The Living age ... / Volume 13, Issue 152
49-96
LITTELLS LIVING AGE.No. 152.b APRIL, 1847.
From the North British Review.
The Lost Senses, vol. i. Deafness: vol. ii. Blindness.
By JOHN KITTO, D.D., Editor of the Pictorial
Bible, of the Biblical Cyclopaedia, & c. London,
1845.
THE intelli,,ent and accomplished author of the
two interesting volumes, whose titles we have
placed at the head of the present article, has the
misfortune to be deaf. The calamity under which
he labors is the result of an accident which befell
him at the age of twelve yearsa time of life at
which he had, of course, acquired a good knowledge
of spoken language through the ordinary channel.
Happily for him, be had also learned to read and
write; and had, moreover, imbibed a taste for
books. The first of the volumes referred to, has
much the character of an autobiographical narrative,
it is a detailed and cleverly-written account of
IDr. Kittos personal and individual experience in
the deaf state, and abounds with many acute,
philosophical, and valuable remarks in reference to
that peculiar condition.
It does not, ho~vever, throw much light upon the
circumstances, feelings, and difficulties which con-
nect themselves with the more melancholy position,
and more laborious and painful progress of a person
to whom the sense of hearing has been denied from
birth; and, therefore, as in some measure supple-
mentary to what Dr. Kitto has recorded, we shall
intersperse, in the present notice, a few incidental
remarks, touching the more afflictive dispensation
of congenital deafness.
It would scarcely have been reasonable to have
expected that Dr. Kitto, in discussing his own case,
should have dwelt at much length upon this more
aggravated form of the same calamity, the experi-
ence of which, with all its concomitant privations,,
happily for him he has not known. The two cases
are indeed very widely different, resembling one
another in little more than in the palpable fact, that
in each there is the same insensibility to existing
sounds. When we use this word sound, we em-
ploy a term with the meaning of which the author
before us is perfectly familiarwe refer to that,
with the importance of which, as a vehicle of
thought, he was once practically acquainted, and
the conception of which he even now possesses, and
habitually associates with the written characters of
speech. It is very different with the deaf-born.
For him sound never existed; and the intercourse
of those around him, by means of the vocal organs,
is to him a mystery which no effort of conception
on his part can help him to unravel. His attention
has, indeed, been attracted to this wonderful medium
of intercourse between mind and mind from early
childhood; and both his curiosity and his imagina-
tion have, no doubt, often been anxiously, though
fruitlessly excited on the subject; but he at length
resigns himself to the factwithdraws his efforts
from the hopeless inquirycultivates, in silence,
his own imperfect gesticulations, and waits in
patient acquiescence, perhaps in hopeful expecta-
tion, the solution of a problem which time can
never explain.
That the difference between a person thus circum
CLII. LiVING AGE. VOL. xiii. 4
stanced, and one who can hear, is sufficiently
described in the summary statement, that the latter
enjoys the sense of hearing which the former wants,
is a position which the slightest reflection will show
to be very far from the truth. It is not the want
of hearing on the part of the deaf-born that consti-
tutes the only difference between him and others,
nor does this by any means constitute the chief
difference. The want of hearing, simply, is in
fact a defect of comparatively small momenta
privation of comparatively easy endurance.: it is the
want of language that creates the immense chasm
between the uneducated deaf-mute, and the unedu-
cated hearing person.* Before the education of the
latter commences, he is in possession of language,
that is, of all the requisite apparatus for carrying on
the work to any extent: the deaf-mute begins wit.h
absolutely nothing of this apparatus; it has to be
constructed piece by piece before him, and he can-
not attain to the familiar use of it, without years of
assiduous application under a system of direct
instruction of a peculiar kind. Children, in gen-
eral, learn language insensibly, and without effort
for Nature is the teacher; but the deaf-mute is
precluded from her instructions, and is dependent
upon the artificial schemes of mans devising. It
is no easy thing to impart language to the deaf
and dumbto supply, by human ingenuity, what,
through the ordinary channel, God in his wisdom
has seen fit to withhold; and we may accordingly
expect that, even when all that art can achieve has
been accomplished, the result will still be marked
with that imperfection which always attaches itself
to every human performance. When we converse
with a little child of three or four years old, and
reflect for a moment upon the simplicity of the
means employedthe absence of all effort on his
partthe proverbial intractability of infancy, and
yet witness his ready command over so mighty an
instrument of thought as language is, we cannot
fail to he impressed with the same sense of the
silent operations of Omnipotence, that the contem-
plation of every department of nature necessarily
awakens. But this impression is forced on the
mind with increased vividness, when we compare
his position with that of the uneducated deaf-mute
a being destitute of that which forms the most
striking distinction between man and brute, separ-
ated from the rest of his species, and remaining
alone in the midst of millions.
An erroneous opinion prevails that blindness is a
greater affliction than deafness. This would un-
questionably be true if privation of sight precluded
the acquisition of language, which it does not; nor,
as ample experience shows, does it oppose any
very serious obstacle to the full development of the
mental powers. We are all familiar with many
well authenticated instances of blind persons having
attained to a distinguished position both in literature
and science. The celebrated Saunderson, who
filled the chair of Newton in the University of
* Watsons Instruction of the Deaf and Dumb. Par-
rim. This interesting and truly philosophical perform-.
ance, is much less generally known than it deserves to be.
It was published in London in 1809.
50 [(ITTO S LOST SENSES.
Cambridge, lost his very eye-halls by the small-pox
when only twelve months old; yet before he was
thirty, we find him giving public lectures on optics,
explaining clearly the theory of vision, and discours-
ing admirably on the phenomena of light and colors
thus furnishing, by his own extensive acquire-
ments, a convincing proof of the extraordinary
powers of language, and of the full efficiency of the
ear as an avenue to the mind. The darkness of
the blind, as such instances as this sufficiently show,
is but a physical darkness; they still possess a ready
channel through which the brightest beams of intel-
lectual light may be freely poured; but the darkness
of the deaf-mute is a mental and a moral darkness;
and though he can gaze abroad upon creation, yet
it is little more than mere animal gratification that
he feels; he looks not through nature up to
natures God, nor does he participate in that high
communion which, through the sublimity of her
vi~ible language, she holds with the soul of an
enlightened being.
The reason why the blind usually receive from
us a deeper sympathy than the deaf, is perhaps
because the amount of privation borne by the former
can be more accurately estimated. We have only
to close our eyes, to shut out for a while the glorious
light of heaven, in order to conceive how great that
privation must be. But we can never for a moment
occupy the place of the uneducated deaf and dumb;
we cannot shut out our moral and intellectual light;
we cannot dispossess our minds of all that language
has conveyed there, nor realize, by any effort of
imagination, the melancholy condition of a being
grown up in the midst of society, yet deprived of
all power of social intercourse, whose mind has
never been elevated by a singe act of devotion, nor
soothed and comforted by a single impulse of
religious feeling. Man naturally looketh on the
outward appearance ; and when we see the bright
eye, and the contented and eveii joyous aspect of
the deaf-mute, we forget that we may witness all
this in the brutes that perish.
It may probably be thought by some, that in
thus depicting the mental and moral condition of
the deaf and dumb, we are drawing upon imagina-
tion, and magnifying their affliction, and that we
altogether overlook the value of signs, the
peculiar
language of the deaf-niute, as a medium of com-
munication. But it is not so. Of the importance
of signs we are fully sensible; and readily admit
their immense advantage, in the absence of a more
perfect channel, in imparting to the deaf a knowl-
edge of written language; yet, as used by the
uneducated deaf and dumb, gesticulation, as every
teacher knows, is of extremely limited scope, barely
sufficing to make known his mere physical wants
and animal emotions, and to describe, though with
much vagueness and ambiguity, events, or rather
actions, which may have passed before his own
eyes, or in which he may himself have engaged.
Experience fnrnishes no instance in which a deaf-
mute, having nothing but the language of signs at
his command, had ever attained to any distinct
notion of a future world, of his own moral account-
ability, of mans ultimate destiny, or even of a
Supreme Being.
Now, it is important to bear in mind that all this
melancholy amount of privation arises, not from the
want of hearing, but from the want of ordinary
languagea want which no system of mere gesticu-
lations can ever supply; and therefore that, in esti-
mating the condition of the deaf, we must not
~overlook the fact, that those who come under this
designation divide themselves into two distinct
classes, separated from one another by a wide and
essential differencea difference which may indeed
be narrowed by artificial aid and human contrivance,
but which, in ordinary circumstances, can never be
wholly Qbliterated.
The author of the volumes before us enjoyed the
blessings of hearing for twelve years. It is true
these were the years of infancy and childhood; yet,
during that brief and thoughtless period, nature, as
we have endeavored to show, had been carrying
on, by insensible but continuous advances, her great
work; and a mastery over language must in that
time have beemi secured, which, had he been born
deaf, the longest life devoted to the task would
scarcely have enabled him to attain. With this
important acquisition, and aided by only the memory
of the ear, he has, by dint of assiduous self-culture,
acquired for himself a wide reputation for varied
knowledge ; and is, moreover, not merely an agree-
able, but a graceful writer. The events of the day
on which his misfortune befell him are thus graphi-
cally and impressively related
On the day in question, my father and another
man, attended by myself, were engaged in new
slating the roof of a house, the ladder ascending to
which was fixed in a small court paved with flag-
stones. The access to this court from the street
was by a paved passage, through which ran a gut-
ter, whereby waste water was conducted from the
yard into the street.
Three things occupied my mind that day. One
was, that the town-crier, who occupied part of the
house in which he lived, had been the previous even-
ing prevailed upon to entrust me with a book, for
which I had long been worrying him, and with the
contents of which I was most eager to become ac-
quainted. I think it was Kirbys Wonderful
Magazine; and I now dwell the rather upon this
circumstance, as, with other facts of the same kind,
it helps to satisfy me that I was already a most vo-
racious reader, and that the calamity which befell
me did not create in me the literary appetite, but
only threw me more entirely upon the resources
which it offered.
The other circumstance was, that my grand-
mother had finished, all but the buttons, a new
smock-frock, which I had hoped to have assnmed
that very day, but which was faithfully promised
for the morrow. As this was the first time that I
should have worn that article of attire, the event
was contemplated with something of that interest
and solicitude with which the assumption of the
toga virilis may be supposed to have been contem-
plated by the Roman youth.
The last circumstance, and the one, perhaps,
which had some effect upon what ensued, was this:
In one of the apartments of the house in which we
were at work, a young sailor, of whom I had some
knowledge, had died after a lingering illness, which
had been attended with circumstances which the
doctors could not well understand. It was there-
fore concluded that the body should be opened to
ascertain the cause of death. I knew this was to
be done, but not the time appointed for the opera-
tion. But, on passing from the street into the yard,
with a load of slates which I was to take to the
house-top, my attention was drawn to a stream of
blood, or rather, I suppose, bloody water, flowing
through the gutter by which the passage was trav-
ersed. The idea that this was the blood of the dead
youth whom I had so lately seen alive, and that
the doctors were then at work cutting him up
51
INSTRUCTION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB.
and groping at his inside, made me shudder, and
gave what I should now call a shock to my nerves,
although I was very innocent of all knowledge about
nerves at that time. I ca.not but think it was ow-
by to this that I lost much of tne presence of mind
~~nd collectedness so important to me at that mo-
meet; for when I had ascended to the top of the
ladder, and was in the etitical act of stepping from
it on to the roof, I lost my footing, and fell back-
ward, from a height of about thirty-five feet, into
the paved court below.
Of what followed I know nothing; and as this
is the record of my own sensations, I can here re-
port nothing but that which I myself know. For
one moment, indeed, I awoke from that death-like
state, and then found that my father, attended by a
crowd of people, was bearing me homeward in his
arms: but I had then no recollection of what had
happened, and at once relapsed into a state of un-
consciousness.
In this state I remained for a fortnight, as I
afterwards learned. These days were a blank in
my life; I could never bring any recollections to
hear upon them; and when I awoke one morning
to consciousness, it was as from a night of sleep.
I saw that it was at least two hours later than my
usual time of rising, and marvelled that I had been
suffered to sleep so late. I attempted to spring up
in bed, and was astonished to find that I could not
even move. The utter prostration of my strength
subdued all curiosity within me. I experienced no
pain, but I felt that I was weak; I saw that I was
treated as an invalid, and acquiesced in my condi-
tion, though some time passedmore time than the
reader would imagine, before I could piece together
my broken recollections so as to comprehend it.
I was very slow in learning that my hearing
was entirely gone. The unusual stillness of all
things was grateful to me in my utter exhaustion;
and if, in this half-awakened state, a thought of the
matter entered my mind, I ascribed it to the unu-
sual care and success of my friends in preserving si-
lence around me. I saw them talking, indeed, to
one another, and thought that, out of regard to my
feeble condition, they spoke in whispers, because I
heard them not. The truth was revealed to me in
consequence of my solicitude about the book which
had so much interested me on the day of my fall.
It had, it seems, been reclaimed by the good old
man who had sent it to me, and who doubtless con-
cluded that I should have no more need of books in
this life. He was wrong; for there has been
nothing in this life which I have needed more. I
asked for this book with much earnestness, and was
answered by signs which I could not comprehend.
Why do you not speak P I cried; pray let
me have the book.
This seemed to create some confusion: and at
length some one, more clever than the rest, hit upon
the happy expedient of writing upon a slate, that
the book had been reclaimed by the owner, and that
1 could not in my weak state be alloxved to read.
But, I said in great astonishment, why do
you write to me, why not speak~ Speak, speak!
Those who stood around the bed exchanged
significant looks of concern, and the writer soon
displayed upon his slate the awful wordsYou ARE
DEAF Deafness, pp. 811.
The above touching account will, no doubt, re-
mind the reader of the graphic clearness and cir-
cumstantial simplicity of De Foe; although, in this
remark, we admit that we pay the higher compli
ment to the latter writer, who could give such ver-
isimilitude to the creations of fancy.
The language just quoted, notwithstanding its
transparency, and entire freedom from meretricious
ornament and flowers of speech, is, we hesitate not
to say, beyond the attainment of the deaf-born, how-
ever carefully they may be instructedprodigies,
of course, always excepted. We do not affirm that
a well-educated deaf-mute would be unable to read
the above narration with intelligence, or to enter as
folly into its spirit as others. We do not affirm
that the words employed would present any insu-
perabb difficulty to him. But we do affirm, that
the nice adjustment of those wordstheir harmoni-
ous collocation, are things which, in the absence of
all conception as to the office and influence of the
ear, can nevev he completely understood, nor, in
consequence, adequately appreciated. In the vol-
umes before us, this influence has obviously presid-
ed over every page the memory of hearing has
made it virtually present; and every sentence that
flowed from the pen, and addressed itself to the eye,
was arrayed, in the mind of the author, in all the
appropriate drapery of sound. To the deaf-born,
these same sentences will present nothing but cold,
naked typethe purely arbitrary and artificial
characters of mans contriving, conventionally em-
ployed as the visible symbols of thought and feel-
ing; hut not associated therewith by any tie, nor
touched and animated by any trait of natures own.
With Dr. Kitto, as with people in gcneral, the
written character is the symbol of the articulate
sound. Had he suppressed the circumstance of his
peculiar affliction, we could never have discovered it
from any internal indications of the fact in his prose
writinxs we might, perhaps, have suspected it
from his poetry. His memory of the more delicate
functions of the ear, as brought into exercise in this
species of composition, is, we suspect, losing its
vividness; his sense of poetical cadence and rhyth-
mical harmonyno doubt from the want of assidu-
ous cultivationbeginning to wane. Of this he is
in some degree apprehensive, and, with much can-
dor, has submitted several of his poetical produc-
tions to exauiination, for the purpose of determin-
ing the fact. In adverting to these, it is proper to
mention, that the author disclaims all poetical pre-
tensions, and insists upon their being read only fur
the single experimental purpose for which they are
introduced. We surmise, however, that their in-
trinsic merit will induce most of his readers to dis-
regard the injunction which we propose implicitly to
obey.
The following is from a piece entitled ALTER-
NATivEs.
Could all the voices and glad sounds
Which have not fallen on my sense,
Be rendered up in one hours bounds
A gift immense ;
I d for one whisper to my heart,
Give all the joy this might impart.
Deafness, p. 172.
We think the third line of this quotation betrays
the absence of the ear.
Again:
A storm arose. The waves their hue
To fleecy white changed from deep blue;
* * * *
But my soul plunged into the gloom
To hail the symbols of its doom.P. 174
52 KITTO S LOST SENSES.
The second line, and the last but one, displease the having been superadded to the preexisting causes,
ear from the emphasis being thrown on the more thcre seemed a strong probability of my eventually
insignificant words ;the prepositions. justifying the impression concerning my dumbness
And, as respects the line which was generally entertained. I now speak
And look down with a smile of scorn. with considerable ease arid freedom, and, in per-
P. 176, sonal intercourse, never resort to any other than
the oral mode of communication.P. 19.
the ear would prefer the following collocation of This happy circumstance was brought about
the same words: through the efforts of two friends who accompanied
And with a smile of scorn look down, the author on his first voyage to the Mediterranean;
and who, in conjunction with the captain, conspired
But we will not seek for furtlter blemishes of this to disregard every word he said otherwise than
kind, which are more or less inseparable from the orally, throughout the voyage. We wholly dis-
poetical compositions of one whose hearing has been sent from the hypothesis which the author pro-
long lost, and the memory of its nicer discrimina- poses, to account for his repugnance to speak ; a
tions been suffered to fade. The attempts at poetry functional derangement of the vocal organs, as a
of the deaf-bornand we have seen several such consequence of the loss of hearing: and which
attemptsare, of course, strongly marked by like hypothesis he is inclined to extend to cases of con-
imperfections, and when these are not plainly oh- genital deafness. We conceive his reluctance to
servable, the genuineness of the specimen may be be wholly attributable to the circumstance of the
very reasonably doubted. \~T0 are convinced, how- changed character which, to him, his speech as-
ever, that Dr. Kitto is a much better writer than he sumed, when it ceased to be recognized by him as
is a reader of poetry; and that even his prose com- the utterance of arLiculate sounds, and became noth-
positions must materially suffer from his own audi- ing but inaudible actions of the organs; mere me-
ble delivery of them: and must lose many of the chanical movements uncontrolled by the superin-
excellencies they would be found to possess from tending influence of the ear, and apparently deprived
the lips of another. However accurate his ideas of all their former vitality. A like repugnance is
of pitch, intonation, & c., may be, we cannot be sure generally niore or less experienced by all persons
that his vocal organs do full justice to his concep- in the authors circumstances; who, as a duty
tions: and if his performance fall below his aim, they owe to themselves, should vigorously strive to
he has nothing to admonish him of the failure. In overcome this propensity to silence. A case is
~,uch audible delivery, we conceive the actual su- recorded of a military officer whose organs of hear-
perintendence of the ear to be absolutely indispen- ing became paralyzed from the effects of a cannon-
sable to a faultless execution. When in possesion ade, and who, from neglecting to cultivate his
of this monitor, we pay little attention to the mere speech, became ultimately unintelligible even to his
mechanism of speech; so that, when hearing is nearest relatives. As to the supposed connexion
lost, we are thrown a good deal upon conjecture, between the organs of hearing and of speech, the
and pure guess-work, in the nicer adjustuients of notion is a fallacy. Professional exp rience on thi
the organs: It was, we think, from keenly feeling point is very extensive; and we believe that not a
the want of the essential superintendence of the ear single case of congenital deafness has ever been
to perfect utterance, that Dr. Kitto, whom the discove ed, connected with the slightest degree of
providential affliction recorded above had made imperfection in the or5ans of speech. The exter-
deaf had well-nigh made himself dumb. Refer- nal parts of the ear, too, are almost invariably
ring to his feelings shortly after the accident, he found to be perfect; but it may not be wholly umiin-
says teresting to record, as a rare fact, that one instance
Although I have no recollection of physical has come under our own observation, in which the
pain in the act of speaking, I felt the strongest external car was entirely wanting: at the usual
~ossible indisposition to use my vocal organs. place of the orifice, on either side, nothing was
seemed to labor under a moral disability which observable but a slight pucker of the flesh. T~ e
cannot be described by comparison with any individual was a girl, from Newfouiidland; and she
disinclination which the reader can be supposed was an inmate of the London Asylum about the
to have experienced. The disinclination which year 1817.
one feels to leave his warm bed on a frosty room- Although Dr. Kitto has not recorded the circum-
tog, is nothing to that which I experienced stance, yet we have no doubt that his hearing often
against any exercise of the organs of speech. The returns to him in dreanis; and that the vividness
forcu of this tennency to dumbness was so great, tif his conceptions of sound and speech is, in some
that for many years I habitually expressed myself degree, renewed amil preserved in this way ;hike
to others in writing even when not more than a few the fading features of a long lost friend: and thu~
words were necessary; and where this mode of the mysterious phenomena of dreams may subserve
intercourse could not be used, I avoided occasion an important purpose to those who labor under the
of speech, or heaved up a few monosyllables, or loss of any of the senses. An intelligeiit blind
expressed my wish by a slight motion or gesture; friend, who lost his sight at the age of eighteen,
siges, as a means of intercourse, I always abom- writes to Dr. Kitto as follows
mated; and no one could annoy me more than by Dreams are to me always replete with images
adopting this mode of communication. In fact, of visible objects. In them I most decidedly se
I came to be generally considered as both deaf every person and thing which then becomes a sub-
and dumb, excepting by the few who were ac- ject of cognizance; and they appear under the
qucinmed with my real condition; and hence many same aspects, and are invested with the same cir-
tolerated my mode of expression by writing, who cumstances, as those which my iina~ination gives
would have urged upon me the exercise of my to them when I am awake, unless occasionally dis-
vocal organs. I rejoiced in the protection which torted or changed in the s~me way that familiar
that impression afforded; for nothing distressed me objects are often modified in the dreams of those
more than to be asked to speak ; and from disuse who see. It is further remarkable that I do not
INSTRUCTION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB.
remember to have had, for some years after losing
my sight, the slightest consciousness in dreams that
I was really in a state of blindness. More recently,
my mind has occasionally, even in sleep, reverted
to this fact; but the consciousness has always been
accompanied by the delightful feelings of one sur-
prised to find himself suddenly restored to the pos-
session of a treasure which he had lost. Blind-
ness, p. 250.
Whatever pleasure and advantage may in this
way be derived from dreams, must be utterly un-
known to those who labor under the far heavier
calamity of congenital deafness, or congenital
blindness. To them, sound and sight are beyond
the sphere even of imagination; and, without a
direct supernatural revelation, they can know noth-
ing of these blessings even in dreams. It is further
of advantage to those who once heard and saw,
that their past experience of these privileges often
stands them instead of their present possession, in
the ordinary scenes of life; and it is interesting to
observe how happily the deaf who once heard, and
the blind who once saw, frequently supply their
lost senses by a careful attention to, arid a judi-
cious inference from, those concomitant and attend-
ant circumstances which attract little or no regard
from others. The eye of the deaf rapidly compre-
hends and combines all the indications presented to
that organ ; and memory and imaginatiop complete
the picture, by suggesting the sounds in appropri-
ate keeping with the visual impressions.
It will surprise many readers to know that few
persons speak in my presence concerning whose
voice I do not receive a very distinct impression.
That is, I form an idea of that persons voice by
which it becomes to my mind as distinct from the
voices of others, as, I suppose, one voice is distinct
from another to those who can hear. The impres-
sion thus conveyed is produced from a cursory, but
probably very accurate, observation of the persons
general physical constitution, compared with the
action of his mouth and the play of his muscles in
the act of speaking. I form a similar idea concern-
ing the laugh of one person as distinguished from
that of another; and when I have seen a person
laugh, the idea concerning his voice becomes in my
mind a completed and unalterable fact. The im-
pression thus realized would seem to be generally
correct. I have sometimes tested it, by describing
to another the voices of persons with whom we
were both acquainted, and I have not known an
instance in which the impression described by me
has not been declared to be remarkably accurate.
This faculty must be based upon experiences ac-
(mired during the days of my hearing, and cannot
be realized by the born deaf, seeing that it is im-
possible for them to have any idea of sounds pro-
duced by the action of the vocal organs, and still
less of the peculiarities by which one voice is dis-
tinguished from another. Deafness, p. 29.
In like manner, with respect to the blind Pr.
Kittos sightless correspondent, before referred to,
writes as follows
In public assemblies, whether for church, plat-
form, or musical purposes, my recollections of for-
mer scenes readily, as though but yesterday visible
to the eye, picture forth the whole to the imagina-
tiori, in all the corresponding circumstances of both
the speakers and the auditors. I cannot conceive
of any shade of difference in any particular between
the ideas of my own mind, with reference to exter-
nal objects and those of persons who have never
experienced the absence of sight; and certainly not
between my own present notions and what they
would have been had I never been called to endure
this privation. In walking abroad amidst the ver-
dure and foliage common to rural scenes, the nature
of the one is readily intimated by the foot, and the
extent and quality of the other by the gentlest
breeze; or perhaps the season of the year is indi-
cated by the still stronger gale, the various notes
of the feathered tribe changing with the periods of
the year; all these, and many more circumstances,
contribute to give the outline of the picture, or to
furnish materials from which the imagination can
supply a complete landscape, even though the spot
may be one altogether new to my experience.
Blindness, p. 249.
The quotations now given, and the observations
with which we have connected them, will perhaps
sufficiently show the great difference, as respects
the facilities for acquiring information, between
those who have lost a sense and those to whom that
sense has been denied from birth; and more espec-
ially the immense vantage ground occupied by
those who once heard, as compared with the deplor-
able position of the congenitally deaf. We fear
that the author before us has riot sufficiently dis-
criminated between these two very distinct condi-
tions. He says
Almost every one whose acquaintance is ex-
tensive will know several blind men of high talent
and acquirement, and eminent in science or litera-
tore, but among the deaf he will not know one so
distinguished. In fact, one may tax his memory
in vain for the name of a single deaf person of any
note in past or present times, while the names of a
host of blind men, distinguished in every branch of
knowledgenot even excepting opticsrush to the
mind in the effort of recollection. One who, like
the present writer, has been enabled, notwithstand-
ing his utter deafness, to give some attention to the
higher branches of literature, cannot but be keenly
alive to this great difference, and must sigh with
regret as he compares the blank page before him
with the crowd of illustrious or remarkable names
which occur in that devoted to the history of the
blind.Blindness, p. 6.
Many circumstances combine to account for this,
irrespective of those arising out of the more for-
midable obstacles with which the deaf-born have to
contend, and which we have already sufficiently
dwelt upon. In the first place, the blind, even at
the present day, are a much more numerous class
of persons than the deaf. How much greater must
the disparity of numbers have been at the periods
when the remarkable individuals alluded to above
lived, when the blessings of vaccination were either
wholly unknown or little appreciated! Some few
cases of deafness have, indeed, been the result of
malignant small-pox; but everybody knows how
largely this fearful scourge has added to the com-
munity of the blind. At present, in Great Britain,
there is one in 1585 of the population deaf and
dumb, and one in 1000 blind; that is, the ratio of
the blind to the deaf is about that of 8 to 5, and
this, be it remembered, when the advantages of
vaccination are very widely diffused and understood.
It should be borne in mind, in the next place, that
the deaf and dumb, even when but partially edu-
cated, are less completely excluded from the ordi-
nary industrial occupations than the blind; they
have much more ample choice of the means for
obtaining a livelihood, as shoe-makers, tailors,
printers, or even as clerks and artists. They are
thus less imperatively urged to literature and sci
53
KITTUS LOSi~ ~SENSES.
ence, as purely professional pursuits than the est of the instructors of the deaf and dumbPedro
blind, who, till a comparatively recent period, de Ponce,* and shall here mention another example
seemed destined to limit their election from one of of very superior attainment in a pupil of one of the
two professions, viz., that of a scholar or that of a latest and most enlightened teachers of that inter-
blind fiddler. It is likely, moreover, that persons esting class, Dr. Joseph Watson.
who have lost their hearing after their knowledge The gentleman to whom we now allude was horn
of language has been confirmed, may sometimes deaf, and was under Dr. XVatsons instructions for
feel a reluctance to communicate the fact of their ten or eleven years. At the age of about eighteen,
condition to the public. Mrs. Phelan, or rather he was well versed in English literature and general
Mrs. Tonna, (Charlotte Elizabeth,) a very success- history; could read the French and Latin languages
ful and accomplished writer, and to one of whose with facility, and was a very good mathematician.
productions Dr. Kitto refers with commendation, Evidence of his ability in this latter character, when
was in the same predicament as himself, having he was about sixteen, may be seen in the Mathe-
lost her hearing in early life, a fact of which, per- matical Companion for 1823. As this work is out
haps, Dr. Kitto was unaware.* But even among of print, and somewhat scarce, we will here tran-
the born-deaf there have been persons of very ex- scribe one of the questions to which he furnished
tensive literary and scientific acquirements. The an accurate solution : Find three square numbers
reason that such persons do not appear as authors in arithmetical progression, such that if frum each
arises, we are porsuaded, from the circumstance number its root be subtracted, the three remainders
we have already noticeda suspicion of their ma- may be square numbers.j Every algebraist knows,
bility to invest their productions with the requisite that this belongs to a class of problems of consider-
graces of composition ; we much regret that an ap- able difficulty; and that here quoted is one of which
prehension of this kindthough to some extent the solution requires more than the ordinary alge-
well founded, should operate as a bar to their braical skill and address. The name of the gentle-
attaining that intellectual position in the estimation man to whom we here refer, was first generally
of the public to which they are unquestionably en- introduced to the public in 1829, by the following
titled. We quote below a record of what appear announcement in the London newspapets : Mr.
to be some well attested instances of highly culti- John William Lowe, a gentleman deaf and dumb
vated deaf persons, pupils of one of the very earli- from his infancy, was, on Saturday last, called te
the bar by the Society of the Middle Temple.
This, we believe, is the first instance on record of
a deaf and dumb person attaining the distinction of
barrister-at-law. It is proper to add, that Mr.
Lowe converses viva voce; and that a stranger
might interchange several sentences with him
before discovering that he was totally deaf.
In referring to such eminent examples of the
instructed deaf and dumb, the name of Massien, the
celebrated pupil of the Abbd Sicard, will naturally
occur to every one at all conversant with the subject
on which we are now writing; and it would be
thought unpardonable if ~ve were to pass him over
in silence. We confess, however, that we feel
strongly disposed to do so, as we never approach
the consideration of his case without feelings of utter
bewilderment. If the answers to the questions pub-
licly proposed to this distinguished individual be
really genuine, we can only say, that he must have
been a prodigy of the most prodigious kinda phe-
nomenon altogether inexplicabledefying the evi-
dence of all past experience, and removing the
ground for all future expectation. One who knew
him well, and who is admirably qualified to form a
just opinion, in speaking of the only work he ever
wroteA Nomenclature for the use of the Deaf and
Dumbsays of it, that it a le double vice d~tre
exubdrante, par Ia multiplicit6 de mots inutiles aux
sourds-muets quelle contient, et d~tre ddpourvue
$ The following interesting particulars of this highly
accomplished lady, have been furnished to us by her
lately bereaved husband
Mrs. Tonna lost her hearing at the age of nine or ten.
It was entirely gone. I believe from a thickening of the
membrane of the tympanum. No sound of any kind
reached her, as a sound; although she was acutely sensi-
tive to vibrations, whether conveyed through the air or
through a solid medium. In this way the vibrations
from an organ, or from the sounding-hoard of a piano-
forte, gave her great l)leasure; and from her recollection
of Handels music, she took great delight in it; and
from the vibrations, would recollect the sounds so familiar
in her childish days. You will see some particulars of
this in her Personal Recollections.
On one occasion, at the age of twenty-two or tsventy-
three, a new country dance was played; the tune was
called the Recovery, the rhythm of which is very pecu-
liar. She was as usual, at h~er station, with her band on
the sounding-hoard, when some friends present expressed
a doubt as to the possibility of her forming any idea of
the tune. She sat down at once, and wrote a song,
which I possess, most perfectly adapted to the tune in all
its changes.
There is a poem of hers beginning, No generous
toil declining, which it is quite difficult to read as poetry,
until informed that it was written to the tune of A rose-
tree in full hearing, and to that it is perfectly adapted.
The poem is included in the volume of Posthumous
Poems about to be published; in which it ~vill plainly he
seen that most of her poems were written to mental
tunes. All conversation ~vas conveyed to her by the fin-
gersspelling each word, without any atteiiipt at short-
hand, ~vhich she said always confused her. After repeat-
ing to her sermons aimd speeches from the most rapid
irish speakers, 1 have often been distressed at the appar-
ent impossibility of her having understood me; for I felt
that I had repeatedly rather indicated than completed the
formation of each letter. Seeing my distress, she would
often begin and give me every head of division of the ser-
mon; together with the most striking passa~es, verbatim,
as the orator had tittered them.
We never divided the words, but spelt on the letters
as fast as it was possible to form them on the fingers.
When in society I have been repeating to her a gen-
eral conversation, and communicating the remarks made
by each individual, her eye would incessantly range about
the room, catch the expression of each speakers face, and
yet never lose a word of what was said. Strangers were
amazed at seeing a smile on her face at the very instant
that a humorous remark was being made. The power
and quickness of her eye was truly surprising.
