reporters with the army. The zeal
of the New York papers also deserves to be mentioned, which send
out their news-boats, even fifty miles to sea, to board approaching
vessels, and obtain the news that they bring. The papers of the large
Atlantic cities are also remarkable for their detailed accounts of
arrivals, and the particulars of shipping news, interesting to the
commercial world, in which they are much more minute than the English.
From the immense number of different papers in the United States, it
results that the number of subscribers to each is limited, 2,000 being
considered a respectable list. One paper, therefore, is not able to
unite the talent of many able men, as is the case in France. There
men of the first rank in literature or politics occasionally, or at
regular periods, contribute articles. In the United States, few papers
have more than one editor, who generally writes upon almost all
subjects himself. This circumstance necessarily makes the papers less
spirited and able than some of the foreign journals, but is attended
with this advantage, that no particular set of men is enabled to
exercise a predominant influence by means of these periodicals. Their
abundance neutralizes their effects. Declamation and sophistry are
made comparatively harmless by running in a thousand conflicting

_Paper-making_.--The manufacture of paper has of late rapidly
increased in the United States. According to an estimate in 1829, the
whole quantity made in this country amounted to about five to seven
millions a year, and employed from ten to eleven thousand persons.
Rags are not imported from Italy and Germany to the same amount as
formerly, because people here save them more carefully; and the value
of the rags, junk, etc., saved annually in the United States, is
believed to amount to two millions of dollars. Machines for making
paper of any length are much employed in the United States. The
quality of American paper has also improved; but, as paper becomes
much better by keeping, it is difficult to have it of the best quality
in this country, the interest of capital being too high. The paper
used here for printing compares very disadvantageously with that of
England. Much wrapping paper is now made of straw, and paper for
tracing through is prepared in Germany from the poplar tree. A letter
of Mr. Brand, formerly a civil officer in Upper Provence, in France
(which contains many pine forests), dated Feb. 12, 1830, has been
published in the French papers, containing an account of his
successful experiments to make coarse paper of the pine tree. The
experiments of others have led to the same results. Any of our
readers, interested in this subject, can find Mr. Brand's letter in
the _Courrier Francais_ of Nov. 27, 1830, a French paper published
in New York. In salt-works near Hull, Massachusetts, in which the
sea-water is made to flow slowly over sheds of pine, in order to
evaporate, the writer found large quantities of a white substance--the
fibres of the pine wood dissolved and carried off by the brine--which
seemed to require nothing but glue to convert it into paper.

* * * * *


* * * * *


Is one of the most curious creatures of "the watery kingdom." It is
popularly termed a fish, though it is, in fact, a worm, belonging to
the order termed _Mollusca, (Molluscus_, soft,) from the body being of
a pulpy substance and having no skeleton. It differs in many respects
from other animals of its class, particularly with regard to its
internal structure, the perfect formation of the viscera, eyes, and
even organs of hearing. Moreover, "it has three hearts, two of which
are placed at the root of the two branchiae (or gills); they receive
the blood from the body, and propel it into the branchiae. The
returning veins open into the middle heart, from which the aorta
proceeds."[7] Of Cuttle-fish there are several species. That
represented in the annexed Cut is the common or officinal Cuttle-fish,
(_Sepia officinalis_, Lin). It consists of a soft, pulpy, body, with
processes or arms, which are furnished with small holes or suckers,
by means of which the animal fixes itself in the manner of
cupping-glasses. These holes increase with the age of the animal; and
in some species amount to upwards of one thousand. The arms are often
torn or nipped off by shell or other fishes, but the animal has the
power of speedily reproducing the limbs. By means of the suckers the
Cuttle-fish usually affects its locomotion. "It swims at freedom in
the bosom of the sea, moving by sudden and irregular jerks, the body
being nearly in a perpendicular position, and the head directed
downwards and backwards. Some species have a fleshy, muscular fin
on each side, by aid of which they accomplish these apparently
inconvenient motions; but, at least, an equal number of them are
finless, and yet can swim with perhaps little less agility. Lamarck,
indeed, denies this, and says that these can only trail themselves
along the bottom by means of the suckers. This is probably their
usual mode of proceeding; that it is not their only one, we have the
positive affirmation of other observers."[8] Serviceable as these arms
undoubtedly are to the Cuttle-fish, Blumenbach thinks it questionable
whether they can be considered as organs of touch, in the more limited
sense to which he has confined that term.[9]


[Illustration: The Cuttle-fish.]

The jaws of the Cuttle-fish, it should be observed, are fixed in the
body because there is no head to which they can be articulated. They
are of horny substance, and resemble the bill of a parrot. They are in
the centre of the under part of the body, surrounded by the arms. By
means of these parts, the shell-fish which are taken for food, are
completely triturated.

[7] Cuvier.

[8] Nat. Hist. Molluscous Animals, Mag. Nat. Hist. vol. iii.
p. 527.

[9] Manual Comp. Anat. p. 263.

We now come to the most peculiar parts of the structure of the
Cuttle-fish, viz. the _ear and eye_, inasmuch as it is the only animal
of its class, in which any thing has hitherto been discovered, at
all like an organ of hearing, or that has been shown to possess true
eyes.[10] The ears consist of two oval cavities, in the cartilaginous
ring, to which the large arms of the animal are affixed. In each of
these is a small bag, containing a bony substance, and receiving the
termination of the nerves, like those of the vestibulum (or cavity
in the bone of the ear) in fishes. The nature of the eyes cannot be
disputed. "They resemble, on the whole, those of red-blooded animals,
particularly fishes; they are at least incomparably more like them
than the eyes of any known insects; yet they are distinguished by
several extraordinary peculiarities. The front of the eye-ball is
covered with a loose membrane instead of a cornea; the iris is
composed of a firm substance; and a process projects from the upper
margin of the pupil, which gives that membrane a semilunar form."[11]
The exterior coat or ball is remarkably strong, so as to seem almost
calcareous, and is, when taken out, of a brilliant pearl colour; it
is worn in some parts of Italy, and in the Grecian islands by way of
artificial pearl in necklaces.

