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to the novel aspect and manners of a foreign country. It is only by noting down on the spot, and at the moment, what strikes you, that you can secure the force of these first impressions; and when you afterwards refer to these notes, you are often no little astonished to find amid what really curious people and things you are existing, and yet how completely all the strangeness has vanished from your consciousness." First impressions will be, of course, most vividly made by those objects or manners which differ the widest from the national habits or customs of the traveller. Mr Howitt, a wanderer from England, where the public ways are the best paved and best kept in the world, is sorely perplexed by the

STREETS OF GERMANY.

"As you proceed through the streets, you find around you gabled and picturesque white buildings, old squares and markets, with avenues of limes, or of dwarf acacias; people, many of them in the garb of centuries ago; and dreadful pavements. Coleridge has celebrated the six-and-thirty stenches of Cologne, and the invention of Cologne water to cover them; but a wide acquaintance with German towns leaves me the conviction, that Cologne can boast no more queer odours than any other of the towns of the nation; for in most of them, as we shall have to show, every street, almost every house, and every hour, has its own appropriate, peculiar, and by no means enviable smell. The pavements, with a few exceptions, are of the most hobbly and excruciating kind. There appears no evidence of any systematic attention to them, or management of them. To pass through a German town or village in a carriage is one of the most rib-trying events in this life. But to walk through one is not much less hazardous. Russell, in his day, tells us, that to avoid being run over on the pavé by a barrow, you often step into the peril of getting your head split with an axe, or your arm torn off by a saw, from the people who are cutting up piles of firewood before the doors. This is pretty much the case yet. The pavés, where there are any, seem appropriated to every purpose but that of walking. There is a bit of pavement here, a bit there, or rather not a bit there. It looks as if the causeway was left entirely to the care, or want of care, of the householders. Here is a bit of good pavement; in a few yards is a piece of the worst and most uneven pitching, evidently done ages ago. Here you go up a step, and there you go down one. If an Englishman, accustomed to his well-paved and well-regulated towns, was suddenly set down in a German town at night, he would speedily break his neck or his bones, put out an eye, or tear off a cheek. The towns, and that only on dark and moonless nights, are badly lit by lamps, hung, as in France, from a rope across the street. Here one twinkles, and at a vast and solitary distance, glimmers another. Even Vienna is lighted up with oil; and Dresden, and one or two other towns, are the only ones where we have met with gas. All manner of trap-doors, leading down into cellars, are in the pavés, and none of them very carefully levelled with the flagging or pebbles. Their covers often cock up their corners, faced with iron in such a way that you strike your toes most cruelly against them. All manner of flights of steps, from shops and houses, are set upon the pavement, are pushed out one-third of the width across them, and sometimes wholly across them, so that a man, whom daylight and a few trips over them had not made aware of them, would blunder headlong. As he fell, a strong iron bar, about a foot long, sticking out of the wall of the house, would probably strike his face, and give him a desperate wound. These bars of iron are what the worthy shopkeepers rear their shutters upon in the day-time; and at night, when the shutters are put up, they stand out naked from the wall about the height of your face or shoulders, and give you the most horrid shocks as you inadvertently strike against them. Then, every hundred yards, you are stopped by a great wood-heap, and its busy sawers and cleavers, or by a wagon, or a carriage, which is set on the trottoir to be out of the way. These nuisances, which would not be tolerated in the worst-regulated country towns of England for a single week, here remain for ages. The Germans, accustomed to them, avoid them as we should avoid walking into a fire or a horse-pond; and when you point them out, are not at all surprised that such things should be, but that you should think them anything extraordinary."

Though the Germans might take a lesson from us in the management of their streets, we may derive another from them in providing wholesome and necessary recreation for the people. This they do by

means of

PUBLIC GARDENS.

"There is one advantage that their towns universally possess over ours; and that is, in the abundance of public walks, and public gardens and promenades, where every citizen can wander, or can sit and rejoice with his family and his friends. All round their towns, in general, you find these ample public walks and promenades planted with trees and furnished with seats. The old walls and ramparts, which formerly gave security to the inhabitants, are now converted into sources of their highest pleasures, being thus planted and seated, and made scenes of the gayest resort, and whence the finest views are obtained over the surrounding country. The suburbs and neighbourhood of all large cities, again, are full of public gardens; with alleys and extensive woodland walks, where the

people all summer flock out, and find refreshments at
coffee-houses, and bands of music, presided over by the
first masters in Germany. The cities being seldom
very large, the people thus enjoy a sort of half city
half rural life, but refined and beautified with social
and artistical influences, of which ours is too much
stripped. In England, every man takes care of him-
self, and makes his own nest snug; besides lighting
and paving, little seems done for the public in our
towns. Here, on the contrary, the public enjoyment
seems to be the favourite and prevailing idea, and you
see around you perpetual evidences of its working.
The people have in the outskirts of their cities their
vineyards, and their summer-houses in them, where
they can go with their families and friends. But
they have, again, their great public gardens and wood-
lands all round their large towns, to ten or a dozen
miles' distance. They have similar places of more
rustic resort, often on the most beautiful mountain
heights, and in mountain valleys, to which they pour
out on Sundays and leisure days, in carriages and by
railroads, by thousands. Here they have wine, and
curds, and often dinners. Here they even come with
their families, taking whole troops of children with
them; and there you find them in old orchards, amid
castle ruins, under the trees, and, in short, through all
the surrounding hills and valleys. They dine in great
family groups, the men sitting often in their shirt
sleeves; the children rolling in the grass; and the
landlords hurrying about, dealing out plates and viands
to hungry people, in a broil of what seems hopeless
hurry. They afterwards smoke their pipes, drink their
coffee, and go home at an early hour as happy as this
earth can make them.

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"We dined at the house of the forstmeister, near which is also an inn, and were waited on by his pretty and merry daughter; and on leaving, experienced a striking instance of good sense in a village bürgermeister. The man with the vorspan had contrived, while we were looking at the castle and dining, to persuade our kutcher that we had another hill to ascend, and that it would be impossible for him to reach the next village without taking him farther.* The forstmeister's daughter said, 'Nothing of the kind; it was all descent, and most of it steep.' Still the kutcher was so much frightened, that he would not go on without the man. I therefore told the man that he might go on at a fixed price, and if there proved to be up-hill, I would pay him; if nothing but down-hill, I would not. He went on, and all was rapid down-hill. When, therefore, he took off his horses at the point where his homeward way diverged, I refused to pay him, and he became very violent and menacing. I told him, that, if he insisted on the payment, he must come to the next village to the bürgermeister, and ordered the coachman to drive on. He In every country town and village it is the same. attempted to stop the horses, the coachman appeared You can go into few or none of the former, where you frightened, and it seemed likely in that wild spot to be will not find public walks and gardens; and will not a troublesome affair. My firmness, however, prevailed; hear of charming places, some four, six, or ten miles' the coachman drove on, and the man followed. At distant, where all the world goes in the summer, in the village inn I inquired for the bürgermeister, and parties, to walk about, to drink coffee, to pic-nic in the the wirth cried out to a servant, Hole den schmied' woods, and so on. There is not a country inn in a-fetch the blacksmith. I replied I did not want the pleasant place, but it has its orchard and its garden blacksmith, but the bürgermeister. It is the same fitted up with seats and tables for this simple rural man,' said he. Presently appeared the blacksmith in festivity. There is not a ruin of a castle, or old his shirt-sleeves, and tolerably smutty, from the forge. jäger-house, where you do not find walks and seats, When he had heard the case, and the man was runand every provision for popular enjoyment. Every- ning on very volubly in his Swabian dialect-Stop!' where the Germans have seized on all those picturesque said the worthy welder of iron. There needs only points and scenes of rural beauty which afford means one word. Did you put your horses before the carof carrying out and cultivating this mingled love of riage or behind it?' Before, to be sure,' replied the nature and of social pleasure. You come upon seats man, very confidently. Then,' answered honest in wild spots, where you would otherwise never have Vulcan, you can go about your business. Everybody dreamed of many besides yourself coming, and there knows that it's all down hill from Lichstenstein you are sure to find that before you lies a beautiful hither, and who wants a vorspan to pull him down view. hill Had you put your horses behind to drag, I All royal gardens, too, are open, and the people would have awarded you your money. A number of walk in them, and stream round the palaces, passing, people in the inn before which this primitive adminisin many instances, through their very courts and tration of justice took place, and amongst them some gateways, just as if they were their own. Nay, the genteel-looking travellers, all applauded this judgment. royal and ducal owners walk about amongst the people Not the highest minister of the realm could have given with as little ceremony as any of the rest. The em- a more prompt and better one, and certainly not a peror of Austria, or the king of Prussia, does the very cheaper; for the good man refused to receive anything same. You may meet them anywhere; and little for his trouble, even to partake of a bottle of wine; more ceremony is used towards them than is used but wiping his mouth on his shirt-sleeve, drank a towards any other individual, simply that of lifting glass of beer at his own cost, expressed his satisfaction your hat in passing, which is done to all your acquaint-in being able to prevent imposition on a stranger, and ance, and is returned as a mark of ordinary salutation. only begged, that if we saw a countryman of his in You will see princes sitting in public places with their similar need, we would help him if we could." friends, with a cup of coffee, as unassumingly and as little stared at as any respectable citizen. You may sometimes see a grand-duke come into a country inn, call for his glass of ale, drink it, pay for it, and go away as unceremoniously as yourself. The consequence of this easy familiarity is, that princes are everywhere popular, and the daily occurrence of their presence amongst the people prevents that absurd crush and stare at them which prevails in more luxurious and exclusive countries."

