{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_22199/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_22199","id":"gutenberg_22199","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22199","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Journals","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Science - Earth/Agricultural/Farming","Chambers's Edinburgh Journal","Periodicals"],"text":"Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Richard J. Shiffer and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                     CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL\n\n  CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF 'CHAMBERS'S\n  INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,' 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.\n\n\n  No. 453. NEW SERIES.   SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1852.   PRICE 1-1/2_d._\n\n\n\n\nA POSSIBLE EVENT.\n\n\nOccupied as most of us are with our respective worldly concerns, and\naccustomed to see the routine of common events going on smoothly from\nage to age, we are little apt to reflect on natural events of a\ntremendous character, which modern science shews might possibly\nhappen, and that on any day of any year. We think of the land as a\nfirm and solid thing--as _terra firma_, in short--not recollecting\nthat geology shews how it may rise or sink, so as to pass into new\nrelations to the enveloping sea; how it may be raised, for instance,\nto such an extent as to throw every port inland, or so far lowered as\nto submerge the richest and most populous regions. No doubt, the\nrelations of sea and land have been much as they are during historical\ntime; but it is at the same time past all doubt, that the last great\ngeological event, in respect of most countries known, was a\nsubmergence which produced the marine alluvial deposits; and when we\nfind that Scandinavia is slowly but steadily rising in some parts at\nthis moment, and that a thousand miles of the west coast of South\nAmerica rose four feet in a single night only thirty years ago, we\ncannot feel quite assured, that the agencies which produced that\nsubmergence, and the subsequent re-emergence, are at an end. We\nlikewise forgot, in these cool districts of the earth, that we are not\nquite beyond the hazard of subterranean fire. There are numberless\nextinct volcanoes in both Britain and France; there are some on the\nbanks of the Rhine; indeed, they are thick-sown everywhere. Now, an\nextinct volcano is not quite so safe a neighbour as many may suppose.\nVesuvius was an extinct volcano from time immemorial till the year 63,\nwhen it suddenly broke out again, and soon after destroyed Pompeii and\nHerculaneum; since which time it has never again subsided into entire\ninactivity. Suppose Arthur's Seat, which is 'within a mile of\nEdinburgh town,' were to recommence business in like manner, we should\nlike to know at how many years' purchase house property in that\nbeautiful New Town would be selling next day. Yet what is there about\nan old volcano here more than an old volcano in Italy, to give\nassurance that its means of annoyance and destruction are absolutely\nextinguished?\n\nThere is, however, in the showings of science, a more serious danger\nthan any of these. Comets were once regarded as most terrific objects,\nbut only in a superstitious way, perplexing nations with fear of\nchange, and shaking pestilence from their horrid hair. During an\nintermediate enlightened time, these notions passed away; and we have\neven come to think, that such a visitant of our skies may exercise a\nbeneficial influence. We at least recollect when old gentlemen, after\ndinner, brightened up at the mention of 'claret 1811,' merrily\nattributing the extraordinary merits of the liquor to the comet of\nthat year. But comets, in the cool eye of modern science, are not\nwithout their terrors. Crossing as they often do the paths of the\nplanets in their progress to and from their perihelia, it cannot but\nbe that they should now and then come in contact with one of these\nspheres. One, called Lexell's, did come athwart the satellites of\nJupiter in 1769, and once again in 1779, so as to be deranged in its\nown course. It made, indeed, no observable change in the movements of\nthe Jovian train, being of too light a consistence for that; but can\nwe doubt, that it might nevertheless seriously affect the condition of\ntheir surfaces, and especially any animal life existing thereon? This\nvery comet, on the 28th of June 1770, passed the earth at a distance\nonly six times that of the moon. There is another called Biela's,\nwhich revisits the sun every six years, or a little more; and this\nbusy traveller actually crossed our orbit in 1832, only a month before\nwe passed through the same point in space! Another, which made a grand\nappearance in the western sky in March 1843, would have involved us in\nits tail, if we had been only a _fortnight_ earlier at a particular\nplace! Rather fine shaving that in the celestial economics. Now, if we\nconsider that as many as eight comets have been observed\ntelescopically in a single year (1846), we must see that the chance of\na collision of this kind is not quite so small as to be unworthy of\nregard. If it be true that there are thousands of comets, all of which\nmake periodical visits to the near neighbourhood of the sun, it must\nbe evident that the earth, being itself not far, comparatively\nspeaking, from that luminary, must be rather liable as otherwise to a\nbrush from one of these wanderers; and, indeed, the wonder is, that\nseveral thousand years should have passed without, so far as we know,\nany one such collision having taken place.\n\nSeeing what a highly-organised system is formed by the physical and\norganic arrangements upon our planet, one is apt to think that the\nscheme of Providence must have been framed with a provision for the\ncomplete exclusion of such accidents. To allow of the sudden undoing\nof all this fair scene, which it has taken thousands of years to bring\nout in its full proportions, seems like a wanton destruction of\nvaluable property, and we are not disposed to believe that such a\nthing could be permitted. But we must at the same time remember, that\nour sense of what is important and consequential has a regard to the\nearth alone, which is but a trifling atom in the universe. Who can\ntell what are the limits which the Master of worlds has set to mundane\ncalamity? And assuredly, even though a whole solar system were here\nand there, now and then, to be remodelled in respect of all such\narrangements as have been spoken of, it could not be supposed to be a\nvery great event in the progress of the entire scheme, seeing that\nastronomy has taught us to regard such systems as no more than\nparticles in the dust-cloud or grains of sand on the sea-shore. It\nmust, then, in sober reasoning be admitted, that our mere abhorrence\nof so much destruction is no guidance to our judgment on this point;\nand that for anything we can see of the plans of Providence, an\nentanglement of our globe with a comet may take place any day, with\nconsequences incalculably damaging for the meantime, though not\nconclusively destructive, and perhaps necessary as a step towards an\nimproved system of things--the bringing in of what Ben Jonson calls\n'an age of better metal.'\n\nIn the frame of mind which these speculations induce--not very greatly\nalarmed about such extraordinary contingencies, yet not insensible to\nthe solemnity of the thought of what may come to pass even before our\nliving eyes--it is curious, and not necessarily unpleasant, to\nconsider what might be the actual phenomena attending a cometary\ncollision. We know not what comets are composed of, but are certain\nthat they consist of some palpable matter, however diffused, for they\nobserve the rules of motion in their revolutions round the sun. On the\nwhole, the most plausible supposition as to their composition, is that\nwhich regards them as watery vapour or cloud, of great tenuity. How\nlike, for example, to the doings of a cloud, is the splitting into\ntwo, which has been occasionally observed in them! Well, if they be\nclouds, the coming of one into contact with our earth would most\nlikely deposit with us an immense addition to our stock of water. It\nwould be instantaneous, or nearly so. Only think of a sudden fall of\nwater sufficient to raise the ocean a hundred feet, and submerge all\nparts of the land which were less than that height above the present\nlevel of the sea! There would, of course, be a fearful abridgment of\nour continents; all big islands would be made little; and many littler\nones would cease to be. The surviving lands would be so swept by the\nflood, that scarcely any of the present features would remain\nunchanged. All animals and movable things would be engulfed. In a few\nminutes, this brawling, chattering, bustling world would be stilled in\nuniversal death. What a settlement of 'questions' there! What a strike\nof work! What a command of Silence!\n\nA board of bank directors was hesitating about a bill for L.100, some\nthinking it rather indifferent paper, others viewing it more\nfavourably; when down comes the cometic flood, and while the manager\nrings his bell to see what is the matter, it enters by doors and\nwindows, and in an instant closes the whole concern. A criminal court\nwas sitting in expectation of the return of the jury with their\nverdict. There was one thinking that death may not be far from his\ndoor, and a hundred pitying him in the contrast of their own assurance\nfrom the imminent foe, when lo! the flood, and judges, jury, criminal,\nand sympathising audience, are all instantly on a level. A sanitary\ncommission was deliberating on impediments to the bringing in of fresh\nand the taking away of foul water, and wondering if there ever would\nbe a body of their denomination which could do anything it wished to\ndo for the benefit of a mild, expectant, inactive, suffering public.\nThe comet pours in its fresh water on the instant, and the whole\ndifficulties of the case are at once resolved. A synod had been called\nto consider some nice point, hardly palpable to common understandings,\nbut which everybody thought a very important point notwithstanding,\nand three gentlemen speaking at once to contrary purposes were about\nto be interrupted by a fourth of a different opinion still, when enter\ncomet--a real Moderator--and at one stroke decides what poor mankind\nhad been wrangling about for centuries, and what, to all appearance,\nbut for this 'redding straik,' they would have wrangled about for\ncenturies to come. Lord Augustus Anser had demanded satisfaction of\nthe Honourable Mr Pavo for an injurious remark, and they were\nproceeding by railway to make a deadly end of it, when, lo! the comet\ndashes in like an undesired train from a siding, and quashes one of\nthe prettiest quarrels which has happened for a twelvemonth. There was\nan unpleasant dispute with America about a herring-barrel, and barrels\nof a different kind were likely to be resorted to to settle it. The\nAdmiralty was all astir as to how many vessels it might be necessary\nto set afloat for the business. Brother Jonathan was calculating what\ncould be made of the crisis in working out the election of a\npresident. The comet takes upon itself to set the whole naval force of\nboth countries afloat--the 'origo mali' too--and at the same time to\ncountermand the presidential election. So that matter passes. Another\npresident was on the point of electing himself emperor--a loving pair\nwas about to be wed--the Court of Chancery was just commencing a\ncareer of reform--a new author was starting into fame with the most\nbrilliant novel of the season--when the comet thwarts every hope.\nLloyd's had never calculated on such an accident. On 'Change, if there\nhad been time for a moment's remark, it would have been regarded as a\nmost unheard-of thing. The life-assurance companies, having in their\ntables made no allowance for such a contingency, would have been\nruined by so many policies 'emerging' (oh, word of mockery!) at once,\nhad it not been that there were no survivors to claim the various\namounts. Debts, bonds, contracts, obligations of all kinds, in like\nmanner were absolved by the comet, and Creation itself left to open a\nnew score in, it is to be hoped, a less blotted book.\n\nConsidered as a reform, our possible event must be viewed with great\ninterest. The patriot's heart is broken, in the ordinary current of\nthings, by the passive resistance he meets with from the great, inert\nmass of prejudice and contrary interest. His most generous views are\nthwarted by thousands of accidents which there was no foreseeing when\nhe put the affair down on paper. Tories hate and scandalise him;\ndespots put him in prison; he only can bequeath his scheme to be\nwrought out by the happy man of a happier age. Here, however, comes me\nin a besom which sweeps all the old peccant institutions away at one\nwhisk. Church and state are severed, and for ever. The Holy Alliance\nagainst the liberties of mankind is broken up--the pomp and corruption\nof courts is annihilated--bribery and bigotry are no more. What a\nclean sweep!--how hopeless reaction! Surely the most extravagant views\nof the Destructives must be gratified and contented at last.\n\nIf the event shall ever happen, it cannot be doubted that the present\nMankind will leave many interesting memorials of themselves and their\nprogress for the examination of a new race, should such ever arise.\nWhen the geologist of the after-world begins his work--who can tell\nhow many hundreds of thousands of years hence?--he will find, over all\nour stratification and palaeontology, a DRIFT containing the remains of\nthe ancient human species--here a _tibia_ of a stockbroker, there the\nskull of a poet--here a lady's dressing-case in a fossilised state,\nthere a gentleman's box of cigars: besides all these odds and ends,\nthere will doubtless be ruins of temples, fortresses, ships,\ngin-palaces, and other pertinents of an active, passionate humanity,\nthe purposes of which will form most curious matter of speculation for\nthe more angelic species then at last come upon the earth. Nothing in\nwriting or print will have survived to convey an idea of the state of\nour knowledge, or of the attainments of our great writers; but it is\npossible that a few inscriptions may be disinterred, and that through\nthese some glimpses may be obtained of our history, though of a most\ndetached and confused nature. Probably, the most puzzling thing of all\nwill be our warlike implements and munitions; for to one who never\nthought of harming his neighbour, how incomprehensible must be any\ntool designed expressly for that purpose! If the intent of these\narticles be penetrated, they will doubtless be ranged in museums as\ncurious monuments of passions long extinct, just as we see the\ninstruments of torture used by the Inquisition and other ancient\njudicatories hung up in antiquarian collections of our own day.