* Dans les archives de ce mn~nie convent (the convent
of Ona) on trouve lacte dune fondation dune chapelle,
fait consigud par Pedro de Ponce, lequel atteste que lea
sourds-muets ses dldves, parlaicut, derivalent, calculal rut,
prinient h haute voix, servaient Ia messe, se confessairet,
parlaient le Grec, le Latin, lItalien, et raisonnaicot tr~s
h len sur la physiqtie et lastrotiomie. ~uclqnes uns sont
mdmne devenus dhabiles historiens. ils sont, dit qucique
part Pedro Ponce, telleincot distin~u~s dans Irs sciences,
quils eussent passd pour des gens de talent aux yeux
dAristote. Degerando, de lEducation des Sourds-Muets,
tonic i., p. 310. Ponce died in 1584. The precedirm,,
note is copied by Degerando from a passage in Dr. Galls
work on the nervous system, which was communicated
by a learned Spaniard, M. Nunex de Taboada; the facts
it records are attested by several contemporary writers.
t Gentlemans Matheniatical Companion, 1823, p. 2t4.
54
INSTRUCTION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB.
de toute m6thode logique, condition qui seule pent
faire le mdrite dun tel travail. And that M.
Massieu na jamais Pu parvenir ~ 6crire le Fran9ais
dune mani~re parfaitement correcte et pure.*
We saw this remarkable person, with his vener-
able master, the Abb6 Sicard, when in London in
1815. We did not attend any of his public exhibi-
tions; we saw him in more private circumstances;
and, from the reputation which had preceded him,
we were amazed to witness his inordinate predilec-
tion for gesticulation, even when conversing with
hearing persons familiar with the French language.
Dr. Kitto says, in the passage we have quotcd at
page 52, that he abominates signs ; so does
every highly educated deaf person that we have
ever seen, with the single exception of Massien;
and when this is coupled with the above-quoted
declaration of Degerandothat Massicu could never
write the French language with accuracy, we think
that our readers will, with us, entcrtain some mis-
givings as to the genuineness of the answers sub-
joined to the following questions, and which are
stated to have been given by Massieu spontaneously,
and at the spur of the moment.t
Q. What is hope? A. Hope is the blossom
of happiness. Q. What is the difference between
hope and desire? A. Desire is a tree in leaf, hope
is a tree in blossom, enjoyment is a tree in fruit.
Q. What is gratitude? A. Gratitude is the mem-
ory of the heart. Q. What is time? A. A line
that has two endsa path that begins at the cradle,
and ends in the grave. Q. What is eternity? A.
A day without yesterday or to-morrow; a line that
has no end. Q. Dues God reasoul A. Man rea-
sons, because he doubts; he deliberates, he decides:
God is omniscient: He never doubts; He therefore
never reasons.
Most of these answers, it will be perceived, are
highly figurative. But the deaf and dumb generally
avoid figurative language; their compositions are
usually eminently literal; they readily detect resem-
blances, and frequently employ comparison; but
they very rarely personify. In this respect, there-
fore, Massieu was singularly distinguished from the
rest of his class.
In the course of his first volume, Dr. Kitto has
several remarks on the sign-language, and on the
finger-alphabet; of which latter he gives an engrav-
lug, which, like most of those which we have seen,
is inaccurate, differing in several particulars from
that in actual use in these countries; even that fur~
nisbed by Dr. Watson, in his book on the deaf and
dumb, is not strictly correct, as a pictorial represen-
tation of what heiiimself employed the fault, no
doubt, was that of the engraver. In Dr. Kittos
book, the vowels are formed on the wrong hand;
and thef, thej, and the x, are not of the forms gen-
erally used in England; the v too, though sometimes
employed in his way, should be abolished for the
sake of perspicuity, and replaced by that of the Lon-
don Asylum, which is represented by the two fore-
fingers, united at the knuckle, to form an angle:
this letter is, by mistake, omittedin Dr. Watsons
book. Dr. Kitto complains of the indistinctness of
some of the formations those of the vowels espe-
cially : It is exceedingly difficult, he says, for
the person addressed to be sure which of the two
* Degerando: De LEducation des Sourds-muets de
Naissance. Tome i., p. 574. Paris, 1827.
t Massien died a few months ago, at Lisle, where he
had conducted an establishment for the deaf and dumb,
for many years; with what success we have not been
able to ascertain. As he was born about the year 1772,
lie must have attained the good old age of 74.
neighboring fingers representing different vowels,
has been touched. But we think none but a be-
ginner would give occasion for this ambiguity; every
expert dactylologist advances the proper vowel fin-
ger of the left hand, to meet the forefinger of the
right. With respect to the language of gesticula-
tion, of which, of course, Dr. Kitto has no need,
we may here suggest, what has often occurred to
us, that advantage might accrue in many ways from
engaging a hearing person, skilled in this mode of
communication, to accompany our exploring expe-
ditions. Our attempts at negotiation with semi-bar-
barian tribes have, no doubt, often failed from our
being misunderstood, or from our misunderstanding
them. When Basil Hall endeavored to conciliate
the natives of the coast of Corea, they rejected his
ovcrtures, as he thought, by making the sign for
cutting throats; a person accustomed to communi-
cate with the deaf and dumb, by addressing them in
their own way, could, in a moment, have discovered
whether by this sign they threatened to be the per-
petrators, or dreaded being the victims; from their
subsequent cotiduct, it would seem that they meant
to convey the latter meaning.* In Major Longs
expedition to the Rocky Mountains, there is an ac-
count of certain tribes of aboriginal inhabitants of
the country west of the Mississippi, who, though
speaking different languages, readily communicate
with one another in the common natural language
of signs; many of these signs are described in Major
Longs volumes, and they closely agree with those
employed by the deaf and dumb.t
It merely remains for us to present our readers
with a few brief historical notices of the origin ann
progress of deaf-mute instruction, and to furnish
some statistical facts in reference to the deaf and
dumb population, and the means at present in oper-
ation for extending to them the blessings of educa-
tion.
The systematic instruction of the deaf and dumb
is an art which has no very remote origin. There
is reason, indeed, to fear that, till a comparatively
recent period, this unhappy class of persons were
not considered as belonging to the human family.
By their parents and natural protectors they were
fed, clothed, and secluded; and when the sad term
of their animal existence had expired, they were
admitted to a resting place beside their more gifted
fellow-mortals; the last office performed for them
being the only one in which their claims to the
privileges of humanity were recognized. No re-
corded notice of an instructed deaf and dumb person
has hitherto been discovered which refers to a
period earlier than 1443. Rudolphus Agricola,
who was born at this date, and who died in 1485,
is the earliest who makes mention of any such case.
Degerando, the most copious of the historians of
the deaf and dumb, quotes from A gricolas work
(De Inventione Dialectica) a passage which we here
translate : I have seen an individual deaf from
* On Captain Hall proceeding to land, he says, This
movement the aatives did not seem to relish in the least,
for they made use of a sign which, though we could not
determine exactly to whons it referred, was sufficiently
expressive of their alarm and anxiety. It consisted in
drawing their fans across their throats, and sometimes
across ours, as if to signify, that our going on would lead
to heads being cut off; hut whether they or we were to he
the sufferers, was not very clear. Voyage to Leo C/zoo,
Second Edition, p. it.
t We have not had an opportunity of seeing Major
Longs volumes; hut an extract from them, describing
the signs referred to, is given in Dr. Orpens Anecdotes
and Annals of the Deaf and Dumb, p. 97, Second Edition.
London, 1836.
55
KITTO~S t.OST SENSES.
birth, and consequently dumb, who had learnt to
comprehend what was written by other persons,
and who himself expressed, by writing, all his
thoughts, as if he had had the use of speech.
But the circumstance here recorded was afterwards
disputed, on account of its apparent incredibility, in
a work (Dc Anima) by Louis ~/ives; a fact which
is in some degree a testimony to the great rarity of
such an occurrence. The record, however, was
sufficient to excite the attention and ingenuity of
the celebrated Cardan, who was, in consequence,
led to conceive the theoretical principles upon which
such an event might be brought about. His views
are published in his works, and, as far as they
extend, are sound and judicious. Cardan lived
between the years 1501 and 1576. But the Span-
ish Benedictine monk, Pedro de Ponce, to whom
we have before referred, (page 54,) and who died
in 1584, is the first instructor of deafmutes of whom
we have any strictly authentic account. He left
behind him no explanation of the theory by which
he was guided; but his practical success is dis-
tinctly acknowledged by two independent cotempo-
rary writers, Francis Vall~s and Ambrose Moral~s,
the latter of whom, in his Antiquities of Spain,
states that he himself had witnessed the success of
Peter Ponce in this curious art; and it is referred
to by several subsequent writers, his immediate
successors in point of time, as an admitted fact.
From what was thus related of Ponce, John Paul
Bonet, another Spaniard, was probably induced, at
a later period, to undertake the instruction of deaf-
mutes. He was secretary to the Constable of Cas-
tile, xvho had a younger brother deaf and dumb from
infancy, whom Bonet taught to speak and under-
stand the Castilian language. He published an
explanation of his method at Madrid in 1620, and
this is the earliest work in existence containing a
development of the principles actually employed in
teaching the deaf and dumb. In this work, which
is extremely rare, Bonet makes no mention of
Ponce; it is possible, therefore, that he may have
re-discovered the art. It is certain that his plan
was rational, and contained the germs of what was
afterwards developed into a more perfect system.
The Abb~ de lEp~e was at the pains to ledrn Span-
ish for the express purpose of making himself ac-
quainted with the principles expounded by Bonet;
of which principles a sufficiently full outline may be
seen in the quotations given in the work of Dege-
rando. There can be no question that it is to Bonet
and his pupil that Sir Kencim Dighy refers in the
following passage ;
There was a nobleman of great quality that I
knew in Spaine, the younger brother of the Con-
stable of Castile. He was born deafe, so deafe,
that if a gun were shot off close by his care, he
could not heare it, and consequently, he was dumbe;
for not being able to heare the sound of words, he
could never imitate nor understand them. * * * S
At the last there was a priest who undertooke the
teaching him to understand others when they spoke,
and to speake himself, that others might uimderstand
him. * * * They who have the curiosity to see
by what steps the master proceeded in teaching
him, may satisfie it by a booke which he himself
* It is recorded in the Antiquities of Spain, referred to
above, and which appears to have been written about 1583,
that Pedro de Ponce taught two brothers and a sister of
the Constable of Castile, all born deaf and dumb. Bonet,
it seems, first practised the art on a brother also of the
Constable, who had lost his hearing in infancy. This
must have been a most unfortunate family.
hath writ in Spanish upon that subject. * * * The
priest, I am told, is still alive, and in the service of
the Prince of Carignan, where he continueth (with
some that have need of his paines) the same employ-
ment a~ he did with the Constables brother, with
whom I have often disconrsed.Sir Keneim
Digbys Trectise on the Ncture of Bodies, p. 307-8.
London, 1645.
After Bonet, and before the time of our celebra-
ted countryman, Dr. John Wallie, several writers
appear, but only as writers, on the theory of this
art. But Wallis seems to be the person next in
the order of time after Bonet, who snccessfully
engaged in the actual work of deaf-mute instruction,
unless, indeed, we except Dr. Holder, rector of
Blechingdon, in Oxfordshire, between whom and
Dr. Wallis there was a somewhat warm dispute
on the subject. Wallis, in 1653, published, in
Latin, a Grammar of the En0lish language, for the
use of foreigners, prefixed to xvhich was a tract
explaining the mechanism of articulate sounds. In
1669, Dr. Holder published his Elements of
Speech, with an Appendix concerning persons
Deaf and Dumb, and in which he describes the
methods by which he had enabled a young gentle-
man named Popham, born deaf and dumb, to speak.
This, he states, was effected at his house at Blech-
mngdon in 1659. At the time Wallis published his
Grammar, it does not appear that he had actually
applied his principles in deafmute instructiou.
This, however, he had certainly done so early as
March, 1662 ;* and, when afterwards referring to
these early labors in his letter to Dr. Beverley, bear-
ing date September 30, 1698, and printed in the
Philosophical Transactions of the October follow-
ing, he claims the above-mentioned Mr. Popham as
his own pupil, and declares, that that gentleman
acquired his ability to speak from him. The par-
ticulars of the dispute between Wallis and Holder,
into which we, of course, cannot here enter, will be
found in the works referred to below 4 lt is cer-
tainly very probable that Holder had taught Pop-
ham before he came under the care of Wallis, at
which time he might have forgotten Holders
instructions. But we see that priority of publica-
tion on the subject of deaf-mute instruction clearly
belongs to Wallis, who, previously to Popham, had
taught another deaf person to articulate (Whaley)
but this pupil did not lose his hearing till he was
about five years old.
We have here recorded the names only of those
who are known to have practically engaged in the
undertaking of teaching the deaf and dumb to speak
and understand a language; but,there is an Eng-
lish writer on this subject whose hook must take
* It appe~ rs, from the letter to l3everlev, that Mr. Whaley
was Wallis first pupil. Fortunately, Wallis has recorded
the date of his first enterin., ou the task of teaching the
deaf and dunib, viz., January, 1662, as appears by his let-
ter to Boyle, under the date March, 1662, and printed in
the Philosophical Transactions for July, 1670. We can-
not, therefore, see any just ground for thinking, with
Du.,ald Stewart, that Wallis was at all indebted to the
ingenious Ceurge Dal.,aruo, whose work on the deaf and
dumb (Diduscelocophus) was not published till 1680.
There can he no doubt, however, that this long-neglected
author was the first who devised a manual alphabet for
the deaf and dumb. His contrivance, which is consider-
ably different from that in present use, is figured in the
Penny G1,clope?die, article Pact yoin~ y.
t A Supplement to the Philosophical Transactions of
July, 1670 ~vith sonme Befiections on Dr. Wallis Letter
there inserted. By W. Holder. 1678.
A Defence of the Royal Society, in answer to the
Cavils of Dr. W. Holder. By Dr. Wallis. 1678.
56
INSTRUCTION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB.
precedence of the publications just noticed. This
was John Buiwer, whose Pitilocophus, or, the
Deaf and Dumb Mans Friend, bears date 1648.
This book, which we have never seen, is stated to
teach nothing about articulation, and to be confined
to the methods of instruction by gesticulation, the
manual alphabet, and the movements of the lips.*
It does not appear that Bulwer ever reduced his
principles to practice. Several publications besides
that of Bulwer appeared during the early part of
the seventeenth century, on the theory of deaf-mute
instruction, most of which, however, unlike that of
Bulwer, were chiefly devoted to articulation and the
mechanism of speech. They cannot be considered
as having in the slightest measure advanced the art
beyond the degree of perfection to which it had
been brought by Ponce and Bonet. Indeed, nearly
all of these writers seemed to think, that by impart-
ing speech they conveyed language, when, in real-
ity, they were only forming articulating machines.
There can be no question that, after the two early
instructors just mentioned, V/allis is the first per-
son to whom we are indebted for clear and rational
views on the instruction of the deaf and dumb.
Amman, a Swiss physician, settled in Amsterdam,
(1669-1724,) to whom these views were known,
though perhaps entitled to rank next, was never-
theless far inferior to Wallis as to the soundness
and rationality of his principles. Like the writers
alluded to above, he imagined a sort of mysterious
virtue in articulation, by which, independently of
any principle of association, ideas became excited
in the mind; he did not, however, depend wholly
upon this obscure influence, but taught his pupils
to read and write; though we are bound to record,
notwithstanding the high value which, at a much
later period, the Abbd de lEpde set upon the
method of Amman, that, from the admixture of
these superstitious notions in reference to articula-
tion, that method was very much inferior to the
plain and judicious proceeding of Wallis, and much
less calculated to issue in complete practical success
as respects the real intellectual development of the
pupils powers.*
It must not be inferred from these observations,
that we think lightly of articulation as a necessary
part of every perfect system of deaf-mute instruc-
tion. We are, on the contrary, convincedand for
reasons sufficiently explained by the late Dr. Wat-
sonthat articulation must form an important item
in every such system ; and we deeply regret to find
the neglect of it so general in the institutions for the
deaf and dumb at present established in these coun-
tries, and in America. We cannot but express our
deliberate conviction, that, in consequence of this
neglect, but a part only of the good work is accom-
plished, and we fear, in many cases, a positive
injury is inflicted. Several children admitted into
such institutions will always be found to retain
more or less of the faculty of speech, possessed in
infancy, but partially lost with their hearing.
These are not congenitally deaf; and, up to their~
admission, were never wholly dumb: but, lament-
able to say, they are often made dumb in the very
*Degerando tried in vain to procure this book. Some
copious extracts from it, however, are to be found in an
anonymous work, entitled, Vax Ocutis Subjecta, which
was published in London in 1783. TThis latter is one of
the very few works on the subject with which, ~it appears,
Degerando was unacquainted.
t Amman published an account of his method at
Amsterdam, under the title of Dissertaijo de Loqueta,
1700. Some extracts from it are given in Vox Oculis
iSubjecta, before referred to.
57,
asylums established for their relief! This is no
imaginary case: we speak from actual observation,
and we have personal knowledge while we write
this, of children who could once articulate, grad-
ually losing this power, and lapsing into confirmed
dumbness! But we must recur again to this im-
portant matter in the sequel.
Our space does not admit of our adverting to the
numerous writers on the instruction of the deaf and
dumb, who fill up the interval between Amman and
de lEpde. The curious on this subject will find
ample details in reference to this period in the eru-
dite volumes of Degerando. We have dwelt a little
more than we otherwise should have done upon
Wallis, because the industrious historian of the
deaf and dumb just mentioned has committed a
chronological error in reference to Wallis writings.
He uniformly places the date of Vt/allis first pub-
lication on the subjecthis Grammarat 1753,
instead of 1653. This we should have concluded
to be a press error, but the same date is repeated.*
Wallis died in October, 1703, at the age of 88.t
The Abb6 de lEpde may be considered as the
father of the institutions for the education of the
deaf and dumb; his enthusiastic benevolence, and
untiring exertions in his arduous task, are beyond
all praise, and the world owes to his memory an
eternal debt of gratitude. But we cannot commend
his system. He had unfortunately contracted the
notion, that the proper way of teaching the deaf
and dumb was first to supply them with a copious
system of artificial signs, constructed in conformity
to the genius and idiom of spoken language. This
was his great error. lie exercised utuch labor and
ingenuity in practically carrying out his view, but
his system of methodical signs, however indicative
of his ardor and originality, uutst have had the
effect of most unnecessarily complicating his process
of teaching, and consequently of impairing his suc-
cess. It is useless here to discuss its defects; they
are now pretty generally acknowledged, even in the
country that was the scene of his long period of
labor; and his methodical signs are, we believe, at
present universally abandoned. The intpetus, how-
ever, which this distinguished man gave to public
feeling on behalf of the deaf and dumb on the con-
tinent, was such as to awalcen a very general inter-
est in their behalf; and shortly after his death, the
school which he had established in 1760, and on
which he had expended the greater part of his pat-
rimony, was taken under the protection of the state;
and was elevated to the rank of a national establish-
ment in 1791, by Louis XVI., under the title of
lInstitut Royal des Sourds-Muets de Paris.
The direction of this establishment was committed
to the Abbe Sicard, a disciple of de lEp6e; and
who had formerly presided over a school for deaf-
mutes at Bordeaux. Sicard inherited the zeal and
devotedness of his master: he was too judicious,
however, and self-dependent to follow implicitly his
methods; and, consequently, succeeded in pro-
ducing several highly educated pupils. Still he
cultivated the system of methodical signs introduced
by his predecessor, which, with much labor, he
modified and considerably enlarged. He published
the results of his ingenuity in this way in two vol-
umes, entitled, Thdorie des Signes pour lInstruc
* Deg ando de LEctucation des Sourds-Muets.
Tom. 1, pp. 330, aa2.
t Degerando is peculiarly unfortunate in his dates to
Dr. Wallis productions. One of his references is to the
Philosophical Transactions, containing une Lettre du
Docteur Wallis, 1778.Degerando, Tome 1, p. 338.
KITTO S LOST SENSES.
tion des Sourds-Muets. Par R. A. Sicard. Paris,
1808. But how this voluminous dictionary of
gesticulations could assist him in the practical busi-
ness of teaching language we cannot well conceive.
lie had previously published (in 1800, and again in
1803) a Cours dinstruction dune Sourd-Muet
de Naissance, giving an account of his mode of
proceeding with Massien, hefore referred to, (p.
54,) and containing some valuable remarks and
suggestions, mixed up, however, with a good deal
of metaphysical mystery. Of his system as a
whole we may say, with Dr. Watson, that we
most approve of it where it most differs from that
of his predecessor. And we believe the conti-
nental teachers now pretty generally unite in the
same sentiment and base their instructions princi-
pally on the natural signs of the deaf and dumh.*
There is no doubt, however, that, in the process of
instruction, every judicious teacher will seek to
enlarge this basis, by the introduction of new signs,
more or less purely conventional; but to frame
these in reference to the grammatical laws or pecu-
liar idioms of spoken language, seems to us to fur-
ther complicate a task already sufficiently difficult.
If signs can be devised to convey the impression of
things, whether outward objects or inward thoughts
and feelings, instead of representing unknown
words, their invention is useful, as a temporary
means of communicating language; they should be
gradually discountenanced and thrown aside as lan-
guage is acquired to supply their place.
It should, however, be remarked, in reference to
these conventional signs, that the proficient in
gesticulation, by blending with them, as far as pos-
sible, appropriate expressions of countenance, will
generally succeed in imparting a degree of natural
character even to them. Expertness, grace, and
facility of invention in the language of signs, are
qualifications of great importance in a teacher of the
deaf and dumb, but to be acquired only by long ex-
perience; and where the requisit.e tact and address
in gesticulating is wanting in the instructor, the
pupils, who are always keenly alive to deficiencies
of this kind, will seldom entertain towards him a
very high degree of deference.
It seems to have been in accordance with the
above views that Mr. Thomas Brainwood conducted
his school at Edinburgh, beginning with a single
pupil, in 1760,f which was the first establishment
of the kind in these countries. It is referred to
with much commendation, both by Dr. Johnson, in
his journey to the Western Islands of Scotland, and
by Lord Monboddo, in his Origin and Progress of
Language. Dr. Johnson could not resist the
temptation, which the occasion of his visit to this
school afforded, to indulge in his usual vein of sar-
casm : After seeing the deaf taught arithmetic,
who would be afraid to etiltivate the Hebrides?
It was in this academy that the late Dr. Watson
* Speaking of the Paris sign for Jamais M. l3ehian
says, Je ne tiens pas compte do signe empto~ e ~ tInsti-
tution de Paris, parce quit est tout a fait arhitraire, et ns
aucun rapport a lid~e. Bebian l/Ioeeel d Enseigne-
meet pratiqee des Sourds-liiwts Tome 2 p. 149.
Paris, 1327. In connexiun with tViis quotation it is proper
that we add the following from the present instructor of
the Paris Institution. Le Svsteine des siues metho-
diques, dont on a reconun depuis longternps linutihit6,
Ct m~me tes inconv~nieiits dans t ensemgiieinent, et quon
abandonne chaque jour davanta~e & c & c Al. D.
Ordioaire. Easci see lEducetion den Sourd-Muet.
P. 222. Paris teat.
1 Vex 0cc/is Subjecte, p. 196. London, 1783.
was trained ;* and when the first public institution
in Britainthe Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb,
Kent Road, near Londonwas opened, in Novem-
ber 1792,-f the direction of it was committed to his
care. He was an indefatigable and most judicious
teacher: he produced no prodigies, and was averse
to public display; but, as his method of teaching
was based upon the enlightened principles of Wal-
his, systematized and perfected by his own close
observation and active experience, he produced
scholars not to be surpassed by those from any in-
stitution in the world. He has been charged~..
most inconsiderately and unjustly chargedwith a
narrowness of spirit totally foreign to his nature
with a disposition to conceal from others the secrets
of the art so successfully practised by himself.t
He candidly told every applicant for initiation into
the mysteries of his profession, that, to become
properly qualified teachers, they must acquire the
necessary knowledge by a personal observation of
the methods he employed; and he cheerfully threw
open his school, and unreservedly unfolded the
practical operations of his system, to a11 who chose
to avail themselves of it. It was too much to ex-
pectoccupied as he was, without even the Sab-
bath at his comman.d, for it was no day of rest
to himit was too much to expect that he should
undertake to convey, by written correspondence,
what practice alone could effectually teach. The
Abb6 de lEpde was misrepresentedso was he:
and we are glad to have had this opportunity of
removing, as far as we can do so in a few words,
an injurious stigma from a memory which future
generations, in common gratitude and in common
justice, are bound to revere. He died in 1829, in
the establishment which had been the scene of his
unwearied labors for thirty-seven ye rs, during
which period he had corsimunicated the blessings of
education to more than 1000 of the deaf and dumb.
We have now completed our historical sketch
in which, from the condensation that has been in-
cumbent on us, we have, we are aware, omitted
many honorable names. The brief reference just
made to the London Asylum, one of the few insti-
tutions in which articulation is earnestly cultivated,
reminds us of our promise at page 57, to say a
word or two on that important branch of deaf-mute
instruction.
Dr. hard of Paris, after diligent inquiries into
the subject, has been led to divide deaf-mutes into
five classes, in referetice to the different dcgrees of
audition possessed.~ He fitds thiat there are only
one fifth totally deprived of the ear; that two fifths
can distinguish sound from silence, but confound
speech with other noises; and that the remaining
two fifths hear more or less distinctly. His getiural
conclusion is, that one tenth of the entire deaf-mute
population, by properly cultivating the hearing thus
imperfectly possessed, might be restored to society,
* Watsons Instruction of the Deaf and Dumb; Pre-
face, p. xxiii. London, 1309.
tlhid. p. xxix.
I The animus of the following statement it is easy to
perceive : Mr. Gallaudet carried on a correspon(lence
with the committee of the asylum for the instruction of
the deaf and ilumti, soliciting 1mm them and the instruct-
or the communication of that kiiowledge of which tie was
in quest. This was deiiied him except on the coiidition
of his continuing three years an usher in the asylum, in-
structing one of its classes daily ; terms which lie de-
clined acceptingNor//i American i/eriew, vol. vii., p.
128. Boston, 1818.
Essai sur lEducation, & c., par M. D~sir4 Ordinaire,
p. 224. Paris, 1836.
58
INSTRUCTION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB.
and attain to the advantages of social communica-
tions by hearing and speech; and that all to whom
any sense of hearing remains might, by similar
cultivation, considerably improve their condition.
These inferences may perhaps be somewhat too
sanguine; but, from the observed facts on which
they are based, we think we may fairly draw the
conclusion, that a considerable number of the deaf-
mute population, thus possessing more or less of the
faculty of bearing, must have once spoken, and
must still retain the memory of articulate sounds.
But the researches on the subject, undertaken by
the directors of the Royal Institution for the Deaf
and Dumb at Paris, are more explicit on this point.
From the fourth circular issued by that establish-
ment we learn the following particulars :*~
Of 149 pupils in the Paris school, it has been as-
certained that 119 are congenitally deaf, and that
the remaining 30 lost their hearing at different pe-
riods during infancy. Of these 30 the details are
as follows
3 lost the hearing during the first year,
11 second.
. . . third.
4 . . . fourth.
3 fifth.
2 sixth.
So that, rejecting those belonging to the first two
classes, there can be no doubt that 16 of these 149
children must once have been tolerably familiar with
spoken language. Other institutions, where similar
investigations have been undertaken, arid like rec-
ords kept, confirm these results. From the statis-
tical returns of the deaf-mute population of the
kingdom of Belgium for 1835, it appears that the
ratio of the congenitally deaf to the whole popula-
tion is I in 2791 ; and the ratio of those who have
lost the sense of hearing after birth is 1 in 10,177;
the ratio of the deaf and dumb of both classes to the
whole population being 1 in 2lSOta small num-
ber as compared with some other countries: so that
here, as above, between one fourth and one fifth of
the entire deaf-mute population once heard. A much
larger proportion than this occurs in some of the
British institutions. Thus From the records of
the Doncaster Institution for the Deaf and Dumb
an establishment conducted with great ability and
success by Mr. Cb~rles Bakerit appears that,
out of 102 children, whose parents furnished the
required information, 52 were born deaf, 37 became
so after birth, and of the remaining 13 no positive
information could be obtained. Of the 37 who
became deaf after birth, the following particulars
are furnished : 7 lost their hearing during the
first year, 13 in the second, 7 in the third, 1 in the
fourth, 5 iii time fifth, and 4 in the eigbth.~
These are important and impressive facts. They
sul)ply strong practical arguments in favor of culti-
vating articulation in all establishments for the deaf
and dumb. The ear is paralyzed, but the organs
of speech remain unimpaired; and the memory of
articulate sounds is still retained. Why, since the
thing is perfectly practicablewhy should not these
organs be again stimulated to their wonted activity,
and this memory of their functions fostered and
kept alive I Even the congenitally deaf can all be
taught tIme mechanical formation of vocal sounds
with the most perfect accuracy; and the only argu
*tI~uatridme Circulaire de lInstitut Royal des Sourds-
Muets de Paris, p. 242. Paris, 1836.
t t~uatridme Circutaire de lInstimut Royal des Sourds-
Muets de Paris, p. 22i. Paris, i836.
~ Penny Cyelopa2dia, Article Deaf and Dumb, P. 323.
ment that can be advanced against imparting to
them this power is, that, for want of the ear to
modulate those sounds, their utterance, though thus
mechanically perfect, is often harsh and monoto-
nous. Yet, to those with whom they habitually
associateto their parents and immediate friends.
they are abundantly intelligible; and we are codfi-
dent that Mr. Watson, the very able and enlight-
ened instructor of the London Asylum, who culti-
vates articulation in all his pupils with a degree of
assiduous perseverance that is beyond all praise
we are confident that lie perfectly understands the
vocal communications of every one of the 297 deaf
children by whom he is at present surrounded.
Surely it is worthy of consideration, that persons in
this condition are more especially exposed to danger
than those in possession of all their faculties: of
what importance may it not be to them, in such
circumstances, to be able to call for help, or to
give alarm of fire I And of how much -greater
importancci~nay it not be, on the dying bed, for the
poor deaf sufferer, when his physical powers are
prostrated, and the ability to gesticulate exhausted,
to be able, however feebly, to give articulate utter-
ance to those thoughts and feelings which, at that
awful crisis, must more or less agitate the bosom of
every enlightened human being!
But we need not theorize on this momentous sub-
ject. We. are fortunately in possession of a very
valuable fact, which will effect more in the way of
urging general attentiorr to it than any argument
of ours. Mr. Watson has kindly placed at our
disposal the following letter from the Rev. J. A.
Rhodes of Leeds, which, though of course never
intended for publication, we here insert without
comment
(C~opy.)
Horsfort/u flail, near Leeds, 26th August, 1842.
SiaI beg to inform you that Miss Armitage,
of East Parade, Leeds, died on Sunday last. Her
name must therefore be withdrawn from your list
of subscribers.
She was born deaf and dumb; but by great
attention, could understand whole sentences by
observation of the lips of the speaker; and could
speak whole sentences so as to be understood.
This faculty was of the greatest value during her
later life, and especially during her sickness, as she
could not then make use of her fingers.
I venture to press this matter upon your consider-
ation, as one of the utmost importaiice in the teach
ing of the deaf and dumb.
This faculty was acquired at a v y late period in
life. She died at eighty-two and a half, and it has
been principally obtained within the last five years.
During the former part of her life she used the
alphabet of the fingers.
I am, sir, yours very respectfully.
J. A. RimonEs.
T. J. Watson, Esq.,
Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, London.
Of the many institutions in the United Kingdom,
in which articulation forms no part of the system
of instruction, we believe that there are one or two,
the conductors of which are favorable to its intro-
dtmction; and who reluctantly omit it from insuffici-
ency of funds: since in large establishments an
additional assistant or two would unquestionably be
necessary, inasmuch as articulation can be efficiently
taught only by individual instruction. We are
glad to find so good a teacher as Mr. Baker of
59
60 KITTO S LOST SENSES.
Doncaster among this small number,* and we
earnestly hope that the like favorable feeling may
spread among teachers, as it assuredly must, if the
many advantages of articulation to the deaf be fairly
and fully considered. The lady, whose ease we
have recorded above, was, it seems, dumb for
seventy-seven years; and yet, after that long period
of total inaction of the organs, they were, by dint
of persevering effortprovidentially suggested
brought into sufficient activity to become the expo-
nent of her hopes and feelings on her death-bed.
It is wisely and mercifully ordered, that the faculty
of speech, when once possessed, is generally the
last totally to leave us; so that, even when the
limbs have become ri0id in the very grasp of death,
the lips will still move, and the tongue still falter
forth the parting accents of hope and peace.
We shall terminate our remarks on this interest-
ing subject by offering a few statistical facts which
have been collected with great care ;f and which
will help to show the extent and general prevalence
o~ deafness, more especially of congenital deafness;
which, we shall see, sometimes prevails in the same
family, and in collateral and remote branches of the
same family, to a fearful extent.