[10] In all other worms the eyes are entirely wanting, or their
existence is very doubtful. Whether the black points at the
extremities of what Swammerdam calls the horns of the common
snail, are organs which really possess the power of vision,
is still problematical.

[11] Blumenbach, Man. Comp. Anat. p. 305.

Next we may notice the curious provision by which the Cuttle-fish is
enabled to elude the pursuit of its enemies in the "vasty deep." This
consists of a black, inky fluid, (erroneously supposed to be the
bile,) which is contained in a bag beneath the body. The fluid itself
is thick, but miscible with water to such a degree, that a very small
quantity will colour a vast bulk of water.[12] Thus, the comparatively
small Cuttle-fish may darken the element about the acute eye of the
whale. What omniscience is displayed in this single provision, as well
as in the faculty possessed by the Cuttle-fish of reproducing its
mutilated arms! All Nature beams with such beneficence, and abounds
with such instances of divine love for every creature, however humble:
in observing these provisions, how often are we reminded of the
benefits conferred by the same omniscience upon our own species. It is
thus, by the investigation of natural history, that we are led to
the contemplation of the sublimest subjects; thus that man with God
himself holds converse.


[Illustration: Bone, or Plate.]

The "bone" of the Cuttle-fish now claims attention. This is a
complicated calcareous plate, lodged in a peculiar cavity of the back,
which it materially strengthens. This plate has long been known in
the shop of the apothecary under the name of Cuttle-fish bone: an
observant reader may have noticed scores of these plates in glasses
labelled _Os Sepiae_. Reduced to powder, they were formerly used as an
absorbent, but they are now chiefly sought after for the purpose of
polishing the softer metals. It is however improper to call this plate
bone, since, in composition, "it is exactly similar to _shell_, and
consists of various membranes, hardened by carbonate of lime, (the
principal material of shell,) without the smallest mixture of
phosphate of lime,[13] or the chief material of bone."

[12] According to Cuvier, the Indian ink, from China, is made of
this fluid, as was the ink of the Romans. It has been supposed,
and not without a considerable degree of probability, that the
celebrated plain, but wholesome dish, the black broth of Sparta,
was no other than a kind of Cuttle-fish soup, in which the black
liquor of the animal was always added as an ingredient; being,
when fresh, of very agreeable taste.--_Shaw's Zoology_.

[13] Mr. Hatchett, in Philos. Trans.


[Illustration: Eggs.]

Lastly, are the _ovaria_, or egg-bags of the Cuttle-fish, which are
popularly called _sea-grapes_. The female fish deposits her eggs
in numerous clusters, on the stalks of fuci, on corals, about the
projecting sides of rocks, or on any other convenient substances.
These eggs, which are of the size of small filberts, are of a black

The most remarkable species of Cuttle-fish inhabits the British seas;
and, although seldom taken, its bone or plate is cast ashore on
different parts of the coast from the south of England to the Zetland
Isles. We have picked up scores of these plates and bunches of the
egg-bags or grapes, after rough weather on the beach between Worthing
and Rottingdean; but we never found a single fish.

The Cuttle-fish was esteemed a delicacy by the ancients, and the
moderns equally prize it. Captain Cook speaks highly of a soup he made
from it; and the fish is eaten at the present day by the Italians, and
by the Greeks, during Lent. We take the most edible species to be the
_octopodia_, or eight-armed, found particularly large in the East
Indies and the Gulf of Mexico. The common species here figured, when
full-grown, measures about two feet in length, is of a pale blueish
brown colour, with the skin marked by numerous dark purple specks.

The Cuttle-fish is described by some naturalists, as naked or
shell-less. It is often found attached to the shell of the Paper
Nautilus, which it is said to use as a sail. It is, however, very
doubtful whether the Cuttle-fish has a shell of its own. There is a
controversy upon the subject. Aristotle, and our contemporary, Home,
maintain it to be parasitical: Cuvier and Ferrusac, non-parasitical;
but the curious reader will find the _pro_ and _con._--the majority
and minority--in the _Magazine of Natural History_, vol. iii. p. 535.

* * * * *


* * * * *


[Captain Skinner, in his _Excursions in India_, makes the following
sensible observations on the tyranny over servants in India:]

There are throughout the mountains many of the sacred shrubs of the
Hindoos, which give great delight, as my servants fall in with them.
They pick the leaves; and running with them to me, cry, "See, sir,
see, our holy plants are here!" and congratulate each other on having
found some indication of a better land than they are generally
inclined to consider the country of the Pariahs. The happiness these
simple remembrances shed over the whole party is so enlivening, that
every distress and fatigue seems to be forgotten. When we behold a
servant approaching with a sprig of the _Dona_ in his hand, we hail it
as the olive-branch, that denotes peace and good-will for the rest of
the day, if, as must sometimes be the case, they have been in any way

Even these little incidents speak so warmly in favour of the Hindoo
disposition, that, in spite of much that may be uncongenial to an
European in their character, they cannot fail to inspire him with
esteem, if not affection. I wish that many of my countrymen would
learn to believe that the natives are endowed with feelings, and
surely they may gather such an inference from many a similar trait
to the one I have related. Hardness of heart can never be allied
to artless simplicity: that mind must possess a higher degree of
sensibility and refinement, that can unlock its long-confined
recollections by so light a spring as a wild flower.