\n\nWell, well, my dear brethren--you have read thus far without, I hope,\nbeing too much distressed by the idea of the physical contingencies to\nwhich it is shewn we are liable. Probably you have, each of you, too\nmany matters of sore concern pressing closely upon you, to be much\nincommoded by possibilities of so infinitesimal a character. It\ncannot, nevertheless, be amiss, that you should know these amongst\nother things that may any day leap from the laps of the Parcae, were it\nonly to expand your souls a little with things superior to the eternal\ncommonplaces of life. It is, after all, a great thing to be a part of\nso great a system as that revealed to us in the external frame of\nthings, and to feel in what a mighty hand our destiny lies. Even in\nthe danger of what is here styled a Possible Event, there is a\ngrandeur--both as to the event itself, and the Power under whose\npermission it will, if at all, take place, and our filial relations to\nthat Power, which never leaves us without hope--which, to a high and\npurified mind, must be felt as more than reconciling.\n\n\n\n\nBARTHOLD GEORGE NIEBUHR.\n\n\nWe have been reading with profound interest the life and letters of\none of the great men of Germany, Barthold Niebuhr, published very\nrecently in an English garb.[1] The original work we have not seen,\nbut we understand it is about one-third larger than the present\nselection, made in a great measure under the auspices of the Chevalier\nBunsen, the friend of Niebuhr, and his immediate successor in the\nPrussian embassy to Rome. The interest of the book is, indeed,\nprincipally derived from the private letters of Niebuhr, the greater\npart of which were addressed to his early friend, Mme Hensler, whose\nyounger sister was his first wife, and her niece his second. Most\nunfortunately, the valuable series of his letters to his father was\ndestroyed by fire a short time before his own death; but the account\ngiven of him by Mme Hensler is quite sufficient to connect all that\nremains; and from this, and one or two other sources open to us, we\nshall try to fill up our present narrative.\n\nNiebuhr is one of those men whose advent forms an era in the history\nof human knowledge. It is a mistake, however, to suppose that he was\nthe first to infuse even into Roman story that element of doubt which\nhas changed the whole fabric of historical science. If Niebuhr was a\nmere sceptic, he would be only the humble follower of Bayle, Lesurgnes\nde Pouilly, and other writers of the last century; but his merit lies\nin reconstruction--in the jealous care with which he distinguishes\nbetween the true monuments of history and the mass of traditional\nrubbish in which they lay entombed. In his Roman history, however,\nalthough by that alone he is known in England, we find only a portion\nof the intellectual man: he was learned in the learning of all times,\nmodern as well as ancient; and yet he was so completely immersed, not\nmerely as an observer, but as a participator, in the business of the\nworld and the great events of his own time, that even literature seems\nto have been little more than a study indulged in during the pauses of\nactive life. The history of a mind so vast is by no means, we are\naware, adapted for pages like ours; and yet it seems important--indeed\nindispensable--that in a popular journal, flowing on with the spirit\nof the age, we should trace some authentic records of the character\nand career of the man.\n\nCarsten Niebuhr, the father of the historian, had not the advantages\nof early education. He was no more than a free peasant, living on the\nmarsh-farm in Friesland, which had been possessed by several\ngenerations of his ancestors; but at the age of two-and-twenty he put\nhimself under mathematical tutorship at Hamburg, and then studied at\nGottingen. He was invited to join a mission which the Danish\ngovernment determined to send into Arabia; and the proposal, at first\nscarcely made in earnest to the half-educated young farmer, was\naccepted by him with eagerness. By a singular fatality, he was the\nonly one of the travellers sent out on this expedition who returned;\nhe was absent more than six years, during four of which he was alone,\nall his companions being dead. He had added largely to what was\npreviously known of Egypt; had made scientific observations of great\nvalue in the deserts of Arabia, and undergone prodigious hardships;\nbut the most remarkable thing was, that his eagerness to fulfil in\nsome measure the purposes of the expedition, made the whole journey a\nwork of preparation and study, as well as of actual exploration. In\n1773, being then just forty years of age, he married the orphan\ndaughter of Dr Blumenberg, a Thuringian physician, and lived at\nCopenhagen, with the rank of captain of engineers, till the year 1778.\nHe then removed to Meldorf, a town in the province of Ditmarsch,\nHolstein, where he settled for life as collector of the revenues of\nthe district.\n\nBarthold George Niebuhr was born in Copenhagen on the 27th of August\n1776; but with the little old town of Meldorf--once the capital of an\nancient commonwealth--his earliest associations were connected. A kind\nof rude equality still reigned in the manners of the rustic\npopulation, which was not likely to be disturbed by the influx of the\nworld into a bleak and gloomy district remote from the great roads.\nHere young Niebuhr grew up a studious and solitary boy; instructed by\nhis father in French, the rudiments of Latin, and above all, in\ngeography and history, which the old traveller taught him to\nillustrate by maps and plans, and by digging regular fortifications in\nthe garden. The sheriff of Meldorf, and editor of the _Deutsches\nMuseum_, a man of both fancy and learning, assisted in this early\neducation; and the boy--who had never been a child--employed himself,\neven at seven years of age, in writing down the instructions he\nreceived. In future years, he regretted his having thus 'lost the life\nof a child.' 'I found matter for my childish fancy only in books,\nengravings, or conversation. I drew into its sphere all I read, and I\nread without reason and without aim; but the real world was closed to\nme, and I could not conceive or imagine anything which had not been\nfirst conceived or imagined by another.'\n\nFrom this _second-hand world_ he removed at the age of thirteen, when\nhe was sent to the school at Meldorf, where the principal, Dr Jaeger,\ngave him as much attention as he could spare for a pupil, who, though\nmuch the youngest, was the most advanced in the class. Afterwards,\nfinding it was impossible to do for him what this strange child\nrequired, Dr Jaeger advised his removal, and gave him a private lesson\nof an hour every day instead. This was continued with only a few\nmonths' interruption and unsuccessful trial of a school at Hamburg,\ntill Barthold was eighteen, when he was sent to the university of\nKiel.\n\nHis interest in politics dated from a very early period. At the age of\neleven, he studied the newspapers, English ones especially, which he\nread with ease; and his knowledge of geography enabled him to follow\nall the details of a campaign with vivid interest.\n\nHis going to the university was an important incident in his life. His\nparticular vocation, indeed, seems to have been clear enough from even\nan earlier period; for though he was a learned linguist, history\nespecially, and philology, were the pursuits to which his heart was\ngiven. The letters he wrote from Kiel to his parents are amiable, full\nof affectionate outpourings about the new men and women to whom he was\nintroduced, about his studies, and about his theories. He profits by\nthe kindness of the physician, Dr Hensler, whose house and friendly\nadvice were always accessible; but he declines evening-parties; and\ncontemplates the mountain of knowledge, up whose steep sides he has\nyet to climb, with profound awe and some anxiety. 'My head swims when\nI survey what I have yet to learn--philosophy, mathematics, physics,\nchemistry, natural history. Then, too, I must perfect myself in\nhistory, German, and French; study Roman law, and the political\nconstitutions of Europe, as far as I can, &c.; and all this must be\ndone within five years at most.... I _must_ know all these things; but\nhow I shall learn them, Heaven knows! That I shall require them as a\nlearned man, or in any position I may occupy, I am fully convinced.'\n\nIn Dr Hensler's house he saw frequently Mme Hensler, the widow of the\ndoctor's son. She was six years older than Niebuhr; but to him, unused\nto female society, and admitted at once into domestic familiarity with\na sensible and engaging woman, this disparity was nothing--perhaps,\nindeed, it added to the charm. From other sources, we learn that he at\nfirst became attached to Mme Hensler herself; but being discouraged as\na lover, allowed her to introduce him to her younger sister, Amelia\nBehrens, a beautiful and intellectual woman; and although the\nattachment he then formed was not sudden or violent, it became very\nprofound. After his engagement with this lady in 1797, and before his\nmarriage, he visited England; and in Scotland--chiefly in\nEdinburgh--he spent nearly a year. The account given in his letters of\nhis sojourn in our capital, would interest and amuse many of its\npresent inhabitants. The Edinburgh of 1797 was more different\nperhaps from its present self in outward things, than in mental\ncharacteristics. His remarks on the want of a more open manifestation\nof feeling and affection among his friends there are striking. 'It is\nquite a national trait,' he says, 'not to dwell on what concerns us\npersonally, upon what fills our heart; and it is as unnatural to them\nto hear me speak of the topics upon which I am feeling strongly, as it\nwould be to do the same themselves.... I am far from attributing it to\ncoldness in these good people. It is altogether national, and it is\nthe same with every one I have known here, whatever their rank,\ncalling, learning, or sex. It has quite surprised me, for example,\nthat if you meet a person in whose family some one has been ill, he\nwill hardly allude to it, beyond a short answer to your inquiries, or\nspeak of it with any feeling. In this way, it must be allowed, people\nmay easily be independent of each other. I believe firmly that the\nScots love their children--that Playfair is a good father; and yet the\nformer only speak of them because they have them with them in the\nevenings, and the boys make their presence known: the latter behaves\nexactly as if his boy were not in the room. So far from inviting me to\nspeak of my relations, so far from Mr Scott making any inquiries as to\nmy father's position--though he is, nevertheless, as much attached to\nhim as possible--they have met every attempt on my part to talk to\nthem on these subjects with a silence which admits of no other\nexplanation, than that it is not in good taste to say much about these\nthings. They have never once asked after my mother and sister.' We\nhave copied the above, because there is no trace in any part of\nNiebuhr's writings, former or latter, of narrow national judgments;\nand he repeatedly bears testimony to the fatherly kindness with which\nhe was welcomed, especially in the two houses mentioned in the above\nextract. It is simply the sense of a difference, and a difference we\nshould be inclined to regret as well as he, between the German and the\nEnglish or Scotch habit. We shall never forget the earnest, _pained_\nmanner in which a young German in England once said, when adverting to\nthe case of some very irreproachable English youths, who yet were\nnever heard to express a feeling, scarcely to utter a kind thing:\n'Your young countrymen seem to me positively _ashamed_ of being good.'\n\nThe diligence of Niebuhr, though often impeded by illness, was\nimmense. Languages, philosophy, history, natural science, all took\ntheir turn. His number of languages was not short of twenty at this\ntime, and in some he was profoundly versed--in most, very respectably.\nBut the most remarkable thing through life was his memory, and its\nwonderful combination of retentiveness and readiness. This, rather\nthan the imaginative power, it was that made his descriptions so\ngraphic. Seeing and retaining everything, he painted as if all history\nwas before him. When he spoke of a striking event, the coast, the\nmountain-line, or the plain, all the accompaniments rose up and were\ngrouped before him. You felt carried away with him, as if he had lived\nthere, and was taking you up by the way.\n\nHis return to Denmark took place late in 1799. A double appointment\nawaited him at Copenhagen--two government offices, neither bringing in\na large salary, but sufficient to allow of his marrying; and\naccordingly Amelia Behrens became his wife in May 1800. The five\nfollowing years found him engaged in the civil service at\nCopenhagen--sometimes in very onerous and uncongenial duties,\nsometimes in a position of peril, for the bombardment of the city\nunder Nelson took place in 1801, and he keenly entered into every\npolitical incident. During this period of five years, his official\nservice was more than once changed, but it seems always to have been\nconnected with finance. He still found time for study, straining every\npower of his mind, he says, at one time in investigating Roman\nhistory, sure 'that the representations of all the moderns, without\nexception, are but mistaken, imperfect glimpses of the truth.' This\nCopenhagen life allowed him time but for one visit to his parents; and\na disappointment which annoyed him considerably, in what, he thought,\na just expectation of preferment, disposed him, in 1806, to accept an\noffer from the Prussian government of a post at Berlin not unlike that\nhe had occupied in Copenhagen, but promising many advantages in\nsociety and literary opportunities.\n\nNever was there a more disastrous commencement of a new career. The\nNiebuhrs reached Berlin in October 5, 1806, and on the 14th came the\ndreadful battles of Jena and Auerstadt, while Napoleon, with his\nconquering army, marched rapidly upon the city, and seven of the\nPrussian ministers gave in their allegiance to the French without even\nthe ceremony of communicating with their king. The new bank-director\nshared in the general misfortune, and was forced to fly, with the\ncourt and ministry, first to Danzig, then to Konigsberg, afterwards to\nMemel and Riga. A fearful time it was; yet still Niebuhr could write\nsoothingly to his parents: 'You must not be uneasy: I can earn a\nliving either as a scholar or a merchant; and if I do not succeed in\none country, I shall in another.' To Mme Hensler also he wrote\ncheeringly, but under caution, for all letters were unsafe. In the\nmeantime, the indefatigable student took the opportunity of learning\nRussian and Sclavonic.\n\nIt is difficult to follow out his course distinctly during the next\nthree and a half trying years. He was always employed in the finance\ndepartment, and for some little time was a privy-councillor; but he\ndiffered widely in his views from some of those with whom he worked.\nHis letters shew the most conscientious desire to put aside every\nthought of personal ease, and to avert from the poor people around, if\npossible, some part of the calamity which hostile armies and bad\ngovernment entailed on them; and it is delightful to observe his\nperfect honesty and plainness of speech as a statesman--his high ideas\nof truthfulness in all things. Yet they were mournful years; and his\nhealth at last thoroughly failing, he sent in his resignation to the\nking of Prussia, and solicited the office of historiographer, vacant\nby the death of Mueller. This was granted; and in 1810, he and his wife\nonce more found a settled home at Berlin.