The proportion of the deaf and dumb to the entire
population has been found to be I in 1585, in the
following countries, viz. Portugal, Spain, France,
Italy, Austrh, Saxony, G. Duchy of Saxe Wei-
mar, Principality of Lippe Schaumburg, Hanover,
Duchy of Oldenburg, Frankfort, Hamburg, Bre-
men, Sweden, Norway, Russia, Poland, and Great
Britain. In Switzerland, the average proportion is
about 1 in 500; a proportion which considerably
exceeds that furnished by any other country, except
the Grand Duchy of Baden, which numbers 1 in
559. In different districts of Switzerland, the
prevalence of the calamity very much varies; and
even in different parishes of the same canton. In
some places, (as the Vallais,) the proportion is 1 in
328 of the inhabitants; in others, (Peterlingen,) 1
in 244; and in others, (Moudon,) 1 in 153; whilst,
in the commune of Weyach, in the canton of Zurich,
the proportion of deaf and dumb is so great, as
to amount to 1 in 63 of the inhabitants. In this
single canton there were (in 1832) nineteen families,
in each of which two of the members were deaf
and dumb; two families, in each of which there
were three deaf and dumb; and one family with
four deaf and dumb. The causes of the e,Ctraordi-
nary prevalence of deaf-mutism in Switzerland
whatever they bemust be allied to those
which occasion goitre; as it is among the goitred
population, and the children of goitred parents,
that the afflictiot so greatly abounds ;t but not
*~ The conductor (of the Doncaster Institution) is
favorably disposed to articulation wherever the vocal
organs are flexible, and the pupil shows no inaptness for
its acquirement. No acquisition can he more useful if
the speech can be made intelli,,ible.Quurterly .Journal
of Elucetion, vol. vii., p. i98.
t Chiefly by the active exertions of the Paris institution
for the Deaf and Dumb, which has for several years taken
upon itself the laborious duty of collecting information
respecting the deaf and dumb from all parts of the world,
and which it again disseminates, in a systematically
arranged form, in occasional publications, under the title
of Circulaires de lInstitut Royal des Sourds-Muets de
Paris. Its well-directed efforts deserve the highest
commendation from all the friends of the deaf and dumb.
4: Some of the deaf and dumb in Great Britain are found
to be afflicted with goItre: three or four such eases have
come under the observation of Mr. Watson, of the London
Asylumfi; and several others have been noticed by Mr.
Baker, of Doccaster. Scrofulous affections are very com-
mon among the congenitally deaf.
only the ear, but the brain, and the animal functions
generally, seem to be greatly impaired in this un-
happy community. The features, says Came,
are those of an idiot, with sometimes a wildness
and even ferocity. We observed one of them
stretched at len~th in a field, uttering hideous cries,
for the faculty of speech is also denied, and unable
to rise till some of the faniily came to help him.*
In the United States of America, the proportion
of deaf-mutes to the whole population isfor the
white community, 1 in 1964; and for the black, 1 in
3134. The result of tIme statistical inquiries that
have been thus instituted in so many parts of the
world is, that there must be more than 546,000
deaf-mutes at present in existence!
The remarkable prevaletice of deaf-mutism in
families deserves especial notice. From the records
of the Paris Institution we extract the following:
One of the deaf-mutes (congenitally deaf) has a
maternal grandmother affected with the same infirm-
ity: another, who lost the sense of hearing at the
age of four years, is the child of a father who
became deaf at the age of seven years. In a family,
containing seven deaf.mutes out of ten children, the
father had an aunt who was congenitally deaf: in
another family, where there are two deaf-mutes,
the sister of the father married the brother of the
mother, and has five male children, of which three
were born deaf. But the most painfully interesting
record of facts, testifying to the prevalence of this
great affliction in individual families, that has per-
haps ever been published, is that which we now
present to our readers, from the documents of the
London Asylum. We have selected from these
documents sixteen families; utimbering in the whole
100 children, out of which it will be seen that the
appalling mmumber of 71nearly three fourths of the
wholeare deaf and dumb!
No. No.
of Deaf
Name. Parents Occupation. Chil and
dren. Dumb.
Elizabeth Dixon Small farmer 1 1
Win. J. George Orphan 1 1
Edward Walsh Laborer 5 3
Mary Aldum Broad-cloth weaver 12 6
James Cousens Laborer 8 5
Geo. Franklin No father 8 5
Silas Perkins Laborer 7 5
Thus. Barnes Cobbler 6 5
Elizabeth Cherry Watch-finisher 7 4
Win. Coekton No father 6 4
Joseph Stephens Excise officer 5 4
Susannah Rye No father 3 all 3
Eliza Fox Parents both dead 3 all 3
James W. Kelly Porter 8 7
Mary Martain Laborer 10 7
Alice Wright Frame-work knitter 10 8
Total 100 71!
In certain parts of the continent of Europe, the
deaf and dumb are provided with the means of
education at the expense of the state. The sover-
eign of Denmark decreed that every deaf and
dumb infant born in the kingdom shall receive the
education necessary to make him a useful member
of society. In Belgium, too, it has been enacted:
* Letters from Switzerland and Italy, p. 2t7. London,
ta34.
INSTRUCTION OF TIlE DEAF AND DUMB.
61
that every deaf and dumb and blind person shall be, stated, as the Convictions of experience, have any
in like manner, instructed at the expense of govern- influence in inducing the enlightened and benevolent
ment; and such is also the case in several of the to inquire into the matter. A visit to the London
United States. In Great Britain and Ireland, we Asylum, will at once afford conclusive evidence of
believe there are fourteen or fifteen institutions of what great success may be attained in this depart-
this
kind ; supported, however, by public contribu- ment of deaf-mute instruction.
tions. Such establishments are now spread all It may be proper tt add, that where articulation
over the civilized world :they are to be found in is not taught, twenty pupils is the very largest num-
Russia, in the I3razils, and in Calcutta. In the her which ought to be committed to the charge of
London Asylum there are congregated more than one assistant: if articulation is to be communicated,
300 deaf persons, of which number 297 are at pres- he should not have inure than sixteen.*
ent under instruction! What a mighty assemblage There is very much requiredwhat may be
of unfortunates !* The director of that noble called a literature for the deaf ~nd dumba set of
establishment teaches all these to speak. To the progressive lesson-books, adapted to the different
name and office, he unites the talents, persevera tice, stages of their advancement. Dr. Watson made a
and well-earned reputation, of his distinguished pre- commencement in this way; Mr. Baker has added
decessor. We hear little or nothing of him or his some useful little books, and Mr. Gallaudet, and
immense charge, from either press or platform; he Mr. Peet of America, have both been very success-
laboriously and successfully prosecutes his great ful in furthering this object. The Childs Picture
work without parade, and without ostentation, con- Defining Book, of the former, and the Elemen-
tented to be known only by the happy results of his tary Lessons for the Deaf and Dumb, of the lat-
labor, as manifested in the multitude of human ter ;t both deserve especial commendation; but a
beine
,s whom he has been instrumental in restoring great deal in this direction still remains to be accom
from mental and moral darkness to light, and plished.
from the power of Satan unto God. It would be well, too, if institutions in general
In the Dublin institution there are at present 99 kept more ample records in reference to the several
children under instruction: and here, likewise, there cases coming under their observation; not merely
is a case parallel to that which we have recorded as respects the information collected when the chil-
abovea child, who is one of eight deaf and dumb dren enter, but also the results of experience during
in the same family. There is also here another the five years: thusit would be interesting to
case, if possible, still more afflictive: it is that of a know, even in a physiological point of view,
child who is one of SEVEN children deaf and dumb, whether, upon the whole, the congenitally deaf, or
Two of whom are also BLIND !t But we must close those who have lost their hearing after birth, are
these painful details; and, in conclusion, have only the more easily taught; that is, which of these two
one or two further remarks to offer. classes exhibits the greater natural capacity. From
The writer of this paper thinks it right to state, Mr. Watsons observations on this point, extending
in order that the sentiments he has here delivered in over a long period, and comprehending a very large
reference to deaf-mute instruction, more especially number of cases, the inference is, that the congeni-
as respects the subject of articulatmon, may not be tally deaf are, in general, more acute, and acquire
misconstruedthat he is not in any way connected knowledge with more facility, than those who have
with an establishment for the deaf and dumb: he become deaf from disease or accident. It would
has long felt a deep interest in such establishments, also be interesting to learn, whether pulmonary
and has paid some attention to their practical oper- consumption prevail less in those instittetions where
ations; but he has not the slightest professional speech is cultivated, than in those where it is not.
interest whatever in either the adoption or the rejec- The period allotted to the instruction of each
tion of any of the views he has here unfolded, child, is the same in all the British institutionsfive
Long observation has fully convinced him of the years. On the continent, most institutions allow
great practical benefits, both direct and indirect, re- six years, and some even eight. Five years should
sulting to the deaf from the possession of articula- certainly be regarded as the minimum; but we are
tion; and he will rejoice, if what he has here not advocates for a very much longer period. It is
after the child leaves school, and mixes in society,
and not before, that the advantage of his peculiar
education fully develops itself: and we think it but
justice towards the different institutions for the deaf
and dumb, to state, that but an inadequate estimate
will be formed of their value, if judged of by the
ordinary proficiency of the inmates at the end of
their five years. To ascertain accurately the good
that has been done, the recipients of that good
should be conversed with after having been two or
three years in society, which will effect more for
them than twice that additional time at school.
*Tbe total nuniber of deaf and dumb children admitted
into the London Asylum from its commencement in
November, 1792, up to Midsummer, i846, is 2074. It is
the largest establishment of the kind in the world.
t We are not acquainted with more than one other
instance of such a calamity as this occurring in the same
family. In the year i817, there were two brothers in Bel-
fast, both deag and dumb, and blind: they were born deaf
and dumb; but did not become blind till they had both
arrived at maturity; their friends could not assign the
cause. See Dr. Orpens Anecdotes and Annals of the
Deaf and Dumb, p. 360. The affliction of blindness, in
conjunction with deaf-mutism, is by no means so unusual
as formerly supposed. There was a case of this kind, a
few years ago, in the Ulster institution for the Deaf and
Dumb, and the Blind: the boy died. There is also a case
of the kind at present in Rotherhithe workhouse, near
London, and there was recently one in the Glasgow Asy-
lum for the Blind. The two American girls thus afflicted,
Julia Brace and Laura Bridgman, have often been publicly
noticed: the latter is at present under the judicious care
of Dr. Howe, principal of the Asylum for the Blind at
Boston. Some account of her will be fouud in Mr. Dick-
ens American Notes, and a much more ample and
interesting one in a Memoir of Laura Bridgman, drawn
up, we believe, by James Shaw, Esq., the indefati~able
honorary secretary of the Ulster Institution.
* If the phonetic mode of writing were to be generally
~dopmed, it would greatly assist the deaf sod dumb in
acquiring articulation, as their principal difficulty arises
from the orthography of our lan~uage, so ill representing
the vocal sounds of the words. The blind, also, would
reap advantage from the same mode of writing.
i We would earnestly recommend this useful little ~vorlc
to the attention of teachers of the deaf and dunib: its title
is, A Vocabulary and Elementary Lessons for the Deaf
and Dumb. By Harvey Prmndle Peet, Principal of the
New York Institution for the Instruction of the Deaf and
Dumb. New York, 1844.
62
Before concluding this paper, we must say a few
tvords in reference to the blind; but the space we
have already occupied precludes our entering into
details.
No special means of education was provided for
this class of persons, till the year 1784, when the
first institution for their instruction, by the aid of
books printed in relief, was established in Paris. by
M. V. Hady.* It was soon discovered, indeed,
that the blind were much less in need of any pecu-
liar system of education than the deaf. The blind
could avail themselves of the eyes of others, in the
cultivation of their minds; while, to the deaf, the
ear of the most devoted friend was of not the slight-
est advantage in this way. And, accordingly, in
the many instances on record of highly informed
blind persons, the eyes of those who see have, to a
great extent, supplied the place of all other adven-
titious aid. We do not see the propriety of the
usual custom of placing the names of Milton and
Euler on the list of such instructed blind persons.
Milton enjoyed his sight till he was about forty-six,
and had already laid the foundation of his fame;
and Euler, who did not lose his sight till near the
age of sixty, had acquired an extent of reputation,
that was scarcely increased by his subsequent per-
formancest We consider the amiable and accom-
plished blind poetess of Stranorlar (Miss Brown)
as a far more remarkable instance of the triumph
of genius and perseverance over extraordinary ob-
stacles, than is presented by either of those distin-
guished persons.
It is plain, that the only way in which the moral
and intellectual condition of the blind can be per-
manently benefited, and by which they may be
rendered, in any considerable degree, independent
of the casual and precarious assistance afforded by
the eyes of others, is to provide them with a per-
manent literature ; that is, with books printed in
characters palpable to the touch. This is so ob-
vious a mode of proceeding, that it must have sug-
gested itself very early, and we accordingly find
that characters engraved on wood were employed
for the blind during the sixteenth century; but M.
Haiiy seems to have been the first to employ books
printed for the blind, in raised characters.t This
kind of printing has, of late, occupied a good deal
of attention; and Mr. Gall of Edinburgh, and Mr.
Alston of Glasgow, have both expended much in-
dustry and ingenuity on this interesting subject.
The principal objects to be aimed at, in all attempts
of this kind, should, of course, be not beauty of ap-
pearance to the eye, but distinctness and permanen-
cy as respects touch. It would be a lamentable
thing, if the blind once taught to read, should grad-
* Essai sur lInstruction des Aveugles: Par le Docteur
t This reputation was, no doubt, most amply sustained
by his great work on the Theory of the Moon, pub-
lished in 1772, which was wholly executed during his
blindness. Eulers memory, however, was always aston-
ishing, even from his childhood.
~ The commissioners appointed to resort on a Memoir,
presented by M. Hacy, on the 16th nf ebruary, 1785, on
the means he proposed to employ in the instruction of the
blind; after noticing some inventions of others, say, that,
ils reconnurent, pour dtre de son invention, limpression
des livres en relief.Guilli~, p. 19.
For an account of these, e must refer to the His-
torical Sketch of the Origin and Progress of Literature
for the Blind, hy James Gall. Edinburgh, 1834: as
also, to an Abstract of a Communication, by Mr. Aiston,
printed in the Report of the Tenth Meeting of the British
Association, p. 171. We believe, also, that Dr. Howe of
Boston, has successfully applied himself to this interest-
ing inquiry.
VALUE OF A DEAD HORSE IN PARISLINES TO MRS. MADISON.
nally lose this power, as their fingers become hard-
ened by labor. We believe that Mr. Gall has,
more especially, applied himself to this very im-
portant consideration. The fretted typethe last
of his numerous contrivances in this way, appears
to us ver~i likely to combine the requisite qualities
noticed above. We trust, however, that these be-
nevolent efforts will not relax, till a permanent lit-
erature is Iirmly secured; so that no apprehension
need be entertained, that the poor blind man, when
he returns from his daily toil, will be precluded
from the consolations of Scripture, by the necessity
he is under to earn his bread by the work of his
hands. In many manual occupations, surely one
finger might, without much practical inconvenience
be shielded and protected, and thus set apart and
consecrated to the above sacred purpose. What a
beautiful subject for an artists pencila blind man
reading his Bible !and, with upturned sight-
less eyes and parted lips, gazing, as it were, with
more than earthly vision, into the ineffable glories
of his future abode :and listeningseemingly
listening, to the inspired words of eternal life!
THE VALUE OF A DEAD Hostsa IN PAItIsAfter the
horses are deposited, the hair of the mane and tail is
cut off, which amounts to about a quarter of a pound;
the skin is then talcen away, which is disposed of to
tanners, and used for various purposes; the shoes are
sold as old iron; the feet are cut off, dried, and beaten,
in order to make the hoofs come away, or are left to
putrefy till they separate of themselves, when they
are sold to turners, comb-makers, manufacturers of
ammonia and Prussian blue. Every morsel of fat is
picked out and melted, and used for burning by
makers of enamel and glass-toys, greasing shoe-
leather and harness, and manufacturing soap and
gas. The workmen choose the best pieces of the flesh
to eat, preferring those about the head, and sell the
rest for dogs, cats, hogs, and poultry. It is also much
used for manure and making Prussian blue. The
bones are disposed of to cutlers, fan-makers, & c., and
often made into ivory-black; and also occasionally
serve as fuel for melting the fat, and for manure.
The sinews and tendons are sold to gluemakers; the
small intestines are made into coarse strings for
lathes, & c., or serve as manure.
Mits. SmoouaNEv publishes the following graceful
and deserved tribute in the National Intelligencer:
TO NTIs. MADISON.
Time is prone away to sweep
Charms of youth we fain would keep;
Sparkling lustre from the eye,
From the cheek its ruby dye,
From the smile its power to rest
Warmly in the softened breast.
Yet, he sometimes leaves behind
Mental treasures more refined,
Jewels of the heart, that grow
Brighter for the touch of woe;
Gold in sharp alembic shriven,
Gems that catch the hue of heaven.
Lady! of the noble mien,
Still in soul and grace a queen,
He to thee strange love bath shown,
Spared youths gifts and left his own!
A FA5HiONAIIT.E authoress complimented Frederick
the Great very extravagantly, saying that he was
covered with glory, was the paragon of Europe, and,
in short, the greatest monarch and man on earth.
The king, rather distressed at this fulsomeness, re-
plied, Madam, you are as handsome as an angel,
witty, elegant, and agreeable; in short, you possess
all the amiable qualities; l~ut you paint.
PUNCH.
WHAT MAKES MY HEART TO THRILL
GLOW?
AND
SONG flY FITZROY CLARENCE.
WINTER and summer, night and morn,
I languish at this table dark;
My office window has a corn-
er looks into St James Park.
I hear the foot-guards bugle horn,
Their tramp upon parade I mark;
I am a gentleman forlorn,
I am a Foreign-Office Clerk.
My toils, my pleasures, every one,
I find are stale, and dull, and slow;
And yesterday, when work was done,
I felt myself so sad and low,
I could have seized a sentrys gun
My wearied brains out out to blow.
What is it makes my blood to run
What makes my heart to beat and glow l
My notes of hand are burnt perhaps l
Some one has paid my tailors bill l
No: every morn the tailor raps;
My I 0 Us arc extant still.
I still am prey of debt and dun;
My elder brother s stout and well.
What is it makes my blood to run,
What makes my heart to glow and swell l
I know my chiefs distrust and hate;
He says Im lazy, and I shirk.
Ah! had I genius like the late
Right Honorable Edmund Burke.
My chance of all promotion s gone,
I know it is,he hates me so.
What is it makes my blood to run,
And all my heart to swell and glow l
Why, why is all so bright and gay l
There is no change, there is no cause;
My office-time I found to-day
Disgusting as it ever was.
At three, I xvent and tried the clubs,
And yawned and sauntered to and fro;
And now my heart jumps up and throbs,
And all my soul is in a glow.
At half-past four I had the cab;
I drove as hard as I could go.
The London sky was dirty drab,
And dirty brown the London snow.
And as 1 rattled in a cant-
er down by dear old Bolton Row,
A something made my heart to pant,
And caused my cheek to flush and glow.
What could it be that made me find
Old Jawkins pleasant at the club l
Why was it that I laughed and grinned
At whist, although I lost the rub?
What was it made me drink like mad
Thirteen small glasses of Cura~o l
That made my inmost heartso glad,
And every fibre thrill and glow l
She s home again! she s home, she s home!
Away all cares and griefs and pain;
I knew she wouldshe s back from Rome;
She s home again! she s home again!
The family s gone abroad, they said,
September lastthey told me so;
Since then my lonely heart is dead,
My blood, I think s forgot to flow.
63
She s home again! away all care!
0, fairest form the world can show!
0, beaming eyes! 0, golden hair!
0, tender voice, that breathes so low!
0, gentlest, softest, purest heart!
0, joy, 0, hope ! My tiger, ho!
Fitz-Clarence said; we saw him start
He galloped down to Bolton Row.
Divested of the genteel, the circumstances of the
above ballad are as follow Our F. C. was not a
foreign-office clerk, but a foreign office-clerk,
in the service of Messrs. Todd and Raddle, Turkey
and Sponge Merchants, Tower Hill. Hence his
military allusions, and his bitterness against his
chief, Mr. Raddle, acting partner, who, in fact,
dismissed him for idleness after three months.
The clubs he talks of were The Kidney,
held at the Cock and Woolpack, Sweetings
Alley; and The Feast of Shells, an Oyster
Club at the Tobago Coffee House, Monument Yard.
He was in debt a good deal at this time, and has
been, we believe, ever since. The young lady in
question did not live in Bolton Row but in Bun/sill
Row, commanding the City Artillery Ground. She
was a Miss Chowder, and he wrote these lines on
her return from Gravesend, not Rome. Hearing
of his irregularities, Miss C. refused him, and is at
present the respected lady of a sugar-baker, not a
hundred miles from Whitechapel. Thus it is that
there is always a portion of truth in the poets fic-
tions, and that he invests with romance and splen-
dor the circumstances of common life.
THE SHUTTLECOCK PAUPHE.
HE was old and thin, so that, under the skin,
You could count his pauper bones,
And, like whipcord strands, curled the veins of his
hands,
As he sat there, breaking stones;
And his song went along with the clink of his ham-
mer
An old tale of wrong, told in very bad grammar
Im fourscore to-morrow; in sin I was born,
Baptized into sorrow, and christened to scorn.
With a curse and a buffet, a hard fathers door
Left my mother; to rough ither baby she bore;
And still from that birth-day, despite heart or hand,
I bear vagrant upon me, stamped deep like a
brand.
So right, boys, or wrong, young or old, sick or
strong,
Im only a casual: pass me along!
The story-books tell of the Wandering Jew.
I know, mighty well, that the story is true;
T is all for to put poor folks on their mettle meant,
And shows em what comes of not having a settle-
ment.
So right, boys, or wrong, young or QJd, sick or
strong,
I m only a casilal: pass me along!
Here I ye lived by hard labor, man and boy,
forty years;
But love of their neighbor dont bind overseers,
All in vainwith my toil of spade, scythe, pick
and plough
I ye waterd the soil with the sweat of my brow.
But right, boys, or wrong, young or old, sick or
strong,
I m only a casual: pass me along!
64
PUNCH.
In this parish I married, as the church books can
show,
Here my old dame I carried to the churchyard
below;
Here my children were reared, here my children
have died,
And fain, if you d let me, I d sleep by their side.
But, right, boys, or wrong, young or old, sick or
strong,
Im only a casual: pass me along!
Game neer made me poacher, want neer made
me thief;
Still, I rn an encroacherno right to relief;
I cant die where I like, I must live where I can,
What s a vagrant to do with the heart of a man
So, right, boys, or wrong, young or old, sick or
strong,
.1 m only a casual: pass me along!
In England and Wales, if you search em all
oer,
There s of parishes some fourteen thousand or
more;
They 11 not help me to live in e er one of the lot,
And a corner to die in is hard to be got.
But, right, boys, or wrong, young or old, sick or
strong,
I m only a casual pass me along!
THE POLITE PARLIAMENTARY SPEAKER.
Ma. H. GRATTAN is, it must be confessed, a
perfect master of abuse. If he cannot speak pearls
and diamonds, he can at least throw dirt. This is
something. His favorite aversion is Mr. Roebuck,
whom, it may be remembered, he designated a
shrivelled adder. Mr. Roebuck will not suffer
that united body of Irishmen, the landlords, to ran-
sack the pockets of John Bull; and he is therefore
to be assailed by Irish eloquencepelted with bad
potatoes. Pondering upon the words of Mr. Grat-
tan, we have arrived at the opinion that the mem-
bers of the House of Commons might, like the red
men of America, be characteristically designated;
so that the names given to them should at once
convey a clear notion of their peculiar qualities.
The Downy Beaver The White Buffalo
The Diving Mouse, give us an instant notion
of the character of the bearer; and as the speaker
of the House of Comnions permitted the silver-
tongued Grattan to apply to a gentleman the term
Shrivelled Adder, we think that from the whole
world of lower animals might be judiciously selected
a phrase of equal significance, applicable to every
member. We will suppose a few
The Hon. Scorpion, who has just stung the
house
The Hon. Viper, whom I do not see in his
place
The Right Hon. Weasel, asleep upon the
Treasury Bench
The Hon. and Learned Earwig, who has just
sat down
The Hon. and Gallant Field Mouse
The Noble JackassAnd so forth.
With all modesty we submit the scheme to the
fervid imagination and high ability of Mr. H. Grat-
tan, who, we hope, will give to the world a Polite
Parliamentary Speaker, affixing to every M. P. the
name that shall, in the unerring opinion of Mr. H.
Grattan, denote the senatorial excellence of the
newly christened.
ITALIAN BRIGANDS AND ITALIAN RAILWAYS.
AMONG the other poetical associations wbich are
being destroyed by railways, must be ranked the
annihilation of the trade of the brigand. The trav-
eller cafi no longer hope for the excitement of hav-
ing a carbine muzzle brought in contact with his
own, or being carried off to the mountain home
of a band of bandits, until he obtains his ransom by
a cheque on Ransoms bank, or a draft Co fete qui
Coiete on Contts.
We understand that remonstrances are pouring
in upon the pope from the depredating fraternity;
and the following has, we hear, been addressed to
his holiness by some modern Massaroni to the air
of
Gentle Zitella.
Jolly old fellow,
I have heard say
The caves where we dwell, Oh!
You 11 soon clear away.
Long we have lived by
Attacking the road,
Our end is advancing,
The railway s abroad.
Jolly old fellow, & c.
To the light carriage~
The engine adds wings,
T is the rude whistle
Defiance that flings.
Horrid old fellow,
Pause, then, I pray,
Ere the railroads have cleared all
The brigands away.
Jolly old fellow, & c.
THE BEST VINEGAR.
AT last the Prussians, after waiting more than a
quarter of a century, have got their constitution;
but the people do not much like the taste of it.
They say a constitution, like wine, may be kept
too long. The present sample, for instance, after
being thirty years in bottle, closely sealed up, is
found, when opened, to be completely gone. It
may have been very good drinking, thirty years
agobut at present there s nothing in itthe
spirit has quite evaporatedit is nothing but vine-
gar. So many of the boldest are calling upon his
Prussian majesty to give them a bottle of a newer
vintage, with a little more body in it. We say,
most fervently, we only wish they may get it.
The Prussian constitution may be reduced to two
clauses; but then, like cakes of portable soup, there
is a great deal in them, only not so easy to swallow
it
First. If the king wants any money, he will pay
the Prussians the compliment to ask for it before
he takes it.
Second. But if the Prussians refuse it, they must
not be offended if the king tells them to go about
their business.
It was scarcely worth waiting so long to get so
little. But we have a saving clause. Let us hope
his Prussian majesty has merely thrown out the
above clauses, lobster-like, by way of feeler.
LIBELLING A PLANETA periodical, talking of
the new planet, says Its circulation is so slight
as to be scarcely perceptible, and its powers of at-
traction are limited to a very narrow circle. The
best name for it, considering these attractions,
would have been the Literary Gazette.
THE HISTORY OF ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
You did nt calil said Mrs. Daws; and Cross-
bone looked a savage assent. The gentleman s
gone up stairs, added the unmoved woman; for it
was not in the face or words of tyrannic man to
shake her. Well, I only say wiast I said when
you brought her hereI know what I know.
To the devil with you, and all your knowledge
at your back ! cried Crossbone, and he jumped
from his seat, and strode towards the door. There
he paused; and from his lips dropt that manna of
life, good counsel. I tell you what, Mother Sul-
phurtongue; let me advise you neither to see nor
hear.At your age, you ought to be ashamed of
yourself, not to be blind and deaf too. And Cross-
bone quitted the house, and strolling down the lane,
turned into a little wood; possibly to think of the
reward awaiting him; possibly to add to his knowl-
edge of plants and herbs. As for Mrs. Daws, she
looked full of slumbering destruction; and with a
passing smile of conscious mischief; she betook her-
self to household affairs, calmly, patiently awaiting
her time. She would wash up the breakfast-things,
and well contemplate her measures.
We left St. James upon the stairs. In a moment
he was at Clarissas chamber-door. Determined
upon making the amplest atonement within his
power, he had resolved to restore the lady to her
injured husband. Yes; he would himself lead her
back to Mr. Snipetons home; and, confessing the
part that his weakness had consented to in the plot
which, whilst unacted, seemed of such light account
beg the good mans pardon; and pledging his
noble word never again to offend, would cure him-
self of the unlawful passion by foreign travel; or
he would try to fall in love with another. At all
events, he was determined to make a sacrifice; and
would crown himself, the conqueror of his own pas-
sions. What a vile, base, inconceivable scoundrel
was that dirt-eating apothecary; how atrocious was
the part he had played; how degrading the associ-
ation of a moment with him; and then, how satis-
factory, how truly ennobling to confess a fault, the
confession coupled with a determination of future
amendment. And these varied thoughts possessed
young St. James, as pausing, with the key in his
hand, he was about to open the door; he listened;
all was silent. Well, there was nothing strange
in that. Again he listened: No, she was not sob-
bingthere was no sound of grief. Perhaps she
was fast asleep. There was an air of peacefulness
of reposein all things, that even confused him.
After all, he had possibly wronged the apothecary:
the man had been a little over-zealous; nothing
more. Still, all was silent. He listened: yes; he
thoughtor then tried to thinkthat he heard a
low breathing, as of deep slumber. Grief never
slept so soundlya torn heart sank not so suddenly
to rest. It was plain, he had been too precipitate;
that is, in his determination to restore the woman
to her husband. She might, in her heart, despise
him for his pusillanimity. In her heart, she might
rejoice at the violence that supplied her own want
of courage by bearing her away. And then, what
a jest would it be for the worldfor his world
should he think to play the moralist. He might be
nicknamed Scipio for life. Still there was no
sound; none, save that of lowest breathing. What
a simpleton he had nearly shown himself! There
could be no doubt that the woman loved him; and,
the step taken, was profoundly happy for her deliv-
erance. Placing the key in his pocket, St. James
LCII. LIVING AGE. VOL. Xiii. 5
descended the stairs to have some further talk with
the apothecary; the ill-used man who had s~iffered
in the hard judgment of his noble friend. Now,
whilst St. James, following Crossbone, takes coun-
sel of that wise, worldly man, we will return to the
honorable member for Liquorish; all the time tre-
mendously indignant at the violence offered to
Snipetons household gods, and resolved, at the cost
of any exertion or peril, to revenge it.
Mr. Capstick left Snipeton late in the evening,
having exacted from him a promise that he would
attend a council to be held at the senators lodgings,
in Long Acre, early next morning, should no news
be obtained of the fugitive crc then. In the mean
time, Capstick, advised by Bright Jem, had sum-
moned Jerry Whistle, that meekest of human blood-
hounds, to assist them. Late at night, Mr. Whistle
had been possessed of all the circumstances.
Whereupon, be had played with his watch-chain,
and observed This sort of caper, you know, Mr.
Capstick, is very often a put-up thing; very often,
indeed. And I must say it, the evidence is all
against the oman. Yes, I must say it, against the
oman.
But you have heard that the young man says
she was carried off, said Capstick. He 11 swear
to it.
No doubt on it, so far as he could see; very
honest young man, that; I hope, too, he 11 take
care of himself. Still, it s against the oman, and
it s my pinion, any jury would so find it. Why,
bless my heart, Mr. Capstick, and have they sent
you to Parliament, and saving your presence, do
you know no more of life than that l Why, look
you here. The young Oman, they say, is like a
full-blown rose, and the old man s as wrinkled as a
prune; there s a young nobleman, too, in the case,
andwell, well; depend upon it, if we find her
outand I m safe to do that, or my name s not
Whistleshe 11 not thank us for our pains, I in
bound for it. And Whistle went his way.
Now, Capstick, though he would not confess it~
to himself; was nevertheless shaken in his faith by
the officerhe spoke with such a weight of official
experience. Jem, I dont believe a word of it;
Mr. Whistle has seen so much of the black of life,
poor man, he cant believe in any white at alleh,.
Jem ~
He has seen a good deal, sir; good deal.
Wonder he does nt look quite worn out, and quite
wicked, said Jem. For I dont know how it is,.
though wickedness and misery aint catching, to
look at em, nevertheless they do seem to leave a.
shadow in a mans face; a something that s a part
on em. I know now, when I ye been digging
among the flowersha! I wonder who s looking-
at them precious carnations, now ;I ye always
felt as if I d got some of their brightness about me.
A man that looks upon tulips, and roses, and flow-
ers of all sorts all his lifewhy, it s quite plain,
he catches their good looks as I may say; for that s
the beauty of flowers, they always look happy and
good-tempered; bits of innocence that almost seem
to make us innocent while we stare at em.
This is not a time to talk of such trumpery,
Jem, said Capstickand Jem winced at the con-
temptuous word, which, to say the truth, came fron
the throat, and not the heart of the speaker. My
opinion is that Mrs. Snipeton has been carried off
by ruffian violence. I hope I dont think too well
of anybodyI trust notI never did in all my life,
and I m not going to begin now; but I must be-
lieve her to be a guiltless, ill-used gentlewoman.
65
66 THE HISTORY OF ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES.
And then the man was knocked down in her de-
fenceand, by the way, I was going to speak to
you about that young man.
Yes, sir, to be sure; he s now searching all
corners, and swears he 11 find his mistress, if he
dies for it. A nice, honest young fellow that, sir!
said Jem. Has it all in his face, hasnt he?
