Of course, our extracts give but an imperfect view of this lively little piece, and we can but recommend our readers to turn to it for themselves. It is a production, as has been said, of no great pretensions, but pleasing and healthy-toned. The author has inscribed it, in some rather quaint lines, to the queen.

A

A QUEER CASE FOR THE LAW. IN 1838, M. le Baron de Cormann, an opulent German noble, inhabited the chateau of his ancestors, situated in the environs of Weïma. An excellent sportsman, and a redoubted smoker, the baron was at the same time one of the ugliest mortals Germany ever produced. Notwithstanding this circumstance, he was an admirer of beauty in others, and conceived a lively passion for Mademoiselle de Reischberg, daughter of a neighbouring castellane, whose antique domicile constituted nearly his whole property. formal demand of the lady's hand was made by the baron, and the father, delighted with the prospect of such a match, hastened to give the suitor an assurance of his assent and best wishes. It was not so, however, with the young lady, who, herself endowed with extraordinary charms, could not endure the looks of the baron, and had, besides, long ago given away her heart to one of her cousins, a handsome cavalier, in contrast with whom the baron made a very sorry figure. On this account the assiduities of the latter, and the commands of the father, produced no effect. Mademoiselle de Reischberg conclusively declared that she would never give her hand to any man so thoroughly ugly as the Baron de Cormann.

One evening she was tempted, by new intreaties on the part of the suitor, to repeat the preceding declaration even more energetically than before. The downcast baron afterwards wended his way home. He sat down by his blazing fire, called for a pipe and ale; and, betwixt the curling whiffs from his only source of consolation, he exclaimed passionately-"I would give myself to the Old One himself to be as good-looking as that confounded cousin!" In his energy the baron-who, it will soon be pretty evident, was something of a simpleton-spoke aloud; indeed, he almost roared out the words. After the ejaculation, he smoked on vigorously, every blast-like puff giving indication of the storm within. How long he sat absorbed in this occupation, it is impossible for us to say; but certain it is, that when he laid down the pipe, and the fumes around slowly floated away, he saw before him, to his great surprise, an odd-looking personage, but black all over, in countenance and clothes. "You have been heard," said this personage; "sign this paper, and by to-morrow morning you shall be beautiful in the eyes of all the world, though unchanged in your own.'

Stupified-almost out of his senses-M. de Cormann sat staring without motion. "Sign !" repeated the figure; "I am never invoked in vain, and you shall find my words to hold good!" The thought of Mademoiselle de Reischberg crossed the baron's brain. Great was the temptation. He took the pen, and again hesitated, being in a state of unspeakable confusion of mind. Then, as if determined not to trust himself with reflection, he hurriedly signed the paper. The stranger lifted it, bowed, and disappeared. After this proceeding, which had taken place so rapidly that the baron had had scarcely time for connected thought, he sat in silent dreamy stupor through several long hours. With strange feelings he retired to bed, half afraid of the past, and half eager for the dawn, that he might prove the reality of the promised metamorphosis. Morning broke, and the baron arose. He dressed himself, and perceived no change in his appearance; but he had no sooner descended the staircase than the reality of a change was made manifest. Two servants stood in waiting, and the instant that they cast eyes on their master, they started back in great surprise. "Gracious powers! how much my lord is improved in looks! what a noble figure! how beautiful a countenance!" The baron's heart beat thick with exultation. He went out for further proof, bending his course to the mansion of M. de Reischberg, which was close to his

own.

Two men met him, and they, also, started to behold him. "How noble is my lord's figure!" cried one. "What a charming countenance !" cried the other; "surely he is much altered!"

These and such like ejaculations confirmed the baron in his impression of the reality of the metamorphosis; and he proceeded, without delay, to the house of M. de Reischberg. Here the crowning stroke was given to his triumph. Mademoiselle de Reischberg appeared equally surprised and enchanted with his form and looks. She seemingly could not conceal or restrain her admiration, and the handsome cousin appeared to be driven out of her thoughts at once by the new and irresistible charms of his rival. Striking while the iron was hot, the baron intreated her to reward his long devotion by consenting to be his. The lady hesitated-the cousin seemed to pass, for a last time, across her thoughts; but the baron pressed his request, and the lady gave her consent. In passing homewards on that happy day, the baron received additional though superfluous proofs of the change in his looks, from the remarks of various persons who came in his way. When before his own fire, a pipe and ale were again called for to heighten the delightful cast of the baron's ruminations. Long he smoked, gazing on the blaze; but

at length he laid down the pipe. Then did he first become sensible of a startling fact. His sable visiter of the preceding evening was again before him. "If you fulfil the intention you now entertain of leading Mademoiselle de Reischberg to the altar," said the stranger solemnly," you will die on its steps." As he spoke he disappeared."

The Baron de Cormann lay for a long time in a swoon after this fearful announcement. When he

regained his senses, and could reflect on what had passed, great was his vexation, and greater his terrors. He could not conceal from himself the fact, that, since his visiter had been able to fulfil one promise so effectually, the same being could not fail to fulfil with equal certainty the menace just made, or at least to foresee the future. He saw that the fiend, if fiend it were, had "paltered with him in a double sense,' but the evil was irremediable. Preferring life to every other consideration, the baron, ere long, took a decisive resolution. He wrote to the Reischbergs, announcing his altered resolutions respecting marriage, and, in short, declining the honour of the young lady's hand. On the following morning he jumped into his carriage, and drove off for Paris, after leaving precise orders with an agent to sell his chateau and property at Weïma without delay.

It was in the end of 1838 that the Baron de Cormann reached Paris, where he took a handsome hotel in the Rue Dominique. A month or two after his settlement there, he was presented with an accept ance of his own for 120,000 franes, purporting to have been granted by him while in Germany, and a demand was made upon him for payment of the same. The holder of the acceptance, and the requester of payment, was the already-mentioned handsome cousin of Mademoiselle de Reischberg, now become her husband.