\n\nAnd now came the happiest time of his life; though the great delicacy\nof his wife's health was an obstacle to the feeling of security, and\nthough still the menaces of Napoleon sounded fearfully loud, if not\nclose at hand. The breathing-time, however, was delightful. The\nuniversity of Berlin was now just opened, and thither came intelligent\nprofessors, men of renown in art and science, in knowledge and wisdom.\nAs historiographer to the king, Niebuhr's part was to lecture on\nhistory; and now, for the first time, the treasures he had long been\namassing came into direct use as the means, through his management, of\ninstructing other minds. He had never before delivered public\nlectures, and his advantages in manner were not great; but the success\nof his first essays on the history of Rome, proves how solid and real\nmust have been the information he had to bestow. He was attended not\nmerely by the young men, but by members of the academy, by professors,\nby military and public men of all grades. It is no wonder that he\nsucceeded thus: he was half a Roman by nature and feeling.\n\nSo passed the happy years of his professorship. But again the noise of\nwar was heard, and he and all his coadjutors had to take up arms, and\nfight the battle of Prussia against the great tyrant of Europe. Most\ntouching anecdotes are told of the bravery and fine behaviour of the\nnative troops. Perhaps no war was ever more nobly sustained, and with\nsuch anxious avoidance of cruelty. What a moment it was to Prussia\nwhen the news of Bonaparte's abdication reached the country! when\nthere might be some hope of reaping the harvests they had sown, and\nrebuilding their ruined villages! But the Niebuhrs were never again to\nknow the calm and happy days they had enjoyed. Mme Niebuhr, who had\nlong been declining, was grievously changed for the worse by the\nanxieties of the war. On the 2d of May 1815, her husband received at\nBerlin news of his father's death; and on the 21st of June, his\nbeloved Amelia followed. The good Mme Hensler, who had taken alarm,\nwas near to soothe her last hours, and to comfort the husband. Niebuhr\nhad never spoken to his wife of her approaching end: though longing to\nknow her parting wishes, he dared not break the physician's orders\nagainst excitement. Once only, a few days before her death, as he was\nholding her in his arms, he asked her if there was nothing he could do\nfor her sake--no pleasure he could give her. She replied, with a look\nof unutterable love: 'You shall finish your history whether I live or\ndie!'\n\nThey had no family--he was therefore left alone. At first, nature gave\nway, and it seemed as if he had imbibed his wife's disease--pulmonary\nconsumption--and that he regarded the legacy as a blessing; but his\nhigher nature triumphed. He promised Mme Hensler to live, and try to\naccomplish his Amelia's wishes, and she, by her kindly influence, won\nhim to something more. She saw that to him a lonely life was nearly\nimpossible, and she had another partner in store for him--Gretchen\nHensler, a niece of her late husband. Again he took her counsel; and\nagain, which is perhaps the most extraordinary part of the affair, it\nproved that she had judged as well for both parties as possible. There\nwas no concealment in the matter; the new Mme Niebuhr perfectly\nunderstood his character and his sorrow--understood that she could not\nbe to him what Amelia had been; but she married him in faith and hope,\nand the life she brought him was peaceful and ultimately happy.\n\nThen another change had to be made. He could no longer bear Berlin.\nEvery one saw that a different position was desirable, and what better\nthan a residence in that country which his literary labours had seemed\nto mark out as his own? The king of Prussia wanted an ambassador at\nRome, to negotiate with the pope certain matters touching the\ninterests of his Catholic subjects, and Niebuhr's appointment was the\nmost natural one possible.\n\nHis first impressions of Rome were not favourable, and his first\nletter was even querulous; but soon his clear single mind grew strong\nagain; and the spirit of his correspondence during the whole seven\nyears of his Roman residence is delightful. Children brought out the\nfatherly part of his character; his wife was ever his loving and\ndevoted companion; some powerful and interesting minds sought his\ncompanionship; and a taste for art was improved by intercourse with\nthe rising young artists who were then at Rome--Cornelius, Overbeck,\nSchadow; but, above all, the education of Marcus, his eldest child and\nonly boy, who can wonder if he became more and more of a Roman, and if\nhe closed the seventh year of his residence mournfully when preparing\nfor his return to Germany?\n\nHis mission had been a difficult one--not that the papal court was\nunfriendly, but the home instructions were not always clear and\nconsistent. An earnest Protestant himself, he was yet profoundly alive\nto the duties of rulers towards all their subjects, of all religious\nbeliefs, and wished in every negotiation to make sure of a large\nmeasure of real freedom.\n\nWhen at length the concordatives were agreed to, he was anxious for a\nrecall, on account, chiefly, of the delicate state of Mme Niebuhr's\nhealth; but for this he had some little time to wait. It is\ninteresting to see the manner in which he was affected by the passing\nevents of this time.\n\n'Idle talk,' says M. Bunsen, 'on matters of lofty import, and a\ndwelling with pleasure upon trifling topics, were equally abhorrent to\nhim. I shall never forget how Niebuhr spoke at a princely table in\nRome, during the bloody scenes in Greece, of Suli and the Suliots, and\nthe future of the Christian Hellenes, in much the same terms as he has\nspoken to posterity in a passage of his Roman history, which breathes\na noble indignation, and a sense that the brand of infamy still\ncleaves to us. The prince, a high-minded, amiable, and intelligent\nman, listened, as did his guests, with attention and sympathy; a\nserious mood seemed to come over the whole party; a pause occurred.\nOne of the guests, a diplomatist, of Mephistophelian aspect and\nspecies, took advantage of it to turn the conversation. One of the\neternally repeated trifles of the day--a so-called piece of news that\nmust be repeated to the prince--was skilfully used as a\nstepping-stone; and in ten minutes, the whole table was alive with a\ndispute between the spokesman and another person who had contradicted\nhim on a most important point--what \"aurora\" signified in the slang of\nthe Roman coffeehouses, whether a mixture of chocolate with coffee or\nnot. Niebuhr was silent. At last, with quiet earnestness and\ndignified mien, he spoke these words: \"What heavy chastisements must\nbe still in store for us, when, in such times, and with such events\nstill occurring around us, we can be entertained with such miserable\ntrifles!\" All were mute, and Niebuhr also. A long pause ensued; and\nthe mysteries of the Caffe Nuovo were not mentioned again that day.'\n\nThe life which Niebuhr led after returning to Germany, was not\nremarkable as to incident, but it abounded in useful and noble\npursuit. He still shunned Berlin; and, on the whole, the university of\nBonn appeared to him as the best and most suitable residence for the\nfamily, now consisting of five children. He did not take any actual\nprofessorship, but he lectured and he wrote. Here he became the centre\nof a circle of the highest minds of Germany. All prized him; all,\nyoung and old, felt the benefit of his presence, his labours, and\nexample. He regularly worked at the history of Rome; but he cultivated\nhis garden, taught and played with his children, and built himself a\nhouse. The time was not all passed at Bonn; in 1829, the family\nvisited Holstein and Mme Hensler. A twelve years' absence had produced\nmany alterations, but the love of country and early home was wrought\ninto Niebuhr's heart, and he enjoyed this renewal of youth. A sad\ncalamity, however, awaited him at Bonn. On the night of February the\n6th 1830, the new house he had built with such pleasure and care, was\nburnt completely down. Very little could be saved--excepting, indeed,\nthat the books, being the first object to which his neighbours were\nattracted when the family were rescued, were for the most part\npreserved, and also the manuscript of the second volume of his Roman\nhistory. The whole correspondence with his father, and many other\nletters and papers, were destroyed.\n\nThis event, though a great shock, he bore with much calmness, and set\nhimself to restore what was lost. Foreign politics did not lose their\ninterest; on the contrary, the French Revolution of 1830 excited all\nhis ardour. At first, he was alarmed, anticipating fresh horrors; but\nthe welcome he gave to Louis-Philippe was most enthusiastic. Dr Arnold\ndescribes him as being made quite happy by this turn of the page of\npresent life, and deeply indignant with the Bourbon ministers. His\nardour in this cause was indeed the immediate occasion of his fatal\nillness; for while the French trials were pending, he would go every\nevening, through severe cold, in the depth of winter, to the\nnews-rooms, and by this exposure caught the inflammatory cold of which\nhe died. On the evening of Christmas-day 1830, this formidable attack\nbegan; and on the 1st of January 1831, the excellent man breathed his\nlast, fully conscious of his impending fate, and not less so of that\nof his beloved partner, who had nursed him during the first two days,\nbut was afterwards too ill to leave her bed. When her husband was\ninformed of this, he turned his face to the wall, and was heard to\nmurmur: 'Hapless house! to lose father and mother at once!' Then,\n'Pray to God, children; He alone can help us'--and his attendants saw\nthat he himself was seeking comfort in prayer. Poor Mme Niebuhr\nsurvived him but nine days. She had her children with her, and tried\nto give them counsel; but the shock had been too great for her broken\nhealth; she rests in the same grave with him, not far from the\nglorious river. The king of Prussia erected a monument to his honour.\n\nNiebuhr was only a few months more than fifty-four. Mrs Austin, who\nsaw him in 1828, says: 'His person was diminutive, almost to meanness,\nbut his presence very imposing. His head and eye were grand, austere,\nand commanding. He had all the authority of intelligence, and looked\nand spoke like one not used to contradiction. He lived a life of study\nand domestic seclusion, but he conversed freely and unreservedly.' His\nhabits, we are told by another writer, were temperate and regular. 'He\nentered with earnest sympathy into all the little interests and\nconventional jokes of his family and friends; and he writes with quite\nas much eagerness about Marcus's learning great E; or Cornelia's\nflowered frock for her birthday, as about consuls or cabinets.'\nNiebuhr himself says: 'I shall teach little Amelia to write myself,\nfor her mother has no time for it; and the poor little thing might be\njealous of Marcus, if one of us did not teach her.' His consideration\nfor his dependents may be illustrated by this remark: 'I wish I had\ntaken the governess's room when we got into the house first; but,\nanti-revolutionist as I am, I am too much of a democrat to turn her\nout now in right of superior rank.'\n\nOf his character, some faint idea may be formed from our sketch and\nextracts; but of the beauty of his thoughts, his soundness, sagacity,\nthe perfect simplicity of his whole style of character, a large\nacquaintance with his free outpourings to his friends can alone give\nan adequate notion. We regard them as among the very best private\nletters we know--of their kind, we mean--for they are not witty, not\nplayful. The reader will not find lightness and grace, but strength\nand manliness, and, in a remarkable degree, affectionateness. They are\nthe charming utterances of a clear and honest mind, and have made us\nthankful for the privilege of knowing the inner life of one whose\noutward works have long had our admiration.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] By the Chevalier Bunsen and Professors Brandis and Loebell. 2\nvols. 8vo. London: Chapman & Hall. 1852.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TATTLETON ELECTION.\n\n\nThere never was a contested election in the borough of Great Tattleton\nthat I remember but one, and it took place on what was termed the last\nappeal to the country in the matter of the Reform Bill. Staid and\nsubstantial fathers of families doubtless recollect the strife of\nparties and opinions which filled those times, and in which themselves\ntook part, with all the bootless haste and fervour of twenty; feeling\nespecially indignant that they were not yet householders, as their\nincorruptible votes might save the nation. England has floated safely\nthrough many a conflict of the old and new since then, and more of the\nkind are coming; but no event in our national history ever appeared to\nthe denizens of Tattleton of half such magnitude as that contested\nelection. Tattleton was an ancient and respectable borough. It has a\nrailway station now, but looks much as it did at the time of my\nstory--a small, old-fashioned country town, situated among corn and\norchard lands in one of the cider-making counties, with a newspaper, a\nsheriff's court, and sundry quiet shops and alehouses. There is an old\nchurch there, with high Gothic windows full of painted glass, quaint\ncarving, strange tombs, and a suit of knightly armour hanging between\ntwo tattered banners, which the sexton says were carried some time in\nthe wars. Tradition says also, that there is a fine old painting in\nfresco, whitewashed over from the Reformation, but of that I know\nnothing. The town had other antiquities. Its stocks were a marvel of\nage and efficiency. A ducking-stool for scolds yet remained in the\ncourthouse, beside the beam with which they weighed witches against\nthe Bible; but the oldest thing in Great Tattleton was its charter: a\nnative antiquary demonstrated, that it had been signed by King John\nthe day after Runnymede; and among other superannuated privileges, it\nconferred on the free burghers the right of trade and toll, ward and\ngibbet, besides that of electing their own mayor and one loyal\ncommoner, to serve in the king's parliament.\n\nWe all believed that Palladium of Tattleton to be kept somewhere in\nthe church, and generations had returned their representatives\naccording to its provisions. But the bounds of the borough were so\ndevious, and the free burghers so thinly scattered among us, that all\nelections within the memory of man had been quietly managed by the\nmayor, the town-clerk, and the sheriff. Moreover, an old gateway and\ntwo crazy posts had something to do in the business by right of\nancient custom. In short, Tattleton was what the advocates of the\nwhole Bill were apt to term a close and sometimes a rotten borough.