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CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S HISTORICAL NEWSPAPER."

No. 157.

CHAMBERS'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL. IN addressing our readers at the commencement of a new volume, we are rather complying with a custom which we appear to ourselves to have established, than acting under any immediate desire of communicating with the public. Our way is now so smooth-the success of our little miscellany is so completely ascertained and so little ever occurs to disturb the happy relation which seems to subsist between it and its readers, that we might perhaps have intermitted this task for a year, without either disadvantage to ourselves, or disappointment to the public. The occasion, however, has occurred, and we have been tempted to seize it, if only for the purpose of conveying some assurance of the continued prosperity of our work, and, consequently, of inspiring in those who approve of its object, renewed hopes of the beneficial influence which so copious and so constant an effusion of moral literature may be expected to have upon society.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 31, 1835.

circumstance in the highest degree creditable to the
public itself. It is our habitual impression and con-
viction, from all we have ever learned of the details of
our circulation, that a few delinquencies in the ethics
of the Journal, or even a few transgressions of the
bounds of good taste, not to speak of a partizanship in
politics, would instantly prove its ruin. We feel that
we stand only by our devotion to what is good, and
our hostility to what is bad, in ordinary conduct; and
if no other consideration made us the friends of vir-
tue, the commercial quality of prudence would come
to our aid, and erase the peccant word, paragraph, or
article. Many of our readers, while satisfied of the
purity of our general intentions, may be ignorant of
the pains which are necessary in order to preserve a
quality of such importance. We can declare that
numberless topics and expressions which the conduct-
ors of hardly any other periodical work would think
objectionable, are avoided by us, and that we hardly
ever receive a contribution from the most practised
writers, which does not require purification before we
deem it fit for insertion. Nor is it only in regard to
matters of moral decency that we find it necessary to
maintain a vigilant guard: we deem it only in a less
degree essential to exclude every thing that tends to
keep alive the recollection of the superstitions, savagery,
and darker vices of the past-even the details of
ordinary warfare, and the drolleries of ordinary baccha-
nalian fellowship, we regard as in some measure objec-
tionable, as tending to foster only the lower propensi-
ties of our nature. In whatever degree, we are per-
suaded, a departure might be made from these rules,
would the circulation of this work decline from the

it forfeit that reputation which, against every disad-
vantage of form and price, its right-forward good aims
have procured for it. The public, indeed, have this
matter, entirely in their own hands, and we consider it
impossible that our work should ever be less pure and
innocuous than it now is, unless the community shall
suddenly become thoroughly vicious, or the light of
reason be withdrawn from ourselves. We think it
the more necessary to make this avowal, as it serves
to meet the arguments of those who, taking upon sys-
tem every degrading view of their species, allege that
the bulk of the people of even this enlightened land
deliberately prefer an immoral and grovelling litera-

The success, then, of this Journal continues to be proved, not only by an undiminished, or rather, we may say, an increasing circulation, but by innumerable circumstances which, coming by chance under our notice, manifest to us the strong hold which it has taken of the public mind. It still penetrates into every remote nook of the country; still travels from hand to hand over pastoral wastes-the fiery cross of knowledge-conveying pictures of life, and snatches of science, and lessons of morality, where scarcely any such things were ever received before; still visits, and we would hope cheers, the labour-worn artizan, and animates to the struggle of the world the musing boy. As a single fact illustrative of its extensive reception among the working classes, we have been in-universality which it has attained, and in so far would formed that, in a single cotton-work near Glasgow, no fewer than eighty-four copies are regularly purchased, notwithstanding that in such places a single copy of a newspaper or other periodical work generally serves a dozen readers. But it is not alone among the inferior orders of society that the Journal is circulated. We have been given to understand that it reaches the drawing-rooms of the most exalted persons in the country, and the libraries of the most learned; that, in the large towns, a vast proportion of the mercantile and professional persons of every rank and order are its regular purchasers; and that, in short, it pervades the whole of society. Let it not be imagined that we relate these circumstances in a spirit of personal boasting: unconscious as we are of having ever anticipated them, they surprise ourselves as much as they can surprise others, and, so far as we are not tempted to speak of them by a mere sense of wonder, we are prompted to do so by that disinterested feeling of philanthropic gratulation which they can hardly fail to excite in every generous bosom. Is it possible-we would say, and say in all humility to over-estimate the social blessings that may be expected to flow from a work which is thus qualified to re-unite the sympathies of the most opposite and remote orders of the people-which can tell the great about the humble, and the humble about the great, and promote a spirit of natural human kindness amongst all-which serves, it may be said, as an universal instructor and monitor, chastening the proud, chastising the vicious, guiding the ignorant to correct views of society, and creating a diversion every where from harmful indulgences to those thoughts which advance all who cherish them in the scale of being?

While referring to this universality of circulation, it may be worth while to mention, that, to whatever causes the public may attribute it, we have all along seen reason to ascribe, at least its continuance, to a No. 1. VOL. IV.

ture.

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

to have acquired increased powers of both instruction and entertainment, with views, almost new to us, of the social relations of our race. Unskilled as we may yet be in many departments of knowledge, we find ourselves to be constantly advancing from less to greater things, and at the same time receiving a deeper and deeper sense of the importance of using these to the advantage of our fellow-creatures. We therefore venture a humble but earnest hope that this miscellany, through the improving faculties of both its writers and its readers, will be enabled to go on freshening and strengthening, and yet adopt higher purposes and reach more splendid triumphs than any yet contemplated.

All that remains for us to do, is to advert to the INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE, which is now concluded in fifty sheets similar to the numbers of the Journal, each in general containing some par. ticular department of knowledge, treated in a popular manner. Of this work, eighteen thousand copies at least have been issued of each successive number, and this success we deem in some measure even more agreeable than that of the more widely diffused Journal, as the advantage of a miscellaneous and entertaining character was here entirely wanting. When we mention that each of the sheets contains exactly the same quantity of literary matter as a number of the Library of Useful Knowledge, the public may conceive what an important addition has thus been made to the amount of reading produced by the moderately priced publications. The INFOR. MATION FOR THE PEOPLE, in its new character as a volume, will be comparatively the cheapest work in existence that bears the character of a collection of treatises. At the price of an ordinary duodecimo, it presents a series of between forty and fifty volumes" -for so they may be styled-each constructed with the utmost care, and with the advantage of the most recent discoveries, and all of them very immediately bearing upon the necessities and uses of the people.