The baron was struck dumb by this demand. Never, in the course of his life, was he aware of having signed any such obligation either to the nominal holder of the one before him, or to any person else. Yet he could not deny that the handwriting of the presented bill was his own; it was certainly his signature. Nevertheless, in the consciousness that he really owed no such debt, he refused payment. Immediately afterwards, he went to consult an acute legal friend. After relating the circumstance to that gentleman, and repeating his confident assurance that he never signed, to his knowledge, the obligation in question, though unquestionably his signature was there, the lawyer asked if he never, while in Germany, signed any paper without knowing its contents? The baron thought for an instant, and blushed for his folly. The remembrance of his strange visitant came across his mind with all the attendant circumstances. He compelled himself to tell his legal friend the whole affair.

indemnified the enterprising publishers. Yet the latter was one of the most popular books of its day, and the former are, to a certain extent, still standard works. It is only works of imagination that can by any chance maintain their popularity with successive ages. Every moral science, if he be worth any thing, opens the way thinker in the department of history or of physical and for others to go beyond him. The business of the mass of men is with results: a few curious inquirers may like to look back and trace the progress by which knowledge has come to be what it is, or a few men of leisure may have a taste for contemplating skilful investigation without reference to what it leads to; but by far the greater number care only for the knowledge they can turn to practical account: they seek for compendiums which contain this knowledge, and leave to the curious few to study and admire the profound thinkers who have contributed to their discovery. And even with regard to Homer, Shakspeare, and Dante, are felt by all ages, are works of imagination, those which, like the works of few-scarce one in a century; while of the inferior class, worthy of attention, yet not rising much above the average level, each age produces enough to amuse its idle hours, and prefers those who talk about things that interest it in the language with which it is familiar, to those who speak of out-of-date topics in an antiquated style. There is no doubt that the trade of literature is a poor one; but there is just as little doubt that, for the great mass of those who pursue it, an eternal copyright would not in the smallest degree mend the matter. And, on the other hand, it is questionable whether great geniuses need its assistance. Shakspeare turned his talents to about whom such a rout is made, had he husbanded his account; so did Pope; and as for Sir Walter Scott, earnings with the slightest degree of judgment, he would have died a wealthy man. Burns and others only suffered by the law of nature, to which all--the genius and the

fool-must alike submit. And as for Wordsworth, if a man sets out by telling the public, I will not give you what you like, but what you ought to like,' this is magnanimous, doubtless, but it is somewhat unreasonable to ask at once for the reputation of the austere self-denying sage and the money reward of the courtier."

THE "IMMENSE CONCERN" MANIA.

It is a prevailing insanity among shopkeepers of the present day to be at the head of an immense concern, and it is a malady which, in almost every case, finishes with a fatal result, not only to the individual who is the immediate object of the complaint, but to those who may happen to be bitten in the interim. It generally seizes the proprietors of linen-drapers' shops, and, like the bite of the tarantula, sets them cutting the most extraordinary capers, in the course of which they start off with a most lively gallop, and conclude with a pas, not of the most graceful kind, in the Court of Bankruptcy. and the disease first develops itself into a strong itching An immense concern generally begins in a single house, to take the next door, which, when once accomplished, is soon followed by an eccentric resolution to add the words" and Co." to the name of the proprietor. The next stage is an eruption of large placards conveying incoThe acute lawyer saw through the mystery at once. herent hints about "giving away," "selling under prime The baron had been ugly at Weïma, he was ugly at cost," and other unaccountable acts of generosity which Paris, and he had never been aught but ugly anywhere. the patient professes to practice; while, by degrees, he The handsome cousin had so suborned his domestics grows bolder in the tone of his tickets, and sundry comas to acquire a knowledge of every movement, even of modities are placed under the public eye, inscribed with every word of the baron, in his own establishment; and mysterious allusions to "an alarming sacrifice." The being near the spot, perhaps in the house, on the even-breaking out upon the goods shortly flies to the windows ing of the baron's rash ejaculation respecting a change themselves, which are soon covered with enormous postof personal appearance, he had taken advantage of the ing bills, in which the words "Extensive Failure" are circumstance, when it was reported to him, to victi- extremely conspicuous; and there is a desperate effort mise de Cormann in a double and truly diabolical way, street, with a printed invitation to the public to "Look to arrest attention by thrusting goods almost into the By the connivance of the treacherous servants, and at this," and a most uncalled-for allusion to the "distress one or two other persons, Mademoiselle de Reisch- of the Spitalfields weavers." The disease now becomes berg included, the poor baron had been thoroughly convulsive; enormous piles of drugget are deposited outimposed upon, and, in some respects, he was not un- side the shop, in bold defiance of the Paving Act; carpets deserving of it, seeing that he credulously consented dangle from the upper storeys; blankets float in the air, to attempt success in his suit by such means as those and pieces of calico flutter in the breeze; while straw described. The conspirator of a cousin, it is probable, bonnets are dashed recklessly into the window, with an imagined that the baron would pay the sum rather intimation that there is a choice of 25,000 all at a price than incur the ridicule of a full disclosure. not even worth mentioning. Blocks are dressed up in cloaks to look like customers; dresses that have been lying in the wareroom since last year are labelled as "quite new, and just imported." Every thing is marked at an dent, there is not a ticket but what has slipped from one astounding moderate price; but, by some strange accithing to another if any one wants to purchase the labelled article. After these very active symptoms, the disease comes to a termination; the immense concern dies a natural death, and the proprietor amuses the public by a series of candid confessions to the commissioner of bankruptcy, or gratifies a spirit of enterprise by "bolting" to America. Glasgow paper.

The affair, says our French authority, came to a trial, and a celebrated Parisian advocate was engaged for the baron, the note for 120,000 francs being lodged, in the interval, in the safe hands of Messrs Rothschild. We regret that we have heard nothing of the issue of the case, and can only hope that the law prevented the poor credulous baron from being ultimately tricked out of his money by the unscrupulous young lady and her cousin. The moral seems to be-never sign any document of whose purport you are not fully acquainted.

EXPECTATIONS FROM THE COPYRIGHT ACT.