I have often witnessed, with wonder and sorrow, an English gentleman
stoop to the basest tyranny over his servants, without even the poor
excuse of anger, and frequently from no other reason than because he
could not understand their language. The question, from the answer
being unintelligible, is instantly followed by a blow. Such scenes are
becoming more rare, and indeed are seldom acted but by the younger
members of society; they are too frequent notwithstanding: and should
any thing that has fallen from me here, induce the cruelly-disposed to
reflect a little upon the impropriety and mischief of their conduct,
when about to raise the hand against a native, and save one stripe
to the passive people who are so much at the mercy of their masters'
tempers, I shall indeed be proud.

[Again, speaking of the condition of servants, Captain Skinner

It is impossible to view some members of the despised class without
sorrow and pity, particularly those who are attached, in the lowest
offices, to the establishments of the Europeans. They are the most
melancholy race of beings, always alone, and apparently unhappy: they
are scouted from the presence even of their fellow-servants. None but
the mind of a poet could imagine such outcasts venturing to raise
their thoughts to the beauty of a Brahmin's daughter; and a touching
tale in such creative fancy, no doubt, it would make, for, from their
outward appearances, I do not perceive why they should not be endowed
with minds as sensitive at least as those of the castes above them.
There are among them some very stout and handsome men; and it is
ridiculous to see sometimes all their strength devoted to the charge
of a sickly puppy;--to take care of dogs being their principal

Our attention has been drawn to the above passage in Captain Skinner's
work, by its ready illustration of the views and conclusions of the
late Dr. Knox, in his invaluable _Spirit of Despotism_, Section 2,
"Oriental manners, and the ideas imbibed in youth, both in the East
and West Indies, favourable to the spirit of despotism." How forcibly
applicable, on the present occasion, is the following extract:--"from
the intercourse of England with the East and West Indies, it is to be
feared that something of a more servile spirit has been derived than
was known among those who established the free constitutions of
Europe, and than would have been adopted, or patiently borne, in ages
of virtuous simplicity. A very numerous part of our countrymen spend
their most susceptible age in those countries, where despotic manners
remarkably prevail. They are themselves, when invested with office,
treated by the natives with an idolatrous degree of reverence, which
teaches them to expect a similar submission to their will, on their
return to their own country. They have been accustomed to look up to
personages greatly their superiors in rank and riches, with awe; and
to look down on their inferiors in _property_ with supreme contempt,
as slaves of their will and ministers of their luxury. Equal laws and
equal liberty at home appear to them saucy claims of the poor and the
vulgar, which tend to divest riches of one of the greatest charms,
over-bearing dominion. We do, indeed, import gorgeous silks and
luscious sweets from the Indies, but we import, at the same time, the
spirit of despotism, which adds deformity to the purple robe, and
bitterness to the honied beverage." "That _Oriental_ manners are
unfavourable to liberty, is, I believe, universally conceded. The
natives of the East Indies entertain not the idea of independence.
They treat the Europeans, who go among them to acquire their riches,
with a respect similar to the abject submission which they pay to
their native despots. Young men, who in England scarcely possessed
the rank of the gentry, are waited upon in India, with more attentive
servility than is paid or required in many courts of Europe. Kings of
England seldom assume the state enjoyed by an East India governor, or
even by subordinate officers. Enriched at an early age, the adventurer
returns to England. His property admits him to the higher circles
of fashionable life. He aims at rivalling or excelling all the
old nobility in the splendour of his mansions, the finery of his
carriages, the number of his liveried train, the profusion of his
tables, in every unmanly indulgence which an empty vanity can covet,
and a full purse procure. Such a man, when he looks from the window of
his superb mansion, and sees the people pass, cannot endure the idea,
that they are of as much consequence as himself in the eye of the law;
and that he dares not insult or oppress the unfortunate being who
rakes his kennel or sweeps his chimney."

* * * * *


It is well known, that during the revolutionary troubles of France,
not only all the churches were closed, but the Catholic and Protestant
worship entirely forbidden; and, after the constitution of 1795, it
was at the hazard of one's life that either the mass was heard, or
any religious duty performed. It is evident that Robespierre, who
unquestionably had a design which is now generally understood, was
desirous, on the day of the fete of the Supreme Being, to bring back
public opinion to the worship of the Deity. Eight months before,
we had seen the Bishop of Paris, accompanied by his clergy, appear
voluntarily at the bar of the Convention, to abjure the Christian
faith and the Catholic religion. But it is not as generally known,
that at that period Robespierre was not omnipotent, and could not
carry his desires into effect. Numerous factions then disputed with
him the supreme authority. It was not till the end of 1793, and the
beginning of 1794, that his power was so completely established that
he could venture to act up to his intentions.