Note. Our efforts in the diffusion of cheap literature having been followed by the establishment of various similarly moderate-priced publications, it may perhaps have been anticipated that the circulation of CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL would therefore have been in some degree lessened; we are happy to say that this has not been in any respect the case, the world But it is not only by such negative qualities-it is being seemingly wide enough for the exertions of all. not only by our continuing to think and write in the From the period of a few months after the commencement of the Journal, when the work had become gespirit which it is no more than our duty as individual citizens to cherish that we are to expect this publica-nerally known, till the present time, the circulation tion to be supported. Great efforts, we are sensible, has continued to be remarkably uniform; the sale of each number, within a short period after its publication, must also be made to maintain that humble literary re. putation which is also to be considered as an element in its success. In reference to this point, we can state with a reasonable expectation of being credited, that victory, so far as gained, has never lulled us for a mo. ment into security or indifference. We have not only been induced, by the approbation which the public was pleased to bestow upon our trivial labours, to devote ourselves to them more and more unsparingly, but we have used the results of success in no niggard spirit in purchasing literary aid. While vigorously resolving to continue the exertions of every kind applied to the Arts-Printing-The Steam-Engine--Domestic Economy and Cookery-Preservation of Health-History of the British which have been already made, we must also confess Empire-Resources of the British Empire-General Account of the that we look chiefly for the means of maintaining our United States of America-Palestine-China-The East Indiesground, to our own improvement and progressive acThe West Indies-South America-Fgypt-The Cotton, Woollen, quirements. At the time when the Journal was Silk, and Linen Manufactures-History of the French Revolution commenced, our experience in literature was compa--History of the American Revolution—Life of Benjamin Franklin ratively slight, and our studies had referred to a li--Emigration to Canada, the United States, Nova Scotia and New mited and in many respects useless range of knowledge. Brunswick, Van Diemen's Land, and New South Waics—The Dog With the progress of the work, we conceive ourselves | —The Horse.

The subjects of the INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE may be enumerated in the following systematic arrangement :—Astronomy -Physical and Political Geography-Geology-Botany-History of Mankind-Account of the Human Body-Natural Theology

Moral Philosophy-Duties of Life-History and Present State of
Education-Manufactures and Commerce of the World-Political

Economy-Natural Philosophy-Mechanics-Electricity and Gal

vanism-Hydrostatics and Hydraulics-Pneumatics, Acoustics, and Aeronautics — Optics—Architecture — Chemistry—Chemistry

ercise of genius among themselves; in the present day, this is a question which it is impossible to settle sătisfactorily.

being 50,000, while the subsequent or after demand, as we have found, has been to the extent of not less than 5000 additional, making a total average circulaIn the fourteenth century, traces of clockwork betion of 55,000 copies. Latterly, the demand for sets come more common. Dante, the Italian poet, partiof the work from the commencement has been very cularly mentions clocks. Richard, abbot of St Alban's considerable, particularly from some of the British in England, made a clock, in 1326, such as had never colonies, to which not fewer than two hundred thou-been heard of till then. It not only indicated the course sand numbers have been sent during the last twelve of the sun and moon, but also the ebb and flow of the tide. Large clocks on steeples, likewise, were first months. It is likewise gratifying for us to learn that made use of in the fourteenth century. It is thought CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL is now regularly reprinted in that one Jacob Dondi, in Padua, was the first who New York; though this forms a branch of circulation made one of this kind; at least his family was called over which we of course can exercise no control. It after him dell' Orologio. A German, Henry de Wyck, was celebrated in the same century for a large clock was formerly stated that the quantity of paper used for which he placed in a tower built by the command of these sheets annually, amounted to 5416 reams; upon Charles V. king of France. This clock was preserved a calculation now made, we find that during the last till 1737. Watches are a much later invention, althree years we have consumed, reckoning the English though it has been alleged that they were known in and Scotch editions of our works, fully 20,000 reams, the fourteenth century. The more general belief is, that they were contrived in 1510 by a person named or the astonishing number of nine million six hundred Peter Hele. Reckoning back from the present era, thousand sheets, which, by the heavy duty of 3d. per it may reasonably be concluded that clocks were inpound weight on the paper, have yielded a clear vented about seven hundred, and watches from three to four hundred years ago, which is a very moderate revenue to government of L.6000. antiquity.

POPULAR INFORMATION ON SCIENCE.

TIME MEASURERS.

In ancient times there were neither clocks nor watches by which time might be measured. The only instrument in use calculated to be of service in this respect was the sun-dial, which appears to have been known in very early times. It was most likely invented by the Egyptians, from whom its use spread among the Chaldeans and Jews, or Hebrews; it being mentioned in the Old Testament, in the book of Isaiah, chapter xxxviii. verse 8., "Behold I will bring again the shadow of the degrees, whereby it is gone down in the dial of Ahaz by the sun," and so forth, by which we may learn that the sun-dial was the instrument in use for measuring time at that remote period.

The Greeks became acquainted with the sun-dial from the Jews, and from the Greeks it was derived by the Romans, who were the means of introducing it into the western nations of Europe. The Romans came to a knowledge of the use of dials in a remark. able way. In one of their warlike excursions, they saw one, and carried it off as a part of their spoil, and placed it in the forum of Rome; but it being constructed for a place four degrees different, they found that it could not indicate the true time-a circumstance they had not anticipated, as in these times

little or nothing was known of degrees of latitude or longitude. It is probable that they soon rectified the dial to the situation of Rome. Before they thus be came acquainted with sun-dials, they measured time by means of a thing called a clepsydra-a word sig. nifying in Greek, I steal water, the time being reckoned by the dropping of water; and it was the duty of a slave to attend and make a sound at the recurrence of every certain number of drops. Clepsydra were long used in both Greek and Roman courts and assemblies, and, like our sand-glasses, they deter mined the time which members were permitted to speak.