The "Spectator" describes these as exaggerated. "Because," says he, "Milton got a small sum for his 'Paradise Lost,' and the demand for the work has gone on to increase from age to age, every scribbler whose book proves a failure dreams he can gain by a prolongation of the period of copyright. How many of the thousands of works annually published will be worth the expense of reprinting them a dozen years hence? Making allowance for the less numerous population of the country, the book-press worked as busily about the middle of last century as it does now. Cave's Magazine had a circulation of 30,000; the successive impressions of Richardson's novels were devoured with as much eagerness as those of the Waverley Novels in our days; ephemeral and dead-born publications jostled each other as they fell from the press, just as they do now. How many are now remembered? How many of these would be reprinted if the publishers had to pay a tribute to heirs of their authors for leave to print them? Robertson's histories, Roscoe's Lorenzo de Medici,' have been reprinted in cheap forms, and have not, as we are informed,

PUBLIC HEALTH IN A TIME OF PRIVATION.

The following paragraph appeared early in June in the Glasgow Courier. If right in facts and inferences, it affords most important matter of reflection:--"It gives us much pleasure to learn that, notwithstanding the wantof employment by the working-classes, and the almost unparalleled amount of destitution which has consequently prevailed for some time past amongst a certain portion of the community, the state of the public health was hardly ever in a more satisfactory condition than at present, since the city contained anything like the same extent of population. Such a state of things must be peculiarly gratifying, particularly when it is considered that we have all along been led to believe that the periodical destitution of a portion of the poorer classes was the principal cause which gave rise to typhus fever, &c., which, spreading from one class to another, not unfre

quently became a general scourge. Strong evidence, how

ever, is at present afforded that neither typhus fever nor any other contagious disease is necessarily a concomitant of great poverty amongst a portion of the community; and while we acknowledge the goodness of providence in thus alleviating and making less intolerable the ills

which flesh is heir to,' we think we can discover in surrounding circumstances the causes which have been in operation in producing the present very gratifying state of the public health. April, May, and June, up to this date, have been remarkable for the small number of patients either treated by the district surgeons or sent to the Royal Infirmary. Something of this may be attributed to the excellent weather which the country has enjoyed during that period; but we feel quite confident that it has been far more the result of the poor being supplied with a regular, though limited, amount of victuals from the soup kitchen and otherwise, and to the necessity which compelled many of them to abstain from the inordinate use of ardent spirits, than to any other cause whatever. When prosperity returns, therefore, and the working-classes generally are again placed in a condition to support themselves, we trust that the present experience will not be thrown away, and that more money will be spent by them on good wholesome food, and less on what causes so much misery, disease, and death."

PROTECTION OF LAND FROM STORMS. [From the Gardeners' Chronicle.]

·

Few things are of greater importance to those who live ⚫ in bleak situations, or on the coast, than to know in what way they may best break the force of the prevailing winds. Belts of wood are generally resorted to, and when they can be formed, they are the best kind of defence; but the difficulty is to obtain them. Many persons are to be found in these islands who, after incurring considerable expense in the attempt, have been obliged to abandon it as hopeless. In Mr Stephens's "Book of the Farm," of which we have on former occasions spoken as a most valuable work, full of interesting practical information, is an account of a method of protecting bleak situations effectually, which will certainly be interesting, and probably will be new to our readers; and which, by permission of the proprietors of that work, we have been able to introduce into our pages. The excellent remarks of the author render any addition on our part superfluous :"That a fence affords shelter," says Mr Stephens, "must be a fact cognisant to every one. Feel the warmth of a walled garden-the calm felt under the walls of even a ruin compared to the howling blast around-observe the forward grass, in early spring, on the south side of a hedge compared to that on its other side-and listen to the subdued tone of the wind under a shed to its boisterous noise heard in the open air. Sensibly felt as all these instances of shelter are, they are but isolated cases. In more extended spheres, cottages stand in a calm in the midst of a forest, come the wind from whatever quarter it may. Farm-steadings lie snug under the lee side of a hill. Whole farms are unaffected by wind when embayed amidst encircling hills; and be the shelter, therefore, great or small, the advantages derived from it are sensibly felt. As one instance of the benefits of shelter afforded by even a low wall to a park, from the cutting effects of the sea air, I give a sketch to show you its effects better than words can convey. The wall and the wood next it are of the same height, but a few yards only inwards; the wood rises to a considerable height, and this is effected by a very simple contrivance; namely, the peculiar form of the cope of the wall. It is raised like an isosceles triangle, by which the wind, when it beats against its side, is reflected upwards into the air at the same angle. Had the cope been flat, the blast would have cut off the tops

of the trees in a horizontal direction. But without the wood such a form of coping would afford similar shelter. Suppose land exposed on the top of a high coast, where the wind generally sweeps along the surface of the ground, injuring every plant it blows against by a momentum acquired in passing over miles of ocean--were a wall built on the top of the crag, at such a distance from its brow, and of such a height, and with such an angle to its cope, as would deflect the wind upwards, it would cause the wind to have lost most of its momentum before it again reached the ground. Such a wall, or such a belt of wood, or such a plantation without a wall, if projected on a large scale, and planted near the top of a sloping precipice, or other rising ground, would shelter a large extent of country against the prevailing winds. Were such barriers placed in lines, in suitable places, across the country, not only its local but its general climate would be greatly ameliorated.

Instances are not wanting to show the usefulness of such barriers. Even within the experience of the present generation, shelter has been found to amend the climate and increase the crops of particular parts of the country. As instances of wall shelter, the garden of the Earl of Lauderdale at Dunbar, and the plantations, along the seaside, of the Earl of Wemyss at Gosford, both in East Lothian, afford good examples. In the latter instance a coped wall has afforded so perfect a shelter to the plantations, that, at the distance of from twenty to thirty yards, the forest trees are scarcely affected by the seabreeze, on ground which formerly produced nothing of higher growth than sweet-brier and whins. The garden of Mr Traill of Woodwick, at Kirkwall, Orkney, affords another remarkable instance of the benefits of wallshelter. But the benefits derived from plantations are far more extensive and important, not only in affording shelter, but in improving poor land. Previous to the division of the common moor of Methven (in Perthshire) in 1793,' says Mr Thomas Bishop, the venerable Lord Lynedoch and Lord Methven had each secured their lower slopes of land adjoining the moor with belts of plantation. The year following I entered Lord Methven's service, and in 1798 planted about sixty acres of the higher moor ground, valued at two shillings per acre, for shelter to eighty or ninety acres set apart for cultivation, and let in three divisions to six individuals. The progress made in improving the land was very slow for the first fifteen years, but thereafter went on rapidly, being aided by the shelter derived from the growth of the plantations; and the whole has now become fair land, bearing annually crops of oats, barley, peas, potatoes, and turnips; and in spring, 1833, exactly forty years from the time of putting down the said plantation, I sold four acres of larch and

fir (average growth) standing therein for L.220, which, with the value of reserved trees, and average amount per acre of thinnings sold previously, gave a return of L.67 per acre.' In some situations trees will afford better shelter than stone walls, the latter being most available near the sea side in warding off the blighting effects of the sea breeze. On the summit of Shotley Fell, sixteen miles west of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Mr Burnet, of Shotley Bridge, enclosed 400 acres of moorland with high stone walls, and he cropped the ground in an easy manner for the soil. The land was thus kept in good heart; but the soil being very poor, stock advanced but little, and consequently the land would not have let for above sixpence an acre even under the best management, and after all that had been done for it; but the centre part of each field was then put within a plantation, and the improvement which followed was surprising."