THE MAID OF ORLEANS.

JOAN OF ARC, the Maid of Orleans, was a person of so much distinction in her own times, and has been so often named in song and story, that the details of her career must possess interest for the majority of general readers. She was born about 1410 or 1412, at Domremy, a village situated in a smiling valley, watered by the Meuse, on the border-lines of ChamThough the subject of appropriating open spaces pagne and Lorraine. The father of Joan was a for promenades has long occupied public attention in humble peasant, named James d'Arc, and her mother this country, yet the plan has not been carried out so was Isabel Romé, which latter designation applied to successfully or extensively as it might have been. The the daughter in youth, according to the custom of the causes to which this might be traced present a strong country. The education of Joan corresponded with and unfavourable contrast in the English character the scanty resources of her family and the unenlightto that of the German. This arises in a great mea- ened habits of the time. She was taught neither to sure from the horror evinced by the wealthier classes read nor to write. Sewing and knitting, the care of of mixing with the so-called " vulgar”—an evidence of cattle, and the labours of the field, formed the occureal vulgarity, which goes by the name of "exclusive-pations of her youth. She was trained up in virtuous ness." It is this unworthy selfishness which keeps principles, and showed a marked tendency to devotion out the English commonalty from many places to from her earliest years, shrinking from the sports of which they would otherwise be admitted. It is her equals in age, and preferring to spend her hours at the same time to be acknowledged, that when in solitary prayers and meditations. parks and suburban plots have been thrown open, they were made but little use of. We are all creatures of habit, and English artisans are especially so. It is not till they have become accustomed to a recreation that they will indulge in it; yet if opportunities were given more generally for healthful exercise, the custom would gradually increase. Again, a poor person, used all his life to the humblest scenes, often feels himself uncomfortable and out of place in an elegantly laid out park or an aristocratic promenade. So that the repellant principle which keeps the high from the low is not all on one side: it is in many cases mutual. The masses feel equally uncomfortable in the presence of the higher grades as the latter do in theirs, because neither have been accustomed to mix even in public. Hazlitt relates, in one of his essays, having overheard a London working-man say to his wife, as they were walking amidst a host of well-dressed passengers in Regent Street, "Oh, this place is too fine for me;

Such were the habits which nursed in the mind of Joan d'Are the flame of religious enthusiasm ; and the miserable condition of her native country at the time of her rising into youthful womanhood, was sufficient to mingle with it the fire of patriotic zeal, in a mind so ardent and susceptible. The English held a great part of France, retaining the conquests of their recently deceased king, Henry V. Charles VII., commonly called the Dauphin, from being yet uncrowned, in vain strove against the English; he could scarcely maintain a footing anywhere with his party; and at length his main stronghold of Orleans was besieged, and hard pressed by the Earl of Salisbury. Joan d'Are was at this period about eighteen years of age. For some time previously, she had been haunted by dreams and visions, which in that age it was not unnatural

*It may be necessary to observe, that the vorspan means addi tional horses attached to a carriage to draw it up steep hills.

for herself and others to regard, with perfect sincerity, as direct revelations from heaven. And here a remark may be made, once for all, on this point"That Joan believed herself inspired, few will deny; that she was inspired, no one will venture to assert." Such are the words of Mr Southey, who also points out the strong improbability that she was, as she has been called, the tool or puppet of a party.

After in vain attempting for some time to repress the promptings of her visionary fancy, the friends of Joan at length carried her to Baudricourt, governor of the neighbouring town of Vaucouleur; and that personage, impressed by her manner, consented to send her to the dauphin himself, in order that the latter might hear from her own lips the revelation which she professed to have to make to him. We may well suppose that the proffered aid of a poor peasant girl, without power, friends, or influence, would seem no great matter to Charles, apart from that supernatural aid which men would naturally hear of, in the first instance, with doubt and discredit. The prince, accordingly, when he assented to her being brought before him at Chinon, which Joan reached through the midst of enemies, resolved to test her penetration by a simple expedient. He put on a comparatively humble dress, and made some of his courtiers attire themselves in splendid robes. Before the circle thus prepared Joan was led. She wore a warlike masculine garb, assumed by her for secrecy and security on her journey. In looks, to use the words of Holinshed, "she was counted likesome, and of person strongly made" and the glow of excitement and devotional fervour gave an additional interest to her appearance. A courtier was indicated to her as Charles, but Joan disregarded him, and kneeled before the true prince. "I am not the king," said Charles. "Gentle prince," said she, "thou art he, and none other." She then addressed him in a lofty tone, announcing herself as divinely commissioned for the relief of France, and assuring him that he should be crowned and consecrated its independent sovereign in the city of Rheims. To test her still further, Charles took her apart, and put some questions to her. The result was, that he declared her to have communicated things known but to himself and to heaven.

All this made a deep impression on the adherents of Charles, and the high tone of Joan's general speech and conduct strengthened them in the belief that a divine communication had been accorded for the relief of the suffering land of France. Yet Charles dared not to accept her proffered aid without consulting the church, since the idea that Joan was inspired, not by good but by evil spirits, might have been spread abroad, to the ruin of his general interests. He therefore caused her to be examined by an ecclesiastical conclave, and the issue was, that they pronounced her mission to be a true and heavenly one. Her main professions were, that if a body of soldiers were put under her charge, she would relieve the city of Orleans, then reduced to the last extremity, and would accomplish the coronation of Charles at Rheims, as the full and lawful sovereign of France. So, she said, her "voices" or visions had assured her. The doubters demanded a sign or miracle from Joan; she told them that the relief of Orleans would be sign and miracle sufficient. However, she did give something which the people believed to be a direct proof of her supernatural prompting. A small force was granted to her, with a white banner, made and consecrated according to her own instructions, and she arrayed herself in complete armour for the enterprise; but a sword for her use was still wanting. She desired those round her to go and bring her the sword which lay Juried behind the altar of the church of St Catherine of Fierbois; and she described certain marks upon it, which were found to exist when the sword was searched for and discovered. Armed with this weapon, she set out for Orleans, and was received with enthusiasm by the besieged citizens. A proof of the reality of her enthusiasm is found in the fact, that her first step, in accordance (as she said) with the revelations made to her, was to summon the English peaceably to give up their conquests, and quit the land of France. It may well be supposed that men, triumphant over their adversaries in every quarter, scorned such a summons. But they, and the world at large, were destined to see how vast an influence imagination may exercise over human doings. On the 29th of April, 1429, Joan of Arc, mounted on a white horse, armed at all points, and preceded by her snowwhite standard, had entered Orleans, and soon afterwards she commenced a series of attacks upon the enemy. The confidence exhibited on the part of the French produced a corresponding depression among the English. The superstition of the times came into play; and the spectacle of Joan, mounted on her white charger, with her standard in hand, struck her foes with mysterious affright. Several direct attempts were made to cut off the enthusiast on her first entrance into the field, but it was noticed that, with a small battle-axe, she warded off with seeming ease the strokes of her opponents. Though foremost in the ranks of her party, she showed also an anxious desire to save lives and check the effusion of blood. From the moment of her entrance into Orleans, the English began to lose ground. They had been in possession of the greater number of the forts and outposts of the city; but, one by one, Joan took these from them, and

Such is the tale, scarcely credible, told by historians.

at length left them masters of but one tower, that of the "Tourelles," the strongest around the place. The French captains wished to wait for succours ere they attacked this stronghold, but Joan of Arc pressed an immediate assault, and her assurances of victory inspired the French soldiery with similar confidence. When the attack of the Tourelles occurred, the English fought with desperation, and their opponents were again and again repulsed. Joan seized a ladder, and in person attempted to scale the walls; but she was struck down, seriously wounded. A gloom spread over her party, and the leader Dunois, commonly called the Bastard of Orleans, ordered a retreat. But when Joan heard of this, she summoned up her strength, and again mounted her horse. The sight of her, with her standard waving in her hands, reassured her friends, and they renewed the siege of the fort with a degree of spirit which overwhelmed all resistance. In an hour, Orleans, and all its fortifications, were in the possession of the French, and Joan entered the streets of the city amid the triumphant shouts of the inhabitants, having fulfilled her promise of the morning, that Orleans should, ere night, be free.