As sun-dials were available only while the sun shone, the invention of some kind of instrument which could measure time both during darkness and sunshine, became a matter of anxious research to many reflective persons; but this appears to have been a matter of extraordinary difficulty. Sun-dials for the day, and clepsydræ for the night or cloudy weather, were in use for many centuries after the destruction of the Roman empire and the establishment of Chris. tianity. It is related in an ancient chronicle that Charlemagne, king of France, received a present of a clock from the caliph Haroun Airaschid in the year 809, but on the best investigations it is found that this was only a species of clepsydra, and not a clock with wheels and other mechanism. According to the best authenticated accounts, it appears that we are indebted to the monks of the middle ages for the invention of clocks or time-keepers. These men, who formed the only learned classes of their time, enjoyed considerable seclusion, free from the necessity of providing for their support; and when not engaged in devotional exercises, they often practised various arts now entirely committed to the hands of the artizan and tradesman. At what precise period clocks were first made by the monks, is not known; but it is ascertained from old chronicles, that such instruments, put in motion by wheels, were made use of in the monasteries in the twelfth century, and that they announced the termination of every hour by strokes on a bell. The hand for marking the time is likewise mentioned in these old records. In the thirteenth century, there is mention made of a clock, given by sultan Saladin to the emperor Frederic II., and which was put in motion by wheels. It not only marked the hours, but also the course of the sun, of the moon, the planets, in the zodiac. Some have concluded that the Saracens must have learned the art of clock-making from the recluses in Eastern monasteries; but they may have acquired their knowledge from the ex

where they are made by thousands. Among French watchmakers, Berthoud, Breguet, Chevalier, Courvoisier, Preud'homme, and others, are distinguished. England and France have been active in perfecting the art of horology. The elegant Parisian pendulum clocks are well known, in which the art of the sculptor is combined with that of the machinist. Elegance, however, is their principal recommendation. It is much to be regretted that the present watches, even the finest, have not the finish which gave such great durability to those of former times. This is particularly the case with French watches. We speak now of the better sort of watches; the ordinary ones are hardly worth the trifling sum which they cost. The English watches are generally much more substantial and accurate in their workmanship than those of France or Geneva; but it must be allowed that a great depreciation is taking place in this department of our manufactures. Perfect accuracy in going, is now a rare quality in a new made watch, unless it be of the most expensive kind. The most accurate of all time measurers are chronometers, which are of a peculiar construction, and are much employed by navigators in determining the longitude at sea. In general, chro nometers are much larger than common watches, and are hung in gimbals, in boxes six or eight inches square; but there are also many pocket chronometers which, externally, have all the appearance of the better sort of pocket watches, and internally differ from these only in the construction of the balance. The balance and hair-spring are the principal agents in regulating the rate of going in a common watch, being to this what the pendulum is to a common clock; and this spring in the former, like the pendulum in under different degrees of heat and cold, which of the latter, is subject to expansions and contractions

Wooden clocks are made chiefly in the Schwarzwald, or Black Forest, in South Germany, and furnish an important object of manufacture for this mountainous and barren country. It is said that 70,000 of such

clocks are made there annually; and great numbers are sent to North and South America, and all over Europe.

THE USES OF ADVERSITY,

The earliest made clocks wanted many of the contrivances which now distinguish these valuable instruments. The first great improvement was the addition of the pendulum, which was invented by Huygens in 1656, and which is of use in regulating the motion of the wheelwork. The doctrine of the pendulum, which belongs to dynamics, or the science of bodies in motion, is one of great importance. A oscillate, or swing, were it not for the friction at the pendulum once put in motion would never cease to point of suspension, and the resistance of the air. course affect the speed or rate of the machine; and Neither of these circumstances can ever be avoided the methods of correcting this inaccuracy mark the entirely, and have to be provided against by certain difference between the watch and chronometer. These The times of the vibrations of the arrangements. are very numerous. With British and American nathe angle by which the heavy body of the pendulum those of any other nation. pendulum chiefly depend on three circumstances-vigators, chronometers are more common than with is removed from the vertical line; second, the length of the pendulum; and, third, the accelerating power of gravity. The principal thing to be attended to is the length. A short pendulum oscillates quickly, a long pendulum more slowly. But the clockmaker in arranging the length must keep in view the situation on the earth's surface where the clock is to be placed; for the pendulum which will suit at one degree of latitude will not answer at another. The reason for this is, that the power of gravity, that is, the unseen power which attracts all things to the earth's surface, acts more strongly at one part than another, from the oscillations of the pendulum in such a manner the peculiar shape of the globe, and this power affects that the pendulum of a clock must be made somewhat shorter at the equator than towards the poles. The oscillations of the pendulum have hence served as data whereupon to draw conclusions regarding the power of gravity in different parts of the world. The honour of being the inventor of the balance-spring in watches was contested by Huygens and the English philosopher Hooke. In order to prevent friction, Facio, a Genevan, invented the method of boring holes in diamonds or rubies for the pivots to revolve in, which was found a great improvement. Thus chronometers had their origin, in which the English have attained great perfection. This nation also invented repeaters. An individual of the name of Barlow first made one, in 1676, for Charles II; and Graham was the inventor of the compensation-pendulum in 1715. This was perfected by Harrison, who formed the pendulum of nine round rods, five of which were of iron and four of brass. With these pendulums the astronomical clocks are still provided, and perfect dependence may be placed in the regularity of their action.

A STORY.