RAILROAD TRANSPORTATION.

We copy the following from a New York newspaper:-"Three thousand wild pigeons, from Michigan, arrived in this city, on the 25th instant, alive, over the Western Railroad. One thousand five hundred bushels of wheat were last week bought in New York city, carried up the North River to Greenbush, and thence sent to Sutton, near Worcester, over the Western Railroad. We understand that the Western Railroad are about preparing refrigeratory cars, in which fresh beef, pork, veal, poultry, pigeons, venison, wild game, and other fresh in the heat of summer, and in which (in winter) they can meat can, by a moderate quantity of ice, be kept in order be kept from freezing; thereby, in either case, adding

much to the value of the article when carried to market.

These refrigerator cars will be used, for the like advantables, cheese, lemons, oranges, strawberries, and all tageous purpose, to carry eggs, butter, lard, fish, vegeberries, and fruits, and roots-being a mode of transportation of great value for nice delicacies which bear a good price. We also learn that it is contemplated in twelve hours, through from Albany to Boston, and these refrigerator cars shall go with the passenger trains shall be placed between the tender and passenger cars, giving additional security to the passengers in case of accident. If our Michigan and Ohio friends will put in refrigeratory cars the fresh meat and the wild game they intend for this market, they can send their cars to Buffalo on the lakes; and from Buffalo to Greenbush, partly by railroad and partly by canal, or wholly by the Erie Canal. Then from Greenbush, it can come to Boston quickly and in perfect order, the moment the system now proposed is perfected. In like way, a chowder of fresh Massachusetts cod-fish will be obtained at Chicago.

car.

It may be asked, 'What is a refrigerator car?' It is simply a common car, with a hole at the bottom, which you stop by a sponge, that sponge allowing the water to drop down, while it impedes the air coming up into the Then you have four inches of powdered charcoal on the sides, and top, and bottom of the car, compactly between the two boards, which form each of the sides, as well as the top and the bottom. In fact, it is only necessary to imitate the refrigerator, which is used in Boston, in families, and is sold by Kittridge and Blake. If it is said that it will be difficult to make so large a refrigerator as an eight-wheel car will be, we need only reply, that the ice-houses at Fresh Pond are, in fact, large refrigerators, and that some of them are large enough to contain 8000 tons of ice, and have kept ice from melting for a whole year, and longer too.

hold of the ship as to make it virtually a large refrigeraIn sending a cargo of ice to Calcutta, we so arrange the tor; and we do this so efficiently, that, crossing the equator twice on her passage, and being for a long time in the warm water and under the burning sun between the tropics, she yet loses very little of her cargo. Barrels from Boston in the most perfect order, and command a of apples, kept cool in this refrigerator, arrive at Calcutta great price."

[This is all remarkably enterprising, and very wonderful; but one standing at this cool distance may be permitted to ask, Whether the thing is to be done with real or borrowed capital? The imprudence of our transatlantic brethren in plunging into all sorts of schemes of improvement, without first working for the money to at throughout Europe.] carry them into execution, is causing them to be laughed

CUNNING OF A LUNATIC.

me."

"Indeed," said the overseer; "I should like to have a walk myself after breakfast; perhaps you will go with The lunatic assented; and after breakfast they set out, the overseer leading the way towards the asylum, intending to deliver his charge; but it never occurred to him to examine whether his order was safe. When they got within sight of the asylum, the lunatic exclaimed, What a fine house this is!" "Yes," said the overseer; "I should like to see the inside of it." "So should 1," observed the lunatic. "Well," said the other, "I daresay that they will let us look through: however, I'll ask." They went to the door; the overseer rang the bell, and the keeper, whom the lunatic had previously seen, made his appearance with two or three assistants. The overseer then began to fumble in his pockets for the order, when the lunatic produced it and gave it to the keeper, saying, "This is the man I spoke to you about; you will take care of him, shave his head, and put a strait waistcoat upon him." The men immediately laid hands upon the poor overseer, who vociferated loudly that the other was the madman and he the keeper; but as this only seemed to confirm the story previously told by the lunatic, it did not at all tend to procure his liberation. He was taken away, and became so very obstreperous, that a strait waistcoat was speedily put upon him, and his head was shaved secundum artem. Meanwhile the lunatic walked deliberately back to the inn, paid the reckoning, and set out on his journey homeward. The good people were of course not a little surprised on finding the wrong man return: they were afraid that the lunatic in a fit of frenzy had murdered the overseer; and they asked him with great trepidation what he had done I left him at Lancaster Asylum raving mad," which, inwith -?"Done with him," said the madman; why, deed, was not very far from truth, for the wits of the poor overseer were well nigh overset by his unexpected detention and subsequent treatment. Farther inquiry was forthwith made, and it was ascertained that the man was actually in the asylum. A magistrate's order was prohandkerchief tied round his head, in lieu of the covering cured for his liberation, and he returned home with a which nature had bestowed upon it.-Flowers of Anecdote.

THE WEALTH OF ENGLAND.

gine that the riches of England are derived from and deIt is a common error in this country (America) to imapendent upon her commerce; and the influence of this great mistake is shown in the many wild suppositions that have been hazarded, touching the effects of our commercial and financial difficulties upon the financial and political condition of the wonderful little island. The truth is, that the merchants of England, with all their great capital and vast extent of operations, hold but a very small portion of the riches existing in that country; and this can be made apparent by a few simple considerations. Look at the squirearchy, for instance; the thousands and thousands of country gentlemen, with their comfortable incomes of three, or five, or ten thousand pounds per annum, derived exclusively from the soil, and the enormous fortunes of the nobility.