The Maid of Orleans, as she may now be rightly termed, continued her career of victory. She had announced that Charles should be crowned at Rheims; but ere that could be done, it was necessary to free Champagne from the presence of the enemy, the city of Rheims being the capital of that province. Aided by the French generals, Joan accordingly attacked various places of strength, and took all of them in succession, defeating and capturing the renowned warrior Talbot, and other distinguished soldiers of England. Finally, Charles entered Rheims in triumph, the English garrison disappearing at his approach; and he was anointed with the holy oil of Clovis in the famous cathedral of Rheims, Joan of Arc standing by his side the while, clothed in complete armour, and holding aloft her victorious banner.

Joan was now rendered famous over all Europe by the part which she had thus played in the struggle between its two most powerful nations. The discomfited English accused her of deriving her aid from demons, and ascribed to her all manner of personal vices. Their most impartial historians, though not sanctioning, of course, the first charge, have spoken with little respect of the character of the Maid of Orleans; and even Shakspeare, a century and a half later than her era, seems to have found it necessary to flatter the prejudices of his countrymen by a similar course of disparagement. In reality, however, Joan of Arc, if we may trust to the best informed annalists, merits a high place among the pure and patriotic heroines of the human race. Though foremost in the attack, and continuing to take that position in spite of bodily wounds, which should have quenched the ardour of any woman of common mould, she ever retired with humility from the public gaze, when the time of service had ended. Much of her leisure was spent in prayer and other pious exercises; and she was often observed to rise from her couch by night, and address herself to these tasks. She sought the company of those of her own sex wherever it was procurable, and shared her couch with them. When such companions were not beside her, she lay down to sleep without undressing. She greatly improved the morals and the manners of the French army, discouraging all license, and prohibiting pillage. Of the blood both of friends and foes, she was to the last degree sparing.

Joan showed the purity of her motives at the close of the coronation ceremony of Rheims. She there fell on her knees before the king, and, with tearful eyes, begged permission to retire to her humble home and occupations, since her mission had been accomplished. "If it please heaven," she said, "I would now abandon arms, and, returning to my father and mother, serve them by tending their flocks, as I did before." But Charles and his captains had felt the advantage of her aid too strikingly to assent to this lowly request, and Joan was prevailed upon to continue with the army, until the English should be completely expelled from France. At the same time, the king granted the only other request made by her. This was, that the villages of Domremy and Greux, her native scenes, should be exempted from taxes in time to come; and the privilege remained in force till the subversive days of the Revolution. Charles also ennobled Joan and her whole family, men and wo

men.

New enterprises were set on foot after the coronation at Rheims, and were for the most part eminently successful. The towns of Laon, Neufchatel, Soissons, Crespi, and others, were wrested from the English, but an attack made on Paris proved fruitless. On this occasion, the Maid of Orleans would not fly with her repulsed friends. Wounded severely, she preferred to lie down and meet her death rather than retreat before the enemy; but the Duke of Alençon persuaded her to depart from that resolution. Again, however, she in vain sought leave to return to her home. It is remarkable, that after Charles was crowned, she no longer made herself responsible, as she had done, for the events of the war. She showed no diminution of courage, but she conducted herself like a common adherent of the army. After consenting to remain in the field, she took the town of St Pierre-le-Moutier, and engaged a noted partisan leader, Franquet d'Arras, who, being defeated and taken, was executed against her most carnest solicitations. Joan was then sent, at

the head of a force, to defend Compiegne against the English and Burgundians. Not contented with throwing herself into the town, the heroine of Domremy attempted, by a sortie, to cut off her adversaries. She was intercepted in her return, and fell into the hands of the English. Before she was made captive, however, though left alone by her party, she performed prodigies of valour. Clothed in armour, and holding her white standard, she was well-known to the enemy; but several of those who sought to seize her fell beneath her hand ere she was ultimately made a prisoner.

The unfortunate end of the Maid of Orleans is wellknown in history, and the affair reflects no credit on the English name. The regent, Duke of Bedford, brought her to trial, before an ecclesiastical commission, for the crimes of sorcery and impiety, and obtained the countenance of the clergy and university of Paris to the prosecution. She was also charged with the death of Franquet d'Arras, and other secular acts of presumed criminality. For four months, she withstood all that the malice of her enemies could inflict upon her. But at length human nature gave way under the trial, and, deserted apparently by her friends, she endeavoured to avert the cruel fate with which she was menaced, by confessing her revelations to be fanciful. Her sentence was then mitigated to perpetual imprisonment; but this issue of the affair did not satisfy her adversaries. They insidiously placed in her apartment the suit of masculine armour in which she had gained so much glory. Tempted by the force of inspiring recollections, Joan put on the suit laid in her way. Her jailors were on the watch. They seized her in the attire of manhood, and her assumption of it was interpreted as a relapse into her former errors. She was condemned to die; and in June 1431, suffered at the stake in the market-place of Rouen. All her courage revived in the last hour; and she died with a noble constancy, which drew tears from the eyes of her persecutors.

Joan of Arc has been honoured by statues and monuments in her native country; and to this day, the people of Orleans hold an annual fête in her remembrance. If patriotism be a virtue in man or woman, the memory of Joan of Arc is not undeserving of such testimonials of respect and admiration.

THE ARMENIAN PELISSE-MAKER.

BY MISS PARDOE.

ASSUREDLY the Arabian Tales are much nearer to the truth in their details, and their authors have less imaginative merit, than we, in our sober English judgments, have been accustomed to cede to them. Remove the superstitions the peri, geni, and enchanters of the "Thousand and one Nights"-and they are faithful and lively pictures of every-day life among the orientals. The wonderful mutability of fortune, the precarious tenure of life, the incongruous mingling of the mean and the magnificent, all the distinctive features which stand out in broad contrast from our own more methodical usages, rather prove the wonderful accuracy of the artist's perception, than the power of his fancy-a fact which substantially increases the value of that most extraordinary production. Nothing, perhaps, can more fully act as a demonstration of this assurance on my part, to such as may be inclined to doubt its exactness, than the narration of an incident which took place during my own residence in Constantinople, and which created much mirth among the Franks at the time.

The pelisse-maker to the palace had completed a garment for one of the court-buffoons, which he sent to the individual for whom it was designed by an Armenian apprentice-a simple-hearted, timid young man, of two or three and twenty-to whom the dwelling of the Grand Seignior was an object of trembling admiration, a species of gilded bastile. On his arrival, the facetious followers of the eastern emperor proceeded to exercise their wit upon the unlucky messenger; and oriental wit is about as practical, as uncompromising, and as inconvenient, as anything intended for pastime can well be. One plucked him by the hair, another seized him by the throat, a third lifted him from his feet by a strong grasp of his ample trousers, a fourth thrust his fingers into his ears, and then wrung them so violently, that they appeared likely to remain in his hand as trophies of his prowess; and, in short, their mirth became at length so vehement and so agonising, that the poor fellow threw himself on his knees before his tormentors, and begged them, for the love of their prophet, to have mercy upon him; but when was mischief ever merciful? His humility and terror only afforded fresh food for sport; and in the intensity of his suffering, he at last found energy to declare, that, should he ever have the good fortune to encounter the sultan, either in the streets of the city, or in any of the avenues of the palace, he would throw himself at his sublime feet, and ask for justice on his persecutors. His threat was received with shouts of laughter; and the victim only escaped when the imperial idlers became wearied by their own follies.