\nIts representation had become hereditary--some said, since the Long\nParliament--in the Stopford family, who owned at least half the soil,\nand were supposed to be as old as its charter. One of their ancestors\nhad built the church, another wore the armour and captured the banners\nthat hung in it. The family pew and vault were there; and they had\nbeen squires and justices of peace from father to son, dispensing\nhospitality, work, and law, at their seat of Fern Hall--a great old\nmanor-house, standing deep in a thickly-wooded dell not half a mile\nfrom Tattleton. So far as I could learn, the Stopfords had given no\nornaments to state or church, but theirs was pre-eminently a safe\nhouse. Its martlets were generally fortunate in their connections; and\nits chiefs had supported the character of moderate reformers, each in\nhis generation. At home, they were lenient magistrates and prudent\nlandlords, never overtaxing their tenantry, and rarely enforcing the\ngame-laws. None of them ever took a first step; but all improvements\nin the neighbourhood, if once commenced, were certain of their\ncountenance; and in parliament they always voted for any measure of\nreform which it was evident the people would want no longer.\n\nIt was, therefore, in accordance with family principles and practice,\nthat the then reigning squire and M. P., Levison Stopford, Esquire,\nshould take his seat on the ministerial benches, and vote in and out\nof parliament for the Bill with which all England rang. Levison\nStopford did not make brilliant speeches, but he had a fair share of\nprominence in county business, was a middling landlord, a respectable\nhead of a family, connected by marriage with a Whig peer, the father\nof a promising son, and, as the newspapers said, four lovely\ndaughters. All these recommendations to public favour could not secure\nhim against division in his native borough. There were Conservatives\namong us, who clung to the time-honoured institutions of Tattleton,\nand could not consent to see their ancient privileges, charter, old\nposts, and all, submerged in those of two adjoining boroughs--Little\nTattleton, whose constituency consisted of the beadle, and Lumberdale,\nto which the earl always nominated his second son; for people already\nunderstood, that on the passing of the Bill these three should become\none, at least in elections.\n\nSir Jonas Underwood, of Little Tattleton Park, did not like that\nprospect--he had been regularly returned by the loyal and independent\nbeadle ever since his majority, a period of some forty years--neither\ndid the Earl of Lumberdale, as the present state of things made his\nsecond son's canvass by no means difficult. Both the earl and the\nbaronet possessed some property, and more influence, in our borough,\nby help of which they warned the loyal Conservatives that their\ncountry was in danger, and exhorted Great Tattleton to rush to the\nrescue. The mayor said, that though he respected birth and breeding,\nyet, if a country gentleman like Mr Stopford would so far disgrace his\nfamily as to vote for a measure which must break down the British\nconstitution, and utterly ruin England in less than twenty years, he,\nfor his own part, felt called upon to oppose him. The town-clerk\nalways said as the mayor did: all the Tories in Tattleton took them\nfor examples, by degrees a party was formed against Stopford on what\nhad hitherto been his own ground; and long before the dissolution, it\nwas known that they intended, as the phrase is, 'to start' Sommerset\nCloudesly, Esquire, as an opposing candidate in the Conservative\ninterest.\n\nSommerset Cloudesly occupied a large but neat brick house on the verge\nof our town's liberties, with a meadow-like lawn in front, and acres\nof orchard in the rear. His father had been a small farmer, who\nbettered his fortune by all manner of money-making speculations--the\nlast of which, a cider-manufactory, and a mill, together with a house\nhe had built, the orchard he had planted, and a handsome strip of\nlanded property, descending to his only son, made him the second man\nin Tattleton. Sommerset had been what is called carefully educated:\nten years of his life had been spent in the house of a clergyman, who\nreceived select boarders as part of his own family; five more at a\ncollege in Oxford under the direction of a staid tutor; and the\nresidue in a series of fidgets through the house and land left him by\nhis father; for at the time of our story, the worthy cider-maker had\nlong gone to his account.\n\nSommerset was a tall, thin, genteel-looking man, in his thirtieth\nyear. Motherless, sisterless, and wifeless--strange to say, under such\ncircumstances, he was restless too. It was not a weight of crime that\npressed upon his conscience. Cloudesly's life had been as harmless as\nthose of his own apple-trees. It was not inordinate ambition that\ndisturbed his days, for though, like most of us, Sommerset would have\nrather preferred being a great man, could greatness be easily come at,\nhe lost no labour in its pursuit. Neither was it love that besieged\nhis peace; for, except Miss Lily Prior, old Tom the brewer's daughter,\nwho sat in the same pew at church, Sommerset had never been known to\nlook on one of womankind with attention. Perhaps the carefulness of\nhis education might have done it. Life could not be entirely folded up\nlike a napkin, and put into its proper drawer; and everything annoyed\nSommerset Cloudesly. The coming off of his waistcoat button was the\ndestruction of Messina. The world was going to ruin if his horse lost\na shoe. Like the idle family in the Eastern tale, he could draw a\ndisturbance from the future also, and many a heart-quake had he\nregarding what might happen. His Oxford tutor had made him a strong\nTory; old Cloudesly had averred, that was the only politics for a\ngentleman; and though Sommerset believed in all the alarms of his\ntime, his faith being particularly strong for terrors, he had always\nsupposed himself to be somebody. Sir Jonas and the Earl of Lumberdale\nassured him he was the hope of Tattleton; and, in an evil hour, he\nconsented, in electioneering phrase, to contest the borough.\n\nWith his relations, who regarded Sommerset as their top branch, the\nstep was in high favour; and all his friends came out strong in\napprobation, excepting old Tom Prior. He had been the consulting\nfriend and boon-companion of old Cloudesly forty years before, when\nthe one began to brew beer and the other to make cider. Tom's brewery\nhad not paid him so well as old Cloudesly's apples. He had been the\nfirst to establish a business of the kind in Tattleton. There were\nthree there at the time of the election; but the townspeople still\nknew him familiarly as _the_ brewer, though he had long become a\nsleeping partner, having saved enough for himself and his old wife to\nlive on in a cottage covered with grape vines, at the end of a long\ngreen lane in which the main street of Tattleton dwindled away. There\nwas, besides, a thousand pounds for Lily, the heiress-apparent,\nmoreover, of his interest in the brewery. Tom said 'he had no notion\nof politics, being entirely given to beer; and who was right about\nthat there Bill he couldn't say, but he never knowed an honest man as\nmade money by a contested election.' Old Mrs Prior always echoed what\nher husband said, besides knitting a perpetual stocking that was her\nonly occupation; but Tom and his wife were old people now, and in\nsmall intimacy with the college-bred young Cloudesly, though they sat\nin the same church-pew, and some thought their daughter Lily was also\na friend to our proposed member. Lily was as pretty a girl as could be\nfound in all Tattleton, which, together with her prospects, rather\ninsured admirers; but Lily took no trouble with any of them, and it\nwas believed that the old folks rather wished she should not be in a\nhurry.\n\nThat was no wonder; for, in this fidgety world, Lily Prior was a\ntreasure. Nothing ever disturbed her. Her hair might go out of curl,\nor her friends out of humour; her bonnet might take unbecoming fits,\nas I am told bonnets sometimes do, but her equanimity remained\nunruffled, and her days were spent in knitting beside her mother in\nthe little oak parlour, taking quiet walks, and hoeing peacefully in\nher own flower-garden. Spiteful people said, that Lily was beginning\nto look old-maidish, but I never saw it in her calm face. It was also\nsaid--what didn't they say in Great Tattleton?--that her muslin dress\nand crimped collar were more carefully arranged when Sommerset\nCloudesly might be expected to walk that way; but Lily's strongest\ndemonstration was 'Dear me!' and that she said on hearing of his\nintended contest. A perilous contest it seemed for Sommerset\nCloudesly. Stopford was by far the richer and more influential man;\nthe interest of his party, his aristocratic connections, and his\nindividual pride, all determined him to keep his ground; and the\ngenerally prudent man had been heard to declare, that he would spend\nto the last sixpence of his property, rather than see himself unseated\nby an upstart simpleton.\n\nSommerset and his friends had, of course, the accredited weapons of\ntheir party wherewith to attack the adversary, and Stopford was called\neverything, from Radical up to Atheist. Thus the battle began, and\nfiercely was it fought; but suffice it to say, that all the usual\nmeans for obtaining the independent suffrage of freeborn Englishmen\nwere put in requisition. Voters suddenly emerged from corners wherein\nno freeholds had been previously dreamed of; others were unaccountably\nabsent on the polling-days; the alehouses abounded in trade, and the\ntown in all disorderliness. There was everlasting controversy over\nclaims of residence and ownership, with numerous appeals to our famous\ncharter; and prosecutions for assault and battery occupied our town\nlawyers the whole succeeding year.\n\nWhat spites and quarrels are still flourishing among my old neighbours\nwhich owe their origin to that election! How many long friendships it\nsplit up, and how much family peace it disturbed, I cannot precisely\nstate; but the like did happen. Neither is it within my memory's scope\nto enlarge on the Countess Dowager of Lumberdale and her seven\ncharming daughters, in elegant morning-dresses, appearing at the poll,\nwhere they shook hands with everybody, and shewed a singular\nacquaintance with family history; nor to relate how Lord Littlemore,\nStopford's brother-in-law, and the proudest peer in England, made\ncalls on small shopkeepers and farmers, perhaps to shew what rank\ncould do on important occasions. No manoeuvre was left untried by the\nrival factions, nor any cause of dispute omitted, and the strife\nincreased in bitterness every day. Readers, can any of you explain why\npeople so generally run into the way of whatever they most fear? I\nnever could; but the case is common, and Sommerset Cloudesly was a\nstriking instance. What waves of worry passed over him! and what heaps\nof annoyance were piled on his spirit during that county election!--a\nrather tedious business in those unreformed days. His peace was killed\nwith cabbage-stocks on the hustings; his days were devastated by\ngroans; and his soul harrowed by hisses. Nevertheless, both his\nfriends and enemies were amazed to see how well Cloudesly acquitted\nhimself; his speeches, when they could be heard, were models of neat\neloquence; and his colours--pea-green and white--were sported with\ngenteel triumph. By and by, however, it became evident to his most\nsanguine supporter that Sommerset had no chance; Sir Jonas and Lord\nLumberdale themselves advised him to give up the contest; but the man\nhad been persuaded that the safety of Great Tattleton, if not that of\nthe British nation, depended on him, and a persuasion once in\nSommerset's head was not easily got out. He believed on, in spite of\nthem and fortune. I never found out precisely what the business cost\nhim; nobody dared inquire, and he burned all the accounts; but at\nlength the last day's poll was taken, and amid cheers, yells, and a\nnewly-begun row, Levison Stopford, Esq., was declared duly elected.\n\nMen cannot have Waterloos of their own every day. No wonder, then,\nthat the honourable member's glory was too great for his prudence:\nscarcely had the poll closed, when it became generally known in front\nof the Stopford Arms, that there were two barrels of strong beer,\nwhich his liberality had devoted to the populace. On the publication\nof this intelligence, the ancient ceremony of chairing went on with\nmore than usual vigour. It was a quiet autumn evening, but there was\nno peace for Tattleton. The shops and houses of Stopford's friends\nwere lighting up in every quarter for a grand illumination, while the\nopposition and the stingy were closing as quickly as possible. Half\nthe rabble of the county were gathered in the streets; all our own\nrespectability occupied doors and windows; and forth from the\ntown-hall, in a substantial armchair, decorated with bunches of\nribbons, blue and red--the Stopford colours--borne in high triumph by\nhis most zealous and noisy adherents, came the newly-chosen senator (a\nrather stout gentleman, and father of a hopeful family), scattering\ncoppers and silver with no sparing hand, from a large canvas bag,\namong the crowd, who roared and scrambled in all the might of beer.\nOld politicians said it was a great victory for Whig principles, and\nmany a joke was cracked at the unsuccessful candidate's expense. Some\nbelieved he had retired behind bolt and bar; others that he was\ndefying fortune at a late dinner. If the latter statement were true,\nSommerset's company must have been small. The Earl and Sir Jonas had\nlong since washed their hands of him, as incorrigibly obstinate. The\nmore influential of his supporters kept out of sight, being rather\nashamed of the losing side; and, I grieve to say, the barrels had\nutterly shaken the faith of many a voteless adherent, the freeholders\nof our streets and lanes, who now shouted Stopford instead of\nCloudesly for ever. Some there were, nevertheless, with souls above\nbarrels--men who had votes, and men who had none--and they collected\ntheir forces at the foot of the main street, as vantage-ground from\nwhich to groan at the above-mentioned procession, and inform Mr\nStopford of their intentions to unseat him for bribery and corruption.\n\nGreat Tattleton was not a fighting place--a serious riot had never\noccurred within the memory of its 'oldest inhabitant;' yet on that\nevening quiet people began to feel uneasy; and my particular friend,\nMiss Croply, had selected it as a fitting occasion for her tea-party.\nMiss Croply was a maiden lady of some fifty years, and great note\namong us. She drew dividends at the bank; kept her own establishment,\nconsisting of a maid and a boy; and gave select parties. Moreover,\nMiss Croply was a Tory after her own fashion. She said there was\nnothing she hated but Radicals and reformers, for all they wanted was\nto bring down the respectable people, and maybe break the banks. On\nthese principles, she had been in great fervour for Sommerset\nCloudesly; and by way of testifying that his defeat had not broken her\nspirit, Miss Croply assembled the Priors, myself, and two or three\nother favoured friends, to tea and crumpets prepared by her own fair\nhands. These requisites were on the table, and the party assembled in\nthe little drawing-room, all but Lily, whom her mother had left to\nmanage some domestic matter (the old lady was particular at times);\nbut at its conclusion, Lily was to come through the lane, over the\nfields, and up Miss Croply's garden, to avoid the crowd, and shew the\nbeautiful new bonnet she had received that morning as a present from\nher aunt. We all knew Lily to be exact; but the hour had come, and not\nthe woman.