Why, to say the truth, I think he has; that is,
he looks too honest. People who ye so much of
it in their faces, people who somehow make a show
window of their countenancewell, somehow, I
distrust em. Where does he come from l Who
were his parents? Has he got a character, and did
the parson of the parish sign it If he has nt, I
dont believe in him. The fact is, I ye been too
easy all my life; and will never take a mans char-
acter again if it is nt written in a good bold hand,
and properly authenticated. Who is he? Ever
since he called at the Tubwell, those bees have a
nice time of it, they have; they hay nt to go down
to the houseever since then, he s been flitting
about me, as if he was some mysterious puzzle of a
vagabond thatwhy, Jem, what are you looking
so hard at? Whats the matter, man?
Well, sir, I must say it; though you are a
member of ParliamentHeaven help you in all
your misfortunes, say Iyou hay nt grown the
wiser on that account. Dont you remember a poor
little piece of a dirt of a boy called St. Giles ?
Certainly; one of the things raised to he
hanged; one of the little rascalities of life reared
up that respectable folks may seem all the more
respectable; one of the shades of the fine picture
of life, bringing out the bright colors all the
stronger. Its a pity they did nt hang him. Mer-
cy s a bungling virtue, after all, 3cm; and nine
times out of ten, does just as much harm as mis-
chief itself. Well, what of St. Giles ? cried Cap-
stick, quite relieved by his burst of cynicismquite
refreshed with his own vinegar.
Why, you know he was transported for life.
A long time that, sir, for fourteen to look fornrd
to, said Jem.
Pooh, pooh; he went to a fine place, Jem;
Botany Bay; lovely climate; six crops of peas in
a year; pine-apples for a penny; and cockatoos so
plenty, they put em in pies instead of pigeons.
St. Gileshe !he! a great man now, I ye no
doubt. Should nt wonder if he hunts kangaroos
with fox-hounds, and drives a coach-and-four.
Well, with any chance of that, I should say
he d never come back agin, said Jem, very gravely.
Back again! Why, Mr. Aniseed, are you
ignorant of the laws of your country? cried Cap-
stick, his eye twinkling.
I am, cried Jem; and when I know what
a lot of wickedness is in some of em, I cant say
that I m not glad I dont know any more; saving
your presence, agin, as a member of Parliament,
and a maker of the same.
Well, then, you do not know, perhaps, that if
St. Giles was to put his foot in merry England,
theyd hang him for the impertinence? Are you
aware of that interesting fact, Mr. Aniseed? cried
Capstick.
Why, without any conceit, I should hope I did
know that much. But you see, sir, love of country
is strong; though I dont know why it should be,
said Jem.
Nor I. But a mans love for his country is
very often like a womans love for her husband;
the worse the treatment the deeper the affection.
To be sure, we re all of one familyall men; and
that, I suppose, is why we quarrel and go to war
so often. And a droll family we are, too, Jem. I
declare, Jem, when I sometimes sit and look at that
globefor since I was made a member, of course I
could do no other than buy a couple, one for the
earth and one for the stars; in case anything should
come up about boundaries of
Of what The stars? cried Jem.
No; not of the stars. Andthough I would nt
answer for anything an Act of Parliament couldnt
meddle withwhen I sit and loo~k at the globe, I
do think that the family of man, as we call ourselves
even while we re grinding swords to cut some of
the familys throatsthe family is, after all, a droll
lot. I often do pity my millions of brothers. When
I m in bed, I think there s my brother in Greenland
going to turn out in the snow, to catch a seal for
dinner; and there s my brother in Kaffirland making
himself a very handsome sash of sheeps entrails;
and there s my brother in India laying down his
body for wheels to roll him into paste; aiid another
Oriental brother standing upon one leg for twenty
years, that he may pass to Brama as a cock passes
to sleep; and there are thousands of other brothers
notching, cutting, tattooing fraternal flesh in all
shapes and all patterns; and there is another brother
on the banks of the Bosphorus going home from
the purchase of a fiftieth wife, thinking no more of
the bargain than if he had bought a tame rabbit;
and, then there are crowds of other gluttonous
brothers dancing round a brother tied to a stake,
ere he shall be roasteddancing round him, and,
with epicurean eyes, anticipating the tit-bits of the
living animal; and there is another brother dying
with a cows tail in his hand, as though that tufty
queue tied heaven to earth, and he could climb to
bliss upon it; and there are millions of brothers
playing such tricks, and, what is worse, permitting
such tricks to be played upon them, that sometimes,
Jem, I do feel ashamed of the family. I do. And
then I have wished myselfsince I have a habit of
walking upon two legs, and any other mode of pro-
gress would be inconvenientI have wished myself,
Jem, an old, grave, patriarchal baboon, deeply bur-
ied in some forest; some thick, impervious, abiding-
placesome green garrison, made unapproachable
by spikes and thorns, and matted canes and reeds,
and all the armory that nature grows, to guard her
solitudes. Yes, Jem; sometimes when I have been
out of humor with niy familythat most quarrel-
some biped lotI have wished myself, as I say, an
old baboon.
Well, I never did that. But I do recollect
this, said Jem. Once, when I was a little boy,
and had been licked for doing nothing, hut saying
I was hungry, and standing to itonce I did wish
myself a monkey, at a parlor window in a square,
eating cherries like any Christian, though at the time
they could nt ha been less than a shilling a pound.
I did wish that, and thought it very wicked after-
wards; but I never did, in my proper senses, wish
myself a baboon, straddling about with a young tree
for a walking4tick, like I ye seen cm in the pic-
ture-books. I never did wish that.
That only shows you want ambition, Jem. But
to return to our love of country, Jem, and young
St. Giles.
Well, all I was going to say is this. Suppose
he was herewhat would you do? asked Jem.
Do! As a law-maker, respect the laws. Give
up the miscreant, of course, said Capstick.
You could nt do it, sir; no, you could nt di
it, cried Jemn with emphasis; and Capstick, though
THE HISTORY OF ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES. 67
he tried to look astonished at the contradiction, eared
not, it was plain, to pursue the argument.
Early the next morning, Mr. Whistle made his
appearance at Capsticks lodgings; and Mr. Whis-
rle was so calm, so self-possessed, apparently so
content with himself and all the world about him.
that it was clear he had passed the last night in a
n~anaer most profitable to th& euds of justice. With
the customary flower in his mouth, he still hummed
a tune, still played with his watch-chain: He
cued perfectly happy; his heart was warmed
i great secret.
Well, Mr. Whistle, about this most unfortu-
lady, said Capstick. Any news?
News! To he sure. She s all right, cried
\~ hi-tIe.
Right! echoed Capstick. Carried off
~on away from her husbandand all right? Mr.
N Ii ~tle !
This is rather a serious business; not at all a
common matter, Mr. Capstick. A very nice and
(tmhcate affair, I can tell you: and for this reason
-said Whistle, with his finger at his nose, there s
nJbility in it.
Nobility! That makes it more atrocious,
cried Capstick. That nobilit.y should violate the
laws
Well, I dont know, ohserved Mr. Whistle;
as they re born to make em, perhaps they think
they ye the best right to do what they like with
em. Howsomever, it will he a difficult job; a very
difficult job, and Whistle shook his head.
I cant see it. You sayat least I understand
as muchthat you have g t good scent of the run-
away.
Scent! What did I come into the world for?
I was made on purpose for the work. In course I
have; before I went into my sheets last night, I
could almost have sworn where to put my hand
upon em, and afore I got up this morning, I was
moral certain of it; and it s turned out as I thought;
tn course, as I thought.
Well, then, Mr. Whistle, cried Capstick,
there s no time to he lost.
We ye the day hefore us, answered the officer;
and we musnt spoil it hy too much hurry, yoi~
see.
But here Mr. Whistle was interrupted by the
announced arrival of Mr. Snipetons servant; and
St. Giles, pale and haggard, presented himself. He
winced, and the color flew to his cheek as he saw
the officer, whostill chewing the flower-stalk
looked calmly, nay kindly, upon the returned trans-
port.
Well, young man, said Whistle, and what
news do you bring?
None at all, sir: none. I ye not been off my
legs all night; and I can hear nothingnothing,
said St. Giles.
Humph! I believe you know one Crossbone,
an apothecary? He was Mrs. Snipetons doctor
down in Kent, eh? Perhaps I m wrong; but I ye
heard so, said Whistle, and he looked with a
shrewd, magpie look at the interrogated. And I
believe this Mr. Crossbone is lawyer to a young
nobleman, somewhere about St. James-square,
eb? And it was the apothecary, I think, who
recommended you to good Mr. Snipeton ?
To all these questions St. Giles silently assented.
Pray, my man, cried Whistle sharply, do
you know a gentleman, hy name Thomas Blast?
No, cried St. Giles, quickly; and then he
colored at the falsehood. Why do you ask? lie
stammered.
Nothing: I thought you might have known
him. Howsomever, it seems you dont; and as
his acquaintance is nt to he hragged of, why
added Whistle, with a sidelong look why, you
dont lose nothing.
Capstick, x4o for the last few minutes had been
shifting his feet, and vigorously biting his thumb,
here cried out, Well, but Mr. Whistle, it strikes
me that we should immediately communicate with
Mr. Snipeton. That wronged, that worthy man
Left his home a little after daylight, sir, cried
St. Giles. Ive heen to Hampstead, sir. He s
gone, nobody knows where.
Poor man ! cried Capstick, lets hope the
best; but I m afraid be s desperate. What s to be
done, Mr. Whistle? What do you propose? Pray
speak, sir; for I m in such a flame, sirpray
speak.
The first thing to be done, said Whistle, is
to hire a chaise
Of course, instantly. A chaise and four, Jem;
directly, cried Capstick. Well, and what
next?
Well, that I II tell you, when the chaise
comes, answered Whistle; and with this answer,
we for a short time leave the party, returning to the
neighborhood of the house of Shoveller; the house
so hospitably surrendered, for so much cash, to Mr.
Crossbone.
In a small room in an old farm-house, about two
miles distant from the prison of Clarissa, sat a party
of three; two were engaged on ham and eggs, and
country ale; eating, and drinking, as though life to
them had no other duties. The third sat silent and
sad; with a heavy, leaden look, that seemed to see
nothing. Now these three were Tangle, Tom
Blast, and Snipeton. The old man had quitted his
home to take the earliest counsel of his professional
conscience; and on his road to town had met Tom
Blast; who, as he declared, had risen early that
he might seek the disconsolate husband, and pour
into his ear consolatory tidings. Mr. Blast had
spent part of the previous night, contemplating the
iniquity of the case; and determining within him-
self at once the wisest, and most profitable conduct.
It was plain, that Mr. Shoveller looked upon his
merits with a very contemptuous eye, and therefore,
though he had duly assisted at the abduction of the
lady, knocking down his young friend with a stern
sense of duty and a bludgeontherefore he felt that
he should best perform his duty to his conscience
and his interest, by doing service to Mr. Snipeton.
He would, no doubt, pay a good sum for the knowl-
edge of his wifes whereabout; and therefore Blast
rose early, like an honest, thrifty man, to make offer
of the pennyworth. And this intention Mr. Blast
merely indicated to Snipeton on their first meeting,
assuring him that as the day grew older, the infor-
mation would ripen; and with this hope Snipeton
took Blast with him to the house of Tangle. It was
here that Mr. Blast spoke out. It would be his
ruin for lifethere was no doubt of thatif it was
known that he had peached; he would be hunted
all over the world, and never know a moments
quiet; yet he had, he hoped, a conscience; he had
been an unfortunate man, always trying to do the
right thing, but the world never letting him do it;
nevertheless, he would not despair of honesty and
a good character; with a quiet, happy, comfortable
old age to end with. And so, as it was a wicked
thing to part man and wife, and he could not think
where people who did such wickedness could ever
expect to go to, he would at once tell Mr. Snipeton
where Mrs. Snipeton was foryes, for Len guineas.
OS THE HISTORY OF ST. GILES AND ST. JAMES.
Anybody who did not care to be honest, would have
asked twenty, but he would say ten at a word;
leaving anything beyond that to the generosity of
Mr. Snipeton.
And you are not aware, Mr. Blast, said Tan-
gle, that at this moment we may take you up for
an accessory; that we may cage you, instead of
paying you, eh 3
Well, and what if you did 3 asked Blast.
You might lock me up, I know; but you could nt
unlock my mouth. But it s like the way of the
world; you wont let a poor man be honest, if he
would. A fine handsome young gentleman s run
off with this old gentlemans wife, and
Thereno matterhold your peace, cried
Snipeton. You shall have the moneywhere-
upon Blast immediately held out his hand when
thethe woman s found, said Snipeton.
I cant give credit, sir; I cant, indeed; and
for this reason, you see, my character wont let me.
Because, supposing I give you up your wife, and
you dont give me the guineas, well, I ye such a
bad name, and you re sich a respectable gentleman,
all the world would be on your side, and nobody on
mine. We know not whether this reasoning
weighed with Snipeton; but he counted out the ten
guineas upon the table, which Blast duly took up,
counting them again.
For sich a beautiful cretur as your wife, it s
cheap, sir; I must say it, dog cheap.
No remarks, fellow, cried Tangle; but let
us to business directly. Whereupon they left
Red Lion Square; and, a few hours past, were in
pleasant Surrey, at the farm-house already named.
Their meal finished, Mr. Tangle rose, and with
Snipeton held whispering counsel. Then Tangle
left the house, recommending Blast to remain with
his patron, duly advised to watch him, in the fear
of treachery. And so two hours passed, when
Tangle returned; and again whispering with Snipe-
ton, the husband, with rage newly lighted in his
countenance, quitted the house; Tangle, in his
turn, taking charge of Blast.
To return to St. James. His good geniusshall
we say good, for he thought it so 3led him to
Crosshone, who, it will be recollected, had walked
forth, it may be to contemplate the profitable pros-
pects of his future life; it may be to peep and peer
in hedge and ditch for health-restoring herb. Cross-
honethere was magic in that knowing manspeed-
ily reassured the timid nobleman. Clarissa doated
upon himwas only too happy that violence had
been usedand, in a word, what would she think
of him if, with the dove in his hand, he again flung
it into the sky, when it must needs go home 3 Had
he, so handsomeso spirited a gentlemanno fear
of the laughter, the ridicule of the world 3 What
would it say of him 3
It was very odd, that. the thoughts of the apoth-
ecary should so harmoniously accord with his own.
St. James was determined. He would see Clarissa;
would passionately seize the advantage offered him.
He would be an idiota blocka stone to think
otherwise. And with this new resolution, St. James
returned to the house; Crossbone promising to fol-
low him.
And do you mean to murder the sweet lady
asked Mrs. Daws of St. James, who started at the
hard question.
Murder! my good woman 3 What do you
mean ~ And his lordship blushed.
You ye the key of the door, and she liant
had no dinner, was the old womans cutting
answer.
Here isstop! I will myself see and apolo-
gize to the lady. Saying this, St Jatnes mounted
the stairs, and placed the key in the lock. One
moment, reader, crc he turns it.
An opposite door, unseen by St. James, is ajar;
an eye, gleaming like a snakes, looks from it
looking murderous hate. It is old Snipetons.
Tangle had effectually performed his mission, win-
ning over Mrs. Daws; no difficult achievement, liar
the old creaturewarped, withered, despised Ihr
age and uglinesshad a womans heart that re-
volted at the duty forced upon her by her master.
Snipeton had resolved to watch from his hiding-
place; to listen to the words of St. James and his
wife, that he might distinguish between treachery
and truth; and so he had promised himself that he
would suffer the interview, and calmlyvery calmly
listen. Such was his thought. Weak man!
St. James was about to turn the key, when Snipe-
ton, with the strength of madness, sprang upon him,
and whirled him from the door. In a moment, St.
James sword was in his hand; in the next, through
the body of Snipeton ; who, reeling, drew a pistol
and fired. St. James was scathless; but the bullet
did its mischief; for Tom Blast, rushing up stairs,
received the unwelcome piece of leada sad alloy,
it must be owned, to the ten golden guineas.
And now the cottage is filled with visitors; for
Capstick, St.. Giles, Bright Jem, and Jerry Whistle
with a couple of official friendsarrive at the
door. Snipeton, speechless, with looks of mixed
agony and hatred, pointed towards St. James.
Whistle at once divined the truth. My lord, I
ax your pardon, said the polite official, but
you re my prisoner. St. James slightly bowed,
and turned away, followed by the two officers.
And there s another, cried Tom Blast,
there s St. Gileshorse-stealerreturned con-
victyou know him, Jerry; you must know him
I m done forbut it s something to hang that
dog.
T is too true, mate, said Whistle to St. Cues,
you must go along with me.
With all my heart ! answered St. Giles. I
see there s nothing left me hut to die; I may he at
peace then.
Capstick tried to speak, when his eyes filled with
tears, and he seized St. Giles by the hand and
grasped it. I knew youand hoped betterbut
take heart yet, man, take heart, said Capstick,
whilst Bright Jem shook his head, and groaned.
Come in, come in directly, cried Mrs. Dawi~,
with her hands fast upon Crossbone, Here s the
good gentleman killedmurdered.
Crossbone looked at Snipetonfelt his pulse
and said, Whod have thought it3 So he is.
THE CAVE OF TEE REGICIDES.
From Blackwoods Magazine.
TEE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES;
AND HOW THREE OF THEM FARED IN NEW ENGLAND.
OLIVER NEWMAN is a poem which I opened
with trembling; for the last new poem that ever
shall be read from such an one as Southey, is not a
thing that can be looked upon lightly. Then it
came to us from his grave, like the gleaning
grapes when the vintage is done ; and the last
fruit of such a teeming mind must be relished,
though far from being the best; as we are glad to
eat apples out of season, which, in the time of
them, we should hardly have gathered. But this
is not to the purpose. I was surprised to find the
new poem built on a history which novelists and
story-tellers have been nibbling at these twenty
years, and which seems to be a peculiarly relishable
bit of news on an old subject, if we may judge by
the way in which literary epicures have snatched it
up piece-meal. In the first place, Sir Walter
Scott, who read everything, got hold of a North
American publication, ~ from which he learned,
with surprise, that Whalley the regicide, who
was never heard of after the Restoration, fled to
Massachusetts, and there lived concealed, and died,
arid was laid in an obscure grave, which had lately
been ascertained. Giving Mr. Cooper due credit
for a prior use of the story, he made it over, in his
own inimitable way, and puts it into the mouth of
Major Bridgenorth, relating his adventures in
America. Southey seems next to have got wind
of it, reviewing Holmes American Annals, tin
the Quarterly, when he confesses he first 4iought
of King Philips war as the subject for an epica
thought which afterwards became a flame, and de-
termined him to make Goffe (another regicide) the
hero of his poem. A few details of the story got
out of romance and gossip into genuine history, in
a volume of Murrays Family Library ; ~ and the
great Elucidator of Oliver Cromwells mystifi-
cations condenses them again into a single sentence,
observing, with his usual buffoonery, that two of
Olivers cousinry fled to New England, lived in
caves there, and had a sore time of it. And now
comes the poem from Southey, full of allusions to
the same story, and, after all, giving only part of
it; for I do not see that any one has yet mentioned
the fact, that three regicides lived and died in Amer-
ica after the Restoration, and that their sepulchres
are there to this day.
In truth, the new poem led me to think there
might be some value in a certain MS., of my own
mere notes of a traveller, indeed, but results of a
tour which I made in New England in the summer
of 18, during which, besides visiting one of the
haunts of the fugitives, I took the pains to investi-
gate all that is extant of their story. I found there
a queer little account of them, badly written, and
worse arranged: the work of one Dr. Stiles, who
seems to have been something of a pious Jacobin,
and whose reverence for the murderers of King
Charles amounts almost to idolatry. He was pres-
ident of Yale College, at Newhaven, and thor-
oughly possessed of all the hate and cant about
Malignants, which the first settlers of New England
brought over with them as an heir-loom for their
* Notes to Peveril of the Peak.
t Notes to Oliver Newman.
tTrial of Chirles I., and the Regicides, which I see
referred to in Oliver Newman but I have not the book
myself
sons. A member of his college told me, that Stiles
used to tell the undergraduates that silly story
about the kings being hanged by mistake for 01-
ver, after the Restoration; and that he only left it
off when a dry fellow laughed out at the narration;
and on being asked what there was to laugh at,
replied, hanging a man that had lost his neck.
After reading the doctors book on the Regicides, I
cannot doubt the anecdote, for he carries his love of
Oliver into rapture; talks of entertaining angels
in the persons of Goffe and Whalley, and applies to
them the beautiful language in which St. Paul com-
memorates the saints They wandered about,
being destitute, afflicted, tormented; they wandered
in deserts, and in mountains, and in dens and caves
of the earthof whom the world was not worthy.
The book itself is the most confused mass of repeti-
tion and contradiction I ever saw, and yet proved to
me vastly entertaining. In connexion with it, I got
hold of several others that helped to ~
it; and thus, with much verbal information, I
believe I came to a pretty clear view of the case. I
can only give what I have gathered, in the off-hand
way of a tourist, but perhaps I may serve some
one with facts, which they will arrange much
better, in performing the more serious task of a his-
torian.
After spending several weeks in the vicinity of
New York, I left that city in a steamer for a visit to
the Eastern States ; our passage lying through
the East river and Long Island sound, and requiring
about five hours sail to complete the trip to New-
haven. I found the excursion by no means an
agreeable one. The sound itself is wide, and our
way lay at equal distances between its shores,
which, being quite low, are not easily descried by a
passenger. Then there came up a squall, which
occasioned a great swell in the sea, and sickness
was the consequence among not a few of the com-
pany on board. Altogether, the steamer being
greatly inferior to those on the Hudson, and
crowded with a very uninteresting set of passen-
gers, I was glad to retreat from the cabin, going
forward, and looking out impatiently frir the end of
our voyage.
Here it was that I first caught sight of two bold
headlands, looming up, a little retired from the
shore, and giving a dignity to the coast at this par-
ticular spot, by which it is not generally distin-
guished. We soon entered the bay of Newhaven,
and the town itself began to appear, embosomed
very snugly between the two mountains, and deriv-
ing no little beauty from their prominent share in its
surrounding scenery. I judged them not more than
four or five hundr d feet high, but they are marked
with elegant peaks, and present a bold perpendic-
ular front of trap-rock, which, with the bay and
harbor in the foreground, and a fine outline of hills
sloping away towards the horizon, conveys a most
agreeable impression to the approaching stranger
of the region he is about to visit. A person who
stood looking out very near me, gave me the infor-
mation that the twin mountains were called, from
their geographical relations to the meridian of New-
haven, East nnd West Rocks, and added the
remark, for which I was hardly prepared, that
West Rock was celebrated as having afforded a
refuge to the regicides Goffe and Whalley.
My fellow-passenger, observing my interest in
this statement, went on to tell me, in substance, as
follows. A cleft in its rugged rocks was once actu-
ally inhabited by those scapegoats, and still goes by
the name of The Regicides Cave. Newhaven,
69
70 THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES.
moreover, contains the graves of these men, and
regards them with such remarkable veneration, that
even the railroad speed of progress and improve-
ment has been checked to keep them inviolate ;a
tribute which, in America, must be re~arded as very
marked, since no ordinary obstacle ever is allowed
to interfere with their perpetual go-ahead. It
seems the ancient grave-yard, where the regicides
repose, was found very desirable for a public
square; and as a mimic P~re-L -Chaise had just
been created in the outskirts of the town, away
xvent coffins and hones, grave-stones and sepulchral
effigies, and monumer~tal urns, to plant the new
city of the dead, and make way for living dogs, as
better than defunct lions. Such a resurrection the
towns-folk gave to their respectable grandfathcrs
and grandmothers; but not to the relics of the reg-
icides. At these shrines of murder and rebellion,
the spade and the mattock stood still; and their
once restless tenants, after shiftine, between so many
disturbances while living, were suffered to sleep on,
in a kind of sepulchral limbo, between the marble
in Westminster Abbey, to which they once aspired,
and the ditch at Tyburn, which they so narrowly
escaped.
I was cautioned by my communicative friend not
to speak too freely of the Regicides. I must
call them (he Judges, he said; for, in New-
haven, where Puritanism perpetuates some of its
principles, and all of its prejudices, it appears that
such is the prevailing euphuism which is employed,
as more in harniony with their notions of Charles as
a sinful Malignant, and of the rebellion as a glori-
ous foretaste of the kiiigdomn of the saints. The
Judges Cave is therefore the expression by which
they speak of that den of thieves on West Rock;
and they always use an equally guarded phrase
when they mention those graves in the square
graves~ be it remembered, that enclose the ashes
of men, who sl~iould have been left to the tender
mercies of the public executioner, had they only
received in retribution what they meted out to their
betters.
Newhaven, in addition to these treasures, boasts
another Puritan relic, of a different kind. The
early settlers founded here a Calvinistic college,
which has become a very popular sectarian univer-
sity, and my visit at this time was partly occasioned
by the recurrence of the annual commemoration of
its foundation. I suspect the person xvho leaned
over the bulwarks of the steamer, and gave me the
factswhich I have related in a very different vein
from that in which I received themwas a dissent-
ing minister going up to be at his college at this
important anniversary. There was a tone in his
voice, as was said of Prince Alberts, when he visited
the sevens at Southampton, which sufficiently indi-
cated his sympathies.* The regicides were evidently
the calendared saints of his religion, and their adven-
tures his Ada Sanctorum. He was nevertheless
very civil and entertaining, and I was glad, on arriv-
ing at the quay, to find no worse companion forced
upon me in the carriage which I had engaged (as I
supposed for myself alone) to take me into the city.
There was so great a rush for cabs and coaches,
however, that there was no going single; and I
accordingly found myself again in close communica-
tion with my narrative fellow-traveller, who soon
made room for two others; grave personages with
rigid features and polemical address, which convinced
me that I was in presence of the dons and doctors
of a Puritan university.
* London Times of that date.
Go-ahead ! sung out somebody, as soon as our
luggage was strapped behind; and away we drove,
in full chase, with drays and cabs, towards the cen-
tral parts of the city. The newer streets are built,
I observed, with snug little cottages, and intersect
at ri,,ht angles. The suburban Gothic, so justly
reprobated by the critics of Maga, is not quite as
unusual as it ought to be; but a succession of neat
little shrubbery-plots around the doors, and a trim
air about things in general, suits very well the envi-
rons of such a miniature city as Newbaven. I never
saw such a place for shade-trees. They are planted
everywhere; little slender twigs, boxed carefully
from wheels and schoolboys, and struggling appar-
ently against the curse, Bastard slips shall not
thrive ; and venerable overarching trees, in long
avenues, so remarkable and so numerous that the
town is familiarly called, by its poets, the City of
Elms.
The Funereal Square, of which I had already
learned the history, was soon reached, and we were
set down at a hotel in its neighborhood. Its rugged
elms are not the only trace of the fact, that the
rude forefathers of the city once reposed in their
shadow; for, in the middle of the square, a church
of tolerable Gothic still remains; in amiable proxim-
ity to which appear two meeting-houses, of a style
of architecture truly original, and exhibiting as natu-
ral a development of Puritanism, as the cathedrals
display of Catholic religion. Behind one of these
meeting-houses protrudes, in profile, the classic
pediment of a brick and plaster temple, of which the
divinity is the Connecticut Themis, and in which
the Solons of the commonwealth biennially enact
legislative games in her honor. Still further in the
back-ground are seen spire and cupola, peering over
a thickset grove, in the friendly shade of whose aca-
demic foliage a long hue of barrack-looking buildings
were pointed out to me as the colleges.
These shabby homes of the muses were my only
token that I had entered a university town. The
streets, it is true, were alive with bearded and mus-
tached youth, who gave some evidences of beinrr
yet in statu pupihlari; but they wore hats, and
flaunted not a rag of surplice or gown. In the old
and truly respectable college at New York, such
things are not altogether discarded; but, at New-
haven, where they are devoutly eschewed as savor-
ing too much of popery, not a member of its faculties,
nor master, doctor, or scholar, appears with the time-
honored decency which, to my antiquated notion,
is quite inseparable from the true regimen of a
university. The only distinction which I remarked
between town and gown, is one in lack of which
town makes the more respectable appearance of the
twain; for the college badges seem to be nothing
more than odd-lookinT medals of gold, which are
set in unmeaning display on the mans shirt ru~ffles,
or dangle with tawdry effect from their watch rib-
bons. I have no doubt that the smart shopmen who
flourish canes and smoke cigars in the same walks
with the collegians, very much envy them these
poor decorations; but in my opinion, they have far
less of the Titmouse in their appearance without
them, and would sooner be taken for their betters
by lacking them. My first impressions were, on
the whole, far from favorable, therefore; as from
such things in the young men, I was forced to judge
of their alma iater. And I must own, moreover,
that my subsequent acquaintance with the university
did little to diminish the disappointment which I
I unwillingly felt in this visit to one of the most pop-
ular seats of learning in America. I certaimily came
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES.
prepared to be pleased; for I had met in New York
several persons of refined education, who had taken
their degrees at this place; but, to dismiss this
digression from my main purpose, I must say that
the Commencement was anything but a creditable
affair. After carefully observing all that I could
unobtrusively hear and see, I cannot speak flatter-
ingly of the performances, whether the matter or
the manner be considered. I can scarcely account
for it that so many educated men as took part in
the exercises should make no better exhibition of
themselves. One oration delivered by a bachelor
of arts, was vociferated with insolence so consum-
mate, that I marvelled how the solemn-looking
divines, whom it occasionally seemed to hit, were
able to endure it. In all that I heard, with very few
exceptions, there was a deficiency of good English
style, of elevated sentiment, and even of sound mo-
rality. Many of the professors and fellows of the
university are confessedly men of cultivated minds,
and even of distinguished learning; yet this great
celebration was no better than I say. I can account
for it only by the sectarian influences* which imbue
everything in Newhaven, and by the want of a thor-
oughly academic atmosphere, which sectarianism
never can create. It was really farcical to see the
good old president confer degrees with an attempt
at ceremony, which seemed to have no rubric but
extemporary convenience, and no purpose but the
despatch of business. All this may seem to have
nothing to do with my subject; yet I felt myself
that the regicides had a good deal to do with it. In
this college, one sees the best that Puritanism could
produce; and I thought what Oxford and Cambridge
might have become under the invading reforms of
the usurpation, had the Protectorate been less impo-
tent to reproduce itself, and carry out its natural
result~ on those venerable foundations.
On the day following that of the Commencement,
I took a drive to West Rock. I was so happy as
to have the company of a very intelligent person
from the Southern States, and of a young lady, his
relative, who was very ambitious to make the excur-
sion. It was a pleasant drive of about three miles
to the foot of the mountain, where we alighted, the
driver leaving the horses in charge of themselves,
and undertaking the office of guide. It was some-
what tedious climbing for oui~ fair friend; but up
we went, over rough stones, creeping vines and
brushwood, that showed no signs of being very fre-
quently disturbed; our guide keeping the bright
buttons of his coat-skirts before us, and in some
other respects reminding me of Mephistopheles on
the Hartz. It certainly was very accommodating
in Nature, to provide the lofty chambers of the reg-
icides with such a staircase; for in their day it must
have defied any ordinary search, and when found
must have presented as many barriers of brier and
thicket, as grew up around the Sleeping Beauty in
the fairy tale.
As we reached what scemed to be the top of the
rock, we came suddenly into an open place, but so
surrounded by trees and shrubs, as effectually to
shut in the view. Here was the cave; and very
different it was from what we had expected to find
it! We had prepared ourselves to explore a small
* There are many wicked expressions in the remaining
pages of this malignant writer; this railing Rahshekah;
and we had some thought of lifting up our testimony
against him.It is best, however, to let the uncircum-
cised Philistine alone; his talk is entertainingLiviac
Aoz.
71
Antiparos, and were quite chagrined to find our
grotto diminished to a mere den or covert, between
two immense stones of a truly Stonehengian ap-
pearance and juxtaposition. I doubted for a mo-
ment whether their singular situation, on the top
of this mountain, were matter for the geologist or
the antiquary; and would like to refer the question
to the learned Dean of Westminster, who hammers
stone as eloquently as some of his predecessors have
hammered pulpits. The stones are well-nigh equal
in height, of about twenty feet perpendicular, one
of them nearly conical, and the other almost a true
parallelopiped. Betwixt them another large stone
appears to have fallen, till it became wedged; and
the very small aperture between this stone and the
ground beneath, is all that justifies the name of a
cave, though there are several fissures about the
stones, in which possibly beasts might be sheltered,
but hardly human beings. To render the cave
itself large enough for the pair that once inhabited
it, the earth must have been dug from under the
stone, so as to make a covered pit; and even then,
it was hardly so good a place as is said to have been
made for a refuge to the conies, being much
fitter for wild-cats or tigers. I could scarcely per-
suade myself, that English law could ever have
driven a man three thousand miles over the sea, and
then into such a burrow as this! But so it was;
and it was retribution and justice too.
Bad as it was, it looked more agreeable to Goffe
and Whalley, than a cross-beam and two halters,
or even than apartments in the Tower of London.
They had it fitted up with a bed, and other crea-
tore-comforts of a truly Crusoe-like description.
The mouth of the cave was screened by a thick
growth of bushes, and the place was in several
other respects well suited to their purpose. The
parallelopiped, of which I have spoken, was easily
climbed, being furnished with something like stairs,
and its top commands a fine view of the town, the
bay, and the country for miles around. It served
them, therefore, as a watch-tower, and must have
been very useful as a means of protection, and as
an observatory for amusement. I mounted the
stone myself, and tried to fancy how different was
the scene two hundred years ago. There the exile
would sit hour after hour, not as one may sit there
now, to see sails and steamers entering and leaving
the harbor, and post-coaches and railroad cars pass-
ing and re-passing continually; but to gaze in
astonishment and fear, if one lone ship might be
descried coming up the bay, or if a solitary horse-
man was to be seen or heard pursuing his journey
in the valley below.