Robespierre was then desirous to establish the worship of the Supreme
Being, and the belief of the immortality of the soul. He felt that
irreligion is the soul of anarchy, and it was not anarchy but
despotism which he desired; and yet the very day after that
magnificent fete in honour of the Supreme Being, a man of the highest
celebrity in science, and as distinguished for virtue and probity as
philosophic genius, Lavoisier, was led out to the scaffold. On the day
following that, Madame Elizabeth, that Princess whom the executioners
could not guillotine, till they had turned aside their eyes from the
sight of her angelic visage, stained the same axe with her blood!--And
a month after, Robespierre, who wished to restore order for his own
purposes--who wished to still the bloody waves which for years had
inundated the state, felt that all his efforts would be in vain if
the masses who supported his power were not restrained and directed,
because without order nothing but ravages and destruction can prevail.
To ensure the government of the masses, it was indispensable that
morality, religion, and belief should be established--and, to affect
the multitude, that religion should be clothed in external forms. "My
friend," said Voltaire, to the atheist Damilaville, "after you have
supped on well-dressed partridges, drunk your sparkling champaigne,
and slept on cushions of down in the arms of your mistress, I have
no fear of you, though you do not believe in God.---But if you are
perishing of hunger, and I meet you in the corner of a wood, I would
rather dispense with your company." But when Robespierre wished to
bring back to something like discipline the crew of the vessel which
was fast driving on the breakers, he found the thing was not so easy
as he imagined. To destroy is easy--to rebuild is the difficulty. He
was omnipotent to do evil; but the day that he gave the first sign
of a disposition to return to order, the hands which he himself
had stained with blood, marked his forehead with the fatal sign of

--_Memoirs of the Duchess of Abrantes._

* * * * *


The great audibility of sounds during the night is a phenomenon of
considerable interest, and one which had been observed even by the
ancients. In crowded cities or in their vicinity, the effect was
generally ascribed to the rest of animated beings, while in localities
where such an explanation was inapplicable, it was supposed to arise
from a favourable direction of the prevailing wind. Baron Humboldt
was particularly struck with this phenomenon when he first heard the
rushing of the great cataracts of the Orinoco in the plain which
surrounds the mission of the Apures. These sounds he regarded as
three times louder during the night than during the day. Some authors
ascribed this fact to the cessation of the humming of insects, the
singing of birds, and the action of the wind on the leaves of the
trees, but M. Humboldt justly maintains that this cannot be the cause
of it on the Orinoco, where the buzz of insects is much louder in the
night than in the day, and where the breeze never rises till after
sunset. Hence he was led to ascribe the phenomenon to the perfect
transparency and uniform density of the air, which can exist only at
night after the heat of the ground has been uniformly diffused through
the atmosphere. When the rays of the sun have been beating on the
ground during the day, currents of hot air of different temperatures,
and consequently of different densities, are constantly ascending from
the ground and mixing with the cold air above. The air thus ceases
to be a homogeneous medium, and every person must have observed the
effects of it upon objects seen through it which are very indistinctly
visible, and have a tremulous motion, as if they were "dancing in
the air." The very same effect is perceived when we look at objects
through spirits and water that are not perfectly mixed, or when we
view distant objects over a red hot poker or over a flame. In all
these cases the light suffers refraction in passing from a medium of
one density into a medium of a different density, and the refracted
rays are constantly changing their direction as the different currents
rise in succession. Analogous effects are produced when sound passes
through a mixed medium, whether it consists of two different mediums
or of one medium where portions of it have different densities. As
sound moves with different velocities through media of different
densities, the wave which produces the sound will be partly reflected
in passing from one medium to the other, and the direction of the
transmitted wave changed; and hence in passing through such media
different portions of the wave will reach the ear at different times,
and thus destroy the sharpness and distinctness of the sound. This
may be proved by many striking facts. If we put a bell in a receiver
containing a mixture of hydrogen gas and atmospheric air, the sound of
the bell can scarcely be heard. During a shower of rain or of snow,
noises are greatly deadened, and when sound is transmitted along an
iron wire or an iron pipe of sufficient length, we actually hear two
sounds, one transmitted more rapidly through the solid, and the other
more slowly through the air. The same property is well illustrated by
an elegant and easily repeated experiment of Chladni's. When sparkling
champagne is poured into a tall glass till it is half full, the glass
loses its power of ringing by a stroke upon its edge, and emits only
a disagreeable and a puffy sound. This effect will continue while the
wine is filled with bubbles of air, or as long as the effervescence
lasts; but when the effervescence begins to subside, the sound becomes
clearer and clearer, and the glass rings as usual when the air-bubbles
have vanished. If we reproduce the effervescence by stirring the
champagne with a piece of bread the glass will again cease to ring.
The same experiment will succeed with other effervescing fluids.--_Sir
David Brewster_.

* * * * *

No man is so insignificant as to be sure his example can do no hurt.

--_Lord Clarendon._

* * * * *


* * * * *


Paddy Fooshane kept a shebeen house at Barleymount Cross, in which he
sold whisky--from which his Majesty did not derive any large portion
of his revenues--ale, and provisions. One evening a number of friends,
returning from a funeral---all neighbours too--stopt at his house,
"because they were in grief," to drink a drop. There was Andy Agar, a
stout, rattling fellow, the natural son of a gentleman residing near
there; Jack Shea, who was afterwards transported for running away with
Biddy Lawlor; Tim Cournane, who, by reason of being on his keeping,
was privileged to carry a gun; Owen Connor, a march-of-intellect
man, who wished to enlighten proctors by making them swallow their
processes; and a number of other "good boys." The night began to "rain
cats and dogs," and there was no stirring out; so the cards were
called for, a roaring fire was made down, and the whisky and ale began
to flow. After due observation, and several experiments, a space large
enough for the big table, and free from the drop down, was discovered.
Here six persons, including Andy, Jack, Tim--with his gun between his
legs--and Owen, sat to play for a pig's head, of which the living
owner, in the parlour below, testified, by frequent grunts, his
displeasure at this unceremonious disposal of his property.