On the entrance of the sultan (Mahmoud)—to whom the absurdities of the official buffoons afforded so much amusement, that he occasionally spent several consecutive hours in their company-they detailed to him, with much unction, the diversions of the morning; enlarging on the terror-stricken agony of the poor tailor, and his pain-wrung threat, with such exquisite humour, that his sublime highness became infatuated

by the narrative, and anxious to share, in his turn, in so delightful a diversion. An excuse was accordingly found to bring the laughter-moving apprentice once more to the palace; the pelisse, of which he had been the bearer, did not fit, and it was the will of its wearer that it should be reclaimed by the same individual by whom it had been delivered. The palace messenger once despatched, the sultan, concealed by the tapestry which veiled the entrance to an inner apartment, was enabled, on the arrival of the victim, to enjoy at his ease the right regal spectacle that he had been promised; and long did he stand behind the screen, admiring the dexterity of the tormentors, and making merry over the groans, and expostulations, and terror, of the tormented; until at length the intreaties of the poor youth once more changed, in his despair, as on the former occasion, into a threat of appeal to his imperial master. The words were no sooner uttered than the sultan emerged from his concealment, and presenting himself in all the awfulness of frowning majesty, declared his identity to the trembling tailor, affected extreme indignation at his temerity in threatening the officers of his household, and desired him to proffer his petition upon the spot, and without the delay of a moment. The panic-struck Armenian, to whom the Padishah had ever hitherto been a fearful idea rather than a palpable reality, instantly fell prostrate; and when his tormentors sought to raise him from the earth, it was discovered that he was senseless. Nothing flatters the great so much as an unequivocal demonstration of this description; and accordingly the terror of the tailor served him well in his emergency; every care was taken to restore him to animation, the sultan himself standing by, in order to mark his emotion on awakening from the faint.

beg your pardon, but I see a friend below,” and I left him completely bothered. Forthwith a crowd of Americans fell upon the unhappy inquisitor.

What's the gentleman's name?” "Who is he?"

necessary to be in Naples by the fifth, fifteenth, or twenty-fifth of the month, as the steamers continue their voyage thence on those days. Nor do the charms of the voyage end here. After passing through the Strait of Messina, a panoramic view is obtained of the eastern coast of Sicily, including Mount tua. The next place of rest is Malta, where the packets remain "He wears mustachios. Is he a colonel?" &c. &c. twenty-four hours. This island, though rendered The American, No. 1, recovering from the astonish-historically celebrated by the frequency with which ment occasioned by my escape, replied, "I know nothing about him, but I soon shall."

"Where is he going?"

me.

Act II.-I am seated in the saloon of the cabin, reading. My American friend, No. 1, descends, escorting a friend. They place themselves opposite me, and unrol on the table a map of Europe. Silence for a quarter of an hour, during which time they are apparently occupied in examining the map, but in reality looking at At length they took courage, and the American, No. 1, exclaimed, “Šhocking state of things in Italy." The friend-"Yes, shocking indeed." They both stare at me. I read. They examine the map again. American, No. 1, breaks silence again-"Queer matters in Hanover." The friend-" Yes, very queer." Another scrutinising examination from two pair of eyes. I turn over a leaf. Five minutes elapse. The American, No. 1, again raises his voice. "Dreadful war in Poland." "Yes, dreadful indeed," replies his echo. Then, turning to me with dignity-" Have you been in this war, sir?" I raised my head from my book. Their eyes are fixed upon me with ludicrous anxiety. I cough. They exchange glances. I open my mouth. Their eyes gleam with pleasure. I answer slowly, in a deep base, "No-o!" I rise-I shut my book. They remained with their mouths half open, lost in amazement at the utter discomfiture of all their manoeuvres.

OVERLAND ROUTES TO INDIA.*

Joyful was the greeting which accompanied his convalescence, for it was an assurance from the "Lord of the Three Seas," that his physiognomy pleased him (a common expression among the Turks), and that, As the British empire in the east increases in extent, moreover, he was indebted to him for a hearty laugh so the subject of transit thither increases in import-always a weighty obligation to an Osmanli-a fact ance. Hence we find that extraordinary efforts have which must not pass unrewarded; and thus he de- recently been made to lessen the time and inconveclared him to be from that moment his peliste-maker-nience of the journey. So well have these efforts in-chief, a post of high honour and infinite profit. He succeeded, that, instead of a tedious, sometimes danwas, with all celerity, sent to the bath, invested with gerous voyage of from six to ten months, the English an official costume, and his head covered by a cap traveller may now reach Bombay, the nearest station bearing the insignia of his office, consisting of a needle in India, in from forty to fifty days; seeing in his way threaded with coloured silk, and a small fur-brush, some of the most interesting objects in the civilised neatly wrought on the right side.

Only a few days elapsed, ere the fortunate Armenian found himself not merely the possessor of a spacious shop filled with merchandise, but also so thoroughly the fashion as to be overwhelmed with business, and placed in a position to secure great profit and honour, and to supply the exigencies of his parents and brethren. In another fortnight, he had laid in a handsome stock of pipes for the accommodation of his customers, and, through the energetic agency of his mother, provided himself with a wife, young, pretty, and obedient; who, with her two female slaves, composed his modest harem. In short, long before we left the city, the cidevant-butt of the imperial buffoons was a prosperous and busy merchant, to whom many a head was bent as he threaded his way, gravely and silently, as became the importance of his calling, through the thoroughfares of Stamboul.

AMERICAN CURIOSITY. [From M. Lowenstern's "Les Etats Unis et Le Havane."] WHEN ascending the Delaware in a steam-boat, I had the honour to excite the attention of one of these inquisitive gentlemen. As soon as he had discovered that I was a stranger, he began by standing in front of me, and examining me from head to foot. "A foreigner, no doubt," he began; "but from what country?"

This was the grand question, but I left him to ponder on it. He continued his survey; I changed my place; he followed me; I looked hard at him to express my dissatisfaction at his staring. Far from understanding me, he avails himself of this to come up and address me. Putting on as agreeable an expression as his pinched-up features would allow, he abruptly began in a snuffling drawling tone"Sir!"-then, after a pause-" Where do you come

from?"

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"I have not the least doubt of it." "Yes, sir; but what country in Europe do you come from-that is what I wanted to know." "Exactly, sir; but allow me to inquire, are you in trade?"

"Yes, sir, I am a merchant; but I was asking""Ah, you are a merchant; business pretty good in Connecticut, eh?"

"Pretty well, sir; but may I?"

"How many miles from here to Philadelphia ?" The American scratched his head vigorously with his right hand, raising the left side of his hat a little. "Twelve miles, sir. But, sir, you were forgetting. I asked you"

"I am delighted to have made your acquaintance,

sir."

Then politely turning from him, I exclaimed, "I

world.

are several other routes by which British India may Putting the old sea voyage out of the question, there be reached. Of these we purpose, with the help of the works now before us, giving some account. The first route takes the traveller through the heart of France, for he enters that country at Calais or Boulogne, on the shores of the British channel, and leaves it at Marseilles on the Mediterranean. He is thus afforded an opportunity of visiting Paris, which, if he have started from England in good time, he may allow himself leisure to explore. He can then travel direct thence to Marseilles, but as that is by far the most fatiguing and least interesting plan, shorter stages are generally preferred; and it is better to proceed to Chalons, where he can catch a glimpse of the Alps, although they are one hundred miles distant. He is now on the banks of an important French river, the Soane, and embarks on board a small steam-boat for Lyons, at which place the Soane flows into the Rhone. The short rest allowed here (from two in the afternoon till five in the morning) may be usefully employed in seeing as much of this great manufacturing town as possible. He will be struck with the ancient and gloomy look of the houses, which are in many streets six and seven storeys high; but the quays enclosing the town (for they face both rivers) will be seen to present a fine appearance. Though the cathedral is well worth a visit, the town-hall is considered the finest building in the place. It is in Lyons that nearly all the silk produced in France is woven. He next embarks on the Rhone, whose rapid current takes the steamer to Avignon, a distance of 150 miles, in eleven hours. This is one of the most ancient and picturesque towns in France, and if the traveller be of a poetical temperament, he may visit the tomb of Laura de Sade, the lady to whom Petrarch addressed his celebrated sonnets; which will be found in the church of the Cordeliers. Instead of proceeding down the Rhone to its mouth in the Gulf of Lyons, and so round to Marseilles, the journey is continued to that place from Avignon by coach. It is necessary to be here on the first, eleventh, or twenty-first of the month; for on those days the French steamers take their departure for Alexandria.