\n\n'Don't draw that curtain, if you please, Mr Prior; I would not gratify\nthe low creatures by looking out!' said Miss Croply, as shouts louder\nthan ordinary rose from the street, and old Tom stepped to the window.\nThe noise came nearer. It sounded like, 'Miss Prior for ever!' We\nrushed in a body to the windows. Miss Croply herself drew the curtain.\nThere was a woman borne in a garden-chair, dangerously high, by the\nmost zealous of the Cloudeslyites, while the rest followed in\napplauding procession, augmented every moment, and Tom's hands went\ntogether like the 'crack of doom' as he exclaimed: 'By jingo, it's my\nown daughter!'\n\nLily it was, in her pretty green gown, white shawl, and gay new\nbonnet--it was trimmed with pale-green and white: as for her face, it\nexpressed nothing but 'Dear me!' I never saw such philosophy. Out\nrushed Tom, so did all the men of us, and followed the crowd up the\nstreet, and down the lane to the front of Cloudesly's house, where we\narrived just in time to see the gallant Sommerset hand Lily from her\nchair with the air of a man about to kneel. Poor Cloudesly! he was\nboth weak and strong, but a good fellow at heart.\n\n\n'She wore my colours, and suffered for my sake,' was all he said, as\nwith Lily on his arm he marched back with us to Miss Croply's\ndrawing-room, followed by the crowd, shouting: 'Prior and Cloudesly\nfor ever!'\n\n'Lily, dear, what's the meaning of this?' said old Mrs Prior.\n\n'I thought I would take a look,' said Lily calmly; 'and they all got\nabout me, saying I had on Mr Cloudesly's colours, and'----\n\n'So you did wear his colours,' cried Miss Croply; 'and I'm proud of\nyou for keeping up your principles! Mrs Prior, I always knew there was\nsomething great in that girl!'\n\n'It's just the bonnet my aunt sent me,' said Lily; 'and I didn't\nmean'----\n\n'Never mind what you meant,' cried Miss Croply, in whose mind policy\nas well as romance might have been at work at that moment: 'we don't\nwant no excuses.'\n\nIn short, Lily was made a heroine that evening. Her father and mother\nthought themselves called upon to rebuke, but it was done rather in\nthe encouraging style, especially when Mr Cloudesly gave the company\nto understand that henceforth he was to be considered Lily's humble\nservant. Isn't that the proper phrase, readers? And Miss Prior, who\nhad not her composure to regain, coloured slightly, and finished the\nmatter by saying: 'Dear me!'\n\nI have heard from herself, that she had put on her aunt's bonnet, and\ncome quietly through the lane, when it struck her that she would like\nto see what was going on, as Miss Croply would allow no looking out at\nthe low creatures; so nearer and nearer to the street did Lily wend,\ntill a boy--are not boys at the bottom of all mischief?--raised the\nshout that she was wearing Mr Cloudesly's colours; the phalanx then\nsurrounded her, and improvised the triumph which we witnessed. The\n_Tattleton Chronicle_ was remarkably full upon it. I think, till this\nday, Lily is regarded as a devoted heroine by all the Tories of\nTattleton, for there are Tories there still. But we had a splendid\nwedding at our church, under Mr Stopford's very nose, before he went\nto parliament. I can vouch for old Tom and Miss Croply leading off a\ncountry-dance the same evening in Prior Cottage; but it is\ntwo-and-twenty years ago. There is a tombstone over the old man and\nhis wife. Miss Croply has left her bank deposit to three nieces.\nSommerset Cloudesly grew less fidgety long ago, and some people say\nless genteel, but he brews the best beer, and makes the best cider now\nin the county. There are ten children in the brick-house, but Mrs\nCloudesly looks as composed as ever; and when her husband reads to her\nat work on the winter nights, as he dutifully does, in the newspapers,\nshe sometimes remarks, at the close of long parliamentary debates, to\nwhich Sommerset was always partial: 'What trouble those people have in\nthat House of Commons, my love! Wasn't it really good for you that you\nlost the Tattleton election?'\n\n\n\n\nSAILORS' HOMES.\n\n\nOur readers may probably have from time to time read allusions to\n'Sailors' Homes,' without precisely understanding the nature of these\ninstitutions. They are based on the fact that sailors, as a class, are\nlittle better than children when ashore, and require to be providently\ncared for, to save them from imposition and misery. The seaman when\nafloat is so thoroughly accustomed to obey orders, and to be directed\nand instructed in everything, that he never thinks for himself, and\nnever acquires the least forethought or capability of guiding himself\nin any position apart from the active duties of his profession;\nconsequently, from time out of mind, he has been especially doomed to\nbe victimised on the land. No sooner has he been paid off after a\nvoyage, than he is--at least at all the great ports--beset with\n'crimps,' 'runners,' and other land-sharks, who entice him to low\npublic-houses and lodging-houses, where he is plundered with such\nextraordinary dispatch, that he frequently loses the results of many\nmonths of toil in a few days, or even a few hours.\n\nOf all men, seamen have pre-eminently a claim on public sympathy and\nprotection; no class needs the latter more, and, strange to say, no\nclass has, until a comparatively recent period, received it less. In\nthe words of Thomas Clarkson: 'The grievances of mercantile seamen are\na national and crying evil;' and when we reflect on their importance,\nboth as regards commerce and war, it will be acknowledged that it is a\nnational duty to do all that is possible to protect them while ashore,\nand to ameliorate and improve their lot in every practical way. But\nthis, like many other national duties, has been left to the voluntary\nexertions of a few practical philanthropists. In the words of Mr\nSheriff Alison (now Sir A. Alison), when addressing a meeting at\nGlasgow, with the view of founding a 'Home' there: 'The seamen are\nplaced in very peculiar circumstances--their virtues are exhibited at\nsea, and their vices are exhibited on shore. The community is\nbenefited by the former, and they, the sailors, are the victims of the\nlatter. It is therefore more incumbent on those who are enriched by\ntheir industry, and protected by their valour, to prevent their\nfalling into those vices to which unhappily so many of them are\naddicted. As had been so well stated, they could do nothing to improve\nthe character of the seaman without at the same time benefiting all\nclasses of the community.'\n\nThere is weighty truth in the last sentence. Undoubtedly, any and all\nimprovements, whether of the physical or moral condition of one class\nof the community, reacts on all. But especially in the case of seamen,\nthe result would be beneficial to the nation in an incalculable\ndegree. Raise the moral character of the sailor, by inducing in him\nreformed and provident habits, and he will soon feel that he has a\n_stake_ in the prosperity and security of his country; and he will\nindeed repay all that has been done for him by his steady industry in\npeace, and by his gallantry in war; for we think it is a great error\nto suppose, as some do, that a mere reckless outcast will fight more\nbravely than a man who feels that he is a responsible and respected\ncitizen of a great nation, with his own proportionate interests\ninvolved in the results of the conflict.\n\nIt is to protect the seaman from extortion and temptation while\nashore, and to elevate him in the social scale, that the excellent\ninstitutions called Sailors' Homes have been projected. Their object\nis to insure a respectable and truly comfortable 'home' to seamen, at\nan exceedingly moderate rate of payment; together with other\nadvantages to be hereafter alluded to. An able pamphlet on the\nsubject, by Mr Montague Gore, has recently been published, and we are\nindebted to him for the statistical information we are about to lay\nbefore the reader.\n\nIt appears that Captain Elliott, R.N., was the first who conceived the\nidea of founding Sailors' Homes. This was in 1828. In 1833, one was\nestablished at Charleston, in South Carolina; but the first in England\nwas under the auspices of Mr Green, the great shipbuilder and\nship-owner of Blackwall, near London, and he originally designed it\nonly for his own numerous seamen, although by a recent regulation\nothers are admitted. Captain Hall, R.N., deserves worthy mention as\none of the first promoters of Sailors' Homes, and he has for years\nindefatigably devoted himself to their formation. He recently visited\nthe chief ports in the kingdom, to observe personally the condition of\nseamen ashore, and to advocate the establishment of Homes.\n\nThe first public Sailors' Home was that of Wells Street, London. It\nwas opened in May 1835; and Mr Gore informs us, that from that time up\nto December 31, 1851, no less than '54,026 seamen were received into\nthe institution, of which number 15,055 were old or returned boarders.\nLast year the inmates amounted to 4633, and L.25,160 passed through\nthe secretary's hand of money left in his charge, L.2500 of which was\ndeposited in the savings-bank. The building in Wells Street is capable\nof holding 320 men, each of whom has a separate berth. The terms of\nadmission are 14s. per week for full-grown men; 12s. per week for\nlads; and 10s. 6d. per week for apprentices. For this sum they are\nentitled to lodging [washing also], and four excellent meals daily;\nthe dietary is admirable.... The terms and regulations of Mr Green's\nestablishment are nearly the same as those in Wells Street. It is\ncapable of holding 200 men; and here, too, are to be found equally\ngratifying proofs of provident habits, instances having occurred of\nmen having as much as L.100 in the Poplar Bank.'\n\nGood libraries are provided at these Sailors' Homes, and the\nmorning-prayers of the Church of England are duly read; but the\nattendance of the inmates is perfectly voluntary, and no distinction\nof religious creed bars their admission. This is as it should be, and\nwe have heard the Wells Street Home spoken of in terms of praise and\ngratitude by seamen who have been boarders there. Seamen of the best\ncharacter thankfully flock to the Homes, and, consequently, captains\nprefer to ship their crews from them. Mr Gore says, that in one year\n112 ships were manned from the Home in Wells Street.\n\nThe Portsmouth Home was opened in April 1851, and has been greatly\nsupported and enlarged by the munificent contributions of the\nsovereign and some of the nobility. It receives British sailors at\n13s. per week for men, and 10s. for boys and apprentices. Concerning\nit, Sir Edward Parry, governor of Haslar Naval Hospital, says: 'The\npractice formerly prevalent with the crimps, and other sharks, of\nbesetting the gates of the Hospital, to waylay and beguile the\ninvalids on their discharge, is now almost at an end. This is, I\nbelieve, principally to be attributed to our Portsmouth Sailors' Home,\nfrom which establishment a boat is generally sent every discharge-day,\nto give the invalids the opportunity of going there without\ndifficulty--the regulations of the Home being posted up in various\nparts of the hospital. I am sure it is a comfort and a blessing to all\nwho go there.'\n\nA Home was opened in Dublin in July 1848; and at Bristol, Plymouth,\nCork, Dundee, &c., Homes are in course of formation. A magnificent\nSailors' Home has long been in course of establishment at Liverpool;\nbut it is not yet opened, although nearly finished. Influential\nmeetings have also been held at Aberdeen, Glasgow, Greenock, &c., to\nestablish Homes at these several ports. No one can conceive how\nabsolutely necessary such institutions are but those who, like\nourselves, have seen the way in which seamen are robbed and led astray\nashore. Mr Gore gives the public a little insight into the case. 'I\nvisited,' says he,' a short time ago, some of the houses at Wapping\nand its neighbourhood, into which the sailors are decoyed. These\nhouses are kept by crimps, who waylay the unsuspecting sailors; they\nare by them conducted to these places, where they find music and\ndancing going forward; they are induced to take up their abode there,\nand are often plundered of every farthing they possess. In some\nhouses, I saw several foreigners; and in the days when burking was\ncommon, many of these unfortunates were made away with. In Bristol,\nwhen a ship arrives, the sailors are surrounded by a set of\nmiscreants, who are called \"runners,\" and are taken by them to houses\nof the lowest description.... Instances innumerable might be stated of\nthe horrible state of the dens to which seamen are obliged to resort\nfor want of more respectable residences; robberies are of frequent\noccurrence; and in one, I fear not a solitary case, murder was\ncommitted.'\n\nOur object in giving those extracts is, to shew the vital necessity\nfor the formation of Homes at all our leading ports. At Liverpool, for\ninstance, the crimps are so active and speculative in driving their\nabominable traffic, that no sooner do they hear of a man-of-war being\npaid off at Portsmouth, or any other naval port, than they send their\nagents to entice the sailors down to Liverpool. Let us quote one\nsolitary example of the way in which Poor Jack is plundered. 'When Her\nMajesty's ship _Raleigh_ was paid off at Portsmouth, many of the men\nwere so plundered, that they were obliged to apply to the magistrates\nfor redress. It appears from the notes of the evidence taken before\nthem, that seven of these men were charged L.102 for three days'\nentertainment at a low public-house, one item being L.6, 2s. for two\nhours' ride in an omnibus; and a messmate, who came to breakfast with\nthem, was compelled to pay 17s. 4d. for two eggs, some salt beef, and\na cup of coffee. It is gratifying to state, at the same time, that\nnineteen men of this ship were received into the Sailors' Home,\nWells Street, London, taking with them L.222, besides their\nremittance-bills.'\n\nWe will make one more extract from Mr Gore's interesting brochure:\n'Every seaport has a direct interest in the improvement of the\ncharacter of the seamen who frequent it, and whose example must\nexercise considerable influence on the rest of the community. To the\nship-owners, as well as to their men, the Homes cannot fail of proving\nin the highest degree advantageous. Their ships are now often manned\nby men upon whom, when at foreign ports, little or no dependence can\nbe placed. They care little about the ship in which they sail; they\nare heedless as to what port they shall return; but the establishment\nof Homes will induce those who have experienced their advantages, to\nbe desirous of returning to them. It will render the seamen better men\nand better citizens, and it will cause them to continue with their\nmasters.' We cordially endorse these opinions.