AT the age of twenty-one, the young, gay, and volup. tuous Earl of Glenthorn succeeded to the vast possessions of his family; an event to which he had

anxiously looked forward during the, to him, tedious years of minority. But this consummation of his hopes and prospects did not relieve the young nobleInan from that dreadful malady to which those are subject, and to which he was already a prey, who are in possession of all that there is to desire on earth, who have nothing to employ them, and nothing to fear or to hope; where every wish has only to be expressed to be gratified, and where every command has only to be issued to be obeyed. This malady, for which we have no English name, is entitled by the French ennui-a term now naturalised amongst us.

While yet a boy, the earl, who was indulged by a cunning and dishonest guardian in every desire, how. ever wayward or foolish, which his imagination could suggest, and which wealth could gratify, was rendered less life. The bustle and excitation consequent on his miserable by this oppressive vacuity of mind and aimaccession to the entire control of his large possessions, Amongst the important inventions of the 18th censubdued for a time that feeling of apathy and listlesstury, the astronomical clocks of the clergyman Hahn, ness which in the midst of every luxury and enjoyment in Echterdingen, Wurtemburg, deserve to be particu was rendering his life miserable. It was, however, larly named. He formed the idea of measuring time but for a time that it had this effect. No sooner had in its whole extent. The principal hand in his inthe novelty of his situation worn off, than the demon strument is that of universal history. This turns on a table, and indicates the principal epochs of history, rendered him more wretched than ever. of ennui seized again upon the unhappy earl, and In vain he according to the chronology of the Old Testament, had recourse to all the usual expedients with which and the great events of future times, according to the fashion and folly endeavour to relieve themselves of calculations of Bengel, founded on the Apocalypse. the burden of time. He associated himself with deIts revolution embraces a period of nearly eight thou-bauchees, and in their society indulged himself in sand years. Another hand on this table marks the every species of excess. He mingled with boxers and year of the century, and makes its circuit in one hun-horse-racers, and finally took to gambling, at which, dred years. Still more remarkable is the representa- immensely wealthy as he was, he soon lost such sums, tion of the motions of the planets known at the time as, together with the robberies of his stewards and of the inventor, and of the systems of Ptolemy and servants, whose doings he was too indolent to check, Copernicus. They and their satellites perform their and too easy tempered to punish, greatly embarrassed revolutions in exactly the same time as they actually him, and compelled him to look out for such a matrido in the heavens; and these automata not only have monial alliance as should relieve him from his diffi the central motion, but their course is also eccentrical culties. In this he succeeded. He married a lady and elliptic, like that of the heavenly orbs, and the of large fortune; but as money had been the object of motion is sometimes slower, sometimes quicker, and the one, and a title that of the other, neither added even retrograde. This instrument must have been the to their happiness by the connection, which was finally fruit of deep knowledge, indefatigable research, and dissolved by the almost inevitable result of such illthe calculations of years. It is much to be regret assorted matches. Lady Glenthorn, shortly after their ted that the limited means of the artist prevented marriage, eloped with a Captain Crawley, a sort of his machine from being better finished, and that he fac-totum of the earl's-one of those hangers-on who was not acquainted with clock-making in its present advanced state, and with the excellent instruments which have been invented since his time.

This story has been condensed from one of Miss Edgeworth's best tales depicting fashionable life, entitled "Ennui." Our ob in giving it in this form and place is to point out the wretched results of idleness, and the value of compulsory industry in improving the mind.

The country where watches are manufactured inject the greatest numbers is French Switzerland, particularly at Geneva, La-Chaux-de Fonds, Locle, &c.,

No, no-Christy O'Donoghoe would not do that, any way."

are often to be found about the houses of the great. | all. These events as they occurred roused the unfortunate earl from that oppressive state of satiety which was the bane of his life; but he as uniformly sunk into the enervating malady when the excitation which they naturally caused had subsided.

Fairly tired at length not only of the reckless course he was pursuing, and of his associates in debauchery, but of England itself, the earl resolved on paying a visit to the Irish estate from which he took his title, namely, Glenthorn, in the hope that the novelty of the scene would afford him some relief from the ennui that oppressed him; and with this view he immediately set out for Ireland, having previously broken up his magnificent establishment at Sherwood Park, one of the family seats in England where he had hitherto

resided.

On reaching the castle of Glenthorn, for the first time since he had left it in childhood, the most enthusiastic of the individuals who appeared to welcome him to the ancient halls of his fathers, was his foster-mother Ellinor, a poor but decent woman who lived on the estate, and to whose charge his father had confided the young earl when an infant, with the view, as he said, of bringing him up hardily; and to ensure the greater success in this object, the child was lodged and suckled in the cabin of his foster-mother, with whom he remained until he was two years of age, when he was carried to England. This affectionate creature, on seeing the earl, pushed her way through the crowd of tenants and others who had assembled to welcome his return, and having approached him, exclaimed in ecstacy, "Tis himself;" then turning round suddenly to the crowd behind her, "I've seen him," she said, "I've seen him in his own castle; and if it pleases God this minute to take me to himself, I would die with pleasure."

"My good Ellinor," said the earl, touched by her affection, "I hope you will live many a happy year;

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"And himself to speak to me so kind before them all!" interrupted Ellinor. "Oh! this is too much -quite too much!" She burst into tears, and hiding her face with her arm, made her way out of the hall. The earl, who was really a generous and noble-minded man, notwithstanding the dissipated life he had led, and the apparent supineness of his character-both more the result of circumstances than of natural disposition now busied himself in improving the condition of his tenantry, and in the discharge generally of the duties of a kind and considerate landlord, on whom the comfort and happiness of some hundreds of persons depended; for his possessions were of great extent. And in the performance of these praise-worthy duties, the earl soon began to take an interest that effectually relieved him from his old complaint, ennui,

and restored him to himself.

In dispensing his bounty, which he did with a liberal hand, the earl did not forget his affectionate fostermother Ellinor. He provided her with a neat cottage, and supplied her with every thing that could contribute to her ease and comfort. But there was nothing that the kind-hearted creature prized so much in her new circumstances as the privilege she enjoyed of lighting "his honour's" fire in the mornings, a duty she insisted on discharging, and which, when the earl had asked her on his first arrival what he could do for her, she, in the simplicity of her heart, had named as the most gratifying favour he could confer upon her.