Estimate, if it can be estimated, the immense amount of treasure in the country, existing in the form of plate and jewels. Why, at a single dinner given in London, on million and a half of dollars was exhibited at once, all the 18th June, gold and silver plate to the amount of a the property of one individual-the Duke of Wellington. This celebrated personage could have relieved from all their difficulties all three of the great American houses which have been compelled to stop, simply by turning labra, without diminishing his income one farthing; and over to them his dishes and tureens, vases, and candethere are fifty ladies in London, any one of whom could have put Messrs Brown & Co. in ample funds for all emergencies, merely by making them a present of her diamonds.

Without taking the crown jewels into the account, it is no doubt susceptible of proof, that in London alone there are gold and silver plate and jewels to the amount of two hundred millions of dollars, and it must be remembered that mighty as London is, the wealth of the kingdom in wrought gold and silver is very far from being centred the castles and country seats of the nobility, such as there. An immense quantity of it is scattered among Alnwick Castle, Blenheim, Chatsworth, Belvoir, Woburn Abbey, Bowood, and a hundred others which we could name, and among the lovely mansions of the country gentlemen, with which the whole surface is dotted by thousands. Think of the libraries and galleries, the immense and almost priceless collections of pictures and statues, and costly works of art, in which no country in the world is but an item of comparatively trifling magnitude. The is richer. Why, the whole mercantile wealth of England non-payment of debt, if it were not paid, which, thank Heaven, it soon will be, so far from inflicting a mortal blow felt or thought of, except as a handy theme for a sarupon the prosperity of the kingdom, would never be casm, now and then directed against republican honesty and honour. The fortune of the Duke of Bedford, or

Northumberland, or Devonshire, would clear the whole of it, and nobody but his grace be a farthing the poorer. From a New York Paper.

SELF-ESTEEM PIQUED.

A very laughable incident occurred at the lunatic asylum at Lancaster some years ago. A parish officer from the neighbourhood of Middleton took a lunatic to the asylum, pursuant to an order signed by two magistrates. As the man was respectably connected, a gig was hired for the purpose, and he was persuaded that it was merely an excursion of pleasure on which he was going. In the course of the journey, however, something occurred to arouse the suspicions of the lunatic with respect to his real destination; but he said nothing on the subject, made no resistance, and seemed to enjoy his jaunt. When they arrived at Lancaster, it was too late in the evening to proceed to the asylum, and they took up their quarters for the night at an inn. Very early in the morning the lunatic got up, and searched the pockets of the officer, where he found the magistrate's order for his own detention, which of course let him completely into the secret. With that cunning which madmen not unfrequently display, he made the best of his way to the asylum, saw one of the keepers, and told him that he had got a sad mad fellow down at Lancaster, whom he should bring up in the course of the day, adding, He's a very queer fellow, and has got very odd ways. For instance, I should not wonder if he was to say I was the madman, and that he was bringing me; but you must take care of him, and not believe a word he says." The keeper of course promised compliance, and the lunatic walked back to the inn, where he found the overseer still fast asleep. He awoke him, and they sat down to break-publishers or their agents; also, any odd numbers to complete fast together. "You're a very lazy fellow to be lying in bed all day. I have had a good long walk this morning."

between confidence and conceit. Nelson, when young, Success seems to be that which forms the distinction was piqued at not being noticed in a certain paragraph of the newspapers which detailed an action wherein he had assisted. "But never mind," said he, "I will one day have a gazette of my own."-Lacon.

LONDON: Published, with permission of the proprietors, by W. S. ORE, Paternoster Row.

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NUMBER 552.

KNOW BEFORE YOU SPEAK. AMONGST the petty dishonesties of common life, there are some more hurtful, but perhaps none more paltry, than that of pretending to know where one is ignorant. It is a fault into which many not ill-meaning persons are drawn, from a false shame which would probably be checked if any immediate evil consequences seemed likely to flow from it. They dislike to appear at a loss, or defeated, or under a short-coming, about anything; and thus are tempted either to affect knowledge where they have it not, or in some way to allow it to be supposed that they are not ignorant. For example, some one adverts to a fact in science with which he is familiar. Perhaps it is brought forward for the instruction or entertainment of the rest-perhaps to show his own knowledge-perhaps only in the fair course of conversation: no matter how it may be in this respect-the point at present in question is the want of candour in the persons whom he is addressing, in hearing as if they understood that and all the related facts, putting on an intelligent look, assenting to the proposition as if convinced of its soundness, and perhaps even hazarding some remarks that may favour the supposition of their being as well informed on the subject as the first speaker. Or perhaps a passage of a classic or foreign author is quoted-pedantically or otherwise it matters not-what we have to remark is the unconscientiousness of the rest of the company, or of particular members of it, in letting the thing pass as an intelligible part of the discourse, and appearing to sanction its appositeness, when, in reality, they are either altogether ignorant of the language in which it is written, or have been unable to follow the sense of the passage with any degree of clearness. Another class of cases are those in which particular unconnected facts, such as are found in almanacs, chronological tables, and geographical dictionaries, are referred to, when too often there is an observable anxiety to speak or look as if we were not now, or had not recently been, ignorant of the special point under notice; even the mention of some distantly connected fact being felt as a protection against the supposition of entire ignorance-as, for instance, when the point in question is the name of the remarkable mountain in Ceylon, to state that you knew very intimately a cousin of the gentleman who wrote the last book about the island. All these are offences against good taste much within the range of that last and worstthe active and unprompted bluster of one who talks of what he does not understand. This grand offence is far beyond our hopes of correction; but we think that a few remarks on the comparatively negative instances of the error above described, may be attended with a good effect.