\n\nOne great obstacle to the speedy formation of Sailors' Homes, seems to\nbe the outlay necessary in the shape of buildings, &c. On this point\nwe offer, with deference, a suggestion of our own. It is, that hulls\nof large old ships be bought and fitted up as _floating-homes_. Such\nestablishments would accommodate a large number of seamen in a very\ncomfortable manner, and could be kept up at an exceedingly moderate\nannual outlay for repairs. Surely the proprietors of the docks in our\nlarge ports could, and would afford a convenient mooring-place at a\nmerely nominal rent.\n\nIn conclusion, we may mention, that an establishment of a kindred\nnature to Sailors' Homes is the 'Asylum for Distressed Seamen' in\nLondon. It is supported by voluntary contributions, and receives\ndestitute seamen of all nations. It lodges 100 inmates, and provides\nthem with two good meals daily. It were to be wished that similar\nasylums were established at every port in the empire.\n\nThe philanthropist, Thomas Clarkson, shortly before his death,\nproposed that all public-houses for seamen's lodgings should be\nlicensed under strict special regulations. This, we think, would be a\nstep in the right direction; but there is nothing like a regular\nSailors' Home. Nevertheless, even in the large ports, licensed\nlodging-houses would be exceedingly useful as auxiliaries to the\nHomes.\n\n\n\n\nUNCLE TOM'S CABIN.\n\nSTORY OF ELIZA.\n\n\n_Uncle Tom's Cabin_ is the title of an American work, respecting which\nit is alleged that fifty thousand copies, weighing fifty-five tons,\nwere disposed of in the short period of eight weeks. So high a degree\nof popularity could not rest on an insufficient foundation.[2] The\nbook is a species of novel or story, designed to portray in vivid\ncolours negro-life in the slave states of America; and such is the\ngraphic and truth-like way in which the authoress, Harriet Beecher\nStowe, has strung the whole together, that the production has not only\nenlisted the sympathy of the Abolitionists, but roused something like\na sense of shame in the holders of slaves--hitherto impervious to all\nremonstrance on the subject. A cheap London reprint of this somewhat\ninteresting book enables us to give a slight sketch of its character.\n\nUncle Tom is a middle-aged negro slave, on the farm of a Mr Shelby, in\nKentucky; he has learned to read, is pious and exemplary, and his hut\nis resorted to for edification by old and young in the neighbourhood.\nTom is married, has several children, and is highly trustworthy.\nBetween his family and that of his owner there is an agreeable\nintercourse, and to all appearance he is likely to live and die on the\nestate; but his master falls into pecuniary difficulties; becomes\nindebted to a wretch, Haley, a dealer in slaves from the south; and he\nis obliged to part with so much live property to wipe out his\nobligations. It is arranged that Tom must go, and along with him a\nyoung female slave, Eliza, almost white, who is married, and has\nhitherto acted as lady's-maid to Mrs Shelby. Eliza's pretty boy,\nHarry, makes up the lot. The first point of interest in the narrative\nturns on Eliza and her child; and we cannot do better than allow the\nauthoress to enter on the history of this unfortunate female slave and\nher husband. It is said to be drawn from the life.\n\n'Eliza had been brought up by her mistress from girlhood as a petted\nand indulged favourite. The traveller in the south must often have\nremarked that peculiar air of refinement, that softness of voice and\nmanner, which seems in many cases to be a particular gift to the\nquadroon and mulatto women. These natural graces in the quadroon are\noften united with beauty of the most dazzling kind, and in almost\nevery case with a personal appearance prepossessing and agreeable.\nEliza, such as we have described her, is not a fancy sketch, but taken\nfrom remembrance, as we saw her years ago in Kentucky. Safe under the\nprotecting care of her mistress, Eliza had reached maturity without\nthose temptations which make beauty so fatal an inheritance to a\nslave. She had been married to a bright and talented young mulatto\nman, who was a slave on a neighbouring estate, and bore the name of\nGeorge Harris.\n\n'This young man had been hired out by his master to work in a bagging\nfactory, where his adroitness and ingenuity caused him to be\nconsidered the first hand in the place. He had invented a machine for\nthe cleaning of the hemp, which, considering the education and\ncircumstances of the inventor, displayed quite as much mechanical\ngenius as Whitney's cotton-gin. He was possessed of a handsome person\nand pleasing manners, and was a general favourite in the factory.\nNevertheless, as this young man was in the eye of the law not a man,\nbut a thing, all these superior qualifications were subject to the\ncontrol of a vulgar, narrow-minded, tyrannical master. This same\ngentleman, having heard of the fame of George's invention, took a ride\nover to the factory, to see what this intelligent chattel had been\nabout. He was received with great enthusiasm by the employer, who\ncongratulated him on possessing so valuable a slave. He was waited\nupon over the factory, shewn the machinery by George, who, in high\nspirits, talked so fluently, held himself so erect, looked so handsome\nand manly, that his master began to feel an uneasy consciousness of\ninferiority. What business had his slave to be marching round the\ncountry, inventing machines, and holding up his head among gentlemen?\nHe'd soon put a stop to it. He'd take him back, and put him to hoeing\nand digging, and \"see if he'd step about so smart.\" Accordingly, the\nmanufacturer and all hands concerned were astounded when he suddenly\ndemanded George's wages, and announced his intention of taking him\nhome.\n\n\"But, Mr Harris,\" remonstrated the manufacturer, \"isn't this rather\nsudden?\"\n\n\"What if it is? Isn't the man _mine_?\"\n\n\"We would be willing, sir, to increase the rate of compensation.\"\n\n\"No object at all, sir. I don't need to hire any of my hands out,\nunless I've a mind to.\"\n\n\"But, sir, he seems peculiarly adapted to this business.\"\n\n\"Daresay he may be; never was much adapted to anything that I set him\nabout, I'll be bound.\"\n\n\"But only think of his inventing this machine,\" interposed one of the\nworkmen, rather unluckily.\n\n\"O yes!--a machine for saving work, is it? He'd invent that, I'll be\nbound; let a nigger alone for that any time. They are all\nlabour-saving machines themselves, every one of 'em. No, he shall\ntramp!\"\n\n'George had stood like one transfixed at hearing his doom thus\nsuddenly pronounced by a power that he knew was irresistible. He\nfolded his arms, tightly pressed in his lips, but a whole volcano of\nbitter feelings burned in his bosom, and sent streams of fire through\nhis veins. He breathed short, and his large dark eyes flashed like\nlive coals; and he might have broken out into some dangerous\nebullition, had not the kindly manufacturer touched him on the arm,\nand said, in a low tone: \"Give way, George: go with him for the\npresent. We'll try to help you yet.\"\n\n'The tyrant observed the whisper, and conjectured its import, though\nhe could not hear what was said; and he inwardly strengthened himself\nin his determination to keep the power he possessed over his victim.\nGeorge was taken home, and put to the meanest drudgery of the farm. He\nhad been able to repress every disrespectful word; but the flashing\neye, the gloomy and troubled brow, were part of a natural language\nthat could not be repressed--indubitable signs, which shewed too\nplainly that the man could not become a thing.\n\n'It was during the happy period of his employment in the factory that\nGeorge had seen and married his wife. During that period--being much\ntrusted and favoured by his employer--he had free liberty to come and\ngo at discretion. The marriage was highly approved of by Mrs Shelby,\nwho, with a little womanly complacency in match-making, felt pleased\nto unite her handsome favourite with one of her own class, who seemed\nin every way suited to her; and so they were married in her mistress's\ngreat parlour, and her mistress herself adorned the bride's beautiful\nhair with orange-blossoms, and threw over it the bridal veil, which\ncertainly could scarce have rested on a fairer head; and there was no\nlack of white gloves, and cake and wine--of admiring guests to praise\nthe bride's beauty, and her mistress's indulgence and liberality. For\na year or two, Eliza saw her husband frequently, and there was nothing\nto interrupt their happiness, except the loss of two infant children,\nto whom she was passionately attached, and whom she mourned with a\ngrief so intense as to call for gentle remonstrance from her mistress,\nwho sought, with maternal anxiety, to direct her naturally passionate\nfeelings within the bounds of reason and religion.\n\n'After the birth of little Harry, however, she had gradually become\ntranquillised and settled; and every bleeding tie and throbbing nerve,\nonce more entwined with that little life, seemed to become sound and\nhealthful; and Eliza was a happy woman up to the time that her husband\nwas rudely torn from his kind employer, and brought under the iron\nsway of his legal owner.\n\n'The manufacturer, true to his word, visited Mr Harris a week or two\nafter George had been taken away, when, as he hoped, the heat of the\noccasion had passed away, and tried every possible inducement to lead\nhim to restore him to his former employment.\n\n\"You needn't trouble yourself to talk any longer,\" said he doggedly;\n\"I know my own business, sir.\"\n\n\"I did not presume to interfere with it, sir. I only thought that you\nmight think it for your interest to let your man to us on the terms\nproposed.\"\n\n\"Oh, I understand the matter well enough. I saw your winking and\nwhispering the day I took him out of the factory; but you don't come\nit over me that way. It's a free country, sir; the man's _mine_, and I\ndo what I please with him--that's it.\"\n\n'And so fell George's last hope: nothing before him but a life of toil\nand drudgery, rendered more bitter by every little smarting vexation\nand indignity which tyrannical ingenuity could devise.' One day George\nvisited his wife in a distracted state of feeling. '\"I have been\ncareful, and I have been patient,\" said he; \"but it's growing worse\nand worse: flesh and blood can't bear it any longer. Every chance he\ncan get to insult and torment me, he takes. I thought I could do my\nwork well, and keep on quiet, and have some time to read and learn out\nof work-hours; but the more he sees I can do, the more he loads on. He\nsays that though I don't say anything, he sees I've got the devil in\nme, and he means to bring it out; and one of these days it will come\nout in a way that he wont like, or I'm mistaken.\"\n\n\"O dear! what shall we do?\" said Eliza mournfully.\n\n\"It was only yesterday,\" said George, \"as I was busy loading stones\ninto a cart, that young Mas'r Tom stood there, slashing his whip so\nnear the horse, that the creature was frightened. I asked him to stop,\nas pleasant as I could: he just kept right on. I begged him again, and\nthen he turned on me, and began striking me. I held his hand, and then\nhe screamed, and kicked, and ran to his father, and told him that I\nwas fighting him. He came in a rage, and said he'd teach me who was my\nmaster; and he tied me to a tree, and cut switches for young master,\nand told him that he might whip me till he was tired; and he did do\nit. If I don't make him remember it some time!\" And the brow of the\nyoung man grew dark, and his eyes burned with an expression that made\nhis young wife tremble. \"Who made this man my master--that's what I\nwant to know?\" he said.\n\n\"Well,\" said Eliza mournfully, \"I always thought that I must obey my\nmaster and mistress, or I couldn't be a Christian.\"\n\n\"There is some sense in it, in your case: they have brought you up\nlike a child--fed you, clothed you, indulged you, and taught you, so\nthat you have a good education--that is some reason why they should\nclaim you. But I have been kicked, and cuffed, and sworn at, and at\nthe best only let alone; and what do I owe? I've paid for all my\nkeeping a hundred times over. I _won't_ bear it--no, I _won't_!\" he\nsaid, clenching his hand with a fierce frown.\n\n'Eliza trembled, and was silent. She had never seen her husband in\nthis mood before, and her gentle system of ethics seemed to bend like\na reed in the surges of such passions.'\n\nThe end of this is, that George absconds, and is followed by his wife\nand child, for she had overheard the bargain as to her transfer, and\nwas resolved to gain her liberty or die in the attempt. She leaves the\nhouse stealthily at night, with her boy in her arms, hurries over\nfields, through swamps and forests, and actually arrives at the Ohio\nwithout hinderance. 'Her first glance was at the river, which lay,\nlike Jordan, between her and the Canaan of liberty on the other side.\nIt was now early spring, and the river was swollen and turbulent;\ngreat cakes of floating ice were swinging heavily to and fro in the\nturbid waters. Owing to the peculiar form of the shore on the Kentucky\nside, the land bending far out into the water, the ice had been lodged\nand detained in great quantities, and the narrow channel which swept\nround the bend was full of ice, piled one cake over another, thus\nforming a temporary barrier to the descending ice, which lodged, and\nformed a great undulating raft, filling up the whole river, and\nextending almost to the Kentucky shore. Eliza stood for a moment\ncontemplating this unfavourable aspect of things, which she saw at\nonce must prevent the usual ferry-boat from running, and then turned\ninto a small public-house on the bank, to make a few inquiries.' While\nresting here, Haley, her infuriated pursuer, who had tracked her,\narrived at the ferry, guided, not very willingly, by two slaves, Sam\nand Andy. Eliza caught a glimpse of the trader, and, frantic with\nterror, rushed forth. 'A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in\nthat one moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side-door to the river.\nShe caught her child, and sprang down the steps towards it. The trader\ncaught a full glimpse of her, just as she was disappearing down the\nbank; and throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly on Sam\nand Andy, he was after her like a hound after a deer. In that dizzy\nmoment her feet to her scarce seemed to touch the ground, and a moment\nbrought her to the water's edge. Right on behind they came; and,\nnerved with strength such as God gives only to the desperate, with one\nwild cry and flying leap she vaulted sheer over the turbid current by\nthe shore on to the raft of ice beyond. It was a desperate\nleap--impossible to anything but madness and despair; and Haley, Sam,\nand Andy, instinctively cried out, and lifted up their hands, as she\ndid it.\n\n'The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted pitched and\ncreaked as her weight came on it, but she stayed there not a moment.\nWith wild cries and desperate energy, she leaped to another and still\nanother cake; stumbling, leaping, slipping, springing upwards again!