One morning, a considerable time after the earl's arrival at Glenthorn, Ellinor entered his apartment as if for the purpose of kindling a fire as usual, but at a Lauch earlier hour than she was wont to appear. The earl, surprised at this circumstance, turning round in bed, exclaimed, "Ellinor, is it you at this time in the morning?"

"Hush! hush!" said she, shutting the door with great precaution; and then coming on tiptoe close to the earl's bedside, "for the love of God, speak softly, and make no stir to awake them that's asleep near you." Ellinor, whose looks were full of terror and alarm, after searching the apartment to see that no third party was concealed in it, proceeded to inform the earl that a plot had been formed amongst a party of rebels-the country being at that period surcharged with the spirit of revolt-to waylay him on that very night as he took his usual walk on the seashore, and to compel him to be their captain, or, in case of his refusal, to put him to death. All this she said she had learnt from her son Christy, a young man who followed the business of a blacksmith, and who was much employed about the castle. Christy had discovered the secret by concealing himself for an entire night in a cave where the rebels were in the habit of meeting to discuss their designs, and had lost no time in procuring the intelligence to be conveyed to the earl, to whom he was much attached, as well by reason of kindnesses shown to himself, as for his lordship's ge. nerosity to his mother.

"You were a very bold fellow, Christy," said the earl to him, at an interview to which he was subsequently summoned, "to hazard yourself in the cave with these villains; if you had been found out in your hiding-place, they would have certainly murdered you."

"True for me," said Christy; "but a man must die some way, please your honour; and where's the way "I would die better? It would have been bad indeed, if I would stay quiet, and let 'em murder you after

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in, stepping fearfully, astonished to find himself in a splendid drawing-room.

"Were you never in this room before, Christy ?" said the earl.

"Never, my lord, plase your honour, barring the day I mended the bolt."

"It is a fine room, is it not, Christy ?"

"Troth it is, the finest ever I see, sure enough." "How should you like to have such a room of your own, Christy; and how should you feel if you were master of this great castle ?"

On receiving intelligence of the designs entertained upon him, the earl instantly sent for his factor Mr M'Leod, a man of great shrewdness, good sense, and integrity, and they together arranged a plan of proceedings to defeat the intentions of the rebels. plan was to procure a party of disguised yeomen, secretly, and to surprise the conspirators in the cave in the midst of their deliberations. Through the judicious management of all its minor details, which were necessarily numerous and complicated, the enterprise "It's a poor figure I should make, to be sure; I'd was successful. On that very evening, every one of rather be at the forge by a great dale. But sure, my the rebel party were taken prisoners, and having been lord," continued Christy, changing his voice to a more previously disarmed, were again thrust into the cave, serious tone, "the horse that I shod for your honour where, under a strong guard, it was resolved to con- yesterday did not go lame, did he ?-because I was fine them until they should be marched on the follow-thinking, maybe, it was that made your honour send ing day to the county jail. for me up in the hurry."

On the morning after the occurrence of the event just related, Ellinor entered the earl's apartment just as he was about to descend to breakfast, in a state of great perturbation. "What new wonders? what new misfortunes now, Ellinor ?" he exclaimed, on perceiving the consternation that was depicted on her coun

tenance.

you.

"Oh! the worst that could befall me!" said she, wringing her hands; "the worst, the very worst!-to be the death of my own child!" She said with inexpressible horror, "Oh! save him! save him! for the love of heaven, dear, save him! If you don't save him, 'tis I shall be his death." She was in such agony, that she could not explain herself further for some minutes. "It was I gave the information against them all to But how could I ever have thought Owen was one of them? My son, my own son, the unfortunate cratur!" Ellinor then proceeded to state in more explicit terms that her son had been seen amongst the prisoners by one of the military, who had informed her of the circumstance. She then went on imploring the earl to procure the release of the young man. "And this ye can't refuse," she said, "to your old nurse, that carried ye in her arms, and fed ye with her milk, and watch'd over ye many's the long night." "I am sensible of it, I am grateful," interrupted the earl; "but what you ask of me, Ellinor, is impossible. I cannot let him escape; but I will do my utmost. If I let him off just now, I should lose my honour-I should lose my character. You know that I have been accused of favouring the rebels already. It is impossible, therefore, my good Ellinor," added the earl; urge me no further; ask any thing else, and it shall be granted, but this is impossible."

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Then," replied Ellinor, with the energy of despair, your mother has knelt at your feet, and you have denied her prayer."

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My mother!" exclaimed the earl in amazement ; "and what was her prayer?" "To save the life of your brother."

"My brother! what do I hear! It is impossible!" "You hear the truth: you hear that I am your lawful mother. Yes, you are my son. You have forced the secret from me which I thought to have carried with me to the grave. And now you know all; and now you know how wicked I have been; and it was all for you-for you that refused me the only thing I ever asked. And it is fit that I should tell you that Christy, poor Christy, who is now slaving at the forge; he that lives, and has lived all his days on potatoes and salt, and is content; he who has the face and the hands so disguised with the smoke and the black, is the true and real Lord Glenthorn; and I shall call upon you to give back to him all that by right is his own."

Having said this, Ellinor departed, but in a short time again returned, and meeting the earl on the great staircase, exclaimed, "It's a mistake! it's all a mistake! Sure Ody's not there at all, nor ever was in it. I've seen them all face to face, and my son's not one of them, nor ever was; and I beg your pardon entirely," she whispered, coming close to the earl's ear. Forgive all I said in my passion, and I'll never say a word more about it to any one living: the secret shall die with me."

Ellinor was here interrupted by the earl's being called to preside at the precognition of the prisoners, which was about to take place previously to their being conveyed to jail; but this over, he lost no time in seeking another interview with Ellinor, to learn from her all the particulars regarding the extraordinary communication she had made." At this interview she detailed at full length all the contrivances and expedients by which she had succeeded in palm ing upon the Earl of Glenthorn her own son for that of the rightful heir of his name and possessions. Having subsequently assured himself of the truth of Ellinor's statements, by irrefragable evidence, which he cautiously and secretly sought out, the earl came to the noble resolution of instantly surrendering every thing to him to whom they rightfully belonged, and with this view he sent for Christy O'Donoghoe, the

blacksmith.