Card-playing is very thirsty, and the boys were anxious to keep out
the wet; so that long before the pig's head was decided, a messenger
had been dispatched several times to Killarney, a distance of four
English miles, for a pint of whisky each time. The ale also went
merrily round, until most of the men were quite stupid, their faces
swoln, and their eyes red and heavy. The contest at length was
decided; but a quarrel about the skill of the respective parties
succeeded, and threatened broken heads at one time. At last Jack Shea
swore they must have something to eat;----him but he was starved with
drink, and he must get some rashers somewhere or other. Every one
declared the same; and Paddy was ordered to cook some _griskins_
forthwith. Paddy was completely nonplussed:--all the provisions were
gone, and yet his guests were not to be trifled with. He made a
hundred excuses--"'Twas late--'twas dry now--and there was nothing in
the house; sure they ate and drank enough." But all in vain. The ould
sinner was threatened with instant death if he delayed. So Paddy
called a council of war in the parlour, consisting of his wife and

"Agrah, Jillen, agrah, what will we do with these? Is there any meat
in the tub? Where is the tongue? If it was yours, Jillen, we'd give
them enough of it; but I mane the cow's." (aside.)

"Sure the proctors got the tongue ere yesterday, and you know there
an't a bit in the tub. Oh the murtherin villains! and I'll engage
'twill be no good for us, after all my white bread and the whisky.
That it may pison 'em!"

"Amen! Jillen; but don't curse them. After all, where's the meat? I'm
sure that Andy will kill me if we don't make it out any how;--and he
hasn't a penny to pay for it. You could drive the mail coach, Jillen,
through his breeches pocket without jolting over a ha'penny. Coming,
coming; d'ye hear 'em?"

"Oh, they'll murther us. Sure if we had any of the tripe I sent
yesterday to the gauger."

"Eh! What's that you say? I declare to God here's Andy getting up.
We must do something. _Thonom an dhiaoul_, I have it. Jillen run and
bring me the leather breeches; run woman, alive! Where's the block and
the hatchet? Go up and tell 'em you're putting down the pot."

Jillen pacified the uproar in the kitchen by loud promises, and
returned to Paddy. The use of the leather breeches passed her
comprehension; but Paddy actually took up the leather breeches, tore
away the lining with great care, chopped the leather with the hatchet
on the block, and put it into the pot as tripes. Considering the
situation in which Andy and his friends were, and the appetite of the
Irish peasantry for meat in any shape--"a bone" being their _summum
bonum_--the risk was very little. If discovered, however, Paddy's
safety was much worse than doubtful, as no people in the world have a
greater horror of any unusual food. One of the most deadly modes of
revenge they can employ is to give an enemy dog's or cat's flesh; and
there have been instances where the persons who have eaten it, on
being informed of the fact, have gone mad. But Paddy's habit of
practical jokes, from which nothing could wean him, and his anger at
their conduct, along with the fear he was in did not allow him to
hesitate a moment. Jillen remonstrated in vain. "Hould your tongue,
you foolish woman. They're all as blind as the pig there. They'll
never find it out. Bad luck to 'em too, my leather breeches! that I
gave a pound note and a hog for in Cork. See how nothing else would
satisfy 'em!" The meat at length was ready. Paddy drowned it in
butter, threw out the potatoes on the table, and served it up smoking
hot with the greatest gravity.

"By ----," says Jack Shea, "that's fine stuff! How a man would dig a
trench after that."

"I'll take a priest's oath," answered Tim Cohill, the most irritable
of men, but whose temper was something softened by the rich steam;--

"Yet, Tim, what's a priest's oath? I never heard that."

"Why, sure, every one knows you didn't ever hear of anything of good."

"I say you lie, Tim, you rascal."

Tim was on his legs in a few moments, and a general battle was about
to begin; but the appetite was too strong, and the quarrel was
settled; Tim having been appeased by being allowed to explain a
priest's oath. According to him, a priest's oath was this:--He was
surrounded by books, which were gradually piled up until they reached
his lips. He then kissed the uppermost, and swore by all to the
bottom. As soon as the admiration excited by his explanation, in those
who were capable of hearing Tim, had ceased, all fell to work; and
certainly, if the tripes had been of ordinary texture, drunk as was
the party, they would soon have disappeared. After gnawing at them for
some time, "Well," says Owen Connor, "that I mightn't!--but these are
the quarest tripes I ever eat. It must be she was very ould."

"By ----," says Andy, taking a piece from his mouth to which he had
been paying his addresses for the last half hour, "I'd as soon be
eating leather. She was a bull, man; I can't find the soft end at all
of it."

"And that's true for you, Andy," said the man of the gun; "and 'tis
the greatest shame they hadn't a bull-bait to make him tinder. Paddy,
was it from Jack Clifford's bull you got 'em? They'd do for wadding,
they're so tough."

"I'll tell you, Tim, where I got them--'twas out of Lord Shannon's
great cow at Cork, the great fat cow that the Lord Mayor bought for
the Lord Lieutenant--_Asda churp naur hagushch_."[14]

[14] May it never come out of his body!

"Amen, I pray God! Paddy. Out of Lord Shandon's cow? near the steeple,
I suppose; the great cow that couldn't walk with tallow. By ----,
these are fine tripes. They'll make a man very strong. Andy, give me
two or three _libbhers_ more of 'em."

"Well, see that! out of Lord Shandon's cow: I wonder what they gave
her, Paddy. That I mightn't!--but these would eat a pit of potatoes.
Any how, they're good for the teeth. Paddy, what's the reason they
send all the good mate from Cork to the Blacks?"