Should the voyager have time to deviate from his direct route, he should here make arrangements for one of the finest tours in the world. These steamers call in their way at Leghorn and Civita Vecchia, in Italy, and by landing at the latter place, the traveller will be within forty-five miles of Rome. Having received from this visit the greatest gratification it is possible for the lover of antiquity and history to enjoy, he can return to the coast at Naples, taking in his way Mount Vesuvius, Stromboli, with the half-excavated ruins of Pompeii and Herculaneum. It will be

* I. Hand-Book for India and Egypt, &c. By George Parbury, Esq., M. R. A. S. Second Edition. London: W. H. Allen and Co., 7, Leadenhall Street.

II. Messrs Waghorn and Co.'s Overland Guide to India, by

Street.
Four Routes to Egypt. London: J. Madden and Co., Leadenhall

it has changed hands, contains little to interest the stranger, except what he will see passing before him in the streets. Situated in the centre of the Mediterranean, Malta has either permanent inhabitants, or occasional visitors from almost every nation of the eastern hemisphere, and a motley assemblage of costumes is to be seen in its public places, unequalled for variety in any other part of the globe. From Malta, the traveller is conveyed direct to Alexandria. Should, however, time press, it is possible to go direct from Marseilles to Alexandria by a British steamer, which leaves the former port on the fourth of every month. A new line of French packets is also established, to perform the same voyage three times during every month.

The traveller is now in one of the ancient capitals of the "Land of Egypt,” and though he have but little time to inspect its curiosities, yet some of them will force themselves upon his notice in his passage from the harbour, where he lands, to the great square. Here "he will have ample opportunity," says Mr Parbury, "to admire its spacious area, the beauty and great size of the buildings in it, and the picturesqueness of the inhabitants and their costume. It is the situation, also, of the residences of the various consuls, many of which have elegant spiral staircases rising far above the roofs, whence fine views of the surrounding country can be obtained, and vessels be descried very far off at sea. By proceeding, also, but a very short distance from the square, he will find himself amidst the hillocks and ruins of Old Alexandria, where excavations are constantly going on, and fresh discoveries of interesting objects of antiquity as frequently being made. A few steps farther onward, and he is at the foot of Cleopatra's needle (two granite obelisks, the one standing, the other pros trate), after inspecting which, he may return to his

hotel with the consciousness that he has seen almost

everything of interest that Alexandria can furnish.” Pompey's pillar-the pedestal and shaft of which are composed of single masses of granite to the height of 117 feet-may also be viewed, for it is in the outskirts of the old town, through which it is necessary to pass to get to the canal station, whence the journey is to be resumed. Being only three miles from Alexandria, this forms a most interesting walk, though, if preferred, carriages are provided. The baggage is conveyed on the backs of camels. The Alexandria canal affords communication between that city and the Canoptic, or western branch of the Nile. It was originally dug under Alexander the Great, but was subsequently closed up. Mehemet Ali, the present ruler of Egypt, determined to re-open it; and, with a despotism peculiar to him in carrying on public works, ordered 20,000 men, from all parts of the country, to meet at Atfé on the Nile by a particular day. Not daring to disobey, the multitude assembled, were set to work, and in six weeks this canal, though 48 miles long, was completed. All then returned to their homes. The passenger to India derives great benefit from this act of tyranny; for he is towed, or tracked by horses in an iron boat, down to the Nile in eight or ten hours. Here a steamer is boarded, which completes the distance (164 miles) to Boulac, the port of Cairo, in about twenty hours. It is, during this voyage, that the active observer may obtain, by a careful scrutiny of the canal and river banks, a notion of the condition of the Fellah or Egyptian peasant mode of existence. Miserable huts, and agricultural operations of a most contracted and primitive nature, may be continually observed. He will also perceive at Babnel-Bakarah the fork or point where the Nile diverges into two great arms by which it is emptied into the sea, having flowed from Ilak in Nubia, a distance of 1350 miles, in solitary grandeur, unaided by a single tributary stream during its course- an unexampled instance," exclaims de Humboldt, "in the hydrographic history of the globe." He will also have caught a first glimpse of the mighty pyramids, which, although at a great distance, will, from the extreme clearness of the air in these latitudes, appear to be within a mile or two of him.

Landed at Boulac, and having threaded its busy wharfs and narrow streets, the stranger proceeds through Fostat, or Old Cairo, to New Cairo, the modern capital of Egypt, which, by the aid of one of the extraordinarily swift donkeys that this country is famed for, may be explored in a short period. The great pyramids of Gizeh are only ten miles southwest of Cairo, and may also, under ordinary circumstances, be easily visited.

The passenger will next have to prepare for his journey-across the eastern desert of Egypt-to Suez, situated at the northern extremity of the Red Sea. This, though a tedious and monotonous journey in itself, is, from the associations connected with it, one of absorbing interest. The road lies, for a considerable distance, upon the track taken by the Israelites in their flight from Egypt. Birket-el-Hadj (Pilgrim's Pool), which is passed about twelve miles from Cairo, is conjectured to be the Succoth of Scripture, where

414

the Jews first encamped (Exodus, chap. xiii. v. 37).
It is still a place of rendezvous for the pilgrim cara-
vans from Cairo to Mecca. These caravans, or assem-
blies of travellers upon camels and dromedaries, have
always travelled exactly in the same manner as when
the company of merchants" rescued Joseph from the
pit into which his brothers had thrown him, and there
was no other mode of travelling till the adoption of the
present method. The desert between Cairo and Suez
is eighty-four miles across, and is traversed in seven
stages, where stables and resting-rooms have been
built. Double that number have, however, lately been
provided by means of a tent pitched between each of
the station-houses. These tents add a singular feature
to the scene, being no other than those used at the
Eglintoun tournament. Thus a relic of a late mas-
querade in Scotland is presented in juxtaposition with
the monumental remains of the Pharaohs and Ptole-
mies! The sort of vehicles provided for the modern
traveller are thus enumerated in Waghorn and Com-
pany's pamphlet:-"For this part of the journey there
are coaches drawn by four horses, each capable of
taking eight passengers; ditto, carrying six passengers
each; two-wheeled vans, with a sort of tilt cover, car-
rying four persons each, and drawn by two horses;
also donkey-chairs, a kind of light sedan, slung upon
poles, and carried by two donkeys to each, one before
and the other behind. These are by far the easiest
conveyances, and well-suited for ladies, children, and
invalids. Those who prefer riding, may be accom-
modated with either saddle-horses or donkeys, the
latter most to be depended on, being of a much supe-
rior description to those of Europe, very easy in their
paces, and capable of great fatigue, as one, if a good
one, will perform the whole journey from Cairo to
Suez with but little nourishment. For carrying the
luggage, dromedaries are employed."

Supposing the traveller to have entered the desert,
the subjoined passages from Mr Parbury's pen will
show him what kind of journey he may anticipate :
"The route is almost level throughout, and two of
the station-houses can at times be seen at the same
moment. It is perfectly adapted for wheeled car-
riages, and nine-tenths of the distance may be termed a
capital gravelled road, the remainder being occasionally
sandy, and at parts rocky; a very trifling outlay might
make the whole line available for a rapid coach tran-
sit, and, with relays of horses, the mails might be
transported across in ten hours with the greatest
ease, instead of occupying nearly forty-eight, as they
did on this occasion. But very few hills, either to the
right or left of the course, diversify the sameness of
the journey. There is only one large tree, situated
about two miles from the centre station; but small
bushes are more frequent; and there is a moderate-
sized specimen of the babul, or acacia, two miles from
the fifth station on the Cairo side.

Rats are the only animals that cross one's path;
they burrow in the sand everywhere, feeding upon
the camels which too often perish by the way; the
detached bones and perfect skeletons, indeed, of the
latter, being of themselves almost sufficient to indicate
to a stranger the correct line of march. The delusive
mirage may constantly be witnessed by travellers in
the desert."