While the fugitives lived in this den, they were
regularly supplied with daily bread and other neces-
saries of life, by a woodruan, who lived at the foot
of the rock.~ A child came up the mountain daily
with a supply of provisions, which he left on a cer-
tain stone, and returned without seeing anybody, or
asking any questions of echo. In this way he
always brought a full basket and took hack an
empty one, without the least suspicion that he was
becoming an accessory in high treason, and, as it is
said, without ever knowing to whom, or for what,
he was ministering. As a Brahmin sets rice before
an idol, so the little one fed the stone, or left the
basket to the unseen spirit of the wood ; and
well it was that the little Red-riding-hood escaped
the usual fate of all lonely little foresters, for it
seems there were mouths and maws in the moun-
tain which cheescakes would not have satisfied.
The dwellers in the rock had a terrible fright one
72 THE CAVE OF THE REGICTIJES.
night from the visit of some indescribable beasta
panther, or something worsethat blazed its horrid
eyes into their dark hole, and growled so fright-
fully, that if all the bailiffs of London had sur-
rounded their den, they would have been less
alarmed. It seemed some motherly tigress in
search of her cubs, and when she discovered the
intruders, she set up such an ululation of maternal
grief as made every aisle of the forest ring again,
and so scared the inmates of her den, that, as soon
as they dared, they took to their heels down the
mountain, ready to hear any hue and cry on their
track, rather than hers. This story was told us by
our guide, who gave it as the reason for their final
desertion of the place.
On the stone which I climbed, I found engraven
a great number of names and initials, with dates
of different years. Apparently they had been left
there by visitors from the university. In more than
one place, some ardent youth, in his first love with
democracy, had taken pains to renew the inscrip-
tion, which tradition says Goffe and Whalley placed
over their retreat. Opposition to tyrants is obe-
dience to God. I suppose there will always be
fresh men to do Old Mortalitys office for this
inscription, for the maxim is one which has long
been popular in America among patriotic declaim-
ers. How long it will continue generally popular,
may indeed be doubted, since the abolitionists have
lately adopted it, and in their mouths it becomes an
incendiary watchword, which the supporters of
slavery have no little reason to dread. I myself
saw this motto on an anti-slavery placard set up in
the streets of New York.
I inferred from this inscription, and the names on
the rock, that the spot is visited by some with very
different feelings from those which it excited in me
and my companions. Our valuable conductor, it is
true, spoke of the Judges with as much rever-
ence as so sturdy a republican would be likely to
show to any dignity whatever; and really the hon-
est fellow seemed to give us credit for more tender-
ness than we felt, and tried to express himself in
such a manner, when telling of the misery of the
exiles, as not to wound our sensibilities. But I
fear his consideration was all lost; for, sad ~s it is
to think of any fellow-man reduced to such extrem-
ity as to take up a lodging like this, we could only
think how many of the noble and the lovely, and
how many of the true and loyal poor, had been
brought by Goffe and Whalley to greater misery
than theirs. I could not force myself, therefore, to
the melting mood; it was enough that I thou,,ht of
January 30, 1648, and said to myself, Doubtless
there is a God that judgeth in the earth. The
lady recalled some facts from Lord Clarendons
History, and said that her interest in the spot was
far from having anything to do with sympathy for
the regicides. Her patronizing protector expressed
his surprise, and jokingly assured me that she
regarded it as a Mecca, or he would not have given
himself the trouble of waiting on her to a place he
so little respected. She owned that she was hardly
consistent with herself in feeling any interest at all
in the memorial of regicides; but I reminded her
that Lord Capel kissed the axe which completed
the work of rebellion, and deprived his royal mas-
ter of life ;* and we agreed that even the intelligent
instruments of that martyrdom acquired a sort of
reliquary value from the blood with which they
were crimsoned.
* State Trials, ii., 339.
The troglodytes, then, were but two; but there
was a third fugitive regicide who came to New-
haven, and now lies there in his grave. This was
none other than John Dixwell, whose name, with
those of~Goffe and Whalley, may be found on that
infamous death-warrant, which some have not
scrupled to call the Major Charta. Dixwells is
set among the ci 7iu~W, who, in the day of reckon-
ing, were judged hardly worth a hanging; but
Whalleys occupies the bad eminence of being
fourth on the list, and next to the hard-fisted auto-
graph of Oliver himself; while William Goffe s is
signed just before the signature of Pride, whose
miserable penmanship that day, it will be remem-
bered, cost his poor body an airing on the gibbet,
in the year 1660. Scott, by the way, gives Whal-
ley the prawornen Richard; but there it is on the
parchment, too legible for his souls goodEdward
Whalley. Shall I recur to the rest of their history
in England before I come to my American narra-
tive? Perhaps in these days of elucidations,
when it is said that everything about two hundred
years since is, for the first time, undergoing a calm
hut earnest review, I may be indulged in recapitu-
lating what, if everybody knows, they know only
in a great confusion with other events, which impair
the individual interest.
Of IDixwell, comparatively little is known, save
that his first act of patriotism seems to have con-
sisted in leaving his country. Enough that he
served in the parliamentary army; sat, as judge,
and stood up as regicide in that high court of
treason in Westminster Hall; was one of Olivers
colonels during the protectorate; became sheriff
of Kent, and no doubt hanged many a rogue that
had a better right to live than himself; and finally
sat in Parliament for the same county in 1656.*
His experiences after the Restoration are not hnown,
till he emerged in America almost ten years after
the last-mentioned date.
Whalley was among the more notorious of the
rebels. He was cousin to Oliver, and one of the
few for whom Oliver sometimes exhibited a savage
sort of affection. He proved himself a good soldier
in a bad cause at Naseby; and a furious one at
Banbury. When the rogues fell out among them-
selves, he was the officer that met Cornet Joyce as
he was convoying the kings majesty from IIolmby,~
and offered to relieve the royal prisoner of his pro-
tector; an offer which Charles with great dignity
refused, preferring to let them have all the respon-
sibility in the matter, and not caring a straw which
of the two villains should be his jailer. At Ham~.
ton Court, however, fortnne decided in favor of
Whalley, and put the king, for a time, into his
power; till like fortune put it into the kings
power to get rid of his brutality by flight, an acci-
dent for which our hero got a hint of displeasure
from Parliament. Just at this point Cromwell
addressed a letter to his dear cousin Whalley,~
begging him not to let anything happen to his
majesty ; in which his sincerity was doubtless as
genuine as that of certain patriots in the Pickwick
history, who, out of regard to certain voters coming
down to the election, with money in their hands
and tears in their eyes, besought the senior Weller
not to upset the whole cargo of them into the canal
at Islington. After getting out of this scrape, and
doing the damning deed that got him into a worse
one, he fleshed his sword against the kings Scot-
* Somers Tracts, vi. 339. t Carlyle and Clarendon.
~ Carlyle.
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES.
tish kinsmen, at Dunbar, where he lost a horse
under him, and received a cut in his wrist*, though
not severe enough to prevent his writing a saucy
letter to the governor of Edinburgh castle.. He
was the man that took away the mace, when
Cromwell broke up his Barebones Parliament.
Then he rode through Lincoln, and five other coun-
ties, dealing with recusant anabaptists,j as one of
the major generals ; demurred a little, at first,
at the king-manufacturing conference, but finally
came into the project; and, from a sense of duty,
so far overcame his republican scruples as to allow
himself to take a seat in the House of Lords, as
one of the Oliverian peerage.$ If titles were to be
had with estates, like the Lordship of Linne, he
was surely entitled to his peerage, for he was
growing fat on the Duke of Newcastles patrimony,
with part of the jointure of poor Henrietta Maria,
when, God be praised, the day of reckoning ar-
rived; and my Lord Whalley, surmising that,
should any one come to the rope, he was likely to
swing if he remained in England, made off beyond
seas.
Goffe, too, was of the Cromwellian consinry,
having married a daughter of Whalley.~ He was
a soldier, but could do a little exposition besides,
when there was any call for such an exercise; as,
for instance, at that celebrated groaning and wrest-
ling which was performed at Windsor, and ended
in resolving on the murder of the king,j~ after ex-
traordinary supplication and holding forth. When
father Whalley removed the mace, son-in-law Goffe
led in the musqueteers, and bolted out the anabap-
tists, against whom he rode circuit through Sussex
and Berks, growing rich, and indulging dreams of
disjointing the nose of Richard, and thrusting him-
self into the old shoes of the protector, as soon as
they should be empty.~i He, too, sacrificed his
feelings so far as to become a lord; and, perhaps,
thinking that royal shoes would fit him as well as
republican ones, he at last consented to making
Oliver a king.** Nor were his honors wholly of a
civil character, for he was made an MA. at Ox-
ford, and so secured himself a notice in Anthony
Woods biographies, where his story concludes
with a set of mistakes, so relishably served up, that
I must give it in the very words of the Fasti, as
follows : In 1660, a little before the restoration
of King Charles II., he betook himself to his heels
to save his neck, without any regard had to his
majestys proclamation; wandered about fearing
every one that he met should slay him; and was
living at Lausanna in 1664, with Edmund Ludlow,
Edward Whalley, and other regicides, when John
lIsle, another of that number, was there, by cer-
tain generous royalists, despatched. He after-
wards lived several years in vagabondship; but
when he died, or where his carcass was lodged, is
as yet unknown to me.jf
On Christmas day, 1657, good John Evelyn
went to London, in spite of many severe penalties
incurred thereby, to receive the holy sacrament
from a priest of the Church of England.fl Mr.
Gunning, afterwards Bishop of Ely, was the offici-
ating clergyman, and preached a sermon appropri-
ate to the festival. As he was proceeding with
the Eucharist, the place where they were worship-
ing was beset by Olivers ruffians, who, pointing
* Carlyle. t Clarendon, iii., 590.
t Percys Reliques, 121. Fasti Oxon. ii., 79.
II Letters and Speeches, & c., by Carlyle.
** Carlyle. ft Fasti Oxon. ii., p. 79. Anno 1649.
~ Evelyns Memoirs, i., 308.
their muskets at the communicants, through the
doors and windows, threatened to shoot them as
they knelt before the altar. Evelyn surmises that
they were not authorized to go so far as that, and
consequently they did not put their threat into exe-
cution: but both priest and people were taken pris-
oners, and brought under guard before the magis
trates to answer for the serious misdemeanor of
which they had been guilty. Before whom should
the gentle friend of Jeremy Taylor find himself
standing as a culprit, but these worshipful justices,
Whalley and Goffe! It was, doubtless, by their
orders that the solemnties of the day had been pro-
faned.
Evelyn seems to have got off with only a severe
catechizing; but many of his fellow-worshipers
were imprisoned, and other ise severely punished.
The examination was probably conducted by the
theologically exercised Goffe, for the specimen pre-
served by Evelyn is worthy of his genius in every
way. The amiable confessor was asked how he
dared to keep the superstitious time of the nativ-
ity ; and was admonished that in praying for
kings, he had been praying for Charles Stuart, and
oven for the King of Spain, who was a papist!
Moreover, he was told that the prayer-book was
nothing but the mass in English, and more to the
like effect; and so, says Evelyn, they dis-
missed me, pitying much my ignorance.
This anecdote, accidentally preserved by Evelyn,
shows what kind of characters they were. They
seem to have been as sincere as any of their fanati-
cal comrades, though it is always hard to say of the
Puritan leaders which were the cunning hypocrites,
and which the deluded zealots. Whatever they
may have b.een, their time was short, so far as Eng-
land is concerned with them; and in three years
after this event, they suddenly disappeared. So
perfectly did they bury themselves from the world,
that from the year 1660, till the romance of Scott~
again brought the name of Whalley before the
world, it may be doubted whether anything was
known in England of lives, which in another hem-
isphere were protracted almost into another genera-
tion. Nobody dreamed there was yet an American
chapter in the history of the regicides.
Yet, considering the known disposition of the col-
onies, and their inaccessible fastoesses, it is remark-
able that only three of tht~ fugitives found their way
across the Atlantic. Another, indeed, there was,
a mysterious person, of whom it is only known, that
though concerned in the regicide, he was not prob-
ably one of the judges. He lived in Rhode
Island till he was more than a hundred years old,
begetting sons and daughters, to whom he be-
queathed the surname of Whale. Whoever he
was, he seems to have been a sincere penitent,
whose conscience would not let him rest. He slept
on a deal board instead of a bed, and practised many
austerities, accusing himself as a man of blood, and
deprecating the justice of God. The particulars of
his guilt he never disclosed ; and as his name was
probably an assumed one, it is difficult to surmise
what share he had in the murder of his king.
There was in Hackers regiment one Whalley, a
lieutenant; and Stiles, the Anierican writer, thinks
this Whale may have been the same man. But then,
what did this Whalley perpetrat to account for
such horrible remorse Considering Hackers ac-
tive part in the bloodiest scene of the great tragedy,
and the conflicting testimony in Holes trial,j as to
* Notes to Peveril of the Peak.
t Sir Thomas Herberts Two Last Years, P. 189.
73
74
the man that struck the blow; and coupling this
with the fact, that an effort was made to procure
one of several lieutenants to do the work,* I confess
I once thought there was some reason to suspect
that this fellows accusing conscience was terribly
earned, and that he at least had been one of the
masks that figured on the scaffold. This surmise,
though shaken by nothing that came out on the
state trials, I have since discharged, in deference to
the opinion of Miss Strickland,t who is satisfied that
the greyheard was Hulet, and the actual regicide,
Gregory Brandori.
The American history of the regicides begins
with the 27th of July following the Restoration,
when Whalley and Goffe landed at Boston, bring-
ing the first news that the king had been proclaimed,
of which it seems they had tidings before they were
clear of the Channel. Proscribed as they were,
they were heroes among the colonists, and even
Endicott, the governor, ventured to give them a
welcome. The inhabitants of Boston and its envi-
rons paid them many attentions, and they appeared
at large with no attempt at concealing their names
and character. The Bostonians were not all re-
publicans, however; and several zealously affected
royalists having been noticed among their visitors,
they suddenly conceived the air of Cambridge more
salubrious than that of Boston, and took up their
abode in that village, now a mere suburb of the city.
There they freely mingled with other men, and were
admitted as communicants in the Calvinistic meet-
ings of the place; and sometimes, it appears, they
even ventured, like the celebrated party at the
Peak, to exhibit their gifts in extemporaneous
prayer and exposition. On visiting the city, they
mice received some insult, for which the assailant
was bound over to keep the peace; though, if
he had but known it, he was so far from having
done any wrong in the eye of law, that he was en-
titled to a hundred pounds reward, for bringing
before a magistrate either of the worthies who ap-
peared against him. The authorities, however, had
received no official notice of the Restoration, and
chose to go on as if still living under the golden
sway of the second protector.
A story is told of one of the regicides, while liv-
ing at Cambridge, which deserves preservation, as
it not only illustrates the open manner in which
they went to and fro, but also shows how well ex-
ercised were the soldiers of Cromwell in military
accomplishments. A fencing-master had appeared
at Boston, challenging any man in the colonies to
play at swords with him; and this bravado he re-
peated for several days, from a stage of Thespian
simplicity, erected in a public part of the town.
One day, as the mountebank was proclaiming his
defiance, to the terror and admiration of a crowd of
bystanders, a country-bred fellox~, as it seemed,
made his appearance in the assembly, accepting the
challenge, and pressing to the encounter with no
other weaponry than a cheese done up in a napkin
for a shield, and a broomstick, well charged with
puddle-water, which he flourished with Quixotic
effect as a sword. The shouts of the rabble, and
the confusion of the challenger, may well be imag-
ined; but the countryman, throwing himself into
position, lustily defied the man of foils to come on.
A sharp command to be gone with his nonsense,
was all the notice which the other would vouch-
safe; but the rustic insisted on having satisfaction,
and so stubbornly did he persist in brandishing his
* State Trials, ii. a86.
t Lives of the t~ueens, vol. viii.
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES.
broomstick, and opposing his cheese, that the glad-
iator, in a towering fury, at last drove at him des-
perately enough. The thrust was very coolly re-
ceived in the soft, savory shield of the countryman,
who instantly repaid it by a dexterous daub with
his broom, soaking the heard and whiskers of the
swordsman with its odorous contents. A second
and more furious pass at the rustic was parried with
masterly skill arid activity and rewarded by an-
other salute from the broomstick, which lndicrously
besmeared the sword-players eyes; the crowd set-
ting up a roar of merriment at his crest-fallen am
pearance A third lunge was again spent upon the
cheese, amid shouts of laughter; while the brooms-
man calmly mopped nose, eyes, and beard of his
antagonists puffing arid blowing physiognomy.
Entirely transported with rage and chagrin, the
champion now dropped his rapier, and came at his
ridiculous adversary with the broadsword. Hold,
hold, my good fellow, cried Broomstick, so far
all s fair play! but if that s the game, have a care,
for I shall certainly take your life. At this, the
confounded gladiator stood aghast, and staring at
the absurd apparition before him, cried out, amid
the jeers of the mob, Who is it? there were but
two in England that could match me! It must be
Goffe, Whalley, or the devil ! And so it proved,
for it was Goffe.
In November, came out the act of indemnity, by
which it appeared that Goffe and Whalley were not
included in the amnesty which covered a multitude
of sins. It was nevertheless far in February before
the governor had entered upon even a formal in-
quiry of his council, as to what he should do wit.h
the fugitives; a formality which, empty as it was,
must have occasioned their abrupt departure from
Massachusetts. At Newhaven, a concentrated Pu-
ritanism seems to have offered them a much safer
asylum ;* and as a brother-in-law of Whalleys had
lately held a kind of pastoral dignity in that place,
it is not improbable that they received pledges of
protection, should they choose it for their city of
refuge. One now goes from Boston to Newha-
yen, by railroad and steamer, in less than a day;
but in those times it was very good travelling which
brought them to their Alsatia in less than a fort-
night. There they were received as saints and
confessors; and Davenport, the strait-laced pastor
of the colony, seems to have taken them under his
especial patronage. He seems to have been a kind
of provincial Hugh Peters, though lie was not with-
out his virtues; and there was far more fear of him
before the eyes of the local authorities, than there
was of King Charles and his council. His majesty
was in fact completely browbeaten and discomfired,
when his warrant was afterwards brought into col-
lision with the will of this doughty little pope; and
to him the regicides owed it, that they finally died
in America.
The government at home seems really to have
been in earnest in the matter, and a royal command
was not long in reaching Endicott, requiring him to
do all in his power for the arrest of the runaways.
He seems to have been scared into something like
obedience, and two zealous young royalists offering
their services as pursuers, he was obliged to de-
spatch them to Newhiaven. So vigorously did
these young men prosecute their errand, that but
for the bustling fanaticism of Davenport, they would
certainly have redeemed the honor of the colonies,
and given their lordships at Westminster Hall the
trouble of two more state trials. For its own sake,
5 American Annals.
75
THE CAVE OF THE EEGICIDES.
no one, indeed, can be sorry that such was no1~ the
result. But when one thinks how many curious
details of history would have transpired on the tri-
als of such prominent rebels, it seems a pity that
they could not have been made serviceable in this
way, and then set, with Prynne, to do penance
among the old parchments in the Tower.
The governor of the Newhaven colony, one
Leete, lived a few miles out of the town, but not
far enough off to be out of the control of Daveiiport,
whose spiritual drill had got him in good order for
the expected encounter. That painstaking pastor
had, moreover, felt it his duty to give no uncertain
blast of preparation on his Sabbath-day trumpet,
and had sounded forth his deep concern for the
souls committed to his care, should they, by any
temptation of the devil, be led to think it scriptural
to obey the king and magistrate, instead of him,
their conscience-keeper and dogmatist. With a
skill in the application of holy writ, peculiar to the
Hugh Peters school of divinity, he had laboriously
pounded his cushion, in some thirty or forty illustra-
tions of the following text from the prophet Isaiah:
Hide the outcasts, bewray not him that wandereth.
Let mine outcasts dwell with thee, Moab! be thou
a covert to them from the face of the spoiler.*
After this exposition, there was of course no dispute
as to duty. The pope is a deceiver, and Catholic
councils are lies; but when was a Puritan preacher
ever doubted, by his followers, to be an oracle
from heaven
It was in vain that the loyal pursuers came to
Newhaven, after the little general had thus got his
forces prepared for the contest. Wellington, with
the forest of Soignies behind him, at Waterloo,
was not half so confident of wearing out Napoleon,
as Davenport was of beating back King Charles the
Second, in his presumptuous attempt to govern his
Puritan colonies. Accordingly, when the pursuers
waited on Governor Leete, they found his conscience
peculiarly tender to the fact, that they were not
provided with the original of his majestys com-
inand, which he felt it his duty to see, before he
could move in the business. He finally yielded so
far, however, as to direct a warrant to certain catch-
poles, requiring them to take the runaways, accom-
panying it, as it would seem, with assurances of
affectionate condolence, should they happen to let
the criminals, when captured, effect a violent escape.
A preconcerted farce was enacted, to satisfy the
forms of law, the bailiffs seizing the regicides, a
mile or two from town, as they were making for
East Rock; and they very sturdily defending them-
selves, till the officers had received bruises enough,
to excuse their return without them. But after
this pleasant little exercise, the regicides had an
escape of a more really fortunate character, and
quite in the style of King Charles Seconds Bosco-
bel adventures. For while cooling themselves
under a bridge, they discovered the young Bostoni-
ans galloping that way, and had only time to lie
close, when a smart quadrupedal hexameter was
thundered over their heads, as they lay peering up
through the chinks of the bridge at their furious
pursuers. No doubt the classic ear of Goffe, the
Oxford master of arts, was singularly refreshed
with the delightful prosody, which the retiring
horse-hoofs still drummed on the dusty plain; but
they seemed to have been so seriously alarmed by
their escape, that if they ever smiled again, they
certainly had little cause for their good-humor; for
* Isaiah xvi. 3.
that very day they took to the woods, and entered
upon a long and wretched life of perpetual appre-
hension, from which death, in any shape, would
have been, to better men, a comfortable relief.
They immediately directed their course towards
West Rock, where, with an old hatchet which they
found in the forest, they built themselves a booth
in a spot which is still called, from the circum-
stance, Hatchet-Harbor. Here they became
acquainted with one Sperry, the woodman who
finally fitted up the cave, and introduced them to
their life in the rock.
It seems that on stormy days, and sometimes for
mere change of air, the poor Troglodytes would
come down the mountain, and stay a while with
the woodman at his house. They had lived about
a month in their cave, when such an excursion to
the woodmans had nearly cost them their liberty.
The pursuers, meantime, had accomplished a wild-
goose chase to New York, and had returned, after
more perils and troubles than the regicides were
worth. Somehow or other, they got scent of their
game this time, and actually came upon them at
Sperrys before they had any notice of their ap-
proach. Fortune favoring them, however, they
escaped by a back-door, and got up to their nest,
without giving a glimpse of themselves to the pur-
suers, or even leaving any trace of their visit, to
favor a suspicion that they had recently been in
Sperrys protection. But Leete, who had received
at last the original warrant, and thus was relieved
of his scruples, seems to have been so alarmed
about this time, that he sent word to the fugitives
that they must hold themselves ready to surrender,
if it should prove requisite for his own safety and
that of the town. To the credit of the poor men,
on receiving this notice, they came out of their
cave like brave fellows, and went over to their
cowardly protector, offering to give themselves up
inimediately.
Here the redoubtable Davenport again interfered,
and though all the colony began to be of another
opinion, he fairly drubbed the prudent Leete into a
postponement of the time of surrender; and Goffe
and Whalley were accordingly respited for a week,
during which they lived in painful suspense, in the
cellar of a neighboring warehouse, supplied with
food from the governors table, but never admitted
to his presence. Meantime, the bustling pastor
preached and exhorted, and stirred up all the im-
portant settlers to take his part against the timorous
counsels of the governor, and finally succeeded in
preventing the surrender altogether; and the fugi-
tives went back to their cave, never again to show
themselves openly before men, though their days
were prolonged through half another lifetime.
It seems incredible that there was any real call
for such singular caution, under the loose reign of
Charles the Second: yet it is remarkable how timid
they had become, and how long they supported
their patient mousing in the dark. Nothing seems
to have inspired them with confidence after this.
The pursuers returned to Boston, and made an
indignant report of the contempt with which his
majestys authority had been treated at Newbaven;
all which had no other effect than to give color to a
formal declaration of the united colonies of New
England, that an ineffectual though thorough search
had been made. On this the hue-and-cry was
suffered to stop; but the regicides still kept close,
and shunned the light of day. Who would have
believed that the lusty Goffe and Whalley, whose
fierce files of musqueteers seemed oiice their very
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES.
shadow, could have subsided into such decorous
subjects, as to live for three lustres in the heart of
a village, so quietly, that, save their feeder, not a
soul ever saw or heard of them. Yet so it proved;
for so much do circumstances make the difference
between the anchorite and the revolutionist, and so
possible is it for the same character to be very
noisy and very still.
After two months more in the cave, they probably
found it time to go into winter quarters, and accord-
ingly shifted to a village a little westward of New-
haven, where one Tompkins received them into his
cellar. There they managed to survive two years,
during which their only recreation seems to have
been, the sorry one of hearing a maid abuse them,
as she sung an old royalist ballad over their heads.
Even this was some relief to the monotony of their
life in the cellar, and they would often get their
attendant to set it agoing. The girl, delighted to
find her voice in request, and little dreaming what
an audience she had in the pit, would accordingly
strike up with great effect, and fugue a~vay on the
names of Goffe and Whalley, and their fellow
Roundheads, like another Wildrake. Perhaps the
worthies in the cellar consoled themselves with
recalling the palmy days, when the same song,
trolled out on the night air from some royalist pot-
house, had been their excuse for displaying their
vigilant police, and putting under arrest any number
of drunken malignants.
If they had any additional consolation, it seems
to have been derived from an enthusiastic interpre-
tation of Holy Writ, in which, after the manner of
their religion, they saw their own peculiar history
very minutely foreshadowed. They had heard of
the sad end of Hugh Peters, and his confederates,
which they were persuaded was the slaying of the
two witnesses, predicted in the Apocalypse ;* and
they now looked in sure and certain hope for the
year 1666, which they presumed would be marked
by some great revolution, probably on account of its
containing the number of the beast. -f But after
t~vo years in this cellar, there arrived in Boston
certain royal commissioners, in fear of whom they
again retreated to their cave, and stayed there two
months, till the wild beast drove them away. About
the same time, an Indian getting sight of their
tracks, and finding their cave, with a bed in it,
made such an ado about his discovery, that they
were obliged to abandon Newhaven forever. It
is probable that Davenport now counselled their re-
moval, and provided their retreat; for one Russell,
the pastor of Hadley, a backwood settlement in
Massachusetts, engaged to receive and lodge them;
and thither they went by star-light marches, a dis
tance of an hundred miles, through forests, where,
if there is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
they probably found it the only one in their journey.
Rogues as they were, who can help pitying them,
thus skulking along by night through an American
wilderness, in terror of a king, three thousand
miles away, who all the while was revelling with
his harlots, and showing as little regard for the
memory of his father as any regicide could desire.
At Hadley, pastor Russell received them into his
kitchen, and then into a closet, from which, by a
trap-door, they were let down into the cellarthere
to live long years, and there to die, and thereone
of themto be buried, for a time. While dwell-
ing in this cellar, poor Goffe kept a record of his
* Rev. xi. 8. t Rev. xiii. 18.
daily life; and it is much to be regretted that this
curious journal perished, at Boston, in the succeed-
ing century, during the riots about the Stamp Act,
in which several houses were burned. Scraps of
it still exist, however, in copies; and enough is
known of it, to prove that the exiles were kept in
constant information of the progress of events in
England; that Goffe corresponded with his wife,
addressing her as his mother, and signing himself
Walter Goldsmith; and that pastor Russell was
supplied with remittances for their support. One
leaf of the diary which, fortunately, was copied, is
a mournful catalogue of the regicides, and their ac-
complices, all classed according to their fate, with
some touching evidences of the melancholy humor
in which the records had been set down. It is a
table of sixty-nine as great rogues, or as deluded
fanatics, as have left their names on the page of
English history; but there they stand on Goffes
list, a doleful registry indeed,
Some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they had deposed ;
but all noted by the wanderer as his friends, faith-
ful and just to him. Twenty-six are marked as
certainly dead; others, as condemned and in the
Tower; some as fugitives, and some, as quietly
surviving their ruin and disgrace. How dark must
have been the past and the future alike, to men
whose histories were told in such chronicles; but
thus timorously from their loop-hole of retreat,
did they look out on the Great Babel; and saw
their, cherished year of the beast go by, and still no
change; and then consoled themselves with hoping
there was some slight error in the vulgar computa-
tion; and so hoped on against hope, and kept in secret
their awful memories, and perchance with occasional
misgivings of judgment to come, pondered them in
their hearts.
At Hadley they had one remarkable visitor, from
whom they probably learned much gloomy gossip
about things at home. In 1665, John Dixwell
joined them, having made his escape to the colo-
nies with astonishing secrecy, lie seems to have
been a venturous fellow, who was far from willing
to spend his days in a cellar, and accordingly he
soon left them to their own company, and went,
nobody knows where; but it is certain that in 1672
he appeared in Newhaven as Mr. James Davids,
took a wife, and settled down with every sign of ~
determination to die in his bed. The first Mrs.
Davids dying without issue, we find him, a few
years after, married again, begetting children, and
supporting the reputation of a grave citizen, who
kept rather shy of his neighbors, and was fond of
long prosy talks with his ministerthe sucessor of
Davenport, who seems to have rested from his
labors. I wonder if those talks were so prosy!
The good wife of the house, no doubt, supposed Mr.
Davids and her husband engaged in edifying con-
clave upon the five points of Calvinism: but who does
not envy that drowsy New England pastor the sto-
ries he heard of the great events of the rebellion,
from the lips of one who had himself been an actor
therein! How often he filled his pipe, and puffed
his pleasure, or laid it down at a more earnest mo-
ment, to hear the stirring anecdotes of Oliver; how
he looked; how he spoke and commanded! What
unwritten histories the pastor must have learned of
Straffordof Laudof Pym pouncing on his quar-
ryof how the narrator felt, when he sat as a regi-
cide judgeand of that right royal face which he
76
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES.
had confronted without relenting, with all its com-
bined expressions, of resignation and resolution
kingly dignity and Christian submission. ,of
Time went on, and the Hadley regicides wasted
away in their cellar, while iDixwell thus flourished
like a bay-tree in green old age. A letter from
Goffe, to his mother Goldsmith, written in
August, 1674, of which a copy is preserved, shows
that years had been doing their work on the once
bold and stalwart Whalley. Your old friend Mr.
R., he says, using the feigned iniiial, is yet
living, but continues in that weak condition. He
is scarce capable of any rational discourse, (his un-
derstanding, memory, and speech, doth so much
fail him,) and seems not to take much notice of
anything * * * * and it s a great mercy to
him, that he bath a friend that takes pleasure in
being helpful to him * * * * for though
my help he but poor and weak, yet that ancient ser-
vant of Christ could not well subsist without it.
The Lord help us to profit by all, and to wait with
patience upon him, till we shall see what end he
will make with us.
Boys grew to be men, and little girls marriagea-
ble women, while they thus dwelt in the cellar;
and the people of Hadley passed in and out of their
pastors door, and doubled and trebled in number
around his house, and not a soul dreamed that such
inhabitants lived amongst them. This remarkable
privacy accounts for the historical fact, given as a
story in Peveril of the Peak. ~ It occurred dur-
ing the war of King Philip, in 1675, the year fol-
lowing the date of Goffes letter, and when Whal-
ley must have been far gone in his decline, so that
he could not have been the hero, as is so dramati-
cally asserted by Bridgenorth to Julian Peveril. It
was a fast day among the settlers, who were im-
ploring God for deliverance from an expected attack
of the savages; and they were all assembled in
their rude little meeting-house, around which sen-
tinels were kept on patrol. The house of the pas-
tor was only a few rods distant; and probably,
through the miserable panes that let in all the sun-
light of their cellar, Goffe watched the invasion of
the Indians, and all the horrors of the fight, till the
fires of Dunbar began to burn again in his old veins,
and, overcoming his usual caution, sent him forth
to his last achievement in this world, and perhaps
his best. On a sudden, as the settlers were giving
~ip all for lost, and about to submit to a general
massacre, a strange apparition was seen among
them, exhorting them to rally in the name of God.
An old man, with long white locks, and of unusual
attire, led the last assault with the most daring
bravery. Not doubting that it was an angel of
God, they followed up his blows, and in a short
time repulsed the savages; but their deliverer was
gone. No clue or trace could be found of his com-
ing or going. He was to them as Melchisedek,
without beginning of life, or end of days ; and
their confirmed superstition that the Lord had sent
his angel in answer to their prayers, though quite
in accordance with their enthusiasm, was doubtless
not a little encouraged by the wily pastor himself,
as an innocent means of preventing troublesome
inquiries. In many parts of New England it was
long regarded as a miracle, and the final disclosure
of the secret has spoiled the mystery of a genuine
old wives tale.