But before Paddy could answer this question, Andy, who had been
endeavouring to help Tim, uttered a loud "_Thonom an dhiaoul!_ what's
this? Isn't this flannel?" The fact was, he had found a piece of
the lining, which Paddy, in his hurry, had not removed; and all was
confusion. Every eye was turned to Paddy; but with wonderful quickness
he said "'Tis the book tripe, _agragal_, don't you see?"--and actually
persuaded them to it.

"Well, any how," says Tim, "it had the taste of wool."

"May this choke me," says Jack Shea, "if I didn't think that 'twas a
piece of a leather breeches when I saw Andy _chawing_ it."

This was a shot between wind and water to Paddy. His self-possession
was nearly altogether lost, and he could do no more than turn it off
by a faint laugh. But it jarred most unpleasantly on Andy's nerves.
After looking at Paddy for some time with a very ominous look, he
said, "_Yirroo Pandhrig_ of the tricks, if I thought you were going on
with any work here, my soul and my guts to the devil if I would not
cut you into garters. By the vestment I'd make a _furhurmeen_ of you."

"Is it I, Andy? That the hands may fall off me!"

But Tim Cohill made a most seasonable diversion. "Andy, when you die,
you'll be the death of one fool, any how. What do you know that wasn't
ever in Cork itself about tripes. I never ate such mate in my life;
and 'twould be good for every poor man in the County of Kerry if he
had a tub of it."

Tim's tone of authority, and the character he had got for learning,
silenced every doubt, and all laid siege to the tripes again. But
after some time, Andy was observed gazing with the most astonished
curiosity into the plate before him. His eyes were rivetted on
something; at last he touched it with his knife, arid exclaimed,
"_Kirhappa, dar dhia!_"--[A button by G--.]

"What's that you say?" burst from all! and every one rose in the best
manner he could, to learn the meaning of the button.

"Oh, the villain of the world!" roared Andy, "I'm pisoned! Where's the
pike? For God's sake Jack, run for the priest, or I'm a dead man with
the breeches. Where is he?--yeer bloods won't ye catch him, and I

The fact was, Andy had met one of the knee-buttons sewed into a piece
of the tripe, and it was impossible for him to fail discovering the
cheat. The rage, however, was not confined to Andy. As soon as it was
understood what had been done, there was an universal rush for Paddy
and Jillen; but Paddy was much too cunning to be caught, after the
narrow escape he had of it before. The moment after the discovery of
the lining, that he could do so without suspicion, he stole from the
table, left the house, and hid himself. Jillen did the same; and
nothing remained for the eaters, to vent their rage, but breaking
every thing in the cabin; which was done in the utmost fury. Andy,
however, continued watching for Paddy with a gun, a whole month after.
He might be seen prowling along the ditches near the shebeen-house,
waiting for a shot at him. Not that he would have scrupled to enter
it, were he likely to find Paddy there; but the latter was completely
on the _shuchraun_, and never visited his cabin except by stealth. It
was in one of those visits that Andy hoped to catch him.

--_Tait's Edinburgh Magazine_.

* * * * *


_By the Countess of Blessington_.

One of our first rides with Lord Byron was to Nervi, a village on
the sea-coast, most romantically situated, and each turn of the road
presenting various and beautiful prospects. They were all familiar to
him, and he failed not to point them out, but in very sober terms,
never allowing any thing like enthusiasm in his expressions, though
many of the views might have excited it.

His appearance on horseback was not advantageous, and he seemed
aware of it, for he made many excuses for his dress and equestrian
appointments. His horse was literally covered with various trappings,
in the way of cavesons, martingales, and Heaven knows how many other
(to me) unknown inventions. The saddle was _a la Hussarde_ with
holsters, in which he always carried pistols. His dress consisted of
a nankeen jacket and trousers, which appeared to have shrunk from
washing; the jacket embroidered in the same colour, and with three
rows of buttons; the waist very short, the back very narrow, and the
sleeves set in as they used to be ten or fifteen years before; a black
stock, very narrow; a dark-blue velvet cap with a shade, and a very
rich gold band and large gold tassel at the crown; nankeen gaiters,
and a pair of blue spectacles, completed his costume, which was any
thing but becoming. This was his general dress of a morning for
riding, but I have seen it changed for a green tartan plaid jacket. He
did not ride well, which surprised us, as, from the frequent allusions
to horsemanship in his works, we expected to find him almost a Nimrod,
It was evident that he had _pretensions_ on this point, though he
certainly was what I should call a timid rider. When his horse made a
false step, which was not unfrequent, he seemed discomposed; and when
we came to any bad part of the road, he immediately checked his course
and walked his horse very slowly, though there really was nothing to
make even a lady nervous. Finding that I could perfectly manage (or
what he called _bully_) a very highly-dressed horse that I daily rode,
he became extremely anxious to buy it; asked me a thousand questions
as to how I had acquired such a perfect command of it, &c. &c. and
entreated, as the greatest favour, that I would resign it to him as a
charger to take to Greece, declaring he never would part with it, &c.
As I was by no means a bold rider, we were rather amused at observing
Lord Byron's opinion of my courage; and as he seemed so anxious for
the horse, I agreed to let him have it when he was to embark. From
this time he paid particular attention to the movements of poor
Mameluke (the name of the horse), and said he should now feel
confidence in action with so steady a charger.