"The smith is below in the hall, my lord," said a servant, announcing the arrival of Christy. "Show him up.' He was shown up into the ante

chamber.

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"The smith is at the door, my lord." "Show him in, cannot you? What detains him?" "My brogues, my lord! I'd be afraid to come in with 'em on the carpet." Saying this, Christy came

"The horse is very well shod, I believe," replied the earl; "but to return to what I was saying. Should you not like to change places with me if you could ?' "In your honour's place!-I-I would not, my lord; and that's the truth now," said Christy decidedly. "I would not-no offence; your honour bade me to speak the truth. I always thought and knew I was but as I am; not but what, if I was to change with any, it is with you, my lord, I would be proud to change; because, if I was to be a jantleman at all, I'd wish to be of a ra-al good ould family born."

"You are then what you wish to be," said the earl. "Och," said Christy laughing, and scratching his head, "your honour's jesting me about them kings of Ireland, that they say the O'Donoghoes was once : but that's what I never think on."

"But you do not understand me," interrupted the earl; "I am not going back to the kings of Ireland; I mean to tell you that you were born a gentlemannay, I am perfectly serious; listen to me.'

"I do, plase your honour, though it is mocking me I know you are; I would be sorry not to take a joke as well as another."

"This is no joke, I repeat," said the earl, and he went on to explain to the amazed blacksmith the whole circumstances of the extraordinary case, in which he was so deeply interested.

"Well, I will tell you what you will do, then," said Christy, after something like conviction had been hammered into him; "say nothing to nobody, but just keep asy on, even as we are, in the name of God, and no more about it: and none need never be A good day to your the wiser; 'tis so best for us all. honour, and I'll go shoe the mare."

To this, however, the earl, who had made up his mind to the noble sacrifice he meditated, would by no means consent. He therefore insisted on Christy's taking a month to consider of it, and at the end of that period to wait upon him with his final determination. At the time appointed, Christy again presented himself before the earl. "Well, Christy," said the latter, "you will be Earl of Glenthorn, I perceive. You are glad now that I did not take you at your word, and that I gave you a month's consideration."

"Your honour was always considerate; but if I'd wish now to be changing my mind," said he, hesi tatingly, and shifting from leg to leg, "it is not upon my own account, any way, but upon my son Johnny's."

"My good friend," said the earl, "no apology is necessary. I should be very unjust if I were offended by your decision, and very mean if, after the declara

tions I have made, I could for an instant hesitate to restore to you that property which it is your right and your choice to reclaim."

The first concern of honest Christy was to provide suitably for his foster-brother after he should have yielded up the title and possessions of Glenthorn; but all that the latter would accept, though pressingly re66 'just to put down quested by his intended successor on a bit of paper what he'd wish to keep," was L.300 per annum for himself, added to the following stipu lation, namely, that the annuity which he had generously settled on Lady Glenthorn on obtaining a divorce from her, should be continued; that the house he had built for Ellinor, and the land belonging to it, should be secured to her rent-free for life; and that all his debts should be paid. Having made this arrangement, to the great vexation of Christy, who earnestly begged that he would at least make the hundreds thousands, and accept of Sherwood Park as a residence, the earl in due legal form made a surrender of all, claim upon the hereditary property of Glenthorn, and immediately afterwards proceeded to Dublin, with the view of following out a resolution which he had already adopted. That resolution was to betake himself to the study of the law, in order to fit him for its exercise as a profession, and as a means of subsistence. On arriving at Dublin, he who had lived all his life in palaces, surrounded with every luxury which wealth can command, took up his abode in the humble lodgings of a poor widow to whom he had been recommended, and here soon found himselt involved in all the mean and petty cares associated with narrow circumstances.

For a short time this extraordinary change in his condition, and the striking contrast which it presented to his former splendour, reduced Mr Donoghoe-for he had now assumed his original name-to a state of despondency; but it was only for a short time that it had this effect. There was an energy in his character, a strength of mind of which he himself had not been pre

viously aware, and which adversity now brought into full play. He rose superior to circumstances, and determined, in place of permitting himself to fall a victim to them, to become their conqueror, by industry and perseverance, in acquiring a knowledge of the profession by which he meant to earn his future livelihood.

In accordance with this noble resolution, he immediately commenced an arduous course of reading, to which he not only devoted the day, but also a large portion of the night, and was soon rewarded for his industry by a feeling of satisfaction with his own conduct, and by an accession of happiness, arising from an active and honourable employment, to which he had been an entire stranger whilst Earl of Glenthorn. He who had before felt every exertion of mind, however slight, an intolerable punishment, now delighted in exercising the think- | ing and reasoning faculties with which nature had endowed him. The power of motive, too, lightened his labour, and effectually relieved him from that ennui which had embittered his previous life, and rendered all his possessions valueless.

On completing his terms in Ireland, Mr Donoghoe removed to London to finish his legal education in the Temple; and here he perseveringly followed out the rigid course of study which he had so manfully entered on in Dublin, and the result was commensurate with the means employed to attain it. He acquired a complete theoretical knowledge of his profession, which, added to his natural talents, and these were of a very high order, left no doubt of his future success.

singular position. He had been thrown on his own re-
sources, and these he had found sufficient, unaided by
either wealth or rank, to conduct him to both riches and
honours, and that by the proudest and most gratifying

course.

DISSECTION OF A CLASSIC POEM.