The disagreeable romance of a robbery has often been added to the traveller's other annoyances. But latterly, the Bedouin Arabs have been kept in too effectual dread of the awful pasha to venture on any such olestation, and the road is now deemed as free from gands as that between London and Richmond. 4 need not be dwelt upon much, nor abided in one hear longer than necessary. often been described," remarks Mr Parbury, "but "Its wretchedness has never in terms too severe.' "" Not far from this once flourishing, but now utterly decayed seaport, is the village of Aljeroud, represented in the Bible by Etham, "on the edge of the wilderness" (Exodus, xiii. v. 20). At Suez, the voyager bids adieu to landtravelling till arriving at his Indian destination, and boards one of the government steamers which is to convey him the entire length of the Red Sea through the Arabian ocean to Bombay. The first thing by which his attention will most likely be attracted, will be the extreme clearness of the waters upon which he is now embarked. On looking over the sides of the vessel, he will perceive, at a great depth, the bed of the sea, consisting almost entirely of immense reefs of red coral, from which its name is derived. Once in motion, new scenes of interest present themselves in quick succession. The Egyptian mountains, skirting the whole of the western shores of his track, present a panorama of bold alpine scenery scarcely equalled elsewhere. But it is the eastern side which, during the early part of the voyage, will occupy him more fully. Mount Sinai, towering above the lesser Horeb, rises upon the promontory formed by the division of the sea into the gulf of Suez and that of Akaba.

The steam-boat generally calls at the ancient port of Kosseir in Egypt, to take up those passengers who have, instead of leaving Cairo by the route here described, preferred continuing up the Nile to Thebes, to view its stupendous remains of antiquity. These travellers cross the desert between Thebes and Kosseir in the ancient mode, upon camels' backs. Continuing from the latter port, the mountains on each side recede from the coast, and neither the Arabian nor Nubian scenery is so striking as that already passed. At length the Abyssinian shores are gained, and they, pressing closely upon those of Arabia, form

the narrow strait of Babelmandeb. But before exit
good view of Mocha will have been obtained. This
is here made from the Red into the Arabian Sea, a
place, the name of which is so often taken in vain by
dealers in coffee, is rendered conspicuous from "a tall
minaret towering amidst the white houses of the town;
date trees flourish to the southward; a white tomb and
fort are in view to the northward; while in the rear
of all, are ranges of hills of different elevations.”
hours' run eastward of Babelmandeb, on the Ara-
A half-way station is established at Aden, twelve
bian Sea. Here the vessel puts in and receives a
supply of coals. From this place its onward course is
but seldom enlivened by the sight of land, and the
voyager at last arrives at Bombay, having seen some
Europe, Africa, and Asia.
of the most remarkable places and antiquities in

lovers of the picturesque. It commences by a voyage
The second route finds, perhaps, more favour from
to Ostend, in Belgium, and an embarkation on the
Rhine to Basle. The south-western corner of Germany
is then crossed, and Switzerland is entered. Having
passed over the Alps, the traveller gains the shores of
Here he will find steamers to Trieste, in Austria,
the celebrated Lake Como, and arrives at Venice.
whence, on the 1st and 16th of every month, there are
vessels to Syra, which effect a junction at that place
with the French steamers to Alexandria. The jour-
ney from Egypt to India is then completed as above.
to Trieste.
Several other roads may be taken across the continent

tinople; a fourth through Greece; in short, a perA third route takes the traveller to Constanson bound for India, and not pressed for time, has only to consult his tastes, and he may have them gratified by visits to any of the interesting places cases, the grand gathering place is Alexandria. on the continent of Europe. Beyrout is sometimes preferred, but in that case a But in nearly all must be encountered. By far the best, and therefore tedious journey across Syria into the Persian Gulf length. The most direct course is, however, to emmost frequented route, is that we have described at Oriental Company's packets, which leaves that place bark at Southampton by one of the Peninsular and on the 1st of every month for Alexandria direct.

debted for some of the information here presented, In reference to the books to which we are inthose who contemplate taking the overland journey. we should say that both are almost necessary to Some suspicion may attach to the impartiality of the Messrs Waghorn's pamphlet, as being avowedly issued by transit agents, who, of course, recommend their own modes of conveyance; but this, if any exists in the reader's mind, may be set at rest by the clear and evidently unprejudiced statements of Mr Parbury. public is mainly indebted for the opening up of this It is, however, fair to state, that to Mr Waghorn the new road to India, and we cheerfully reprint Mr Parbury's testimony on that point :

"The incidental introduction of Mr Waghorn's is indebted for the present successful prosecution of name cannot fail to re nind the reader how much he steam navigation to India to that individual. The years were thrown in his way, while so ardently and obstacles and difficulties which for a long series of energetically carrying out his favourite project, are to notice, that the present government have, to a certoo well-known to need remark; and it is satisfactory tain extent, testified their appreciation of his services by giving him his commission as lieutenant in her majesty's navy.”

falls very little short of L.100 each person, for the
The expense of the most direct of these journeys
baggage.
mere transit of himself and a certain allowance of

WORKING OF THE POOR LAW IN
IRELAND.

and Mrs Hall's work on Ireland, that these intelliWe are happy to observe from a late number of Mr gent writers, after a careful and practical examination in various parts of the country, give their cordial approval of the Irish Poor Law, whether as regards its influence on the parties who receive relief, or its actual bearing upon the character and condition of the country. A few passages, condensed from the valuable testimony which they offer on this important measure, including one or two of those agreeable anecdotes with which they illustrate the subject, may not be unacceptable to the friends of social improvement.

collected, is to give relief only in workhouses; a workThe principle of the Irish Poor Law, it will be retown-lands. The number of houses declared fit for house being established in the centre of a union of occupation is 100, out of 130, the total number in modating from 200 to 2000 inmates. Eighty-four Ireland; and these are variously capable of accomhouses are already occupied, and the remaining sixteen old and young, in the eighty-four houses, is 27,537. are receiving their stores. The number of individuals, The total amount of accommodation which the 130 houses, when finished, will be capable of affording, is for 92,860 persons; and, in case of pressure, the capability of the houses may be considered to be from ten among these there is accommodation for upwards of to twenty per cent. beyond this number: included 2000 idiots, or harmless lunatics-the buildings being provided with wards for persons of this class. All

the buildings are large, substantial, well-ventilated, and furnished with airy court-yards.

a coat and trousers of barragon, cap, shirt, shoes, and stockings. The female adults are supplied with a striped jerkin, a petticoat of linsey-woolsey, and anThe clothing of the adult male inmates consists of other of stout cotton, a cap, shift, shoes, and stockings. The male children have each a jacket and trousers of linsey-woolsey petticoat. Each bed is supplied with have each a cotton frock and petticoat, a cap, and fustian, a shirt, and woollen cap. The female children able-bodied women and children sleep in double beds; the sick, the infirm, and the male persons, sleep in a straw mattress, with blankets, bolsters, &c. The single beds. special cases), not to admit children without their It is an established rule (except in completely separated. wife, nor a wife without her husband. The sexes are parents, if dependent on them; nor a man without his

ing on the condition of the poor in the neighbourhood, the object being to give such diet to the inmates of The diet varies in particular unions, chiefly dependthe workhouse as shall not be superior to that obtained adults is-for breakfast, 7 ounces of meal made into by the independent labourer. A common dietary for porridge, 1 pint of butter-milk, or half a pint of new milk; for dinner, 3 lbs. of potatoes, and 1 quart of butter-milk. Children five to fourteen-34 ounces of oatmeal for breakfast; dinner, 2 lbs. of potatoes; supper, 6 ounces of bread, and 1 pint of new milk, given in the workhouses, and the want is not comdiet of the independent peasantry in Ireland, is not daily. Animal food, not being part of the regular plained of. The dietary has hitherto been found to give general satisfaction.

will be taxed alike. Formerly, the burden of sup-
porting the poor, as is the case, in a great measure,
the country at large; and now, for the first time, all
The expense of maintenance is levied by rates on
relieved the mercenary. "All who know Ireland, know
till this day in Scotland, fell upon the generous, and
that there was no district in which there did not exist
the gate or house of the hard man to the poor' was
poor, and those who never gave anything. In fact,
two distinct classes-those who gave much_to_the
gifts-it was avoided by both. We could easily name
to the respectable and generous collector of charitable
familiar to all the wandering train,' and as much so
shilling in the year, either by giving food or money-
individuals, of large properties, who did not bestow a
individuals who are now forced to pay, in many in-
stances, one or two hundred pounds per annum. It
follows, as a matter of course, that the really charit-
able have experienced a corresponding relief; and it
for occasional collections has by no means ceased, this
can scarcely be doubted, that, although the necessity
than they were before the introduction of the Poor
class, the really charitable, are now taxed less heavily
Law into Ireland. It should also be borne in mind,
We do not mean to say that the Poor Law has re-
that, by this tax, the absentee is effectually reached.
sity for private and voluntary charity; or that it has
moved, or that it ever will remove, entirely, the neces-
cleared, or ever will clear, the streets and roads of
lessened the former, and diminished the latter, evil.
beggars; but most certainly it has already greatly
inquiries before giving relief; it has justified greater
It has induced the charitable to institute more minute
out of sight the disgusting objects, the idiotic, the
diseased, and the maimed, who have been in a manner
care in the distribution of charity; and it has removed
of misery will appear frightfully large; but a vast
who now visit Ireland for the first time, the amount
forced into the shelter of the workhouse. To those
diminution of it will be perceptible-on the highways,
that is to say-to those who were familiar with the
country ten or twenty years ago. Why do you not
go to the workhouse?' is now a common query to
every beggar. Until very lately, the question could
not be asked.

will induce, is the certainty that, when public sym-
pathy is withdrawn from the profession of begging,
Not the least of the improvements which the law
and the beggar finds that there are no wages' to be
obtained by pursuing an unprofitable trade, those who
that could not furnish scores of strong and able hands
unused to labour, only because labour has been less
can work will work.
agreeable than wandering from place to place subsist-
There is no locality in Ireland
ing by charity.