_April_--. Lord Byron dined with us today. During dinner he was as
usual gay, spoke in terms of the warmest commendation of Sir Walter
Scott, not only as an author, but as a man, and dwelt with apparent
delight on his novels, declaring that he had read and re-read them
over and over again, and always with increased pleasure. He said
that he quite equalled, nay, in his opinion, surpassed Cervantes. In
talking of Sir Walter's private character, goodness of heart, &c.,
Lord Byron became more animated than I had ever seen him; his colour
changed from its general pallid tint to a more lively hue, and his
eyes became humid: never had he appeared to such advantage, and it
might easily be seen that every expression he uttered proceeded from
his heart. Poor Byron!--for poor he is even with all his genius, rank,
and wealth--had he lived more with men like Scott, whose openness of
character and steady principle had convinced him that they were in
earnest in _their goodness_, and not _making believe_, (as he always
suspects good people to be,) his life might be different and happier!
Byron is so acute an observer that nothing escapes him; all the shades
of selfishness and vanity are exposed to his searching glance, and the
misfortune is, (and a serious one it is to him,) that when he finds
these, and alas! they are to be found on every side, they disgust
and prevent his giving credit to the many good qualities that often
accompany them. He declares he can sooner pardon crimes, because they
proceed from the passions, than these minor vices, that spring from
egotism and self-conceit. We had a long argument this evening on the
subject, which ended, like most arguments, by leaving both of the same
opinion as when it commenced. I endeavoured to prove that crimes were
not only injurious to the perpetrators, but often ruinous to the
innocent, and productive of misery to friends and relations, whereas
selfishness and vanity carried with them their own punishment, the
first depriving the person of all sympathy, and the second exposing
him to ridicule which to the vain is a heavy punishment, but that
their effects were not destructive to society as are crimes.

He laughed when I told him that having heard him so often declaim
against vanity, and detect it so often in his friends, I began to
suspect he knew the malady by having had it himself, and that I had
observed through life, that those persons who had the most vanity were
the most severe against that failing in their friends. He wished to
impress upon me that he was not vain, and gave various proofs to
establish this; but I produced against him his boasts of swimming, his
evident desire of being considered more _un homme de societe_ than a
poet, and other little examples, when he laughingly pleaded guilty,
and promised to be more merciful towards his friends.

Byron attempted to be gay, but the effort was not successful, and he
wished us good night with a trepidation of manner that marked his
feelings. And this is the man that I have heard considered unfeeling!
How often are our best qualities turned against us, and made the
instruments for wounding us in the most vulnerable part, until,
ashamed of betraying our susceptibility, we affect an insensibility
we are far from possessing, and, while we deceive others, nourish in
secret the feelings that prey _only_ on our own hearts!

--_New Monthly Magazine._

* * * * *


_Canary Birds._--In Germany and the Tyrol, from whence the rest of
Europe is principally supplied with Canary birds, the apparatus for
breeding Canaries is both large and expensive. A capacious building
is erected for them, with a square space at each end, and holes
communicating with these spaces. In these outlets are planted such
trees as the birds prefer. The bottom is strewed with sand, on which
are cast rapeseed, chickweed, and such other food as they like.
Throughout the inner compartment, which is kept dark, are placed
bowers for the birds to build in, care being taken that the breeding
birds are guarded from the intrusion of the rest. Four Tyrolese
usually take over to England about sixteen hundred of these birds; and
though they carry them on their backs nearly a thousand miles, and pay
twenty pounds for them originally, they can sell them at 5_s_. each.

_Braithwaite's Steam Fire Engine_--will deliver about 9,000 gallons
of water per hour to an elevation of 90 feet. The time of getting the
machine into action, from the moment of igniting the fuel, (the water
being cold,) is 18 minutes. As soon as an alarm is given, the fire is
kindled, and the bellows, attached to the engine, are worked by hand.
By the time the horses are harnessed in, the fuel is thoroughly
ignited, and the bellows are then worked by the motion of the wheels
of the engine. By the time of arriving at the fire, preparing the
hoses, &c. the steam is ready.

Fisher, bishop of Rochester, was accustomed to style his church his
wife, declaring that he would never exchange her for one that was
richer. He was a zealous adherent of Pope Paul III. who created him
a cardinal. The king, Henry VIII., on learning that Fisher would not
refuse the dignity, exclaimed, in a passion, "Yea! is he so lusty?
Well, let the pope send him a hat when he will. Mother of God! he
shall wear it on his shoulders, for I will leave him never a head to
set it on."

_Flax_ is not uncommon in the greenhouses about Philadelphia, but
we have not heard of any experiments with it in the open
air.--_Encyclopaedia Americana._

_The Schoolmaster wanted in the East._--Mr. Madden, in his travels
in Turkey, Egypt, Nubia, and Palestine, says:--"In all my travels, I
could only meet one woman who could read and write, and that was in
Damietta; she was a Levantine Christian, and her peculiar talent was
looked upon as something superhuman."

La Fontaine had but one son, whom, at the age of 14, he placed in the
hands of Harlay, archbishop of Paris, who promised to provide for him.
After a long absence, La Fontaine met this youth at the house of a
friend, and being pleased with his conversation, was told that it was
his own son. "Ah," said he, "I am very glad of it."

_Universal Genius._--Rivernois thus describes the character of
Fontenelle: "When Fontenelle appeared on the field, all the prizes
were already distributed, all the palms already gathered: the prize of
universality alone remained, Fontenelle determined to attempt it, and
he was successful. He is not only a metaphysician with Malebranche, a
natural philosopher with Newton, a legislator with Peter the Great, a
statesman with D'Argenson; he is everything with everybody."