When any rational and well-meaning person feels himself tempted into such courses, let him only consider how absurd it is to suppose that there can be any real disgrace in being ignorant of any particular fact whatever. Science is a vast field-so is learning-insomuch that there can be no man in existence acquainted with the whole of either. The most eminent in both scientific knowledge and in learning know only a part, and are liable to be found ignorant of much. This is well known and universally acknowledged. When, therefore, any ordinary person is found unacquainted with some particular fact, or even with some entire science, or some whole language, there is no reason why he should be deemed a generally ignorant man. It may be presumed that, if he is ignorant of one thing, he is conversant with another, as is the case with the most eminent students; and thus he may pass very well, though openly acknowledging

that on the point in question he is blank as a newborn babe. These considerations apply with particular force to the last of the above classes of cases. The knowledge is there of a kind which no rational person attempts to make himself master of. It is rather discreditable, in some little measure, to be too well read in such facts. And how well may a man fulfil his duties in the world, and how well informed may he be in what is useful and serviceable, although he does not know one fact in the topography of Ceylon. If these considerations fail, let us only reflect for a moment on the disgrace of being detected in an attempt to conceal ignorance. There is a story of Sheridan having once apparently quoted a passage from a Greek poet in the House of Commons, when in reality he only uttered a gabble resembling Greek. An honourable gentleman, who spoke after him, fully assented to the application of the passage to the case in question. How ineffably ridiculous must that man have appeared when Sheridan disclosed the trick! This is a dishonour to which every one is exposed, who in any way, however slight or negative, affects to appear knowing where he is ignorant.

The practice is also to be regarded as very injurious to conversation. Indeed, when one remembers how much of the time of most social assemblages is occupied in the vapourings of those who would fain be thought knowing, or in worrying down the assertions hazarded by ignorant effrontery, or in allowing those who know nothing on the point in question to speak of something else not called for, merely that they may seem to know something-and when he contrasts this uninstructive jabber with the comparatively wellauthenticated statements to be found in books-he might almost be tempted to think that a page well read is worth a whole evening of ordinary conversation. Perhaps it would really be so, if there were not in conversation a gratification to a different part of the mental nature, the social feelings, and also an excitement which occasionally scintillates new and original ideas, and leads to profitable trains of thought and inquiry for the future.

Speaking vaguely in ignorance, and then defending what has been said, is another of the great banes of conversation in all except highly accomplished circles; and I have often wished for the presence of some one who, having committed a whole encyclopædia, almanac, and ready-reckoner, to his mind, would be able to correct all wide and false speaking, and thus check long endless discussions in the outset. I once witnessed the good effects of such a monitor, in the course of an excursion in an Irish steamer. Some young men were delivering their ideas about a variety of matters in the usual loose way, and one of them at length remarked of the pyramids, that they were so very high that he verily believed the Wicklow bills were a joke to them.

"I should think not," said a solemn, quiet-looking "The pyramids are known to be very much less than the Wicklow mountains."

man.

"And did you ever see the pyramids, then?" "No, sir."

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while the Wicklow hills, being of a swelling form, must, in proportion to height, give more solid contents."

Here was one assertion of loud ignorance completely put down. But another was not long wanting. "What sad accounts these are for the ladies!" remarked one of the young men ; " I mean the accounts which are published of the greater number of women than men in our principal cities, as ascertained by the late census."

"What can it be owing to ?" inquired another.

"Why, I suppose it must be owing to a vast number of men being taken away as emigrants, soldiers, and sailors, and to so many of them getting killed in battle and otherwise."

"I should rather think there must be more women born than men."

"Oh, not at all; the numbers must be equal at first, you know."

"I know nothing of the kind. There cannot be so very many men carried away to the colonies and the army. It must be owing to the greater number of girls born. Why, nearly every family I know has more girls than boys."

"Well, for my part, I cannot see how the sexes should not be equal at first."

"But they cannot be equal, I tell you," &c. Thus commenced a dispute which was kept up stoutly on both sides for a quarter of an hour, without one particle of real information on either; when at length one of the contending parties asked the solemn man if he did not think his view of the question right.

"No, I don't," said the solemn man; "neither of you is right. On the average of European countries, a hundred and six boys are born for every hundred girls. If, therefore, the two sexes had an equal chance of life, and remained in equal circumstances, there should be a preponderance of males to that extent. To account for the opposite being the case, we may chiefly look to the ascertained greater value of female than male life. A man at forty has the expectation of twenty-seven more years; but a woman of forty has the expectation of thirty-one years; and so on in proportion at other ages. The superiority of female to male life is partly, no doubt, owing to the comparative exemption of women from the severer hardships of life, and from warfare; but it is probably owing in most part to the superior adaptation of their constitutions to the existing general circumstances of society, as the excess of male mortality is greatest in infancy, the deaths of boys in the first year in Europe being as about four to three of girls, while even in still births the females have about the same advantage, the proportions there being as ten to fourteen."

It was of course pedantic to have so much out-ofthe-way knowledge at command; but its effect in the present case, in stopping short what would probably have been an incessant wrangle for the remainder of the voyage, made me truly thankful that the solemn man had chanced to be of our company. I am no advocate for all men being crammed with facts such as those which this individual could bring forth so

"But I have; and, I can tell you, the Wicklow readily; but it is surely no unreasonable demand that, hills are nothing at all beside them."

"I am sorry, sir," resumed the solemn man, "that I cannot join you in that opinion. Although I have not seen the pyramids, I know their measure by the accounts of the best authors. The largest is now fixed at five hundred and forty-three feet high. But the Wicklow hills are generally from two to three thousand feet. Besides, pyramids are only the one-third of prisms of equal base and height, and the solidity is as one-third of the area of the base by the height;

when men are totally ignorant of any subject, they will refrain from disputing about it-that, in short, they should know before they speak.

There are some doubtful branches of knowledge, which furnish a rich field for those who delight to speak, oracularly or otherwise, without the previous trouble of acquainting themselves with the subject. Such are phrenology and animal magnetism, respecting which there has been gathered just a sufficiency of facts to afford a probability and to stimulate to

kinds of dust; as, for instance, by our stone-masons, especially in Scotland, who "dress" in close places; or our Sheffield knife-grinders, and others. The vegetable origin of coal, and its consequent subjection to the laws of chemistry, seems to furnish a sufficient explanation of this. Pitmen are frequently known to keep their health wonderfully well while "working wet," although having to stand for hours in many inches or counted for when we look to the temperature of the a few feet of water-a result that may perhaps be acwater in many cases, to its saline impregnations, to its faculty of absorbing any noxious gases, and of promoting ventilation; to the exercise taken at the time, and, if we except the time of detention at the bottom of add, to the care with which the pitman washes, rubs, the shaft before being pulled up to "bank," we may and changes himself on getting home.