\nHer shoes are gone--her stockings cut from her feet--while blood\nmarked every step; but she saw nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as\nin a dream, she saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank.\n\n\"Yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye ar!\" said the man.\n\n'Eliza recognised the voice and face of a man who owned a farm not far\nfrom her old home.\n\n\"Oh, Mr Symmes!--save me--do save me--do hide me!\" said Eliza.\n\n\"Why, what's this?\" said the man. \"Why, if 'tan't Shelby's gal!\"\n\n\"My child!--this boy--he'd sold him! There is his mas'r,\" said she,\npointing to the Kentucky shore. \"Oh, Mr Symmes, you've got a little\nboy.\"\n\n\"So I have,\" said the man, as he roughly, but kindly, drew her up the\nsteep bank. \"Besides, you're a right brave gal. I like grit wherever I\nsee it.\"\n\n'When they had gained the top of the bank, the man paused. \"I'd be\nglad to do something for ye,\" said he; \"but then there's nowhar I\ncould take ye. The best I can do is to tell ye to go _thar_,\" said he,\npointing to a large white house which stood by itself, off the main\nstreet of the village. \"Go thar; they're kind folks. Thar's no kind o'\ndanger but they'll help you: they're up to all that sort o' thing.\"\n\n\"The Lord bless you!\" said Eliza earnestly.\n\n\"No 'casion, no 'casion in the world,\" said the man. \"What I've done's\nof no 'count.\"\n\n\"And oh, surely, sir, you won't tell any one!\"\n\n\"Go to thunder, gal! What do you take a feller for? In course not,\"\nsaid the man. \"Come, now, go along like a likely, sensible gal, as you\nare. You've arnt your liberty, and you shall have it, for all me.\"\n\n'The woman folded her child to her bosom, and walked firmly and\nswiftly away. The man stood and looked after her.\n\n\"Shelby, now, mebbe won't think this yer the most neighbourly thing in\nthe world; but what's a feller to do? If he catches one of my gals in\nthe same fix, he's welcome to pay back. Somehow I never could see no\nkind o' critter a-strivin' and pantin', and trying to clar\ntheirselves, with the dogs arter 'em, and go agin 'em. Besides, I\ndon't see no kind of 'casion for me to be hunter and catcher for other\nfolks neither.\"\n\n'So spoke this poor heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been instructed\nin his constitutional relations, and consequently was betrayed into\nacting in a sort of Christianised manner, which, if he had been better\nsituated and more enlightened, he would not have been left to do.\n\n'Haley had stood a perfectly amazed spectator of the scene, till Eliza\nhad disappeared up the bank, when he turned a blank, inquiring look on\nSam and Andy.\n\n\"That ar was a tolable fair stroke of business,\" said Sam.\n\n\"The gal's got seven devils in her, I believe,\" said Haley. \"How like\na wild-cat she jumped!\"\n\n\"Wal, now,\" said Sam, scratching his head, \"I hope mas'r'll 'scuse us\ntryin' dat ar road. Don't think I feel spry enough for dat ar, noway!\"\nand Sam gave a hoarse chuckle.\n\n\"_You_ laugh!\" said the trader with a growl. \"I'll make ye laugh\nt'other side yer mouths!\" and he began laying about their heads with\nhis riding-whip.\n\n'Both ducked, and ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses\nbefore he was up.\n\n\"Good-evening, mas'r,\" said Sam, with much gravity. \"I berry much\n'spect missis be anxious. Missis wouldn't hear of our ridin' the\ncritters over Lizy's bridge to-night;\" and he started off, followed by\nAndy, at full speed, their shouts of laughter coming faintly on the\nwind.'\n\nHaving gone this length, we may as well conclude the episode of Eliza.\nIt may be generally known, that runaway slaves are in many instances\nfavoured by the kindly aid of a denomination unwearied in\nwell-doing--the Society of Friends. By a family belonging to this\nrespectable body, Eliza, her child, and husband, were succoured and\nforwarded, under various disguises, to the northern frontier of the\nStates, on their way to Canada. For the final crisis, on the shore of\nLake Erie, Eliza was dressed in male attire, and seemed a handsome\nyoung man. Harry figured as a little girl.\n\n'Mrs Smyth, a respectable woman from the settlement of Canada, whither\nthey were fleeing, being fortunately about crossing the lake to return\nthither, had consented to appear as the aunt of little Harry; and in\norder to attach him to her, he had been allowed to remain the last two\ndays under her sole charge; and an extra amount of petting, joined to\nan indefinite amount of seed-cakes and candy, had cemented a very\nclose attachment on the part of the young gentleman.\n\n'The hack drove to the wharf. The two young men, as they appeared,\nwalked up the plank into the boat, Eliza gallantly giving her arm to\nMrs Smyth, and George attending to their baggage.\n\n'George was standing at the captain's office, settling for his party,\nwhen he overheard two men talking by his side.\n\n\"I've watched every one that came on board,\" said one, \"and I know\nthey're not on this boat.\"\n\n'The voice was that of the clerk of the boat. The speaker whom he\naddressed was Marks, a friend of Haley, who had come on to Sandusky,\nseeking whom he might devour.\n\n\"You would scarcely know the woman from a white one,\" said Marks. \"The\nman is a very light mulatto. He has a brand in one of his hands.\"\n\n'The hand with which George was taking the tickets and change trembled\na little; but he turned coolly around, fixed an unconcerned glance on\nthe face of the speaker, and walked leisurely toward another part of\nthe boat, where Eliza stood waiting for him.\n\n'Mrs Smyth, with little Harry, sought the seclusion of the ladies'\ncabin, where the dark beauty of the supposed little girl drew many\nflattering comments from the passengers.\n\n'George had the satisfaction, as the bell rang out its farewell peal,\nto see Marks walk down the plank, to the shore; and drew a long sigh\nof relief when the boat had put a returnless distance between them.\n\n'It was a superb day. The blue waves of Lake Erie danced rippling and\nsparkling in the sunlight. A fresh breeze blew from the shore, and the\nlordly boat ploughed her way right gallantly onward.\n\n'Oh what an untold world there is in one human heart! Who thought, as\nGeorge walked calmly up and down the deck of the steamer, with his shy\ncompanion at his side, of all that was burning in his bosom? The\nmighty good that seemed approaching seemed too good, too fair, even to\nbe a reality; and he felt a jealous dread every moment of the day that\nsomething would rise to snatch it from him.\n\n'But the boat swept on--hours fleeted, and, at last, clear and full\nrose the blessed English shore--shores charmed by a mighty spell--with\none touch to dissolve every incantation of slavery, no matter in what\nlanguage pronounced, or by what national power confirmed.\n\n'George and his wife stood arm in arm as the boat neared the small\ntown of Amherstberg, in Canada. His breath grew thick and short; a\nmist gathered before his eyes; he silently pressed the little hand\nthat lay trembling on his arm. The bell rang--the boat stopped.\nScarcely seeing what he did, he looked out his baggage, and gathered\nhis little party. The company were landed on the shore. They stood\nstill till the boat had cleared; and then, with tears and embracings,\nthe husband and wife, with their wondering child in their arms, knelt\ndown, and lifted up their hearts to God!\n\n    ''Twas something like the burst from death to life;\n      From the grave's cerements to the robes of heaven;\n    From sin's dominion, and from passion's strife,\n      To the pure freedom of a soul forgiven;\n      Where all the bonds of death and hell are riven,\n    And mortal puts on immortality,\n    When Mercy's hand hath turned the golden key,\n    And Mercy's voice hath said: \"Rejoice, thy soul is free.\"\n\n'The party were soon guided by Mrs Smyth to the hospitable abode of a\ngood missionary, whom Christian charity has placed here as a shepherd\nto the outcast and wandering, who are constantly finding an asylum on\nthis shore.\n\n'Who can speak the blessedness of that first day of freedom? Is not\nthe _sense_ of liberty a higher and finer one than any of the five? To\nmove, speak, and breathe, go out and come in unwatched and free from\ndanger! Who can speak the blessings of that rest which comes down on\nthe free man's pillow, under laws which insure to him the rights that\nGod has given to man? How fair and precious to that mother was that\nsleeping child's face, endeared by the memory of a thousand dangers!\nHow impossible was it to sleep in the exuberant possession of such\nblessedness! And yet these two had not one acre of ground, not a roof\nthat they could call their own; they had spent their all, to the last\ndollar. They had nothing more than the birds of the air, or the\nflowers of the field; yet they could not sleep for joy. \"O ye who take\nfreedom from man, with what words shall ye answer it to God?\"'\n\nWith this episode, we close for the present, and will go into the\nhistory of Uncle Tom in a subsequent paper.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] We understand that Mrs H. B. Stowe has received from her\npublishers the sum of _ten thousand three hundred dollars_, as her\ncopyright premium on three months' sale of _Uncle Tom's\nCabin_.-_Boston newspaper._\n\n\n\n\nFORTUNES OF A LITERARY GOLD-SEEKER.\n\n\nThe same passion for gold-seeking, which in our day has developed\nitself in a new form, raged in Europe from the depth of the middle\nages till the eighteenth century was far advanced. By the arrival of\nthe latter period, however, a good deal of discredit had been\nthrown upon the business; awkward revelations had been made;\nwell-authenticated facts had been turned outside in; and, in fine, the\nworld's dread laugh helped not a little to put down the conviction of\nages. That conviction did not relate to the existence of natural\nhoards of the precious metal. Such idle dreams were left to the\nfanciful and superstitious, whose stores were usually situated in the\nbosom of mountains, and guarded by gnomes and demons. The others were\nmore rational and practical: they sought to obtain their end by means\nof legitimate science, based upon virtue and religious faith. This\nbasis is the only thing that since then has been unanimously\nabandoned; for philosophers are still by no means agreed as to the\nimpossibility of making gold.\n\nOnly a few of the gold-seekers of the present day are literary men,\nfor the pickaxe does not very naturally replace the pen; but at the\ntime we speak of, almost the whole tribe were authors. Borel, in 1654,\nmakes the list amount to 4000; but this is an exaggeration; many of\nhis names being imaginary, and some cut into several pieces. We have\nbefore us, however, a catalogue by a less zealous compiler, brought\nbetween eighty and ninety years further down, containing about 2500\ntreatises by about 900 authors--a number which we consider not the\nleast remarkable of the facts connected with the hermetic science. All\nthese works, with the exception of a small number, are in Latin; and\nten of them are the production of a certain Bernard Trevisan_us_, to\ngive him his learned name, although he was born at Padua in 1406. We\ndo not, however, particularise this author on account of the value of\nhis books, for we are thankful to say we have never seen his _Secret\nWork of Chemistry_, or his _Philosophers' Egg_, or, in fact, a single\nline he has written;[3] but we look upon him in his personal character\nas the very ideal of a gold-seeker; and we are on that account anxious\nto rescue his name from the obscurity in which it rests.\n\nBernard's attachment for his life-long profession was spontaneous,\nperhaps instinctive. He had no need to apply himself to make the\nprecious metals, for he was born with a piece of one of them in his\nmouth--the piece which is technically called a silver spoon. He had\nthe rank of count; and his father, a doctor of medicine, leaving him a\nsufficient fortune, he had nothing to do but to enjoy the world in any\nway he thought fit. We shall see how he managed. When only fourteen\nyears of age, he fell in with one of the works of the Arabian\nphysician Rhasis, and this led him, after four years' labour, to the\nfountain-head of the occult philosophy, Geber. The latter, next to\nHermes himself, is the acknowledged chief of the science, and Trevisan\nfound himself in good hands; although he wished he had made his\nacquaintance earlier, as he had already spent to no purpose about 800\ncrowns. The reader must not suppose that the wealth of adepts vanished\nin the common operations of chemistry; for in point of fact, the\nmaterial consumed was the material sought for--gold. Some, indeed,\nsupposed that by subliming or purifying the imperfect metals to a high\nenough degree, they might convert them into the perfect one; but in\ngeneral it was acknowledged that there was no way of making gold but\nby means of gold itself. The philosopher's stone, as it was called,\nwas a powder containing the pure essence of gold, and how to obtain\nthis was the question.\n\nTrevisan was not without friends and advisers in the great search.\nPhilosophers gathered about him like bees; and by their assistance,\ntogether with the formulae in the works of Geber, he had soon spent\n2000 crowns more. But he was not discouraged. He applied to the\ntreatises of Archelaus, Rufreissa, and Sacro-bosco; associated a monk\nwith him in his experiments; and in the course of three years had\nrectified spirits of wine more than thirty times, till it reached a\npoint at which no glass was strong enough to hold it. That was very\nwell; but it cost more than 300 crowns, and he was no nearer his\nobject than before.\n\nHe now began to dissolve, congeal, and sublime common salt,\nsal-ammonia, the alums, and copperas; and in distillation,\ncirculation, and sublimation, he spent twelve busy years, at a cost of\nabout 6000 crowns. Trevisan almost lost faith in human science, and\nset himself earnestly to pray for illumination. In this he was\nassisted by a magistrate of his own country; but while invoking divine\naid, they were all the while working away with marine salt. This\nsubstance they continued to rectify for eight months without finding\nany change in its nature. It will be seen, that the object of all\nthese experiments was to find a solvent powerful enough to separate\nthe essence of gold from its material, the spirit from the body; but\nit now struck him like a flash of lightning, that aqua fortis must be\nthe thing; and throwing himself upon this substance in its state of\ngreatest intensity, he tried it first upon silver, then upon common\nmercury--but all in vain.\n\nHowever, our Bernard was still in the flower of his age--he was only\nforty-six: nothing for a philosopher. He began to travel, with the\nview of collecting wisdom in his way; and at length fell in with\nMaitre Geoffrey Leuvrier, a Cistercian monk, a man after his own\nheart. These congenial companions set to work at first upon hens'\neggs, calcining even the shells; till at the end of eight laborious\nyears, devoted to these and other substances, they had acquired the\nskill of at least preparing in an artistic manner the furnaces used in\ntheir operations. After this, he attached himself to another\ntheological friend, who was prothonotary of Berghes, in Flanders; and\nwith him he worked during fourteen months in distilling copperas with\nvinegar. But the result of the experiments was nothing better than a\nquartan-ague.