·

A striking illustration of this fact was related to us from her ready wit and bitter tongue, and who levied by a friend at Lurgan. A strong able-bodied woman, who was both the amusement and terror of the gentry, mail, after abusing the new gaol,' as she termed the contributions something after the manner of black workhouse, from the laying of the first stone to its her bronzed face, as usual, at every house, as if no completion, when it came to be occupied, presented asylum had been provided for the poor. The gentry, thing whatever, but to afford her the means of emhowever, had come to a resolution not to give her any ployment, if she desired it. Accordingly, Kitty was told, that in future she must either work, or go into the poorhouse. In return for this information, Kitty stormed at and rated, first one, and then another, Kitty was the very queen of the beggars and if of all her former friends, who stood out firmly; for they yielded to her, they must yield to all; whereas, if Kitty was withstood, the others would know they

could have no chance whatever. Nothing could exceed
the virago's indignation at being, as she termed it,
'cast off' by the quality, after spending her time up
and down with them for a matter of thirty years, and
never bringing shame to their door, but being as honest
as Saint Bridget, or any other holy saint; and this
was her return; 'she didn't know how they could
look her in the face after it! Kitty fared badly; she
knew the dinner-hour of every family in the county;
but instead of the well-piled plate of pork and cab-
bage,' the double handful of meal, and dish of pota-
toes, Kitty found the back doors locked, and the
families remaining quite inattentive to her eloquence,
which certainly was more powerful than elegant.
After, according to her own account, 'going through'
as much trouble as would break a heart of stone, she
suddenly made her appearance before one of the poor-
law guardians, whom she had repeatedly offended, but
whom she still considered her friend. There she
stood, her empty wallet slinging by her side, her bat-
tered straw hat flapping over her face, and her brawny
arms folded one within the other. Here I am, noble
colonel' she exclaimed; the supplies are stopped,
my lord, and poor Kitty must yield to the articles of
war!' 'I thought,' he replied, I should have been
obliged to commit you as a ''Don't spake the
word, yer honour; there's no use in insulting a dead
soldier; it's only mee shadow that's in it. I'm pickt
to an atomy; the crows don't think me worth flying
away from, and the dogs that I've known the last ten
years, bark at me. I never quartered meeself on a
cabin-keeper yet; I'd scorn it! I'd not take from
worse than meeself; and now you see I'm driven
hard; yet bad as they've used me, my heart's with
the gentry of the county Armagh still. We can't
forget the friends of our youth, noble colonel; and it's
sorry I'd be to turn mee back on my ould friends;
and it's lonesome the roads will be without me, and
they used to me so long; but, still, needs must when
the devil (saving your presence) drives. And so, if
yer honour will just answer a few questions, which
Pll put ye, to my satisfaction, why, I'll be thinking
about renouncing the pomps and vanities-taking the
veil, my dear! What else can I call it? Devoting
meeself for the ase and pace of the counthry, inside
them four heart-breaking thick walls-putting the
prime of mee valuable life into a stone jug.' I sup-
pose,' said the colonel, you are going into "the house"
at last.' "That's what I'm thinking of,' she replied;
only my feelings war too tender to say it. Well,
he answered, laughing, 'you know, Kitty, we have all
come to a determination that you must all either go
into "the house" or work-one or the other. We
offer you work and good wages, Kitty, or "the house.""
"May the devil!' shouted Kitty, but, recollecting
herself, she paused, and dropping her voice to a whine,
she continued: Noble colonel, the little kwestions I
was going to ask you, my dear gentleman, that's all,
before I'll devote myself-just-is it quite an unpossi-
bility to get the drop of whisky in it? Quite.'
"Glory be to God! well, I've had a thrial at the could
water, to oblege Father Mathew, so I know that it is
possible to do without whisky, so I'll drop it; but
the grain of tay, colonel-sure you'd manage to let
me have that on the sly, and me so ould, and broken
down? No, Kitty, no!' said the inexorable son of
Mars. No, no, Kitty; no favour to one more than
to another; that would be unjust. Sure, it's the
strength of justice to favour friends.' 'Not in my
opinion; have you any other question to ask? 'Be-
dad I have, though your answers ain't no ways plasing
to me. Sure, yer honour wouldn't deprive me of a
shock, or maybe a draw, of the pipe, a few times in
the day? Not a single leaf of tobacco must enter
the gates. But they are light enough to fly over the
walls,' persisted Kitty. No, not a drop of whisky,
nor a grain of tea, nor a leaf of tobacco. And it's
cruel enough to be in airnest you are, is it? Quite;
will you go in? The gentleman and the woman
looked at each other fixedly for a moment; Kitty
untied her empty wallet, grasped it in her hand, and
then, as she flung it from her, exclaimed, "Tatteration
to me, colonel dear, but I'll work first! and for every
sixpence any woman in the place airns, I'll airn two.'
And so she does, and will continue to do-never idle;
and not having time to be abusive, she is far more
popular than she had ever been before. We saw her,
ourselves, as busy as a bee.

6

sufficient to relieve the universal distress; but, as- rest upon it. That night he slept seven hours without
suredly, if any such could exist, it would work incal- interruption. After constantly mesmerising him for ten
culable mischief, by encouraging, instead of checking, or twelve days, a great change was observed in his ap-
the grand fault of the Irish character-want of fore-pearance. The hue of health returned; he became cheer-
thought, the habit of never caring for the rainy day, ful; felt much stronger; was easier both in mind and
but exhausting present means without thinking of the body; slept well; and recovered his appetite.
On the 22d of September, he was apprised of the
morrow.
During our two latest tours in Ireland-the one in seemed almost unexpected, and affected him consider-
necessity of an early amputation. The communication
1841, the other in 1842-we had many opportunities ably. I this day tried the experiment of mesmerising
of inspecting the workhouses in the northern, western, him against his will; proceeding by contact with the
and, partially, the eastern, districts of the island. We hands, charging him, particularly, to exert his mind to
entered the greater number of them suddenly and prevent my affecting him. During the process, he oc-
unaccompanied, and not upon show-days,' when pre-casionally glanced at those near him, moving his eyes
parations might have been made, so that disagreeable as he felt inclined, and in twelve minutes and a half
features were concealed, or rendered less than usually passed into mesmeric sleep. The two or three previous
repulsive. We found them invariably clean, well- days, it had been effected in six minutes. He informed
ordered, and with evidence of good and steady disci-me, subsequently, he had repeatedly called to mind the
pline; the masters and matrons, as far as we could intelligence just received, and the torture which he must
judge, intelligent, kindly, and considerate. The various presently lost all consciousness. The anticipated loss of
endure; but he soon found the influence irresistible, and
regulations appeared to have been framed with judg- his limb, however, that night destroyed his natural sleep.
ment and a due regard to the comforts of the inmates; Next day, though found still fretting, restless, and in
and the poor people domiciled therein, seemed, for the consequent pain, he was yet, by my touch, asleep in four
most part, not only satisfied and contented, but grate- minutes and a half.
ful, and sensible that they had been in reality 'relieved.'
Of able-bodied paupers, such as we see far too often
in the workhouses of England, we saw few or none-
literally none of the male sex; and where we noticed
women capable of labour, we found that their children
were generally inmates of another ward. Cleanliness
we saw not only inculcated as a duty, but rendered
imperative; and out of this must arise immense
benefit, if not to the present, certainly to the after
generation. Ventilation is made to contribute to
health, and to give the valuable influence of example.
Decent beds, in place of miserable heaps of wet and
filthy straw, not only contribute to existing comforts,
but they become necessaries-necessaries that will be
procured hereafter by those who have had experience
of their advantages. Wholesome food, poor as it would
be considered by the English pauper, and in sufficient
quantities, instead of food insufficient in amount, and
of bad quality; shelter from the weather; warm and
comfortable apartments, both by day and night; good
and ample clothing; habits of cleanliness, decency,
and order; such are, in brief, the advantages which
the workhouse presents; if they are advantages to be
described and treated as the rights of the English
poor, they are, in truth, 'novelties' with which the
Irish poor have been ever utterly unacquainted. In
Ireland, therefore, we consider these public establish-
ments not only as pregnant with immediate good to
the suffering, but as rich in promise of future improve-
ment to the whole population of the country; not
only as taking away a national reproach-as providing
an asylum for the destitute, as removing wretchedness
from the highways and byeways-but as laying the
foundation of a sound and wholesome state of society,
in lieu of one that has been for centuries an anomaly
in civilisation.”