The principal diseases of pitmen are what medical men term functional, and are chiefly, of course, referable to the nervous system. Of these may be partiand indigestion (dyspepsia). The former affection is cularly mentioned difficulty of breathing (dyspnoea) usually but temporary, and yields to the application of known remedies; and the same might be affirmed of the latter, did not the patient too frequently protract the attack by wilfully transgressing all dietetic rules. A deficiency of moral courage has been alleged as a characteristic of pitmen; but this certainly is not their failing in respect to the dangers of the mine. In the painful hostilities, however, caused by one or two unhappy "strikes," they have given evidence of this infirmity, and have rendered themselves ridiculous by their agressive weakness.

further investigation, but not enough to convince the majority of philosophical minds. When a branch of knowledge is in this state, the speakers in ignorance have no mercy upon it. Facts are nothing to them, for they know nothing about facts. They only know that they are safe from the correction of the majority of enlightened minds in giving such subjects their ridicule. Without the least regard to the specific merits of the two subjects named, I would venture to make the general remark, that some knowledge seems necessary to entitle any one to speak on any point that may come under discussion; and that, without this requisite, it cannot be expected that error, where there is error, will be successfully opposed. A disciple of Dr Gall has remarked, that often, in listening to the empty observations which ignorant men and ignorant women take leave to make on his science, he has been conscious of a more profound degree of the ridiculous than he could recollect ever experiencing on any other occasion in his life-so absurd did it appear, that one unacquainted with the simplest principles of physiology or any other established science, and who had never given one moment's study or one serious thought to the subject under discussion, 'should make such a gross exhibition of his self-esteem, not only unchecked by the audience, but with their concurrence. What the audience received as legitimate ridicule came before his mind as only a betrayal of ignorance on that Many of the physical effects of pit work are of tardy and all associated questions, accompanied by a vain- growth and manifestation; hence they must be looked glory which the greatest wisdom could not have jus- for and estimated in some of the old collieries, where tified. This feeling in the mind of the phrenologist the labour has been the uninterrupted occupation of is natural, and, supposing him to be altogether mis-generations. Conclusions deduced, for example, from the appearance of the work-people in the newer coltaken with regard to his science, his ridicule has cerlieries of the south of Durham would be partially faltainly a superiority over that of his opponent, in being lacious. In scrutinising the boys, the corporeal chafounded on some knowledge. It is perhaps chiefly racteristics of the adults may be frequently noticed in from this cause that none of those who adopt doubtful incipient development in the adolescents, or hereditasciences are ever unconvinced. They ground so far rily transmitted to the children. Small bulk of body, upon what they believe to be ascertained truths in paleness and angularity of visage, and their general appearance, which is very far from robust, would lead nature. Antagonists are contented to suppose, withto the conviction, that they are a somewhat deterioout putting themselves to the trouble of gathering rated race. Some effects, however, of employment in opposite facts. A different effect is not to be expected coal-mines, which might have been assumed from à till men shall generally acknowledge and act upon the priori conclusions, are not found to be established by actual experience. Of this nature is the natural supmaxim, to KNOW BEFORE THEY SPEAK. position, that the exclusion from sun-light during so large a portion of the day (and in the case of the boys in winter, it almost amounts to an exclusion from the entire daylight) would be actively injurious to the eyesight. But this is not found to be the case in the young; and in the old an occasional tendency to relook, is all that I could discover. The most remarkgard objects, especially books, with a peculiar oblique able effect of the exclusion in the mines is the paleness of countenance so generally observable, and so strikingly contrasted with the ruddy visages of those employed at bank. To extreme changes of temperature, not to be braved with impunity by an occasional visitant to the pits (of which I became painfully aware), the miners appear to have become perfectly indurated. Over the slight tunic of flannel in which, together with drawers, they ordinarily labour (although a very near approach to nudity is observable in some deep and hot pits, as in Monkwearmouth; and in Shilbottle pit, which supplies the town of Alnwick with fuel, the men work completely naked), they add a jacket before emerging from the pit-mouth; and thus moderately enveloped, and commonly disdaining greatcoats or plaids in the severest weather, the inclemency of seasons appears to be, as far as they are concerned, completely innocuous. The temperature of the mines varies at different times and in different pits. The average heat in one of the Hetton pits at the bottom of the shaft is 66 degrees, and in the recesses of the workings 70 degrees; while at Monkwearmouth pit, the extreme case, the average heat is about 78 or 80 degrees.

NORTHERN COLLIERIES.

CONCLUDING ARTICLE.

HAVING glanced at the chief points regarding the Newcastle collieries, in their establishment, mode of working, and the calamities attending their operations, it now only remains to touch upon the physical and moral condition of the collier population. The number, then, of persons actually employed in and about the Newcastle pits exceeding 12,000, it is obvious that their physical and moral condition must be a matter of the greatest interest, particularly as that condition also influences to a great extent that of the females and children constituting the families of the pitmen.

To commence with the external appearance of a born and bred pitman, it may be noticed that his outward man distinguishes him from every other operative. His stature is diminutive; his figure disproportionate and misshapen; his legs being much bowed; his chest protruding (the thoracic region being unequally developed). His countenance is not less striking than his figure, his cheeks being generally hollow, his brow overhanging, his cheek bones high, his forehead low and retreating; nor is his appearance healthful. His habit is tincted with scrofula. I have seen agricultural labourers, blacksmiths, carpenters, and even those among the wan and distressed stocking-weavers of Nottinghamshire, to whom the term "jolly" might not be inaptly applied, but I never saw a "jolly-looking" pitman. As the germ of this physical degeneration may be formed in the youthful days of the pitman, it is desirable to look for its cause.