About three years after this, Whalley gave his
* Holmes American Annals, in Ann. Also, Notes to
Oliver Newman.
soul to God, and was temporarily buried in the cel-
lar, where he had lived a death-in-life of fourteen
years. Russell was now in a great fright, and
with good reason, for a new crown officer was at
work in New England, with a zealous determuina-
tion to bring all offenders to justice, and if not the
offenders themselves, then somebody instead of
them. Edward Randolph, who has left a Judge
Jeffreys reputation in America to this day, was a
Jehu for the government, and his feelings towards
the regicides are well touched off by Southey, in
the words put into his mouth in Oliver New-
man:
Fifteen years,
They have hid among them the two regicides,
Shifting from den to cover, as we found
Where the scent lay. But, earth them as they
will,
I shall unkennel them, and from their holes
Drag them to light and justice.
Alarmed by the energetic measures of such a
man, Goffe, who was now released from his per-
sonal attentions to his friend, appears to have
departed from Hadley for a time; while Russell
gave currency to a report, that when last seen lie
was on his way towards Virginia. It was soon
added, that he had been actually recognized in New
York, in a farmers attire, selling cabbages; but he
probably went no further than Newbaven, where
he would naturally visit Dixwell, and so returned
to Hadley, whence his last letter bears date, 1679,
and where he undoubtedly died the following year.
How the two bodies ever got to Newhaven has
long been the puzzle. It seems that Russell buried
Goffe at first in a grave, dug partly on his own
premises, and partly on those adjoining, intending
by this stratagem to justify himself, should he ever
be forced to deny that the bones were in his garden.
But, in the years 1680 and 1684, Randolphs fury
being at its height, he probably dug up the remains
of both the regicides, and sent them to Newhaven,
where they were interred secretly by Dixwell and
the common gravedigger of the place. Some sup-
pose, indeed, that they were not removed till the
sad results of the Duke of Monmouths rebellion
had put the colonists in terror of the inexorable
Jeffreys. The fate of Lady Alicia Lisleherself
the widow of a regicidewho had suffered for con-
cealing two of the dukes followers, may very nat-
urally have alarmed the prudent Russell, and led
him to remove all traces of his share in harboring
Goffe and Whalley. His friendship for two un-
just judges seems to have led him to dread the
acquaintance of a third. As for Dixwell, he lived
on in Newhaven, maintaining the character of Mr.
James Davids with great respectability, and so
quietly, that Randolph seems never to have sus-
pected that a third regicide was hiding in America.
He had one narrow escape, nevertheless, from
another zealous partisan of the crown, quite as lynx-
eyed, and even more notorious in American history.
In 1686, Sir Edmund Andross paid a visit to New-
haven, and was present at the public worship of the
inhabitants, when James Davids did not fail to be
in his usual place, nor by his dignity of person and
demeanor to attract the special notice of Sir Ed-
mund, who probably began to think he had got
scent of Goffe himself. After the solemnities were
over, he made very particular inquiries as to the
remarkable-looking worshiper, but suffered him-
self to be diverted from more searching measures,
by the natural and unstudied description which he
77
THE CAVE OF THE REGICIDES.
received of Mr. Davids and his interesting family.
It was well that they could answer so unaffectedly,
for Andross was ready to pick a quarrel with them,
conceiving himself to have received a great affront
at the religious exercise which he had honored
with his presence. It seems the clerk had felt it
his duty to select a psalm not incapable of a double
application, and which accordingly bad hit Sir Ed-
mund in a tender part, by singing to the praise
and glory of God the somewhat insinuating
stave
Why dost thou, tyrant, boast abroad,
Thy wicked works to praise.
After this, though for forty years the righteous
blood of a murdered king had been crying against
him, Dixwells hoar hairs were suffered to come to
the grave in a peace he had denied to others, in
1688. Meantime, that king had lain in his cere-
ments at Windsor, taken away from the evil to
come, and undisturbed alike by the malice that
pursued his name, and the far more grievous con-
tempt that fell on his martyr-memory from the con-
duct of his two sons, false as they were to his
honor, recreant to his pure example, and apostate
to the holy faith for which he died. Such sons
had at last accomplished for the house of Stuart
that ruin which other enemies had, in vain, endeav-
ored; and two weeks after James Davids was laid
in his grave, came news which was almost enough
to wake him from the dead. The glorious Rev-
olution, as it is called, was a crowning mercy
to the colonies; and the friends of the late regicide
now boldly produced his will, and submitted it to
probate. It devised to his heirs a considerable es-
tate in England, and described his own style and
title as John Dixwell, alias James iDavids, of the
Priory of Folkestone, in the county of Kent, Es-
qmre.
After my visit to West Rock, I went in the
early twilight to the graves of the three regicides.
I found them in the rear of one of the meeting-
houses, in the square, very near together, and
scarcely noticeable in the grass. They are each
marked by rough blocks of stone, having one face
a little smoothed, and rudely lettered. Dixwells
tomb-stone is far better than the others, and bears
the fullest and most legible inscription. It is pos-
sibly a little more than two feet high, of a red sand-
stone, quite thick and heavy, and reads thus I
D., Esq., deceased March ye 18th, in ye 82d year
of his age, 16889. To make anything of Whal-
leys memorial, I was obliged to stoop down to it,
and examine it very closely. I copied it, head and
foot, into my tablets, nor did I notice, at the time,
any peculiarity, but took down the inscription, as I
supposed correctly, 1658, E. W. While I was
busy about this, there came along one of the stu-
dents, escorting a young lady, who bending down
to the headstone of Goffes grave, examined it a few
minutes attentively, and then started up, and went
away with her happy protector, exclaiming, I
must leave it to Old Mortality: for I can see nothing
at all. I found it as she had said, and left it with-
out any better satisfaction; but, during the evening,
happening to mention these facts, I was shown a
drawing of both Goffes and Whalleys memorials;
by help of which, on repeating my visit early next
morning, I observed the very curious marks which
gave them additional interest. Looking more care-
fully at Whalleys headstone, one observes a 7
strongly blended with the 5, in the date which I had
copied; so that it may be read as I had taken it, or
it may be read 1678, the true date of Whalleys de-
mise. This same cipher is repeated on the foot-
stone, and is evidently intentional. Nor is the
grave of Gofib less curious. The stone is at Iirst
read M. G. 80 ; but, looking closer, you dis-
cover a superfluous line cut under the M, to hint
that it must not be taken for what it seems. It is
in fact a W reversed, and the whole means, W.
G. 1680 ; the true initials and date of death of
William Goffe. If IDixwell was not himself the
engraver of these rude devices, he doubtless con-
trived them; and they have well accomplished
their purpose, of avoiding detection in their own
day, and attracting notice in ours.
There was something that touched me, in spite
of myself, in thus standing by these rude graves,
and surveying the last relics of men born far away
in happy English homes, who once made a figure
among the great men, and were numbered with the
lawful senators of a free and prosperous state! I
own that, for a moment, I checked my impulses ol
pity, and thought whether it would not be virtuous
to imitate the Jews in Palestine, who, to this day,
throw a pebble at Absaloms pillar, as they pass it
in the Kings Dale, to show their horror of the reb-
els unnatural crime. But I finally concluded that
it was better to be a Christian in my hate, as well
as in my love, and to take no worse revenge than
to recite, over the ashes of the regicides, that sweet
prayer for the 30th of January, which magnifies
God, for the grace given to the royal martyr, by
which he was enabled, in a constant meek suffering
of all barbarous indignities, to resist unto blood, and
then, according to the Saviours pattern, to pray
for his murderers.
Two hundred years have gone, well-nigh, and
those mean graves continue in their dishonor, while
the monarchy which their occupants once supposed
they had destroyed, is as unshaken as ever. Nor
must it be unnoticed, that the church which they
thought to pluck up, root and branch, has borne a
healthful daughter, that chants her venerable ser-
vice in another hemisphere, and so near these very
graves that the bones of Goffe and Whalley must
fairly shake at Christmas, when the organ swells,
hard by, with the voices of thronging worship-
ers, who still keep the superstitious time of the
Nativity, even in the Puritans own land and city.
What a conclusion to so much crime and bloodshed!
Such a sepulturethought Iinstead of a green
little barrow, in some quiet churchyard of Englfind,
fast by their fathers graves ! Had these poor
men been contented with peace and loyalty, such
graves they might have found, under the eaves of
the same parish church that registered their chris-
tening; the very bells tolling for their funeral, that
pealed when they took their brides. How much
better the village Hampden, than the wide-
worlds Whalley; and how enviable the uncouth
rhyme, and the yeomans honest name, on the stone
that loving hands have set, compared with these
coward initials, and memorials that skulk in the
grass!
Sta, viator, judicem calcas!
A judge, before whose unblenching face the sacred
majesty of England once stood upon deliverance,
and awaited the stern issues of life and death; an
unjust judge, who, for daring to sit in judgment,
must yet come forth from this obscure grave, and
give answer unto Him who is judge of quick and
dead.
78
THE STETHOSCOPE.
From Blackwoods Mgaazine.
TO THE STETHOSCOPE.
Tuba mirum spargens sonum.
Dies Irca.
[THE Stethoscope, as most, probably, of our
readers are aware, is a short, straight, wooden
tube, shaped like a small post-horn. By means of
it, the medical man can listen to the sounds which
accompany the movements of the lungs and heart;
and as certain murmurs accompany the healthy
action of these organs, and certain others mark
their diseased condition, an experienced physician
can readily discover not only the extent, but also
the nature of the distemper which afflicts his patient,
and foretell more or less accurately the fate of the
latter.
The Stethoscope has long ceased to excite merely
professional interest. There are few families to
whom it has not proved an object of horror and the
saddest remembrance, as connected with the loss
of dear relatives, though it is but a revealer, not a
producer of physical suffering.
As an instrument on which the hopes and fears,
and one may also say the destinies of mankind, so
largely hang, it appears to present a fit subject for
poetic treatment. How far the present attempt to
carry out this idea is successful, the reader must
determine.]
STETHOsCOPE! thou simple tube,
Clarion of the yawning tomb,
Unto inc thou seemst to be
A very trump of doom.
Wielding thee, the grave physician
By the trembling patient stands,
Like some deftly skilled musician;
Strange! the trumpet in his bands.
Whilst the sufferers eyeball glistens
Full of hope and full of fear,
Quietly he bends and listens
XVith his quick, accustomed ear
Waiteth until thou shalt tell
Tidings of the war within:
In the battle and the strife,
Is it death, or is it life,
That the fought-for prize shall win l
Then thou whisperest in his ear
Words which only he can hear
Words of woe arid words of cheer.
Jubilatds thou hast sounded,
Wild exulting songs of gladness;
Misererds have abounded
Of unutterable sadness.
Sometimes may thy tones impart,
Comfort to the sad at heart;
Oftener when thy lips have spoken,
Eyes have wept, and hearts have broken.
Calm and grave physician, thou
Art like a crowndd KING;
Though there is not round thy brow
A bauble golden ring,
As a Czar of marty lands,
Life and death are in thy hands.
Sceptre-like, that Stethoscope
Seemeth in thy hands to wave;
As it points, thy subject goeth
Downwards to the silent grave;
Or thy kingly power to save
Lifts him from a bed of pain,
Breaks his weary bondage-chain,
And bids him be a man again.
Like a PRIEsT beside the altar
Bleeding victims sacrificing,
Thou dust stand, and dost not falter
Whatsoer their agoniaing:
Death lifts up his dooming finger,
And the Fiamen may not linger!
PROPHET art thou, wise physician,
Down the future calmly gazing,
Heeding not the strange amazing
Features of the ghastly vision.
Float around thee shadowy crowds,
Living shapes in coming shrouds
Brides with babes, in dark graves sleeping
That still sleep which knows no waking;
Eyes all bright, grown dim with weeping;
Hearts all joy, with anguish breaking;
Stalwart men to dust degraded;
Maiden charms by worms invaded;
Cradle songs as funeral hymns;
Mouldring bones for living limbs;
Stately looks and angel faces,
Loving smilts, and winning graces,
Turned to skulls with dead grimaces.
All the future, like a scroll,
Opening out, that it may show,
Like the ancient prophets roll,
Mourning, lamentation, anguish,
Grief, and every form of woe.
On a couch with kind gifts laden,
Flowers around her, books beside her,
Knowing not what shall betide her,
Languishes a gentle maiden.
Cold and glassy is her bright eye,
Hectic red her hollow cheek,
Tangled the neglected ringlets,
Wan the body, thin and weak;
Like thick cords, the swelling blue veins
Shine through the transparent skin;
Day by day some fiercer new pains
Vex without, or war within:
Yet she counts it but a passing,
Transient, accidental thing;
Were the summer only here,
It would healing bring!
And with many a fond deceit
Tries she thus her fears to cheat:
When the cowslips early bloom
Quite hath lost its rich perfume;
When the violets fragrant breath
Tasted have the lips of death;
When the snowdrop long hark died,
And the primrose at its side
In its grave is sleeping;
When the lilies all are over,
And amongst the scented clover
Merry lambs are leaping;
When the swallows voice is ringing
Through the echoing azure dome,
Saying, From my far-off home
I have come, my wild way winging
Oer the waves, that I might tell,
As of old, I love ye well.
Hark! I sound my silver bell;
All my happy birds are singing
From each throat
A merry note,
Welcome to my coming bringing.
When that happy time shall be,
From all pain and anguish free,
I shall join you, full of life and full of glee.
Then, thou fearful Stethescope!
Thou dust seem thy lips to ope,
79
THE STETHOSCOPE.
Saying, Bid farewell to hope:
I foretell thee days of gloom,
I pronounce thy note of doom
Make thee ready for the tomb!
Cease thy weeping, fears avail not;
Pray to God thy courage fail not.
He who knoweth no repenting,
Sympathy or sad relenting,
Will not heed thy sore lamenting
Death, who soon will be thy guide
To his couch, will hold thee fast;.
As a lover at thy side
Will be with you to the last,
Longing for thy latest gasp,
When within his iron grasp
As his bride he will thee clasp.
Shifts the scene. The earth is sleeping,
With her weary eyelids closed,
Hushed by darkness into slumber;
Whilst in burning ranks disposed,
High above, in countless number,
All the heavens in radiance sleeping,
Watch and ward
And loving guard
Oer her rest the stars are keeping.
Often has the turret chime
Of the hasty flight of time
Warning utterance given;
And the stars are growing dim
On the gray horizons rim,
In the dawning light of heaven.
But there gits, the Bear out-tiring,
As if no repose requiring,
One pale youth, all unattending
To the hour; with bright eye bending
Oer the loved and honored pages,
Where are writ the words of sages,
And the heroic deeds and thoughts of far distant
ages.
Closed the book,
With gladsome look
Still he sits and visions weaveth.
Fancy with her wiles deceiveth;
Days to come with glory gildeth;
And though all is bleak and bare,
With perversest labor buildeth
Wondrous castles in the air.
He who shall possess each palace,
Fortune has for him no malice,
Only countless joys in store:
Over rim,
And mantling brim,
His full cup of life shall pour.
Whilst he dreams,
The future seems
Like the present spread before him:
Nought to fear him,
All to cheer him,
Coming greatness gathers oer him;
And into the ear of Night
Thus he tells his visions bright
I shall be a glorious Poet!
All the wondring world shall know it,
Listening to melodious hymning;
I shall write immortal songs.
I shall be a Painter limning
Pictures that shall never fade;
Round the scenes I have portrayed
Shall be gathered gazing throngs:
Mine shall be a Titians palette!
I shall wield a Phidias mallet!
Stone shall grow to life before me,
Looks of love shall hover oer me,
Beauty shall in heart adore me
That I make her charms immortal.
Now my foot is on the portal
Of the house of Fame:
Soon her trumpet shall proclaim
Even this no~v unhonored name,
And the doings of this hand
Shall be known in every land.
Music! my bewitching pen
Shall enchant the souls of men.
Aria, fugue, and strange sonata,
Opera, and gay cantata,
Through my brain,
In link6d train,
Hark! I hear them winding go,
Now with half-hushed whisper stealing,
Now in full-voiced accent pealing,
Ringing loud, and murmuring low.
Scarcely can I now refrain,
Whilst these blessed notes remain,
From pouring forth one undying angel-strain.
Eloquence! my lips shall speak
As no living lips have spoken
Advocate the poor and weak,
Plead the cause of the heart-broken;
Listening senates shall be still,
I shall wield them at my will,
And this little tongue, the earth
With its burning words shall fill.
Ye stars which bloom like flowers on high,
Ye flowers which are the stars of earth,
Ye rocks that deep in darkness lie,
Ye seas that with a loving eye
Gaze upwards on the azure sky,
Ye waves that leap with mirth;
Ye elements in constant strife,
Ye creatures full of bounding life:
I shall unfold the hidden laws,
And each unthought-of wondrous cause,
That waked ye into birth.
A high-priest I, by Nature taught
Her mysteries to reveal:
The secrets that she long bath sought
In darkness to conceal,
Shall have their mantle rent away,
And stand uncovered to the light of day.
O Newton! thou and I shall be
Twin brothers then!
Together linked, our names shall sound
Upon the lips of men.
Like the sullen heavy boom
Of a signal gun at sea,
When athwart the gathering gloom,
Awful rocks are seen to loom
Frowning on the lee;
Like the muffled kettle-drum,
With the measured tread,
And the wailing trumpets hum,
Telling that a soldiers dead;
Like the deep cathedral bell
Tolling forth its doleful knell,
Saying, Now the strife is oer,
Death hath won a victim more
So, thou doleful Stethoscope!
Thou dost seem to say,
Hope thou on against all hope,
Dream thy life away:
80
THE STETHOSCOPESCRAPS.
Little is there now to spend;
And that littles near an end.
Saddest sign of thy condition
Is thy bounding wild ambition;
Only dying eyes can gaze on so bright a vision.
Ere the spring again is here,
Low shall be thy head,
Vainly shall thy mother dear,
Strive her breaking heart to cheer,
Vainly strive to hide the tear
Oft in silence shed.
Pangs and pains are drawing near,
To plant with thorns thy bed
Lo! they come, a ghastly troop,
Like fierce vultures from afar;
Where the bleeding quarry is,
There the eagles gathered are!
Ague chill, and fever burning,
Soon away, but swift returning,
In unceasing alternation;
Cold and clammy perspiration,
Heart with sickening palpitation,
Panting, heaving respiration;
Aching brow, and wasted limb,
Troubled brain, and vision dim,
Hollow cough, like dooming knell
Saying Bid the world farewell!
Parchdd lips, and quenchless thirst,
Everything as if accurst;
Nothing to the senses grateful;
All things to the eye grown hateful;
Flowers without the least perfume;
Gone from everything its bloom;
Music but an idle jangling;
Sweetest tongues but weary wrangling;
Books, which were most dearly cherished,
Come to be, each one, disrelished,
Clearest plans grown all confusion;
Kindest friends but an intrusion:
Weary day, and weary night
Weary night, and weary day~
Would God it were the morning light!
Would God the light were passed away!
And when all is dark and dreary,
And thou art all worn and weary,
lAThen thy heart is sad and cheerless,
And thine eyes are seldom tearless,
When thy very soul is weak,
Satan shall his victim seek.
Day by day he will be by thee,
Night by night will hover nigh thee,
With accursed wiles will try thee,
Soul and spirit seek to buy thee.
Faithfully he 11 keep his tryst,
Tell thee that there is no Christ,
No long-suffering gracious Father,
But an angry tyrant rather;
No benignant Holy Spirit,
Nor a heaven to inherit,
Only darkness, desolation,
Hopelessness of thy salvation.,
And at best annihilation.
God with his great power defend thee!
Christ with his great love attend thee!
May the blessed Spirit lend thee
Strength to bear, and all needfnl succor send
thee !
Close we here. My eyes behold,
As upon a sculpture old,
Life all warm and Death all cold
Struggling which alone shall hold
CLII. LIVING AGE. VOL. XIII.
6
Sign of woe, or sign of hope !
To his lips the Stethoscope.
But the strife at length is past,
They have made a truce at last,
And the settling die is cast.
Life shall sometimes sound a blast,
But it shall be but Tantivy,
Like a hurrying war reveillie,
Or the hasty notes that levy
Eager horse, and man, and hound,
On an autumn morn,
When the sheaves are off the ground,
And the echoing bugle-horn
Sends them racing oer the scanty stubble corn.
But when I a-hunting go,
I, King Death,
I that funeral trump shall blow
With no bated breath.
Long drawn out, and deep and slow
Shall the wailing music go;
Winding horn shall presage meet
Be of coming winding-sheet,
And all living men shall know
That beyond the gates of gloom,
In my mansions of the tomb,
I for every one keep room,
And shall hold and house them all, till the very
Day of Doom.
THE BEAUTY OF THE SayIt is a strange thing
how little in general people know about the sky. It
is the part of creation in which nature has done more
for the sake of pleasing man, more for the sole and
evident purpose of talking to him and teaching him,
than in any other of her works, and it is just the part
in which we least attend to her. There are not many
of her other works in which some more material or
essential purpose than the mere pleasing of man is
not answered by every part of their orgamzation;
but every essential purpose of the sky might, as far
as we know, be answered, if once in three days, or
thereabouts, a great black ugly rain cloud were broken
up over the blue, and everything well watered, and
so all left blue again until next time, with perhaps
a film of morning and evening mist for dew. But
instead of this, there is n~ a moment of any day of
our lives when nature is not producing scene after
scene, picture after picture, glory after glory, and
working still upon such exquisite and constant prin-
ciples of the most perfect beauty, that it is quite
certain it is all done for us, and intended for our per-
petual pleasureModern Painters.
I HAVE often been astonished at the softness in.
which other minds seem to have passed their day:
the ripened pasture and clustering Vineyards of im-
agination; the mental arcadia in which they describe
themselves as having loitered from year to year.
Yet, can I have faith in this perpetual Claude Lor-
raine pencilthis undying verdure of the soilthis
gold and purple suffusion of the skythose pomps
of the palace and the pencil with their pageants and
nymphs, giving life to their landscape; while mine
was a continual encounter with difficulty, a contin
nal summons to self-control ?A march, not unlike
that of the climber up the side of Etna; every step
through ruins, the vestiges of former conflagrations;
the ground I trode, rocks that had once been flame;
every advance a new trial of my feelings or my for-
titude; every stage of the ascent leading me, like the
traveller, into a higher region, of sand or ashes~
until, at the highest, I stood in a circle of eternal frostr
with all the rich and human.landscape below fading:
away in distance, and looked down only on a gulf
of flre.lllarston.
81
THE JOHASMEE; OR, THE PEARL-DIVER OF I3AHREIN.
From the United Service Magazine.
THE JOHASMEE; OR, THE PEARL-DiVER OF
BABREIN.
HE will drown. He is a dead Sheah.
There goes his boat, drifting out to sea.
But how well the dog swims !
Yes, but observe, he knows nothing of the surf.
Look, how he keeps in the hollow of the sea!
Such were the remarks addressed to one another
by a small party of Arabs on the sea-shore near the
harbor of Muscat, as they watched the movements
of a swimmer struggling in the surf which rolled
in at their feet. The most complete indifference
was evident in their tones and attitudes. Some
were crouching on the sand, others stood erect
wrapped in their mantles. While they gazed upon
the unhappy wretch, they speculated on his proba-
ble fate with less interest than would have been
shown by Europeans, or even by themselves, in the
escape of a dog. The person who was the object
of their remarks was evidently in the greatest dan-
ger. His boat had swamped in the breakers, and
had been swept from his grasp, leaving him depend-
ent for his life on his own exertions, and the slight
support of an oar which he had been fortunate
enough to grasp. Unluckily, as was remarked by
one of the spectators, though a good swimmer, he
was unaccustomed to the surf, and by keeping con-
stantly in the hollow between two waves, exposed
himself to be frequently buried by~ a toppling surge.
From every such submersion he rose manifestly
more confused, and weakened in his power of
struggling. His fate would have soon verified the
predictions of the Arabs, but for the appearance of
another individual, who joined the party on the
beach. He was a mere youth, of some eighteen or
twenty years. His garb and features bespoke him
an Arab, but it was evident that he was of a differ-
ent class from the others, who were all Muscatys,
or inhabitants of the neighboring town of Muscat.
The lighter complexion of the new-coiner, his bold
aquiline features, the sternness, approaching to
gloom, of his handsome countenance, not less than
the striped shawl of cotton and silk which formed
his turban, and the long m~tchlock which he bore
on his shoulder, proclaimed him one of the tribe of
Johassam, the far-famed pirates of the Persian Gulf
or, as the Arabs term it, the Sea of Babrein. He
was wrapped from head to foot in a long mantle of
black cloth woven from the hair of the camel ; and
beneath this the clash of arms was heard as he
walked. He advanced with the hasty, imperious
step of one who had never known what it was to
stand in the presence of a superior, his black, deep-
set eyes flashing from side to side beneath the shade
of his thick shawl turban. When his glance fell
on the swimmer, whose feeble exertions betrayed
his exhausted condition, he exclaimed, in quick,
sharp tones
Ye Muscatys, why do you not save your
brother?
The question excited a general laugh.
Our brother ! said one; in the name of
Allah, when was a dog our father, and the son of
a dog our brother ?
He is a Persian, a heretic Sheab, said anoth-
er; let him perish; let his fathers grave be
defiled.
Let him call on Ali, his Imaum, added a
third; perhaps he will come from Kerbelah, and
save him.
He is a pearl merchant, exclaimed a fourth,
who was a kind of wag; no doubt he is seeking
for pearls. Look, he is going.to dive-.
Another laugh followed this witticism, for such
it was considered. The Johasmee alone did not
join in the merriment. He stood for a moment, as
if irreselute, muttering to himself It is better to
save life than to destroy. I have disobeyed thee, 0
my father! I have taken life. Shall 1 not save a
life? Life for life. A Persian for a Mohassanee.
Then turning suddenly to one of the Muscatys,
who was lounging on the sand, he said
Keep thou for me this matchlock, this cloak,
this shawl, arid this girdle; likewise my sword, my
shield, my knife and my cartouch box; taking off
the various articles as he spoke and laying them on
the sand; I will save the dog of a Sheab.
It would be impossible to describe the astonish-
ment with which this speech was heard by all the
party. That a Johasmee should expose his life to
save that of any human being, not of his own tribe,
was sufficiently remarkable; but that he should so
exert himself for a Persian and a heretic, was
utterly unaccountable. They stared in silent amaze-
ment until the young man had completed his prep-
arations and advanced to the edge of a rock which
overhung the boiling sea, waiting a favorable
moment to dash in. A general cry burst from theri
as they saw him plunge headforemost into the
waves, in the train of a retreating billow. For a
minute nothing more was seen of him, until his
head reiippeared far to seaward, and at no great
distance from the Persian.
Bismillah! a wonderful swimmer, exclaimed
several, and his proceedings were now watched
with the greatest attention.
The youth approached the person whom he had
come to save, and was instantly seized by him with
the tenacious grasp of a drowning man. Uttering
a terrible imprecation, as he felt himself dragged
under the surface; the Johasmee was about to strike
him off with his clenched fist; but suddenly restrain-
ing himself he exerted all his strength, and com-
pelled the other, partly by force and partly by
threats, to loosen his hold and betake himself again
to one end of the oar, while the youth steadied and
guided the other. Following his directions, they
turned their faces first to seaward, and as the huge
waves came rolling in, by diving simultaneously,
they allowed the mass of water to pass harmlessly
over their heads. This course they continued, until
at length a billow of unusual height was perceived
approaching.
Now, shouted the Johasmee, turn thy face
to the land, and swim for thy life.
As he spoke, the immense roller heaved them on
high, and the youth, exerting all his strength and
activity, managed to keep the oar balanced on the
crest of the wave, which bore them with the swift-
ness of a racehorse towards the land and hurled
them high up on the beach. Several of the Arabs
now rushed down and dragged them still fun-therup
before the retiring waters could sweep them back
into the sea.
The young man, though somewhat bruised by
the violence with which he had been cast on the
shore, arose instantly, and after rubbing the sea-
water from his limbs, and wringing it from his thick
black hair, proceeded in silence to resume his dress
and arms. His only remark was, as he saw them
bring up the half-drowned Persian:
Lay the fool on the sand, and let the sun dry
him. He will revive like a drenched fly.
In a few minutes, accordingly, the pour fellow
82
THE JOHASMEE; OR, THE PEARLDIVER OF BAHREIN.
83
began to stretch himself, and after making some weights were a mere trifle too light, having been
motions like those of a person attempting to swim, worn by usage. 0, the scoundrel of a judge! I
he shuddered, opened and shut his eyes, and at paid him fifty dollars to give judgment for me
length raised himself slowly to a sitting posture, against a Hindu, but he owed the Hindu money,
and began to rub his eyelids and stare about him. and so I lost my cause. 1\I~ y his fathers grave be
ills first words were defiled! He is a judge for Giaours and Turks, and
t), my friends, in the name of Allah and the not for true believers.
holy prophet, tell me where is my boat 1 and my It may be so, replied the Jokasmee, whose
alaces, are they safel countenance never relaxed for a moment from its
Your boa~, 0 Saadee, answered one of the impassive gloom. My father was, moreover, a
Arabs, is on its way by itself to Bushire, whence lion in war, and his courage was like a flame of
I think you came; and your slaves are among the fire. In his youth he was as quick to anger, when
pearls at the bottom of the sea. his blood was stirred by an injurious word, as is a
A t these words the unhappy merchant began to gun to go off when the match touches the powder.
tear his hair and beat his breast like one distracted. So has it always been with the Beni Amrou. Alas
0, hapless day! he exclaimed; 0, my faith- for me! why else am I here! Now it chanced that
ful slaves, Seyd and Baba! 0, my good boat, in his younger days my father slew in a quarrel a
which cost me a hundred golden sequins. Wretch man of the family of Zobeyee. They quarrelled
that I am I how shall I go back to Bushire I How about the spoil of a Feringee ship, and my father
shall I meet Zemin Khan, who lent me so much fought with him and killed him. He had neither
money for my ventoret 0, miserable man! parent, nor brother, nor uncle, so nothing was
Would that I had perished with my slaves and my done, for the Beni Amrou were very strong. But
at! he had one son, who was then not old enough to
The Johasmee, who had been listening to this speak. This son grew up to manhood with his
outburst of grief with a countenance expressive of mother, who told him all that had happened. And
stern contempt, now interrupted him, three moons ago, as my father was sitting alone at
If such be thy wish, Saadee, behold yonder is the door of his tent, he came behind him, and
the sea! Be assured I will not again prevent thee struck him with his dagger in the back, saying,
mm joining thy slaves, on whom the saw-fishes and It is I, the son of Daood Ibn Zobey, who avenge
the sharks are now feeding. my father; and having done this, he fled to the
This address brought the merchant to his senses, desert.
or rather, changed the current of his ideas. Then, when I came to my father, oppressed
0, excellent and worshipful youth, he ex- with grief and rage, he put forth his hand and said
claimed, thou who hast the strength of a Zal and to me, Khalil, my son, I am dying, as it is ap-
the courage of a Rustum, how much do I not owe pointed to all men to die. Grieve not, therefore,
to thee! Woe is me, that I am a beggar, and can- but attend to what I say. I haie lived long, and
ant display my gratitude. Yet, perhaps I may do have made the pilgrimage to Mecca, and gained
omething. Art thou a Muscaty 1 much wisdom. Now, therefore, my son, hear my
I am a Bedowee, of the tribe of Johassam, last commands. Avenge not my death in the blood
nfl I do not save life for hire, replied the other of the son of Daood; for I slew his father, and a
coldly. life for a life is jest; why should it go further! If
Thou a Johasmee! exclaimed the merchant, he offer thee the price of blood, take it, and make
astonished at finding that he owed his preservation peace with him. In time of battle be thou brave as
to one of that dreaded tribe. And for what did t a lion; slay and spare not, and take booty; for this
hon save my life! belongs to the true believers. But in time of peace
To obey my father, replied the young man. keep thy hand from the dagger; for a bloody hand
Thy father! said the other, looking eagerly shall never prosper. It is better to save life than to
around; where is he! I do not see him. destroy. Now swear to me, my son, that thou wilt
He is dead, replied the youth, gloomily; obey my commands. For the Beni Amrou are a
nevertheless, to obey him, and also to render life violent race, and quick to shed blood. So I swore
for life, I have saved thee. that I would keep my hand from the knife in time
How can that be! asked the Persian, still of peace, and that I would rather save life than de-
more perplexed at this singular reply. stroy. And my father died.
The Johasmee looked on either side, and stood And thou hast obeyed thy father, and kept
silent, as if in doubt whether or not to answer the thine oath, in saving me, said the merehant.
question of his companion. The other Arabs, hay- I have disobeyed my father, and broken my
ing no further interest in the scene, had retired oath, returned the young man. Hear yet
towards the town, and the two were left alone. At further. When my father died, I was about to take
length he spoke, rather with the air of one willing for wife Amineb, the daughter of the Sheikh Ab-
to disburthen his mind of a load, than as if caring dallab, of the family of Mohassan, the loveliest
to gratify the curiosity of the merchant. maiden of Ras el Kheima. We have been betrothed
I know not how it can concern thee to learn the from childhood. Now it chanced that six days
reason wherefore I have saved thy life; yet, if thou ago, I made a bargain with her brother Zeyn for
wouldst know, listen. My father was a Sheikh of this dagger which you see. He was a rogue and a
the family of Beni Amrou, at Ras el Kheima. He cur, greedy for gain as a Jew, and wily as a Ilindu.
was esteemed the wisest man of the tribe of Johas- He swore that the haft was of silver, and you see it
sam, and his judgments were obeyed like those of is only copper coated with silver. So when I found
the cadi here in the town; for they were wise and this, I cast it at his feet and said, Thou son of
just. Shaitan, thou hast cheated me; there is thy dagger.