AMPUTATION IN THE MESMERIC SLEEP.
THE following account of a case of successful ampu-
tation of the thigh, during the mesmeric sleep, with-
out the knowledge of the patient, was read to the
Royal Medical and Chirurgical Society of London, on
Tuesday the 22d of November, 1842, by W. Topham,
Esq., the gentleman who induced the mesmeric state
in the patient :-

"James Wombell, aged forty-two, a labouring man, of
a calm and quiet temperament, had suffered for a period
of about five years, from a painful affection of the left
knee. On the 21st day of June last, he was admitted
into the District Hospital at Wellow, near Ollerton,
Notts; no longer able to work, and suffering much pain.
It was soon found that amputation of the leg, above the
knee-joint, was inevitable; and it was eventually pro-
posed that it should be performed, if possible, during

mesmeric sleep.

tember. He was sitting upright upon a bed in the hos-
I saw Wembell, for the first time, on the 9th of Sep-
pital; the only position which he could bear. He com-
plained of great pain from his knee, and of much excita-
bility and loss of strength from his constant restlessness
and deprivation of sleep; for he had not, during the three
previous weeks, slept more than two hours in seventy.

In the first attempt to mesmerise him, which occupied
me thirty-five minutes, the only effect produced was a
closing of the eyelids, with that quivering appearance
peculiar to mesmeric sleep; and, though awake and
speaking, he could not raise them, until after the lapse
of a minute and a half.

A very limited acquaintance with Ireland will serve to prove that out-door relief would be attended with incalculable evils. In Ireland the accepting eleemosynary aid is scarcely considered derogatory; old custom twenty minutes he was asleep. I continued to mesmerise My attempt the next day was more successful, and in has made the taking of alms anything but a degrada-him every day, except the 18th, until the 24th of Seption; it is assumed to be given as it is asked, 'for the tember; his susceptibility gradually increasing, so that, love of God,' and a sense of shame seldom accompanies on the 23d, the sleep was produced in four minutes and the acceptance. Consequently, thousands, who would a half. The duration of this sleep varied; continuing as soon enter a jail as a workhouse, would have no sort generally for half an hour, sometimes for an hour, and of hesitation in asking and receiving from a state occasionally for an hour and a half. But, with two excharity, donations of food or money. There can be ceptions (attempts to converse with him), I invariably little doubt, that if out-door relief were granted, the found him awakened, though without being startled, by whole population of Ireland, under a certain grade, the violent pain from his knee, which suddenly recurred would be periodical applicants for it; and at the at uncertain intervals. 'starving seasons,' there would be substantial reasons for their being so. It is well-known, that during the months of June, July, and August, of every year, a partial, sometimes indeed a general, famine exists in Ireland; the store of old potatoes has been consumed, the new potatoes are not yet fit for food, and the condition of the peasantry, meanwhile, is in the highest degree frightful. At such times no fund could be

The third time I saw him, he was suffering great agony,
and distressed even to tears. I commenced by making
passes, longitudinally, over the diseased knee: in five
minutes he felt comparatively easy, and on proceeding
further to mesmerise him, he was sleeping like an infant.
Not only his arms were then violently pinched, but also

the diseased leg itself, without his exhibiting any sensa-
tion; yet this limb was so sensitive to pain, in his natural
state, that he could not bear even the lightest covering to

[Mr Topham proceeds to say, that he mesmerised the patient several times by way of trial, and was now convinced that the operation might be safely performed while he was in the mesmeric sleep. When the day appointed for the operation arrived], we proceeded to Wombell's room to make the necessary arrangements. From the suffering inflicted by the slightest movement, it was found impossible, without needless torture, to place him upon fore lifted upon a temporary platform. Ten minutes a table. The low bed, on which he then lay, was thereafter being mesmerised, he was drawn, by means of the bed-clothes beneath him, towards the end of the bed. The movement, however, excited that pain which had so often aroused him before; and now it did so again. There was something quite excruciating in the suffering which the state of the knee produced; for I had seen him, whilst in mesmeric sleep, pricked to some little depth, in other parts of the diseased limb, without being disturbed or conscious of it. To preclude the necessity of any further movement, his leg was now placed in the most convenient position which he could bear. Shortly afterwards, he declared that the pain had ceased; and I again mesmerised him in four minutes. In a quarter of the operation. I then brought two fingers of each hand an hour I informed Mr Ward that he might commence gently in contact with Wombell's closed eyelids; and there kept them, still further to deepen the sleep. Mr Ward, after one earnest look at the man, slowly plunged his knife into the centre of the outer side of the thigh, directly to the bone; and then made a clear incision, round the bone, to the opposite point, on the inside of the thigh. The stillness at this moment was something awful; the calm respiration of the sleeping man alone was heard, for all other seemed suspended. In making the second incision, the position of the leg was found operator could not proceed with his former facility. Soon more inconvenient than it had appeared to be; and the after the second incision, a moaning was heard from the patient, which continued, at intervals, until the conclusion. It gave me the idea of a troubled dream; for his sleep continued as profound as ever. The placid look of his countenance never changed for an instant; his whole frame rested, uncontrolled, in perfect stillness and repose: not a muscle or nerve was seen to twitch. To the end of the operation, including the sawing of the bone, securing the arteries, and applying the bandages-occupying a period of upwards of twenty minutes he lay like a statue. Soon after the limb was removed, his pulse becoming low from the loss of blood, some brandy and water was poured into his throat, which he swallowed unconsciously.

pointed out to one of the surgeons, and another gentleAs the last bandage was applied, I man present, that peculiar quivering of the closed eyelids already alluded to. Finally, when all was completed, and Wombell was about to be removed, his pulse being still found very low, some sal volatile and water was administered to him; it proved too strong and pungent, and he gradually and calmly awoke.

At first he uttered no exclamation, and for some moments seemed lost and bewildered; but after looking around, he exclaimed, 'I bless the Lord to find it's all over!' He was then removed to another room; and, following immediately, I asked him, in the presence of those assembled, to describe all he felt or knew after he was mesmerised. His reply was, I never knew anything more, and never felt any pain at all; I once felt as if I heard a kind of crunching. I asked him if this were painful. He replied, No pain at all! I never had any; and knew nothing till I was awakened by that strong stuff' (the sal volatile). The crunching,' no doubt, was the sawing his own thigh bone. He was left easy and comfortable, and still found so at nine o'clock that night, about which hour I again mesmerised him (in a minute and three quarters), and he slept an hour and a half. I dressing of his wound was in mesmeric sleep. Of this may further add, that, on the Monday following, the first dressing, usually accompanied by much soreness and smarting, he felt nothing; slept long after it was completed; was ignorant of Mr Ward's intention; and, after awakening, remained unconscious of its having been done. Mr W. S. Ward's own statement, in accordance with his personal observation and care, prior and subsequent to the operation, he has kindly permitted to be appended to my own; and thus to render complete the narrative of this case, which I leave without a syllable of comment."

The statement of Mr W. S. Ward, the operator above alluded to, was next read; and besides corroborating, in every particular, the account of Mr Topham, some other circumstances were added, bearing on the surgical part of the case. Mr Ward concludes in the following words :

"I need only add, that the extreme quivering, or rapid

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