_Forest Schools._--There are a number of forest academies in Germany,
particularly in the small states of central Germany, in the Hartz,
Thuringia, &c. The principal branches taught in them are the
following:--forest botany, mineralogy, zoology, chemistry; by which
the learner is taught the natural history of forests, and the mutual
relations, &c. of the different kingdoms of nature. He is also
instructed in the care and chase of game, and in the surveying and
cultivation of forests, so as to understand the mode of raising all
kinds of wood, and supplying a new growth as fast as the old is taken
away. The pupil is too instructed in the administration of the forest
taxes and police, and all that relates to forests considered as a
branch of revenue.

_The Weather._--Meteorological journals are now given in most
magazines. The first statement of this kind was communicated by Dr.
Fothergill to the Gentleman's Magazine, and consisted of a monthly
account of the weather and diseases of London. The latter information
is now monopolized by the parish-clerks.

_Goethe._--The wife of a Silesian peasant, being obliged to go to
Saxony, and hearing that she had travelled (on foot) more than half
the distance to Goethe's residence, whose works she had read with the
liveliest interest, continued her journey to Weimar for the sake of
seeing him. Goethe declared that the true character of his works had
never been better understood than by this woman. He gave her his

_Liverpool and Manchester Railway._--The Company has reported the
following result:

Passengers entered in the Company's
books during the half-year
ending June 30, 1831 L188,726

Ditto, ditto, ending December
31, 1831 256,321

Increase L67,595

Being upwards of 33 per cent. increase of the first six months of the
year, and upwards of 135 per cent. increase on the travellers between
the two towns during the corresponding months, previously to opening
the railway.--_Gordon, on Steam Carriages._

_Caliga._--This was the name of the Roman soldier's shoe, made in the
sandal fashion. The sole was of wood, and stuck full of nails. Caius
Caesar Caligula, the fourth Roman Emperor, the son of Germanicus and
Agrippina, derived his surname from "Caliga," as having been born in
the army, and afterwards bred up in the habit of a common soldier; he
wore this military shoe in conformity to those of the common soldiers,
with a view of engaging their affections. The caliga was the badge, or
symbol of a soldier; whence to take away the caliga and belt, imported
a dismissal or cashiering. P.T.W.

_The Damary Oak-tree._--At Blandford Forum, Dorsetshire, stood the
famous Damary Oak, which was rooted up for firing in 1755. It measured
75 feet high, and the branches extended 72 feet; the trunk at the
bottom was 68 feet in circumference, and 23 feet in diameter. It had
a cavity in its trunk 15 feet wide. Ale was sold in it till after the
Restoration; and when the town was burnt down in 1731, it served as an
abode for one family.--_Family Topographer_, vol. ii.

_Brent Tor Church, Devonshire, situate upon a rock._--On Brent Tor is
a church, in which is appositely inscribed from Scripture, "Upon this
rock will I build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail
against it." It is said that the parishioners make weekly atonement
for their sins, for they cannot go to the church without the previous
penance of climbing the steep; and the pastor is frequently obliged to
humble himself upon his hands and knees before he can reach the house
of prayer. Tradition says it was erected by a merchant to commemorate
his escape from shipwreck on the coast, in consequence of this Tor
serving as a guide to the pilot. There is not sufficient earth to bury
the dead. At the foot of the Tor resided, in 1809, Sarah Williams,
aged 109 years. She never lived further out of the parish of Brent
Tor, than the adjoining one: she had had twelve children, and a few
years before her death cut five new teeth.--Ibid.

_The Dairyman's Daughter._--In Arreton churchyard, Isle of Wight, is
a tombstone, erected in 1822, by subscription, to mark the grave of
Elizabeth Wallbridge, the humble individual whose story of piety and
virtue, written by the Rev. Leigh Richmond, under the title of the
"Dairyman's Daughter," has attained an almost unexampled circulation.
Her cottage at Branston, about a mile distant, is much visited.--Ibid.

_Singular distribution of common land in Somersetshire_.--In the
parishes of Congresbury and Puxton were two large pieces of common
land, called East and West Dolemoors (from the Saxon word dol, a
portion or share,) which were occupied till within these few years in
the following manner:---The land was divided into single acres, each
bearing a peculiar mark, cut in the turf, such as a horn, an ox, a
horse, a cross, an oven, &c. On the Saturday before Old Midsummer
Day, the several proprietors of contiguous estates, or their tenants,
assembled on these commons, with a number of apples marked with
similar figures, which were distributed by a boy to each of the
commoners from a bag. At the close of the distribution, each person
repaired to the allotment with the figure corresponding to the one
upon his apple, and took possession of it for the ensuing year. Four
acres were reserved to pay the expenses of an entertainment at the
house of the overseer of the Dolemoors, where the evening was spent in

_Anna Maria, Countess of Shrewsbury._--At Avington Park, in Hampshire,
resided the notorious and infamous Anna-Maria, Countess of Shrewsbury,
who held the horse of the Duke of Buckingham while he fought and
killed her husband. Charles II frequently made it the scene of his
licentious pleasures; and the old green-house is said to have been the
apartment in which the royal sensualist was entertained.--Ibid.

* * * * *

_Erratum_--In the lines, by J. Kinder, on a Withered Primrose, in our
last, verse ii. line 2--for "gust of the storm" read "_jest_ of the

* * * * *

_Printed and published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, (near Somerset
House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Market, Leipsic;
G.G. BENNIS, 55, Rue Neuve, St. Augustin, Paris; and by all Newsmen
and Booksellers._

* * * * *

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