Then, interrupted the merchant, they were Return me my ten dollars. But he would not, and
not at all like those of the cadi. May the dogs as we talked he grew bitter aiid snappish, like a dog
devour the bones of his mother! He fined me as he was, and threw the knife at my head.
twenty dollars for selling by false weights. The Behold ! he said, lifting his turban, and showing
84
a raw wound in his temple. Then, continued the
youth, the hot hlood of the Beni Amrou boiled in
my veins, and I struck him through the ribs with
my dagger. He never spoke again. For three
days my brothers and my kindred concealed and
defended me; but the Mohassanees were too strong
for us, and I fled for safety behind the forts of the
Imaum. So I saved thy life to atone for the life
which I took, contrary to the oath that I had sworn
to my father. Though thou art bet a Persian and
a Sheah, I think thy life is quite as much worth as
that of Zeyn Ibn Abdallab.
The merchant was too well accustemed to the
contempt with which those of his creed and nation
were regarded by the Arabs, (a contempt which the
Persians retort with equal bitterness in their own
country,) tp take exception at the ambiguous com-
pliment with which his companion concluded his
narrative. After a morhents reflection he said
And will nothing but thy life content the fsiends of
the young man? Will they not take the price of
blood, seeing that he began the fray, and thou art
betrothed to his sister?
And where, asked the youth, am I to find
two thousand dollars for the life of a Mohassanee
All my family have not so much.
Two thousand dollars are a large sum, said
the Persian, shaking his head; I am a poor man;
nay, a beggar; and in debt to Zemin Khau for
money advanced in this last venture. Yet if my
boat and my two slaves had not been lost, I might
have shown thee how to gain two thousand dollars
in two months.
What dost thou mean ? asked the Johasmee,
eagerly; is it to plnnderl Dost thou know of a
prize? I have a good boat, in which I came from
Ras el Kheima, and three stout slaves, brave as
lions in battle.
I know of no prize, replied the merchant,
laughing; and, besides, I am too old to fight.
But are thy slaves as good swimmers as thou? Can
they dive as well B
What! would thou have us go to fish for
pearls? and to make two thousand dollars in two
months? Am I an idiot, that thou shoul4st laugh
at my beard I
Nay, but listen, most excellent young man,
flower of Bedoweesbe not so hasty. Wilt thou
swear by the holy Kaaba, and the tomb of the Proph-
et, that what I shall reveal to thee shall remain
a secret in thy breast?
By the holy Kaaba and the tomb of the Proph-
et, I swear that I will not betray thee, said the
youth, whose curiosity was now excited.
The merchant looked about on every side to as-
sure himself that there were no listeners, and then
proceeded, in a low tone, and with great serious-
ness, as follows : About the time of the last
Ramadham, there came to Zemin Khan in Bushire
a pearl-diver, who informed him that, when fishing
in a boat alone, near the island of Karak, he was
driven off by a strong wind to the westward, until
he came to a low rock. He had heard of this rock,
for many vessels have been wrecked upon it. But
he found, to his astonishment, that there was a
bank of six or seven fathoms on one side. The
existence of this bank had never before been known,
and judging from the depth that there might be
good pearls on it, he dived five or six times. He
brought up but twelve oysters, for though they were
very numerous, yet, the ~vater being deep, and hav-
ing no assistance, he could not obtain more. But
these oysters were very large, and in them were
THE JOHASMEE; OR1 THE rEARL-IILvER OF BAHItEIN.
three pearls, either of them worth ten tomauns of
Bosrah. Look, here is one,and unwinding the
sash which confined at the waist his ample trow-
sers, the merchant drew from its folds a pearl whose
value the experienced Johasmee saw had not been
overrated.
It is a pearl of eight coats, said he.
True, Khalil, thou understandest the business,
as a Johasmee should do, replied the merchant.
When the diver found these, he was, as thou
mayst think, overjoyed. As soon as the wind
served, he made his way back to Karak, and thence
to Bushire. He came to Zemin Khan, who, thou
knowest, was once a great man in Bushire, but is
now a poor merchant, and informed him of his dis-
covery. Zemin Rhan was not rich enough to send
out a boat with divers of his own, and, besides, he
feared that the Sheikh of Bushire might seize the
pearls as coming from Karak, which, thou knowest,
he claims as his property. So he came to me, who
was then at Bushire, and proposed that, as I had a
shop at Muscat, I should proceed thither with Ila-
roun the diver, and that we should hire a boat ith
our joint stock, and divide the profits. So one
month abo I came hither for that purpose, but poor
Haroun was smitten by the angel of death in our
voyage here, and died on board the bugalab. How-
ever, as I knew the way to the rock by his direc-
tions, and also by a chart, I did not renounce roy
project, but sold my shop and all my merchandize
for twelve hundred dollars, and bought two slaves,
and also a boat, of the people of Oman. Alas!
they are gone before we entered the harbor of this
~ccnrsed Muscat, and one half my money is gone
with them. But if thou wilt lend thy boat, and go
with me in this adventure, I have enough left to
hire divers, and also for equipment and provisions.
We will divide the profits into three i~qual parts,
one for thee, one for me, and one for Zemin Khan.
What sayst thou? Is it not a good offer?
ln truth, Khalil could not deny that the enter-
prise bore a promising appearance, and that he was
admitted on very advantageous terms. That, how-
ever, which chiefly influenced him to accept the
merchants offer was his earnest desire to get away
from the town of Muscat, where, inclosed by walls
and armed firtresses, and jostled in the narrow,
dirty streets by soldiers, public officers, townspeo-
pIe, and traders from every clime, the flee-born
]3edowee pined in spirit and chafed against his con-
finement like a wild sea-bird in an aviary. After a
few moments thought, he acceded to the proposal of
his new friend, and they proceeded together towards
the town, settling, as they ~vent, the details of thei
enterprise.
Muscat, it is well known, is a seaport on the
eastern coast of Arabia, near the entrance of the
Persian Gulf. Its excellent harbor, and its advan-
tageous position, have made it a great emporium of
Oriental commerce; and the intelligent and crier-
getic prince, who, with the title of Imaum, now
possesses the government of it, has availed himself
of these advantages to the fullest extent. WhiL
encouraging commerce, and forming treaties with
the principal naval powers of Europe and America,
he has employed all his resources in subjecting to
his sway the petty governments and independent
tri s in his neighborhood. In this Tay, lie has
become master of an extensive line of se& coast, not
only in Arabia, but also on the adjaceiit shores of
Persia and Africa. Several islands in the Indian
Ocean also acknowledge his supremacy. In gen-
eral, it is said that he has used his authority to bet-
~Y~f 7a~A~ a~ ~ a~ ~ZZP3Z)
ter purpose than is common with Oriental monarchs.
Certainly, in all his dealings with civilized powers,
he has evinced a sagacity and a magnanimity which
have won for him a high reputation Of course,
the neighboring tribes of Bedowees, whose turbu-
lent spirit and plundering propensities are kept in
check by his superior force, look upon his govern-
ment with great aversion, though they have recourse
to his protection in any difficulty. This will ex-
plain why our young Johasmee fled for refuge to a
place which he held in such dislike, and from which
hc was so anxious to depart.
The preparations of the two partners, so singu-
larly brought together, were soon made The
boat of the Johasmee was of good size, requiring,
to man it completely, eight rowers. In addition,
therefore, to the three slaves of Khalil, who were
well accustomed to the work, they hired five others,
who were also to serve as seibors, or pullers-up,
a term which will be hereafter explained. Besides
these they had six ghowas, or divers; Khalil him-
self intending to take a chief part in the work.
Having laid in a supply of dates, rice, dried fish,
and other provisions, they set sail from Muscat, aod
stood over towards the opposite or northern shore
of the Persian Gulf. By so doing, Khalil hoped to
avoid falling in with any of his acquaintances
whether friends or enemiesof the tribe of Johas-
sam, who occupy the northern and western side of
that gulf. He looked, indeed, anxiously towards
the lofty headland, dimly seen in the distance, be-
hind which lay the town of Ras el Kheima, the
abode of his brethren and of his foesof those who
sought his life, and of one who he knew loved him
more than life. But not even the sight of that
home, for which his heart was yearning, could cause
the slightest change in the stern and cold aspect
with which he had learned from childhood, like the
Indians of America, to veil all his feelings. With-
out a sigh, he turned from Ras el Kheima, to gaze
on the barren rock of Ormuz, once the most splen-
did mart of Oriental commerce, and now the abode
of a few hundred poor fishermen and salt-gatherers.
After passing this, they entered the long and nar-
row strait between the island of Kishm and the
Persian shore. Here they made their way swiftly
with sail and oar, and at length came out into the
broad aod open gulf. Two days of steady progress
brought them in sight of the island of Karak. They
saw on their way many other sails of vessels, some
bound on errands of trade, others proceeding to-
wards the various resorts of the pearl-fishery, and
one or two, as they surmised, lying in wait to en-
trap some unwary prize.
They had the good fortune to avoid them all, and
having reached the point from which poo1~ Haroun
had been blown off, they steered as nearly as possi-
ble in the direction which he indicated, to discover
the Rock of Good Fortune; for this was the name
which he had bestowed upon it in the transport of
his discovery. A fter going to the full distance
which he had directed, and even further, they could
find nothing of it. Two days were spent in unsuc-
cessful cruising near the spot, and the unfortunate
Persian was in despair. With the usual levity and
inconstancy of his nation, his spirits, which had
been excessively raised by what he deemed the cer-
tain prospect of great acquisitions, were proportion-
ably depressed. He cursed his ill luck which per-
petually pursued him, poured maledictions on the
memory of poor Haroun, whom he denounced as a
liar and an impostor, and entreated his companion
to spend no more time in the useles search for that
which had no existence. But the Johasmee was
of a different temper. He coolly turned the head
of the boat towards the Island of Karak, and from
thence took what seamen call a fresh departure,
keeping a better look-out than before. Again were
the hopes of ~aadee raised, only to be dashed by a
new disappointment. The rock still eluded their
search. It is impossible to say whether Khalil had
ever heard the well-known anecdnte of the Orien-
tal conqueror, who was taught a lesson of persever-
ance by observing that an ant, after failing in sev-
enty-seven attempts to carry a grain of millet up a
wall, made yet another and succeeded. It is cer-
tain that he acted in the spirit of this story, for he
turned once more towards Karak, and started yet
again in the search, keeping more towards the
south, so as to allow for the current, which he
thought might have led Haroun astray. This time
they were successful, coming directly upon the rock,
and so suddenly as to surprise them all. The bank
was found in the assigned place, and the memory
of the poor pearl-diver was vindicated.
They now prepared for business. The divers,
including Khalil, dressed themselves in complete
suits of white cotton, to protect their bodies from
the contact of the round gelatinous masses of ani-
mated matter, called by sailors sun-jellies, or sea-
nettles, and by naturalists medusas, which have the
property, when touched, of producing a sharp,
stinging pain. Then each diver, letting himself
over the side of the boat, placed his feet on a stone
attached to a cord, which was held by a seibor, or
puller-up. On his left arm he carried a small bas-
ket, to receive the oysters which he might collect.
Then, closing his nostrils with a piece of elastic
horn, he gave the signal, by raising his right arm,
and was immediately lowered away, the stone en-
abling him to sink to the bottom withoub difficulty.
Here, in a time varying from thirty to a hundred
seconds, he employed himself in filling his basket;
as soon as this was done, or he felt himself in need
of breath, he jerked the rope as a signal, and was
immediately hauled to the surface. It may be as
well to remark here that the stories which are told
of divers remaining under water for five or more
minutes are not to be credited; the most experi-
enced fishermen ate unable to continu,e two minutes
without breathing.
The evening was spent in opening the largest and
most promising oysters, which they did with their
knives. The pearl, it is well known, is found em-
bedded in the substance or flesh~ of the oyster,
near the joint of the shell. Saadee and Khalil were
soon convinced that the Rock of Good Fortune was
rightly named. Every day pearls of great size and
beauty rewarded their search. The mass of shells,
which they had ito time to open, were thrown on
the rock, where the heat of the sun soon decom-
posed them, and caused the valves to burst asunder,
giving the pearls which they contained to view.
Khahil was indefatigable in his labors. He saw
the ransom rapidly accumulating which was to re-
store him to his home, his friends, and his Aminch.
Every morning, after the early prayer, he resumed
his labors, nor did he cease till the setting sun called
them all to their evening devotions. September at
last was nearly over, and the gulf, hitherto smooth
and placid, began to be roughened by the autumnal
gales. Long experience made the divers aware
that it was time to cease their efforts for the year.
With a heavy sigh, Saadee gave the word to raise
the anchor, and setting their sail, they directed their
course towards the mouth of the gulf. A strong
86 THE JOHASMEE OR, THE PEARL-DIVER OF BAUREIN.
northerly wind made it necessary to keep along th~
southern shore, and approach within a short distance
of the headland of Ras el Kheima. This, howev-
er, gave little apprehension to Khalil, as he consid-
ered that the same wind would prevent any of his
tribe from putting to sea. But in this expectation he
was doomed to he disappointed. Hardly had they
passed the cape when a large bugalah put out from
behind a long row of islands, which extended par-
allel to the shore. A single glance showed Khalil
that it was the vessel of his deadly enemies, the
Mohassanees. Whether they had been lying in
wait fur him, or, as was more probable, for some
other prize, they were, at all events, fully armed
and prepared for a deadly encounter. Khalil felt
assured that his capture would be followed by the
instaut death, not only of himself, but also of his
companions.
He at once got out the oars and double-banked
them by means of the divers, telling them, as he
pointed to the approachiug bugalab, to row for
their lives. It may be believed that they needed
no second bidding. The long sweeps bent and
quivered with their powerful strokes, and the light
skifI~ shot through the waves like a flying-fish dart-
ing Aom billow to billow. But with not more
unrelenting eagerness does the dolphin pursue the
flying-fish, than did the bugalab bear down upon
the devoted boat, her enormous lateen sail l)roject-
ing far over her side, amid her bows throwing up a
cataract of foam. It was soon evident to those in
the boat that the bugalah was gaining rapidly upon
them. The merchant crouched in the bottom of
the boat, wringing his hands, tearing his beard,
and anathematizing the evil fortune which seemed
to dog his steps. The boatmen muttered ejaculations
to Allah and the Prophet, as they gazed with pal-
lid cheeks and quivering lips on the dark hull which
bore their approaching doom. Khalil alone stood
erect in the stern of the boat, plying the steering-
oar, and bending a look of gloomy hate and uncon-
querable pride on his advancing foes. He had
directed his course towards the eastern extremity
of the row of islets, hoping that his knowledge of
some intricate passages among them might give
him a chance of baffling his pursuers, whdse large
vessel, managed by a sail, would be less fitted for
winding among the rocks. But as he knew that
they had two small boats on board for such servi~e,
he was aware that his grounds for hope were but
s4ight.
The Mohassanees understood his object, for they
opened a fire upon the boat with their long match-
locks; but the distance was too great, and most of
the bullets fell short. One, however, struck Khalil
on the breast, and buried itself in the flesh. No
change in his countenance betrayed that he felt the
wound, and he still continued to urge his men to
the utmost exertion. They approached the range
of islands, aimd wound their way through a narrow
channel into the open sea beyond. Khalil then
directed his men to lie on their oars, to see whether
the bugalab would bear away and desist from the
pursuitof which he had little hope, or whether
the crew would take to their boats; in the latter
case he determined to await their approach, and
fight them hand to hand. It was their only chance,
thongh a desperate one. But to their great sur-
prise, the bugalab neither kept away nor stopped to
lower her boats, but continued her course through
the narrow passage. It was evident that her crew,
inflamed by the sight of their expected prize, had
resolved to risk the dangerous attempt. A gleam
of pleasure for the first time passed across the clark
visage of the young Johasmee.
Merchant, said he to Saadee, sell me now
thy share in our common stock. It is but a moment
since I would not have given thee a piastre. I
offer thee now three hundred tomauns of Bosrab,
Before the Persian could collect his scattered
senses to reply, the great sail of the bugalah was
taken aback, and swung violently over to the other
side, as the crew attempted suddenly to alter the
course of their vessel in a sharp turn of the chan-
nel. The current of the tide, which poured strongly
through the passage, struck the huge hull upon its
broadside, and drove it heavily upon a reef. The
first crash broke through the thin sides of the ves-
sel, and in a minute she rolled over to leeward, and
went down in the deep water. Some of the crew
gained the rocks, and climbed up out of the reach
of waves; others were swept away by the current.
Among these were two who, clinging to a plank,
were borne slowly towards the boat in which Khalil
and his companions were coolly observing the fate
of their enemies. As they drifted near, the Johas-
mee was delighted to find that they were his two
deadliest foes, the father and the elder brother of
the slain Zeyn.
Ha! he cried, blessed be Allah! I have
but to hold my hand, and my enemies who seek
my life will perish before my eyes ; and he fol-
lowed with eager looks the movement of the drift-
ing plank.
By Allah, said the merchant, laughing, if
these be the kindred of the young man whom thou
slewest, now will be thy time to drive a bargain
for the blood-money. A small sum will content
them now.~~
These words, spoken half in jest, produced a
sudden change in the feelings of Khahil. He re-
collected that the two men who were helplessly
drifting out to sea before his eyes were the father
and brother of Amineb, as well as of Zeyn. The
dying commands of his father also came into his
mind. Standing erect in the bow of his boat, he
waved his hand aloft, and shouted, Abdallah Ben
Mohassan, dost thou know me?
Dog, and son of a dog ! responded the deep
voice of the old Johasmee, I know thee. Mur-
derer of my son, destroyer of my race, I know
thee. This time thou hast conquered, coward as
thou art. My folly and my evil fate have given
thee the victory. But know that the hour shall
come when thou shalt die the death of a dog, like
thy father.
Sheikh Abdallali, said the youth, wilt thou
take the price of thy sons blood B
This proposition was evidently unexpected, and
the old tuan hesitated for a moment; the plank was
now within a few yards of the boat. At length he
spoke, in an altered tone; How much dost thou
offer?
Offer him the fourth part, suggested the mer-
chant, in a whisper.
I will give thee five hundred dollars, said the
young man.
I will not sell my sons blood for the worth of
two miserable slaves, returned the old Sheikh.
Give me a thousand.
I will give thee two thousand, if thou wilt
reckon it for the dowry of thy daughter Aminch.
So be it, replied the old man, and this singu-
lar bargain was concluded.
The two Mohassanees were immediately taken
into the boat, and the utmost cordiality succeeded
THE JOHASMEE; OR~ THE PEARL-DIVER OF BAHREIN.
to the deadly hatred which had so lately existed.
The young man informed his new friends of his late
good fortune, and they consented to accompany him
to Muscat, where the pearls might be disposed of,
and the stipulated ransom paid at once. On their
arrival at the port, Saadee proceeded to the bazaar,
with his bags of pearls properly assorted, and dis-
played them to the Hindoo merchants there assem-
bled. Their unusual size and elegance of shape
excited great admiration, and after an infinite deal
of chaffering, the practised merchant succeeded in
disposing of his whole stock for fourteen thousand
dollars. After deducting the hire of the divers and
boatmen, whom he paid double wages, and the cost
of provisions, there remained rather more than
twelve thousand dollars, to be divided equally among
the three partners in the enterprise. Khalil found
himself in possession of a larger sum than he had
ever before seen in his life.
Have I kept my word with thee, my son
said Saadee; dost thou now believe that the life
of a Persian heretic can be worth saving i
I owe thee more than life, my father, replied
Khalil. Come with me to Ras el Kheima, and
thou shalt learn how the Johasmees treat their ben-
efactors.~
Nay, answered Saadee, I am bound to
Bushire, to my friend Zemin Khan. If thou art
satisfied, I am content. We have both gained wis-
dom with our money. I have learned that a Johas
mee can be compassionate, and thou believest that
a Persian can be honest. Be happy with thine
Amineh, and remember the dying words of thy wise
father: It is better to save life than to destroy.
I bless Allah and the Prophet, that they sent thee
to my aid in the time of my great peril.
With these words the two friends separated. Kha-
lil proceeded with Abdallah and his son to Ras el
Kheima, where he was received with great joy by
his friends, and especially by Amineh, who had
remained constant to her betrothed, notwithstanding
the feud between their families. Their marriage
took place shortly afterwards, and the whole tribe
united in the festivities. Several years have since
passed away. Khalil is the owner of a fine vessel
of two hundred tons, with which he makes voyages
to India and Africa, in the pursuit of his honest
calling as a trader; for he has renounced piracy
altogether, considering it inconsistent with the dy-
ing commands of his father. He occasionally pays
a visit to his friend Saadee, who is nowie wealthy
merchant of Bushire, very fat, and much given to
the chihouque and long stories. He is particularly
fond of relating his adventures on his voyage in
search of the Rock of Good Fortune; indeed, he
has told them so often, and in so many different
ways, that the precise facts of the history have be-
come a matter of uncertainty. But the most authen-
tic version appears to be that which we have just
related.
WHEN the British finally took possession of Kandy,
in February, 1815, shortly after the tents had been
pitched, in the immediate vicinity of the capital, Mr.
Marshall, who was staff-surgeon with the army,
was addressed in English by a brown-colored man
in the native costume. Upon inquiry, it was ascer-
tained that his name was Thomas Thoen, a German
by birth; that he belonged to the Bengal artillery,
and accompanied the expedition to Kandy in 1803,
and that he was a patient in the hospital when Major
]3avie capitulated to the Kandyans, on the 24th June.
When he was asked how he. had retained a knowl-
edge of the English language, having for such a
number of years associated with Kandyans only, I
being a foreigner, said he, never could speak the
English language correctly; but having found a few
eaves of an English Bible belonging to one of the
soldiers, I read them occasionally, and by that means
preserved some acquaintance with the language.
The writer conducted him to Major Hook, by whom
he was conveyed to head-quarters, and introduced to
his excelh~ncy.
Of the sick who were left in the hospital on the
capitulation of Kandy, in June, 1803, Thomas Thoen
was the only one who escaped with his life. Along
with the other patients, he received a blow with the
butt-end of a musket, which felled him senseless to
the ground, and he was thrown among the dead.
Having recovered from the effects of the blow, he
crawled to a place of concealment in the neighbor-
hood, but being discovered next day, was hung up to
the branch of a tree. The rope, however, broke, and
he fell to the ground; he was again suspended, the
people left him, and again the rope broke. He con-
trived to find his way to a hut at no great distance,
where he continued for ten days, with no other sus-
tenance than the grass which grew near the door of
the hut, and the rain which dropped through aper-
tures of the roof. At the expiration of the above
period, an old woman entered the hut, but, seeing
Thoen, instantly disappeared. To his great surprise
she soon after returned, bringing with her a dish con-
taining a quantity of dressed rice, which she left on
the ground, and went away. Next morning Thoen
was taken before the king, who, struck with the sin-
gularity of his fate, observed, that it was not for man
to injure one who was so evidently the favorite of
Heaven. The king then ordered that he should be
supplied with food, giving him at the same time in
charge of one of the chiefs, with strict injunctions to
treat him with kindness and attention. A house was
allotted to him in Kandy; and he, after some time,
married the daughter of a Moorman, a circumstance
which, he told the writer, contributed greatly to his
comfort. General Brownrigg appointed Thoen to a
suitable situation in Galle where he soon after died.
iVIarshalls Description and Conquest of Ceylon, p. 155.
WHERE SHALL I TURN TO FORGET, AND BE
AT PEACE?
On woman, when thy golden youth is gone,
Swiftly bath died away,
As light from the sweet day,
How shalt thou meet the night which cometh on?
When none shall heed thy voiceno earthly friend
Shall whisper in thine ear,
Words thou wouldst die to hear
I love thee still the same, until the end;
Where shalt thou turn from the remembered past,
Through the dark years to come I
The heart must have a home,
Something whereon to lean, even to the last.
A pitying voice shall tell thee, whispering low
To the still soul within,
Only be pure from sin:
What though of earthly joy thou canst not know?
I feel thy griefI have shed human tears,
I know thy sorrows well,
Better than thou can st tell,
I know the darkness of thy lonely years.
Yet tremble notthough there be none besi4e,
Though the deep waters roll
Over thy prostrate soul,
Thy God shall be thy stayfor thee He died.
87
88
A COUNTRY WITHOUT A HISTORY.
From the Spectator. inasmuch as it is not interwoven with, does not
A COUNTRY WITHOUT A HISTORY. form a substantive portion of, the great totality of
SAXON European ideas and events. Now, a country with-
A SPECULATiON ON THE IRIsh, FROM A out an historical past possesses riot the elements
POINT OF VJEW.
either of true conservatism or of true progress: for,
THE regeneration of Ireland demands a wise man after all, it is only where there is pertinacity of
and a brave. If less wise than brave, he will deal conservatism that progress is possible. The peo-
with effects to the neglect of causes, and thus a pIe that have nothing to conserve can have nothing
portion of his energy will he uselessly or perni- to develop. Unless the substance and the spirit of
ciously expended : if less brave than wise, he will institutions survive the modifications that these
be more inclined to analyse causes than to grapple undergo, there. may he ceaseless change, but no
with effects, and the refined reflection on the source improvement. Their substance and their spirit,
of the evil to he vanquished will cripple vigor, however, have slowly grown from the nourishing
slacken promptitude, and mar completeness in the bosom of the past. It is not what the institutions
work to be done. in form and organization themselves are, which
The great apparent woes of Ireland are physi- constitutes their value, but the struggles -and tri-
cal; its real miseries are moral. However harsh umphs through which they have become a national
it may sound, yet who can deny that the main and faith and fact. The real strength of every people
monster evil of Ireland is the Irish? As a people, is in the past; not, of course, that the past is to be
the Irish possess neither self-respect nor a delicate the perpetual model or the invariable guide, or
sense of honor, nor that ardent desire for progress because the valiant men of old possessed a wisdom
which alone can be the inspiration of mighty and which is denied to their children, but simply inas-
glorious deeds. Their intellect, however brilliant much as it is chiefly from the national glory and
and brilliant it unquestionably is when compared greatness which have been accumulating age after
to that of the Englishhas no ethical basis; it is age, that the inspiration and the food of moral,
the mere effervescence of their animal spirits, social, and political life in the nation, must be
With no true pride, they are inordinately vain: but derived. The Roinans subdued the neighboring
their vanity is not even ridiculousit is simply provinces of Italy by Ronian valor; they subdued
offensive; it has none of those compensating charms the world by the recollection of what their fathers
which render a Frenchmans vanity rather amusing had done. A nation is enabled to live longer
than disagreeable. The impetuous courage, the because it has already lived long, and because its
abounding wit, the lively imagination of the Irish, hopes are thus not vague and deceitful phantasics,
make their many defects to be too readily forgotten. but the energetic offspring of memory. Whence
Then their warmth of manner has passed for did the Jews obtain the force to guard intact their
warmth of heart, their improvidence for generosity, nationality against overwhelming foes and countless
their recklessness for a gallant spirit that would not disasters? whence do they still obtain it? From
be fettered down by the timid rules of a common- the pastfrom a past stretebin~ back through
place prudence. There is something essentially thousands and thousands of years, and whose very
vulgar in the Irish nature; something little and low, gloom was a portion of its splendor. Aiid how is
which the most polished in vain endeavor to con- Polandonly less an outcast than Judeastill
ceal by jauntiness, glibness, effrontery, and gri- gifted with courage to dream of a brighter ftiture?
mace. Mistaking servility for reverence, self-will By the remembrance that she once was great; that
for strength, sentimentality for pathos, an accumu- she once was the champion of Christianity, and the
lation of bombastic words for eloquence, glare for saviour of civilization, and held hack the Turkish
grandeur, the varnish of artificiality for the harmo- barbarian from the desolation of Europe. What
nious coloring of civilization, the Irish, without has been the consolation of Spain in her darkest
consistency of faculty or consecutiveness of action, hour? Her former empire and magnificence.
never rise above theniselves without seeming to What is the instrument, or rather what will be the
commit a more flagrant blunder than when they fall instrument of her regeneration? Not the example
below their habitual perversity: we are prevented aiid the theories of representative government, but
from admiring their uncommon genius, because it the thrilling knowledge of what iii some of the most
is so deficient in grace; and the more we mourn brilliant epochs of the worlds history she has been.
over their wretchedness, the less we feel inclined to Now what is the past of Ireland? Thisthat
esteem their character. They are a profoundly some centuries ago she was subdued by a more
interesting people, but less for their noble qualities powerful nation, and that from time to time since
t han their melancholy fate. she has vainly attempted to rebel. 11cr past, there-
There must be some cause for all this, besides fore, can neither teach tier strengthen. It presents
th e mere peculiarities of race. Other branches of nothing but her wayward impulses it can ive her
the Celtic family, if they have something of the nothing but the desire to trust madly and blindly to
san ac violence of temperament, have a deeper, her impulses again, and thus to sink deeper and
ster ncr consciousness of duty, and a larger leaven deeper in weakness, folly and crime.
of ~ und and sober sense. We explain the deplor- What is the duty of statesmanship in the pres-
able moral and political degradation of the Irish ence of such a phenomenon as this? Manifest
chiefi y by the circumstance that Ireland is a country enough. When a country that has no historical
witho ut a history. Its past offers a dreary same- past becomes subject to another whose historical
ness if slavery, varied now and then by fierce past has been long picturesque, famous, and identi-
flashes of rebellion, but by no pictur sque succes- fled with the great movenients atid victories of civi-
sion of historical incidents. The tragic episodes lization, the latter cannot too soon or too effectually
that ha ~e swept in blood and flame over Ireland efface every remnant, annihilate every fibre of
derive n ~iost of their importance from their relation nationality in the former. Whatever of this it
to Engi: and. Supposing that the whole of what leaves alive, is an element of barbarism and of dis-
the Irish claim as their history had historical truth, cord. Till the subject nation become in form, con-
it has not historical dignity or historical influence, viction, sympathyin its whole consciousness,
THE IRISH QUESTION.
organization, and developmentan integral portion
of the nation that has vanquished it, the very best
legislation cannot prevent it from thwarting its own
prosperity or from wearing itself out in interminable
broils with its conqueror. Jreland, therefore, can
never be happy till it receive an entire national
incorporation with England. On the other hand, a
country like Scotland, which has had a long and
noble historical past, cannot too completely be gov-
erned in accordance with the import, tendencies,
and recollections of that past, when, either from
conquest or through some other means, it comes
under the dominion of a primordial kingdom. The
question of nationalities has been much debated in
these modern times, especially by the French and
the German; but, to give the question any philo-
sophical weight or practical result, a distinction
should al~vays be drawn between nationalities of
growth and nationalities of antagonism. A nation-
ality of growth is one which contains the principal
and most potent germs of civilization in itself: all
that it requires is simply to be allowed the freest
scope to grow as it has grown, and to base on its
historical unity and associations its prosperity and
its power. To interfere in any way with the
wholeness and vigor of this nationality, or to sub-
stitute for it laws and institutions the embodiment
of pedantic theories, would be killing a living and
self-unfolding reality, and putting a wretched and
mechanical patchwork in the place of the great,
fertile, and creative force of nature. A nationality
of antagonism, however, is merely the external
expenditure of a certain amount of chaotic strength
which otherwise would waste itself in internal
tumult. And such is Irish nationality, that never
dreams of a progress, of which it has never shown
itself capable, but burns only for conflict. Nation-
ality of this kind is less the antipathy to a stronger
nation than the antipathy to civilization altogether.
From the Spectator.
THE IRISH QUESTION.
WHAT is it in the Irish character which makes
the Irishman always miss the point, and turn to col-
lateral incidents? The recent debates have fur-
nished almost as many instances of this peculiarity
as there were Irish speakers. The material subject
under discussion was the remedy for the destitute
state of the Irish poor; but that subject was very
scantily handled by the Irish members. Mr. Shar-
man Crawford, himself Irish, though representing an
English constituency, was a striking exception; but
his suggestionsa poor-law and a law of tenant-
rightcannot be regarded as having a very home-
diate effect. Mr. OConnell proposed a dictator-
ship, to administer loans and levy an income-tax on
landlords, for the purpose of buying food, food.
But the great body of Irish representatives limited
their practical observations to accounts of the actual
misery; and their attention was distracted from pos-
itive counsel by every trivial incident: they wasted
their energy in attacksupon Mr. Roebuckupon
Irish landlordsupon the officers of public works
upon the past delays of ministers; and in defences
of various persons. The question before the house
was, Now what shall we do? but the Irish mem-
bers could not come to that, because their attention
was distracted by trying to find out who was to he
praised or blamed. A personality can always divert
an Irishman from his purpose. A challenge to
fight will draw all the Irish laborers off a canal in
Canada or a railway in Cumberland. A personal
sarcasm will make a barrister forget his client
though that client be the crown, and the barrister
the very head of the barand merge the counseller
in the duellist. A sneer at the Earl of Lucan
draws off a whole host of legislators from the sub-
ject of the famine to that of Lord Lucans merits.