AKIN to the well-known good fortune of having had
a father born before one, is the advantage of having
been an author a few hundred years ago. It was then
much easier to obtain a respectable literary reputation;
and, moreover, living at a time when authors were
few, he who did succeed made such an impression on
his age, was so much spoken of in all kinds of con-
temporary records, that, even though his works might
cease to be read, his name could never afterwards be
obliterated. It is thus that many names are as fami-
liar in our ears as household words, and are handed
down by us with traditionary veneration to our chil-
dren, while the writings of the individuals who bore
them remain entombed in libraries, and the active
influence of their intellects has long since ceased.
But there are some more provoking cases than this.
We have old authors, whose writings are greatly in-
ferior to those of the present day, and indeed neither
possess any claim upon our sympathies nor are quali-
fied to instruct us, forced by prescriptive usage into
les-general use, especially among the young, who, it may
be observed, are wilfully surrounded by their elders
with all kinds of obsolete absurdities, and receive the
parting blessing of every expiring prejudice as if the
human mind were fated to encounter all its worst dif-
ficulties when it was least able to struggle with them.
Meditating lately on this point, it occurred to us that
the actual merits of some of those ancients, who so
a good end might be served by a rigid inquiry into
overshadow and bear down "us youth;" and as it
happened that we were a good deal troubled at one
time with Virgil, and still bear a peculiar kind of
grudge against him, we resolved that upon him, and
particularly upon his celebrated heroic poem, should
our vengeance fall. Of course it is not in our power
to criticise in this place the diction of the Eneid; but
we shall do our best to give our unlettered readers a
notion of what constitutes the action of the poem,
which no one will deny to be an equally important
inatter, and one with which the reason of the reader

When he had finished his terms at the Temple, Mr Donoghoe returned to Dublin, and commenced his career as a practising lawyer. On his first circuit his earnings amounted only to two guineas; but small as this sum was, he received it with delight, as an earnest of better things to come; for amongst other useful sons which experience had now taught him, was the inportant one that pleasure to be enjoyed must be earned. For some time Mr Donoghoe's gains were trifling; but during this time, though money, he was fast gaining a reputation as a sound and able lawyer; and an opportunity at length presented itself, which enabled him to break down the very slender barrier that now interposed between him and an extensive practice. A counsel who had been employed in an important case was taken ill, and Mr Donoghoe, who was known to have studied the question closely, was called upon by the judge, with the consent of the attornies and other counsel, to supply his place. Mr Donoghoe the and spoke with an and ability that excited the highest admiration of the court. When he had concluded, a buzz of thanks and applause rose around him. The cause was gained, and from that moment he was looked upon as one of the most promising lawyers at the Irish bar. He had therefore now, by the mere force of his own talents, combined with an extraordinary degree of perseverance and resolution, and by the exercise of his natural faculties, fairly

surmounted all the difficulties and disadvantages of his singular position. He had been thrown on his own resources, and these he had found sufficient, unaided by either wealth or rank, to conduct him to both riches and honours, while he had the additional happiness of thinking that the acquisition of these would be the work of his own hands-the proudest and most gratifying of

all reflections.

Amongst the influential friends whom Mr Donoghoe

was in the habit of visiting at this period, was Lord Y
a nobleman possessed of every good quality which can
adorn human nature, and who took the warmest interest
in the fortunes of Mr Donoghoe. Here the latter was
introduced to a Miss Delamere, a young lady of amiable
disposition, of great good sense and beauty, and who was,
by a singular coincidence, in so far as regarded their
meeting, heir-at-law to the Glenthorn estate. An in-
timacy followed the introduction, which soon afterwards
ended in the marriage of the parties.

has much more to do.

In the first place, there is not one word of truth, and hardly any trace of even natural probability, in the narrative of the Eneid. The object of the poem was to give the most agreeable shape to the self-flatter ing fables which the Romans cherished respecting their origin as a nation; as if some poet of the present day were to attempt to compose a volume of fine heroics out of those exploded chronicles which trace the British to the Roman Brutus, and represent the Scottish monarchy as founded in the time of Alexander the Great. No existing author could now make such an attempt, because the people know those chronicles to be false, and would not care for the subject-matter of them although they were true; but the Romans in the days of Virgil were ignorant enough to feel pride by In the meantime, Gienthorn castle was one continued a lying account of their origin, and, strange to say, scene of riot and vulgar dissipation. Poor Christy, as we we, though capable of despising such nonsense in reshall still call him, the best natured and most generous ference to ourselves, are still prostrate in veneration fellow in the world, had not sufficient prudence or strength of the nonsense of the Romans. The poem opens with of mind to conduct his own family; his wife filled the castle with tribes of her vagabond relations, and was hima profession on the part of the poet to sing the advenself carried every night to bed in a state of helpless intures of the hero Eneas, in the course of his voyage toxication; and to add to poor Christy's unhappiness, his from Troy, after its destruction by the Greeks, to the son "Johnny," for whose sake he had submitted to the shores of Italy, where he was destined to form those setmisfortune of becoming an earl, had, while in drink, set tlements from which the Romans derived their origin. fire to the curtains of his bed, and perished in the flames Fictitious as this person and all his adventures were, which ultimately consumed the whole castle, Unable they might have perhaps formed the material of a longer to bear with the miseries of his situation, Christy poem which should please the imagination, and even wrote to Mr Donoghoe, who had now assumed the name of Delamere as more euphonious, to inform him of what tion, to be in any case tolerable, must have probabiimprove the moral faculties of the reader. But fichad happened. This letter, which was throughout highly lity which the Eneid has not. characteristic of the writer, thus concluded-"I write this ning, a fabulous deity called Juno, represented as the At the very beginto beg you, being married, of which I give you joy, to Miss Delatnere, that is the hare-at-law, will take possesqueen of heaven, and as a personage of very savage sion of all immediately, for I am as good as dead, and will and revengeful temper, comes forward as the direcgive no hindrance. I will go back to my forge, and, by tress of the whole series of events. Being anxious to the help of God, forget at my work what has passed; patronise a new African settlement called Carthage, and as to my wife, she inay go to her own kith and kin, and learning that this was decreed to be eventually if she will not abide by me. I shall not trouble her long; overthrown by a race derived from Troy-remembermay the blessing of God attend you, and come to reigning, moreover, that the Trojan Paris had insulted her over us again, when you will find me, as heretofore, your by preferring the beauty of Venus to her own-fell loyal foster-brother, CHRISTY DONOGHOE." Juno repairs to Eolus, the god of the winds, whom 'Glenthorn castle is now rebuilding," adds Mr Dela- she requests to raise such a tempest in the Meditermere to the memoir which he all but concludes with the ranean as will be sure to destroy the fleet of Eneas; letter above quoted, "and when it is finished, and when for which service she promises him one of her maids I return thither, I will, if it should be desired by the pub- of honour as a wife. The deity immediately hurls a lic, give a faithful account of my feelings. I flatter my- lance at the cave in which he keeps his winds, and lets self that I shall not relapse into indolence; my underthem forth through the rent, so that in a very short standing has been cultivated; I have acquired a taste for while a dreadful tempest arises, by which one ship is literature; and the example of Lord Y-convinces me sunk and the rest dispersed. Neptune, however, the that a man may at once be rich and noble, and active and happy." god of the sea, hears in his residence at the bottom the uproar that is going on above, and, indignant at an unauthorised storm, scolds the winds and smooths the ocean, and is even so kind as to send a few Tritons to push the vessels off the sandanks on which they