\n\nWhen Bernard began to get better, the interesting intelligence came to\nhis ears, that Maitre Henry, confessor of the Emperor Ferdinand III.,\npossessed the secret of the philosopher's stone. Our adept, therefore,\nset out at once for Germany, and by means of the good offices of\nfriends, and the liberal expenditure of money, obtained an\nintroduction to the fortunate man. With him he set to work with a good\nheart; but after rectifying and dissolving till they were tired, he\nfound that he had only succeeded in melting away 300 crowns more of\nhis wealth. The thing grew serious. He was now fifty-eight. He could\nafford to dally no longer: it was necessary to find the secret of the\nhermetic science at once, or give up the search. Trevisan pondered\nover his critical position for two entire months; but at the end of\nthat time a ray of hope flashed across the gloom of his meditations.\nThe nature of the hope we do not know; we can only tell what was the\ncourse of action on which it determined him. He arose suddenly from\nhis depression, and, girding up his loins, began to travel. He went\nfirst to Rome; then to Spain; then to Turkey; then to Greece. He\npassed into Egypt; then into Barbary; then visited Rhodes; and then\ntraversed a portion of Palestine and Persia. He then returned to\nFrance, by way of Messina, and visited England, Scotland, and finally\nGermany. Wherever he went, it was the same thing. The phantom he\nfollowed fled as he pursued; and alike in the heart of London, and in\nthe deserts of the Holy Land, he saw appearing, and then vanishing, in\nthe distance--\n\n     The unreached paradise of his despair.\n\nThat the secret existed, there could be no doubt; for it was a part of\nTrevisan's creed that it was born before the Flood; that it was\nrevealed to the Israelites in their passage through the Desert; and\nthat it had thus been handed down through the various generations of\nmen. In his own travels, there was no want of true philosophers here,\nthere, and everywhere. But they were alone; they kept their science to\nthemselves; and they fixed upon the inquirer a stony gaze, which\npetrified his heart. Pretenders, on the contrary, were as open as\nday--there was no end to their civilities: but their favours were\nexpensive; they cost altogether, including his travelling expenses,\nabout 13,000 crowns; and he was at length obliged to sell an estate\nwhich had produced him the agreeable little revenue of 8000 German\nflorins.\n\nBernard was now sixty-two years of age, within a year of his grand\nclimacteric. He had succeeded in divesting himself by degrees of all\nhis property, with the exception of what afforded him a very bare\nsubsistence; and his relatives, incensed at a conduct which their\nignorance of science prevented them from appreciating, had turned\ntheir backs upon him. Poor, friendless, and alone, he had hatched his\n_Philosophers' Egg_ to some purpose; and now what was he to do? He\nmust, in the first place, find some cheap retirement, where he could\nat least live; and accordingly he set out for a place he had visited\nin his travels--the island of Rhodes. Why he should have chosen the\nisland of Rhodes more than any other island, or an island more than\nany part of the mainland, it would be difficult to tell. But Bernard\nspeedily saw that he had been conducted thither by the hand of\ndestiny; for in his solitary wanderings he encountered a monk whom he\nat once recognised as a kindred spirit. It would be too long to tell\nhow they fell into talk about the Companions of Cadmus, the Doves of\nDiana, the Dragon, the Serpent, and the Nymphs; of the Male, the\nFemale, and the Hermaphrodite; of the Hermetic Sulphur which exists in\ngold, and of the means of coagulating with this sulphur the sacred\nMercury. Suffice it to say, that their conversation excited in them an\nintense desire to experiment, and an absolute conviction that the\ncollision of two such intellects would strike out the sublime spark of\ntruth. But how to manage? Gold could not be made without the aid of\ngold; and they had not a piece between them. But here the lucky stars\nof our philosopher interposed. Bernard fell in with a merchant to whom\nhis family was known, and his adventures unknown; and the good man had\nthe kindness to lend him 8000 florins. This was a trifling debt to\nincur at a time when he stood on the very brink of the Secret; and the\ntwo friends set to work with a will. They occupied themselves for\nthree years in dissolving gold and silver; and then discovered that\ntheir fund was exhausted, and that nothing remained to them of all\ntheir labours but the embers of the fire.\n\nTrevisan applied to philosophy for consolation: he set himself to read\nattentively Arnold of Villenova. This 'great theologian, skilful\nphysician, and learned alchemist,' as we are assured by Andreas, a\ncelebrated lawyer of his day, was in the habit of making gold at\npleasure; but not satisfied with this triumph, he would needs\ninterfere in the concerns of religion, and more especially scandalised\nthe whole orthodox world by affirming, 'that the works of charity and\nmedicine are more agreeable to God than the services of the altar.' He\nwas likewise the master in the sublime science of the famous Raymond\nLully, who, as is well known to English history (although the fact is\nomitted by the historians), converted in one operation 50,000 lbs.\nweight of mercury, lead, and tin, into pure gold, which was coined\ninto rose nobles. Raymond, like his master, was a great theologian,\nand the grand aspiration of his life, to which he finally fell a\nmartyr, was the conversion of the infidels. In reading him, also--for\nBernard was led naturally from one to the other--he was greatly struck\nwith that blending of religion with science which is observable in\nalmost all the Hermetic books, where the practical part of\nChristianity, the love of God and man, is inculcated as the\nfundamental maxim. On this he pondered for eight years, by which time\nhe had attained the ripe age of seventy-three, and then at length the\nmind of the adept opened to the Secret he had been so long and so\nblindly pursuing.\n\nHis Search was successful. He was now able to separate the pure spirit\nfrom the material gold that had all his life been harmonising and\nfusing, and while reading the books of the alchemists, to collect\ntheir truths, and pass over their errors as dross. It was two years\nbefore he had fairly accustomed his mind to this view of the subject;\nbut his life was prolonged for five years more, during which time,\nnotwithstanding his poverty and solitude, he probably enjoyed the only\nreal happiness he had ever known. He reached the age of eighty-four,\nand, in the year 1490, gave up his last breath with a smile. If a\nbystander had inquired at the moment he was passing away, what it was\nwhich gave this illumination to his countenance, and this tranquillity\nto his heart, he would doubtless have answered, _the philosopher's\nstone_.\n\nAfter his death, he obtained the reputation he had missed when living.\nHis works were widely circulated, and some of them printed so late as\n1672. They were reckoned an important help to the student of hermetic\nscience; and the name of the luckless Bernard Trevisan was always\nincluded in the list of great adepts.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[3] The French author of the catalogue we allude to (1742) while\ndeclaring that it is good for people to know what the books are,\ncounsels them to read very little of them, and to do nothing at all\nthat they recommend.\n\n\n\n\nLACON'S BOAT-LOWERING APPARATUS.\n\n\nThe want of a ready means of lowering boats from vessels in distressed\ncircumstances, has been exemplified with the most tragical results in\nsuch cases as those of the _Orion_, _Birkenhead_, and _Amazon_. Mr W.\nS. Lacon, late of the H.E.I.C.'s service, has invented a plan for\nmaking them quickly available, which seems likely to be successful. It\nwas tried on the 5th August by the Regatta Committee at Folkestone,\nwith the approval of a great number of persons professionally\nqualified to pronounce on the subject. The wind was blowing strongly\nfrom the southwest, with a heavy surge running. This proved fortunate,\nfor the better testing of the efficacy of the system. In the first\ntrial, a boat was lowered from the steamer by one man, with several\npersons on board, and alighted on the water, abaft of the larboard\npaddle-box, with the utmost safety and apparent comfort, the tackle\nbeing released momentarily by the weight of the boat's descent, the\nvessel at the time steaming at the rate of 12-1/2 knots per hour. It\nwas afterwards hoisted up again by two men. At the second trial, the\nboat was lowered and cleared from the ship by one man, with Mr Lacon\nand three men on board, the vessel at the time maintaining full speed.\nThe same experiments were performed several times during the day, in a\nsimilarly successful manner. The apparatus employed by Mr Lacon is\nvery compact and simple, being fixed under the deck-seats, so as to be\nnot in the least incommodious. In treating of this patent invention,\nthe _Liverpool Mercury_ says, Mr Lacon has succeeded in 'solving a\nproblem which has hitherto baffled the ingenuity of scientific and\npractical men, and attaining the \"_desideratum_ of lowering boats\nevenly, and of rapidly disengaging the tackles,\" by a self-acting\ncontrivance. Mr Lacon takes as his principle the well-known axiom in\nmechanics, that what is gained in power is lost in time; and although\nhe approves of the method at present in use, as being the best for\nhoisting up boats: he (seeing that the hoisting need never be a\nhurried operation) substitutes two single ropes or chains, which,\nbeing secured to two broad slings passing round the body of the boat,\nare then brought inboard on davits, and carried to two concave barrels\nconnected together by means of a shaft. The ends of the ropes or\nchains are secured to the barrels in such a manner that they will\nsupport any amount of weight until such time as the boat has reached\nthe water, when they will disconnect and fall away from their\nattachment by their own weight, by which means he prevents the\npossibility of a ship, in its onward progress through a rough sea,\ndragging forward a lowered boat sideways, and capsizing or swamping\nit. By means, then, of a friction-strap and pulley round the shaft,\none man is enabled to regulate the descent of the boat, which will go\ndown by its own weight; and by means of the parallel action of the two\nbarrels, he lowers both ends uniformly, and insures the boat falling\nin a proper position on the water.'\n\n\n\n\nIGNORANCE THE GREAT CAUSE OF POVERTY.\n\n\nThere are, in every fully-peopled country, large numbers of persons\nwhose lives are passed in hardship and misery, and whose greatest\nexertions can do no more for them than procure the barest means of\nsubsistence. These are greatly to be pitied, and it should be the\nstudy of the government, and of all who possess the means, to remove,\nas far as possible, the causes of their misfortune. It cannot,\nhowever, be said that any competition, save only that which they\nthemselves naturally and necessarily exhibit among their class, for\nobtaining the inadequate amount of employment for which they are\nfitted, is chargeable with the hardships they endure. It is a\nmelancholy truth, as concerns the individuals, that we cannot extend\nto them any indirect relief without tending to increase the evil by\nraising an addition to their number. How, then, is their condition to\nbe mended? The only way, it appears to me, is to fit them for entering\ninto competition with others above them in the social scale by means\nof instruction, which shall enable them to give a greater value to the\nservices which they render, and thus entitle them to command a greater\nvalue of services in return. We need entertain no fear lest, by this\nletting in competition upon the class above them, we shall lower these\nlatter in the scale of society. So long as the capital in the country\nshall continue to increase in a greater proportion than its\npopulation, there must always be found additional employment and\nbetter remuneration for those whose labour is capable of adding to the\nnational wealth. It may with more truth be stated, that the\nconsequence to the community of the existence of any large number of\ndestitute persons, is to keep down the general rate of wages,\npositively, through the absorption of capital required for their\nrelief, and, negatively, through the absence of those additions to\ncapital which the surplus services of instructed artisans always\noccasion.--_G. R. Porter's Lecture at Wandsworth, entitled 'Services\nfor Services.' London: Clowes._ 1851.\n\n\n\n\nA WEE BIT NAME.\n\nSHEPHERD _loquitur_.--An' a wee bit name--canna it carry a weight o'\nlove?--_Noctes Ambrosianae_, No. lxxii.\n\n\n    A wee bit name! O wae's the heart\n      When nought but _that_ is left,\n    But doubly dear it comes to be\n      When time a' else hath reft,\n    An' youth, an' hope, an' innocence,\n      An' happiness, an' hame,\n    Are a' concentred in a word,\n      That word--a wee bit name.\n\n    Back through the weary waste o' years\n      My memory is borne,\n    An' gurglin' streams, an' thickets green,\n      An' fields o' yellow corn:\n    An' lanely glens, an' sunny hills\n      Upon my spirit gleam,\n    The phantoms o' the past before\n      That spell--a wee bit name.\n\n    O vision sweet! a fair, fair face,\n      A young, but thochtfu' brow,\n    Twa gentle een o' azure sheen,\n      Are beamin' on me noo.\n    Be still, my beatin' heart--be still;\n      It's but an idle dream:\n    She heeds na though wi' tremblin' joy\n      I breathe a wee bit name.\n\n    A wee bit name! O lives there ane\n      That never, never felt\n    Its pathos an' its wizard power\n      To saften and to melt?\n    No--callous though the bosom be\n      Wi' years o' sin an' shame,\n    'Twill melt like snaw in summer's sun\n      Before some wee bit name.\n\n    A wee bit name! the rod whose touch\n      Bids hidden waters start,\n    The torch that lichts the pile upon\n      The altar o' the heart,\n    An' kindles what wad else decay,\n      Into a holy flame:\n    A sacred influence may lie\n      Within a wee bit name!\n\n                                   C.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPrinted and Published by W. and R. CHAMBERS, High Street, Edinburgh.\nAlso sold by W. S. ORR, Amen Corner, London; D. N. CHAMBERS, 55 West\nNile Street, Glasgow; and J. M'GLASHAN, 50 Upper Sackville Street,\nDublin.--Advertisements for Monthly Parts are requested to be sent to\nMAXWELL & CO., 31 Nicholas Lane, Lombard Street, London, to whom all\napplications respecting their insertion must be made.","title":"Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, No. 453: Volume 18, New Series, September 4, 1852","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":20908}