The position of the hewer at his work is one of great restraint; he lies, as it were, upon one leg, the other resting on the foot in a state of semi-flexion; his body is thrown forward, and in this position he strikes the seam with his "pick." There is an art in "cutting" coal; the occupation is therefore assumed at as early a period as the operative's strength and the superintendant's arrangements will permit, which generally happen to agree at about the age of 20. Although the chest and arms of the hewer are the best developed parts about him, and are very far from amiss, yet they cannot be compared with the corresponding parts of a Northumbrian agricultural labourer. As sources of health to the pitmen, may be noticed their daily habit of washing and scrubbing themselves above the waist and below the knees, except the back, which, with the rest, is regularly washed once a-week; and also their wearing flannel to absorb perspiration and retain heat, while not working, and to ward off the flame in case of "fire." The fine particles of coal-dust, so far as I have observed, seem little if at all injurious to pitmen, notwithstanding the fatal effects of breathing other

Let us, however, follow the colliers home, and regard them when out of the pit. Upon the termination of their daily duty they return to their houses, which, from the early hour of commencing their mole-like labours, they may be seen doing at mid-day, or earlier, in companies of a very uninviting aspect. Trios or long strings of these black-looking individuals may be seen approaching from the site of the pit, many of them swinging their Davy-lamps about with their long and oddly-carried arms, and others handling the tin bottle which held their coffee. Upon their entrance into their little cottages, they proceed to strip and wash themselves, which, from the secluded character of the colliery villages, they see no harm in performing somewhat openly. The hour of dinner with the factory artisans thus becomes with the colliers the hour of washing; and the repeated ejections of soap-suds from each door testifies to the care with which ablution is accomplished. The meal to which the colliers now sit down is one of no despicable character. There is no deficiency of animal food and of little luxurious appurtenances; one of which used to be considered quite indispensable, namely, a rich kneaded cake, which, from the hissing noise it emits while baking on the "girdle," is termed, not inaptly, a singing-hinnie. After taking a very tolerable quantity of the good things set before them, the majority turn into bed, and one hears or sees little of them

till the evening, when perhaps they may indulge in a walk, a whiff of tobacco, a scrape on the fiddle, or a puff at the flute, before finally retiring.

The lads and children have now returned from the

pit, have undergone their ablutions, and swallowed whatever was in reach, generally contriving to obtain a substantial meal, if prepared for it. Unfortunately, some of the younger boys, who have scarcely become a revulsion to food, which nature usually overcomes inured to the pit, experience a want of appetite and after longer habit and presence in the mine. Instances, however, are not wanting in which the boy never becomes insusceptible of the noxious influences of the pit, and habitual nausea and eructation are superinme in the Report; and the frequency of the complaint duced. More than a dozen examples are now before from so many independent witnesses proves that it is not without foundation. Yet the boys will manage by some contrivance to secure a game at play, or a lounge in the lanes or fields, previously to their early to sound very inharmoniously; attempts at solos upon retirement to rest. About nine o'clock fiddles begin the flute to die away in the birth of the first note; meetings, for various purposes, to break up; and boys to become considerably less pugnacious and vociferous. These are the signs of a settlement for the night; and at ten or eleven o'clock nearly the whole collier village is quiet or snoring. Woe to the ill-starred stranger whose avocations may have detained him to this hour, or beyond it, if he attempt, unguided and unprotected, to thread his way for the first time through the unmitigated darkness of the pitmen's colony. Ten to one but he tumbles unawares into some old railway cutting (which, indeed, happened to myself), and there he is likely to remain for all the assistance that he can obtain from the colliers, whose first sleep would scarcely suffer disturbance from any thing short of an explosion of carbureted hydrogen gas. So seldom are the remote pit villages trodden by the feet of strangers, that cuttings and embankments of abandoned railways are sometimes permitted to remain unfenced in the very centre of streets, in perfect consistency with the safety of the inhabitants, but to the imminent risk of the limbs of visitants, who have to grope their way at night, for the first time, through the unlighted neighbourhood.

This leads me to say a word upon the colliery villages. The houses of the pitmen are erected either by the proprietors of the colliery or by companies, who speculate in the building and letting of them to coal owners at from L.3 to L.4 per annum. It is requisite that the houses should not be distant from the pits, and they are therefore grouped round it as land can be obtained. The general appearance of a colliery village is that of two or three long rows, or a square, of low cottages, with frequent intervals. Before each set of cottages is erected a brick building for a comby no means diminutive. The back rows of the houses mon oven, and the loaves baked therein are certainly too frequently present a kind of central ridge formed by ash heaps and domestic superfluities, which is not only unsightly but sometimes offensive. There is seldom an efficient drainage in this quarter; and the whole arrangement is capable of great improvements, In the newer pit villages the appearance of matters is considerably ameliorated; and it is probable that the appellation of "Shiney Row," which is the phrase by which a colony of this kind is provincially known,

arose from the neatness that has for some time characterised many new colliery villages.

So remarkable a dissimilitude as may be perpetually observed between the furniture and the houses themselves, is probably peculiar to the domiciles of the Northern pitmen. Amongst some hundreds of houses visited by me, there were but few that did not partially exhibit this contrast; and in many it was strikingly displayed by the presence of some article of furniture of a comparatively costly description. An eight-day clock, a good chest of drawers, and a fine four-post bedstead, the last two often of mahogany, and sometimes of a very superior kind, were commonly to be noticed; for they are deemed indispensable by a decent newly-married couple, and are paid for by instalments. Costly furniture is, however, sometimes environed by despicable lumber, if not by actual uncleanliness.

The duties of a pitmen's wife are very numerous. The male portion of her family are a source of constant trouble to her, for some are going into the mine almost while the others are leaving. The hours of labour and rest not being the same for men and boys, the necessity of preparing numerous meals, at various and somewhat irregular periods of the day, is obviously entailed upon her; what between dinner for one, tea for another, washing and scrubbing materials for a third, and the cries of the child in the cradle, it is clear that she is not an idle personage. The constant exhibition of evacuated habiliments, either in the tub or on the drying line, proves that washing is almost a daily occupation. Although, however, the temptation to become a pitmen's wife does not seem to be great, yet it is sufficiently strong to allow of a frequency of early marriages. Intermarriage is usual amongst the collier population, whose clannishness is as much exhibited in this respect as in any other. From the comparatively high wages which children obtain, namely, from 10d. to 18. 10d. per day, it is readily conceivable that they are considered as acquisitions to a pitman's fortune. Hence, what is regarded in civic society as by no means a desirable match-to