He had therefore now, by the mere force of his own talents, combined with extraordinary industry and perseverance, and by the exercise of his natural faculties, fairly surmounted all the difficulties and disadvantages of his

had stuck. The Trojans then get ashore on the coast of Lybia, but in a very distressed condition.

Venus, the goddess of beauty, who is represented as the mother of Eneas, now comes in tears before her father Jupiter, and complains of the mischief which his spouse was working against her son; in counteraction, too, she alleged, of a heavenly decree formerly issued in favour of Eneas. Jupiter consoles his fair daughter, and sends his messenger Mercury to procure a. favourable reception for Æneas at the court of Carthage. Venus then puts on the disguise of a huntress, and throws herself in the way of her son, as he wanders with his friend Achates on the Lybian coast. She represents herself as a member of the Carthaginian community, recently planted in the neighbourhood by Dido, a Tyrian princess, who had fled from her native city in consequence of the murder of her husband by her brother Pygmalion. To this princess she desires him to go with his com panion, and, to prevent all obstruction by the way, she envelopes them in a cloud impervans to mortal eyes. At the same time, and by the same supernatu ral direction, his Trojans approach the town, where all are welcomed with the greatest hospitality by Queen Dido. In sober historic truth, Dido (or rather Elissa, which was her real name) lived three hundred years after the presumed era of the fabulous Eneas, and, what may be new to some of our readers, stood in the relation of aunt to the Jezebel of scripture; but an anachronism like this, though it could not be tolerated supernatural agency is called upon to develope almost in modern fiction, forms but a trifling objection where every event. The Carthaginian queen gives the Tro jans a grand feast, during which she fondles Ascanius, the son of Æneas, in her lap. Venus, however, who foresaw this little occurrence, had taken care to substitute for Ascanius, her emissary Cupid, the god of love, who takes the opportunity to inspire the queen with an ardent passion for the Trojan hero. At the close of the feast, Dido requests her guest to give a relation of all his adventures up to the period of his arrival in her dominions.

pied by this relation, which comprehends as many abThe second and third books of the Eneid are occuhow the city of Troy was taken, after a ten years' siege, surdities as any other part of the poem. Eneas tells by the stratagem of a wooden horse, containing warriors, being introduced through the walls; a story full of superstitious absurdities, and in point of fact totally incredible. The hero was himself informed of the fate of the city by the ghost of Hector, which appears to him in his sleep, and after assuring him that he should become the founder of a new Troy in other lands, brings him the statues of the gods from the temple, to be carried away by him and reinstated in that settlement. He escapes through the burning and ravaged streets, with his father Anchises on his back, and his son Ascanius led in his hand; but Creusa, his wife, who walked by his side, was lost by the way, and perished. He then builds a fleet, and with a con altar, and wishing to overshade it with green boughs, siderable party arrives in Thrace. Here erecting an he pulls up a tree, and to his horror sees blood gush from the wounded ground. While wondering at this prodigy, he is informed by a voice that the blood is that of his brother-in-law Polydore, who had been murdered and buried here. After atoning for his unintentional offence by the erection of a tomb over the spot, he sails to Delos, and asks the oracle of that island what place the gods had appointed for his habi tation. By a mistake of the oracle's answer, he settles in Crete; but his household gods give him the true sense of the response in a dream, and he immediately sets sail for Italy. Landing upon the Strophades in the Ionian sea, the Trojans attempt to make a dinner out of the native flocks, but, when preparing to fall to, are invaded by a flight of loathsome supernatural creatures called harpies, with the faces of women and the bodies of birds, which steal their meat. After a vain attempt to repel these unwelcome visitors by the sword, Eneas is informed by one of them, that, for his making war on the harpies, he and his companions should hereafter experience such famine as would cause them to eat their very dishes. He of Trojans settled under the government of a Trojan next touches at Chaonia, where he finds another party ceives some prophetic information respecting his fu prince, and from the latter, who is also a priest, reture voyages. In sailing for the Italian shore, he sees on the coast of Sicily a troop of Cyclops, colossal giants with one eye each, who endeavour to destroy his fleet. His father Anchises dies and is buried in Sicily. The narrative then concludes with an allusion to his being driven by a tempest upon the coast of Africa, where he now was.

Dido is next represented as suffering under a consuming passion for the Trojan stranger, which Juno becomes anxious to see indulged, as it promises to detain Æneas from his course, and to make her favoured Lybia, instead of Italy, the seat of that universal empire of which the Trojan was destined to be the founder. She therefore co-operates with her rival Venus to bring about a match between the pair, and for this purpose contrives a stratagem, which we cannot permit ourselves to describe. Eneas, lost to all recollection of his high destiny, now sits down idly in Carthage, and seems inclined to go no farther, when a neighbouring king, Iarbas, who had sought the hand of Dido in vain, takes it upon him through spite to acquaint Jupiter with what was going on, and

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