One turns aside from the engrossing and arduous
task of devising rescue for his country, to inveigh
against an imaginary invasion by military surveyors
in the disguise of commissariat-officers to establish
soup-kitchens. While English members are con-
sidering the means to supply Irish wants, the Irish
member loses himself in dreams about some future
war between Ireland and England. Another mem-
ber fancies the merchants of London engaged in a
conspiracy to beat down the value of Irish land, in
order that they may~buy it up! It was only by the
English members that plans for succoring Ireland
were discussed. The Irish members of course
intended to aid in the discussion ; but they were
diverted from it by the personalities, the specialties,
and the trivialities, and they had not the self-coin-
niand to stick to the main business.
It is not that the great features of Irelands case
are indistinct or forgotten. Ireland is a country
possessing a third of the United~ I(ingdom in area,
a third of its population, and more than a third of its
physical resourcesthat is, Ireland is much above
the average in natural fertility and geographical
advantages. She also possesses a pauper popula-
lation, numbered in 1834 at ~,300,0O0, and now,
according to Mr. OConnell, at 4,000,000. At the
same rate of progress, the population of Ireland
would all be reduced to a state of pauperism in
another dozen years. At all events, the social state
of Ireland is such that an immense and increasing
mass of the population is disengaged from industrial
society: there are some millions of people who
have no business to be in Ireland, in its present
social and industrial state. What is to be done
with that mass? Will the Irish members give one
word of help in devising a safe way to dispose of
it? Where is it to be put? Are the people to be
carried away? are they to continue flowing over
into England? or shall Ireland be made capable of
re~bsorbing them? The Irish members virtually
say that Ireland cannot do so: they say that Ireland
cannot afford a poor-law; which means, not only
that Ireland cannot guarantee the subsistence of its
whole population, as England does practically, but
that Ireland has so large an amount of surplus pop-
ulation that the overplus is knowingly, distinctly, and
avowedly repudiated by the oxvners of the soil. Do
Irish landowners take any steps to remove the sur-
plus by colonization? Not a step. They know
nothing about colonization. They only eject, indi-
vidually; looking no further. They simply want
to get rid of the people. The more humane pay
them a trifle to migrate. But the surplus in bulk
remains untouched. The Irish landowners take no
heed of it. They scarcely know that there is such
a thing as colonization in bulk. They dont care
about it.
Ireland, no doubt, could be made to support a
larger population than it has, overplus and all: do
the owners of the soil exert themselves to fit it for
absorbing that surplus? Not in time least. There
are brilliant examples; but they are bepraised, and
neglected. The Irish complain that they lack cap-
ital, and that England does not supply it. They
forget that capital is not a thing that comes by
natureit does not grow in the hedges; nor does
89
90
KILLING OK COLONIZING FOR IRELAND.
it befall a man like a fortune left by an uncle from that the process of advancing money will be stopped
India : En~,land made the capital she has; and at any definite period. It is too late to do anything
every country has done the samefor imported cap- effectual this yearthere is no complaint of that;
ital always retains its alien owners. The capital but there is a rising impatience to see something
possessed by any community is always made by done for securing a better state of matters next
that community. Ireland has the land and the year. It is remarked that Ireland is in itself, as a
labor; but no class has exerted itself to make the territory, quite as capable of supporting its own
utmost of combining the two, and therefore she lacks population as England, Scotland, or Wales; the
capital. thing wanted is the motive in the people; and it
Though reproach on this score would be idle, a does not appear that ministers have yet done any-
distinct reco~uition of any fact is always useful to thing, or contemplate anything, to call such motives
those whom it concerns. It is necessary both for into play. On the contrary, ministers and Irish
Ireland and England to know that the pauperism members talk of each particular measure as if it
of Ireland is the direct fruit of the idleness of Ire- might be or might not be pressedas if there
land. remained some choice in the matter. No time is to
In England, they say that this lamentable result be lost, they cry, in supplying food ; but they
has been produced by neglecting the true principles do not seem adequately impressed with the fact that
of political economy in Ireland. We doubt whether the supply of food from England must depend not
that bottoms the question. Sir Robert Peel and only upon the power of this country to contribute,
Lord John Russell preach political economy and but also upon the patience of the English people
self-reliance: but political economy has little bear- under demands to help those who might be made to
ing on the natural temper and passions; and self- help themselvesunder indefinite demands to fur-
reliance is an affair of temperament, not of choice. nish cash as subsistence-money for the Irish, with-
The real root of Irish difficulty is the Irish charac- out corresponding steps to put the Irish in the way
ter. The plain, sober, matter-of-fact, daily work, of earning their own livelihood. This feeling of
is the basis of all national wealth; but the race dissatisfaction is spreading extensively; and it is
whose representatives cannot stick to that subject not for the advantage either of the ministry or of
even in debate is not likely to devote itself to it in Irelandit is not safeto suffer its continuance.
earnest. The Irishmen left the discussion of it to It is too late to effect anything this year; and unless
English members; and they leave the substantial some diligence be used in preparatory measures, it
labor also to Englandasking for a gratuity of what will again be too late next year: but next year,
has properly been called accumulated labor, in the neither Ireland nor ministers would meet with the
shape of capital. same munificent patience from the English people.
It is not denied that Irishmen are possessed of That fact ought to Ije distinctly understood.
brilliant qualities. But their greatest individual The shape in which the want of Ireland presents
successes have been achieved in England. Eng- itself ought also to be kept in view. From what-
lishinen and Scotebmen have founded colonies: soever causes, Ireland has a mass of pauperism con-
Irishmen also have been colonists, but we are not sisting at this moment of four or five millions,
aware of any exclusively Irish community. On the fluctuating to a lower amount in favorable seasons,
other hand, however we may perceive the faults of but always presenting an army of begging paupers
the Irish in Ireland or raw from Ireland, no distinct computed by millions. After subdividing land and
complaints are made of any large section of Irish employment into the minutest fractions, the final
descendants once absorbed into any English or result is, that the subdivision can go no further, and
Scotch colony. The Irish race is evidently im- that there exists a bulk of millions of paupers, who,
proved by fusion; and were a strong infusion of whether some part of them nominally have land and
English or Scotch blood thrown into Ireland, it employment or not, are all virtually without either.
seems not only probable but certain that the country There is a living mass of human beings disengaged
would soon find the way of absorbing its own sur- from industrial society, and floating loose about the
plus population. Ulster is a living proof of that land, to the utter dissolution of social order. Ire-
-position. Of course the confiscations and forced land must continue to he in a state of disorganiza-
colonizations of the seventeenth century are not to tion until you have disposed of that mass. You
be renewed; but the same result might be attained must go on feeding it until you have found it some
by a more thorough consummation of the union. refuge. It is like the dragon in fairy tales, which
Measures to bring Irish land into the market, and must be fed at all sacrifice, or it will destroy. You
to reconcile English settlers to Irish investment and must do something with it, or kill it. If you leave
residence, would have a more searching effect than it alone, it will die outnot without destroying
the routine processes dictated by political economy, more than itself; but four millions will struggle
inasmuch as they would tend to supply elements bard before they bow down to death, and will take
for altering and strengthening that on which the a long time in the killing by starvation, even at the
progress of Ireland dependsthe character of the present rate of mortality. And that may be checked
inhabitant population. for a time; keeping the pauper mass just alive to
____________________ torment the land. Apart from pity, therefore, the
From the Spectator. killing process is a bad one.
The mere expense of feeding this standing army
KILLING OR COLONIZING FOR IRELAND? of paupers is but a small part of the loss incurred.
ENGLAND is advancing Ireland a million a month This disengaged surplus population is in itself the
for the sole purpose of a special poor-law, by which proximate cause of the worst difficulties in dealing
the pauper multitude is maintained; and that pro- with Ireland. Were the case of Ireland in other
cess must go on at least till the next harvest. The respects exactly as it is, but were this voracious
English people do not grumble at this; but they burden absentwere two millions of souls extin-
do begin to feel considerable dissatisfaction at oh- guished on the instantthe task of extrication for
serving that they stand pledged to that course with- the nation would be comparatively easy. It is this
out having as yet received the smallest guarantee surplus which interferes to prevent improvement.
KILLING OR COLONIZING FOR IRELANDPAINLESS OPERATIONS.
You cannot consolidate the subdivided land, because
of the souls that just manage to live upon it, and
thus you cannot begin a real system of farming.
You cannot introduce the civilized plan of labor by
wages instead of the Irish cross betwixt villenage
and squatting, because, with such monstrous com-
petition in the labor-market, you cannot force farm-
ers to pay any real wages. You cannot introduce
capital, because of this band of paupers, who, in
the absence of a law of paupers, are almost beyond
the pale of all law except that of rude self-preser-
vation, and so keep the country in that lawless dis-
order which facilitates subsistence by irregular
means. The very mass of pauperism prevents the
establishment of an effectual poor-law, because it is
too vast for a poor-law to deal with it singlehanded.
Before you can get at the root of Irish disease, in
order to apply a remedy, you must remove that
monstrous excrescence.
The quickest, handiest, most effectual, and most
humane way, would be to colonize. This huge
mass of surplus population is riot mere inert life, not
mere embodied hunger; it is also laborgood,
effective labor, such as is highly productive else-
where, and makes not poverty but wealth. It only
needs the locus in quo. It is labor unattached,
on half-pay, but quite available for work if you pro-
vide it with a field of action. You have such a
field, to any needful extent, in your colonies. No
doubt, it is true that you cannot take a raw two
millions and throw it on raw waste lands, without
waste of life and wealth. Preparation is needed;
but experience has proved that, with preparation,
the process of colonizing is effectual and facile;
Experience in several colonies has now shown that,
with due preparatioii and adjustment, a given num-
ber of people can be taken and placed upon the
proportionate breadth of land, and that the process
can be made to pay itself out of the wealth accruing
from the application of the unemployed labor to the
vacant land. As that result depends upon the suf-
ficiency of the labor, land, and capital at starting,
it can of course be attained with any number of
people provided there be adequate proportions of
land and credit practically, the land and credit of
the British empire are unlimited the questiot~
therefore resolves itself into one of circumstances
and arrangementinto one of detail. Any amount
of colonization that might be needed for the relief
of Ireland would be practicable the only requisites
are, due ingenuity to contrive the details, and time
for the necessary preparatives.
We are surprised to see a contemporary, who,
though obstinate in prejudices against colonization,
is shrewd and well informed, repeating at this day
the exploded argument that the strength of the
laboring population would be drawn off; applying
it to Ireland, where labor is redundant! It needs
no profound inquiry to perceive, that by subtracting
a large portion of Irish labor, the available force of
labor would be positively increased. This is not
matter of speculation, but is indicated xvith sufficient
distinctness by the actual state of the labor-market
in Ireland. The comparative statistics of England
and Ireland show palpably what is the proportion of
excess in the labor applied to cultivation in lreland
say one half. Taking into account the produce
per acre, the Irish farmer, or rather the employing
occupant, whoever he is, pays as much for labor as
the English farmer. But, to begin with, the wages
of two men are divided among four: the pittance
allowed to each of the four is not worth working
for, the laborers have no heart in their work; they
produce less, earn less, and all loselaborers, em-
91
ployer, landlord, and all. Subtract the two laborers
in excess, and at a blow the price of labor rises in
the ratio of 4 to 22s. 6d. becomes 5s.; the prize
is worth more, the labor is stimulated, produce
increases, and the positive amount of dividend in the
shape of wages is augmented. Subtract one half
of the labor, and you have two laborers valued at
the English rate instead of four valued at the Irish
ratethat is, the numerical diminution of laborers
gives you an increase of productive labor.*
Nor is that all. A poor-law becomes practicable,
further to relieve the labor-market of what does not
belong to itthe helpless, and the pauper pre-
tender to work. Consolidation of farms is possi-
ble, and real farming. With working classes
pledged to order by a decent collective share of
wealth, peace begins, and capital flows in. Em-
ployments multiply; and Ireland becomes capable
of supporting a much larger population in comfort
instead of misery. But all these processes, with
their results, are ulterior to the removal of the great
disengaged mass of pauper surplus population. Be-
fore you can do any of these things, you must
remove that ; and the question is, in sober earnest-
ness, whether you will kill, or colonize?
PAINLESS OPERATioNsThe following resolu-
tion was unanimously agreed to at the last meet-
ing of the directors of the Eastern Counties Rail-
way
Resolved, that as it is advisable to stop the
complaints of the public as much as possible on
account of the numerous accidents which, some-
how, will occur on the best-regulated railways,
rooms he immediately prepared at every station,
where persons who dislike being hurt or iiijured, or
are foolishly apprehensive of danger, may have the
option of inhaling the ether, so that they may have
the privilege of remaining during the whole journey
in a state of insensibility, for which act of accommo-
dation the directors trust the public will be duly
thankful.Punclt.
* The materials for exact comparison of this kind do
not exist ; but practically there is no lack of evidence.
In England, less than one in three of the population are
engaged in agriculture in Ireland, more than two in three
say two laborers in Ireland to one in England. Mr.
MCulloch mentions 31. i5s. as an approximation to the
value of the produce per acre, tillage and pasturage, in
Ireland; figures in the same author would give about Il.
as the average in England; hut the difference is no doubt
greater. We will take the produce, however, as heing in
the ratio of 41. in England to 31. in Ireland, and the num-
ber of laborers as 2 to 1. Now, supposing the employer
to pay 2s. 6d. a week each to two laborers, he could pay
Is. to the single English laborer without paying a farth-
ing more of wages. But, an p posing that the laborer also
produced 41. instead of 31., the farmer could pay ts. Sd.
instead of 2s. 6d., without being a farthing niore out of
pocket, hut on the contrary being the more in pocket by
the transaction. This 6s. 3d. is a close approximation to
the 7s. of the poorest agricultural districts in England.
It is curious to observe, with these allowances, bow nearlK
Irish wages, in the aggregate, approximate to Englis
wages. We see, as it were, in posse, the same propor-
tionate fund to be divided in Ireland as in England; but
in Ireland the share of the individual labor is diminished
by two deductions: one is the diminished value of the
crop, caused by the inefficiency of the labor; the other is
the fact that the wages-fund has to be divided among
double the number of recipients. This ctnsideration
clearly shows, what might have been presumed Ii priori,
that the process which would diminish the number of
laborers and increase the efficiency of the laborer would
raise wages without obliging the employer to pays any
more than he does at present. Of course the competition
of a thinner market would tend to exact a yet higher ratio
of wages for the laborer; though the rate would still be
limited by the bound at which the payment would cease
to be profitable to the farmer.
MISCELLANEOUS FOREIGN NEWS.
From the Spectator.
MISCELLANEOUS FOREIGN NEWS.
A STEAM-WRITER.ThC celebrated French
novelist M. Alexandre iDumas has just now his
hands full of law. The Marquis DEspinay St.
Lee has proceeded against M. Dumas to recover
50,000 francs damages for having injured the repu-
tation of one of the marquis ancestors, hy repre-
senting him, in a novel called La Dame de Mont-
soreau, in an ignoble position. The case was
adjourned, in order that the court might read the
novel.
At the Tribunal de la Seine, late in January, the
proprietors of the Constitutionnel and the Presse
pursued an action against M. Dumas for a breach of
contract, in that he had neglected to write for them
during 1845 and 1846; damages laid at 50,000
francs. M. Dumas, who is represented as having
first kot the court waiting, and then appearing ex-
tremely over-dressed, pleaded his own cause in an
extraordinary style. Gentlemen, he said, 1
desired to plead my cause in person, because the
circumstance which brings me before you is not an
affair of man to man, or interest against interest,
but rather a sort of duel between honor and honor.
I regret not seeing here M. XTdron (of the (Jonsti-
tutionnel) and M. Girardin (of the Presse;) for I
shall be obliged to fire in the air, and the ball, in-
stead of striking them, will fall at their feet. M.
Dumas read the double agreetnent entered into be-
tween MM. Ydron, Qirardin, and himself; and
remarked, that although that agreement was a
conditional one, the Constitutionnel and La Presse
announced on the following day, that M. iDumas,
being free from his engagements on the death of
M. Dujarrier, had entered into an agreement with
them to write exclusively for them for the term of
five years. That was not true, said M. Du-
mas; as I still had to publish about eighty vol-
umes on previous agreements, making altogether
226,000 lines; a number which the academy, if
they were called upon to produce an equal number
in two years, (and they are forty,) would find no
easy task to accomplish.
I had therefore to fulfil my previous engage-
ments; and I did what I may say no man ever did
before me, or will do hereafterI began the publi-
cation of five different novels in five different papers
at the same time, and completed them; my adver-
saries are there to say if it was not all in my own
handwriting. On the 15th August, M. Vdron
called upon me, and said, My dear Dumas, we
have been unlucky enough to publish a feuilleton
likely to renew the glorious days of d6sabonnement
to the Constitutionnel; we have still eight days of
it left; but if we do not then give the public an in-
teresting amusing novel such as you write, (these
are his own words,) it is all up with us. We must
have it this day week. Eight days is quite suf-
ficient, I replied, when a man is idle, but not so
when a man has five fenilletons in hand. And I
was at that moment publishing five feuilletons in
five different journals. Three horses, three ser-
vants, and the railway, scarcely sufficed to bring me
the proof-sheets. At two a. m. my servants were
on the route to St. Germain. I nevertheless agreed
to do it; and on the day appointed, August the
27th, he received the first volume. M. Dumas
then explained, that while the (Jonstitutionnel and
the Presse announced that he worked exclusively
for them, the Si.lcle, the DUats, the Patrie, and
the Commerce, announced the publication of feuille
tons from him, to which they were duly entitled.
He stated that all the advance he had received
from M. Girardin was 454 francs, and that M. Gi-
rardin had to pay him 157,000 francs within three
years. M. Dumas remarked that at the time of his
departure for Spain he had published forty-eight
volumes in eighteen months. He was tired, he
saidmany would have been tired much sooner
and was obliged to procure a certificate from his
medical adviser to pacify M. Girardin. MM.
Vdron and Girardin pretend that at my villa at St.
Germain I remained idle. I wrote there eight
volumes of Balsamo. At the same time, I was
occupied with representations of Shakspeare and
Dumas in the theatre of St. Germain; but I do not
think I can be reproached for that, especially as I
gave them 27,000 lines in two months.
As regards my journey to Spain, I never soli-
cited a mission; the Duke of Montpensi~r, qui a
quelques hont~s pour rnoi, said to me, as his brother
had said formerly, Come to my marriage; I wish
you to be present at a national fete. M. de Sal-
vandy then asked me if I could leave for Spain and
Algeria; and I replied, that it was the very thing
for me, as I required repose. You will then go to
Spain, said the minister, and to Algeria, a coun-
try not much known, especially to our deputies,
who speak about it every day without knowing
anything at all about it. (Laughter.) I left for
Spain as a guest, and was the only Frenchman
present at the private marriage. It was then I re-
ceived the grand cordon of Charles the Third;
which was given not to the literary man, but to the
manto me, Alexandre IDumas, Marquis Daoy de
la Pailleterie, and friend of the Duke on Montpen-
sier. (Sensation in court.)
I thence went to Tunis, where the Bey was
absent; hut I was honorably received by his
brother, who received me as a French envoy, and
conferred upon me the order of Nichan. I did not
lose my time, but collected during my stay such
valuable documents, that in four days, if I liked, I
could publish an entire work. In order to reach
Tunis, the French government had placed at my
disposal the steamer Ydloce, of 220 horse power;
it was for the use of myself and the Bey of Tunis
alone. Such favors are only granted to princes
and friends. We were close to the African coast
when I learned (speaking with a sort of inspiration)
that our prisoners might be liberated by a prompt
intervention on my part. Twelve lives were to be
savedtwelve lives which were every moment in
danger of falling by the knife: among these were
brave officers,andawoman,the sole remnant of
the unfortunate captives who escaped the massacre
of Sidi Brahim. It was I who, with the Ydloce
under my orders, saved Captain Cognard and his
brave comrades, and brought them to Mellina;
where 3,000 persons offered me a banquet; the re-
miniscence of which is sufficient to repay me for
any injuries I may have received here.
I am now, forsooth, asked for 50,000 francs
damages for having been idle; whilst Iyes, I
saved from the sword of the enemy the lives of
twelve of my countrymen! I took six persons in
my suite, who represented the art of painting, as I
myself represented the art of literature. To defray
my expenses, I was obliged to sell railway shares
to the amount of 50,000 francs; on which I lost
7,000 francs, and I spent 21,000 francs of my owa
money. The 10,000 francs credit were only
to be touched on my arrival at Algiers. I spent
11,000 francs; but the day after my return, I re
92
MISCELLANEOUS FOREIGN NEWS.
turned 1,000 francs to the minister. Such, gentle-
men, is the true statement of facts.
The case was adjourned. M. Dumas, on leav-
ing the court, mounted a magnificent Arabian
charger with gold trappings, and so rode home.
NAVIGATION LAws.Mr. Ricardos motion for
a select committee to inquire into the working
of the navigation laws, received very general assent,
and there is as general an admission that the laws
are doomed. Indeed, they belonged altogether
to the now obsolete system of protection; and
probably they would not have survived so late, had
not Adam Smith suffered them to go by with a sort
of negative sanction. The presumption on which
the navigation laws rest is, that they favor the con-
tinued growth of a British commercial marine as dis-
tinct from the spread of commerce generally, and
that they thus augment the raw material for a de-
fensive marine. Every reason applied to the falla-
cious doctrine of protection would show that the
navigation laws do not encourage the growth of a
British marine. The presumption from the obvious
premises would lie in favor of perfect freedom.
Britain is an island, with an immense trade, a dense,
bold, enterprising, and highly maritime population;
it necessarily follows that Britain must always
have a large commercial marinc.Spectator, 13th
February.
PRUSSIAN CoNsTITuTIoNThe parliamentary
privileges conceded to the Prussians, after the
thirty years waiting, are fined down to the smallest
amount compatible with bare existence. The ex-
tent and potency of the retracting modifications
which accompany the gift might suggest a suspi-
cion that it is merely a counterfeit given to save
appearances. We incline, however, to the conjec-
ture that King Frederick William is acting boni2
fide, and that on the hen-and-ducklings principle he
is really allowing his beloved subjects to launch as
freely into the new element as he can find it in his
heart to permit. It is to be anticipated that the
same spirit of good intention and faint heart will
preside over the administration of this callow con-
stitution, and that the working will be cramped by
further attempts at retracting modifications. It
will lie with the representatives of the people to
permit or to resist such attempts. At all events, a
beginning has been made; Prussia is no longer a
mere territorial monarchy, but a nation endowed
with a share of self-government; a consolidated
people is established on the outposts of Europe.
Not only will that strengthen Europe against the
reactions of despotism, now further and further
driven to the remote regions of the north, but it
facilitates the filling up of the intermediate space
with free institutionsSpectator, 13 Feb.
merston himself could have done had he for the
nonce been a deputy. M. Guizots reply was the
worst blow to himself that he has yet received.
He tried to make outfor Parisian auditorsthat
France had outwitted England; for the English
readers, that I~ngland had nothing to fear, as she
has all along been gaining upon France in the
French lake a name for the Mediterranean which
M. Guizot emphatically disclaimed. As to his
own personal character, he earnestly assured the
Chamber that he had throughout told the truthas
far as it was consistent with cunning and conve-
nience.
Alas for French dignity! In England we should
consider such confessions not merely below par as
political morality, but as derogatory to the private
character of a gentleman ; with us they would
not only render a ministers seat very precarious,
but would cause him to be avoided in society. IJn-
doubtedly, we have no right to measure the conduct
of French gentlemen by English rules; but the
French are a nation very ambitious to excel in civ-
ilization, about which M. Guizot has written so
eloquently and so well; and it would not be amiss
if they were to remember, that the degree of ad-
vancement in civilization is forcibly marked by such
traits of moral refinement.
Amid all the disputation, it is interesting to ob-
serve the strength with which the peace spirit has
set in after the war mania; it is too strong for any
minister to defy, and all leading men defer to it.
Spectator, 13 Feb.
MARRYING A WIFES SISTERENGLISH LAW.
The first of a series of letters has appeared in
the Morning Post under the initials T. C. F.,
[Thomas Campbell Foster] on the present state of
the laws relating to marriage. Mr. Foster com-
mences by referring to a recent decision at Liver-
pool in the case of the Queen versus Chadwick, the
effect of which, he observes, is to offer a direct
encouragement to crime. In that case, the verdict
of acquittal was grounded on the supposed applica-
tion of a recent statute of William the Fourth,
passed avowedly for a temporary purpose. The
defence set up was that no bigamy had been com-
mitted, because the first wife named in the indict-
ment was sister to a deceased wife; that this
marriage with the deceased wifes sister was with-
in the prohibited degrees, as set out in Arch-
bishop Parkers table of kin in our Prayer-books,
and that the recent statute of William the Fourth,
rendering voidable marriages within the prohibited
degrees absolutely void, applied to it and made it
void. The answer to this plea is, that such mar-
riages are not within the prohibited degrees, as
defined by any binding statute or canon law, or by
the Bible
The, table of kin in our Prayer-books rests on
ALAS FOR GuizoT !-.--The French Deputies have ~an invalid and unbinding authority. The canon
not been able, after all, to let the Montpensier affair law of 1603, on which it rests, has never been
pass without a wordy debate. The motives to the sanctioned by Parliament, and has been solemnly
debate were purely factious. A tauiit by a minis- pronounced by our courts of law not to bind the
terial speaker, on the silence of the opposition, of- laity. There is no earlier~canon of the church bind-
fered an opportunity for having a fling at the mm- ing by either the common or the statute law, which
ister; and M. Thiers could not resist the temptation renders this marriage voidable; and if it be not
of using the arms furnished for him by the conduct voidable, the statute of William IV. will not make
of M. Guizot and the lucubrations of English it void. The statute law defines the prohibited
writers, diplomatic and literary. M. Thiers ap- degrees to be those prohibited in Leviticus, of
proved of the matchit would not have been which the judges of the common law courts are
French to do otherwise; but showed up the expressly declared to be the expounders; and the
mode of bringing it about as heartily as Lord Pal- 18th chapter of Leviticus, in which those prohibited
93
MISCELLANEOUS FOREIGN NEWS.
degrees are set out, does not prohibit this marriage,
but, on the contrary, sanctions it.
Mr. Foster promises to show in future letters,
and from authentic facts, the total disregard of this
taw amongst both rich and poor; its questionable
evasion by the rich, its open infringement by the
poor
I will show you the great extent to which its
evasion and infringement have proceeded in the
course of the last dozen years, and its results in
branding some thousands of respectable women as
concubines in law; in rendering their children
illegitimate; in sowing the seeds of enormous
future litigation as to the rights of property, whe-
ther accruing by descent, under marriage-settle-
ments, or by will. I will show you its probable
fruitful result in parish disputes as to the settle-
ment of children born in wedlock, but bastardized
by this law; I will show you its effect in taking
from helpless and deceived women their remedy
against the broken faith of heartless men; and I
will show you that (in the words of the late Lord
Wharucliffe) this law is unnecessarily severe
that instead of conducing to the proper moral state
of the inhabitants of this country, it is in point
of fact demoralizing, in a great degree, many of
them.
A commission, understood to have been ap-
pointed by Mr. Foster, is making an inquiry into
the subject in the provinces, with a view to further
proceedings.
THE citizens of the great American Union have
been startled by an extraordinary letter from General
Taylor, addressed to a private friend, but sent by
that friend to the papers. It is a ludicrous and
lamentable exposure of boundless aggression, joined
to the utmost penuriousness in means. The Yankee
spoiler is constrained by no scruple but that on the
score of his own outlay; he sets no limits to his
raid, except, by the meanness with which he fits out
the buccaneering expedition. General Taylor com-
hines iii his own person the unscrupulous highway-
man rapacity of a Cortes or a Raleigh, with the
mortified state of a Washington whose rQsources
are kept down to a pitch of short commons by
Congress. But his letter will be an opportune ser-
mon on peace to the tax-hating republicans. To
make the war quite satisfactory to th3m, it should
have been paid for in advance, by loans raised on
bond, which they would repndiate.*
Souv.Among the public benefactors of the
day, may be reckoned the celebrated master in the
art of cookery, M. Soyer. In a letter to the Stand-
ard, M. Soyer falls foul of the soup distributed by
charitable institutions to the poor; which by expe-
rience he knows to be badly cooked, and unpalata-
ble
Above twenty years experience and practice
in the culinary art has taught me that it requires
more science to produce a good dish at a trifling
* There is some special spite against the United States
which has lately got hold of the Spectator, and deranges
it. We should be obliged to any correspondent who can
give us the secret historyfor we are confident there is
some private grief. It must require some strong motive
to make such a work blind to the merits of Gen. Taylor,
whose course of mercy contrasts so strongly with Lord
Wellingtons Indian campaigns.Liv. Aoz.
expense than a superior one with unlimited means;
and I shall have no difficulty to prove the truth of
the observation. I also have seen in several instances
great confusion in the distribution of soups; nearly
the same quantity being given to each poor appli-
cant (or nearly so) without ascertaining the num-
ber of persons in each family. After seriously
reflecting upon such an important and pressing sub-
ject, I am happy to inform you, that I have con-
trived the plan of a kitchen for the making and
distribution of soup to the poor, of a very simple
construction, by which a thousand gallons, more or
less, of excellent and very economical soup, may
be made in a few hours, at about two or three
farthings a quart; which could be fairly, cleanly,
and quickly distributed to thousands of people once
or twice a day if required.
This kitchen, says M. Soyer, can be set up in a
field. He offers to put the plan in practice gratui-
tously; nay, he contributes a subscription of 301.
towards a fund for the purpose; he also forwarded
201. from a scientific friend.
Stimulated by the interest which his soup-kitchen
project excited, M. Soyer has sent another letter
to the papers, giving receipts for two kinds of cheap
soup. One, relishing and nutritive, can be made,
even in London, at a cost of three farthings per
quart. The other, also a good soup, is still cheap-
er; a hundred gallons could be made, in London,
for one pound. A model-kitchen on a small scale,
capable of supplying forty or fifty gallons at once,
is already begun; and a list of subscribers to the
needful funds, which make rapid progress, will
shortly be published.
AMONO the deaths recorded is that of Mr. Mac-
vey Napier, for twenty years editor of the Edin-
burgh Review; he died on the 11th instant. Mr.
Napier was Professor of Conveyancing in the Uni-
versity of Edinburgh, and also one of the principal
clerks of the Court of Session. He was for many
years connected with the Encyclopcedia Britannica,
of which he edited the seventh edition. He had
attained the age of seventy, and had given his cus-
tomary lecture at the University on the Monday
previous to his death.
CAPTAIN DILLoN, the celebrated French naviga-
tor of the Indian Seas, died last week in France.
Captain Dillon was the discoverer of the remnants
of the Astrolabe, the sole relics of the unfortunate
La Peyrouse and his companions.
THE Cork E aminer publishes a letter from
Messrs. Keeling and Hunt, who have been cbm-
missioned by government to look out in the different
grain-markets of the world for a supply of potato-
seed. They have made efforts to procure seed-po-
tatoes from France, the Azores, and Russia, but
unsuccessfully; and they have sent to Bermuda as
a last resource. It is very evident, they say,
that Ireland must fall back upon grain-food. We
look to the present visitation as a providential
warning as to the futility of depending upon so pre-
carious a root as the potato.
WE find the following card in a late Havre Jour-
nal: A young man knowing the cotton and also the
English and French languages, wishes a situation,
& c., & c.
94
TEMPERATURE OF THE HUMAN BODY. 95
From Chambers Journal, a lively book, the labor of literary composition, con-
OF THE HUMAN BODY. tinued from two to five hours, has the effect of rais-
TEMPERATURE ing the temperature of the body slightly above the
INQUIRIES into the nature and sources of animal average; while, on the contrary, reading for mere
heat have ever occupied a large share of the atten- amusement, or the mechanical process of copying,
tion of physiologists, from the days when a subtle are shown to be followed by the same sedative and
fluid was supposed to be the mysterious medium lowering result, as carriage exercise in comparison
for the diffusion of heat, until modern researches with muscular.
have shown it to be the result of a chemical opera- The taking of food into the stomach appears,
tion. By careful and well-defined observations, from careful observations taken immediately after
attempts have been made to trace its influence in dinner, to have the effect of reducing the tempera-
derangements of the normal condition of the animal ture: the more plentiful the meal, the greater
economy. Among these the investigations of Dr. would seem to be the depression. On particular
Davy of Ambleside possess sufficient general utility occasions, writes Dr. Davy, when a larger
to render an account of them interesting, quantity of wine than usual was taken, the reduc-
The doctors observations were commenced about tion of temperature was commonly most strongly
four years ago on some fishes proper to the Medi- marked. A light meal,, such as that of breakfast,
terranean; among which, contrary to the generally consisting of tea, with a portion of toasted bread
received opinion, he found that the sword-fish and with butter, and often an egg, has had little effect
tunny are warm-blooded; and in extending his in depressing or altering materially the tempera-
inquiry, was led to remark that the increase of heat ture.
in fishes is in proportion to the increase of red par- From a few experiments tried on individuals
tides in their blood: thus showing that these red advanced in life, the doctor finds that the animal
particles are in some way connected with the gen- heat in deeply-seated parts is greater than at mid-
eration of heat. These observations prepared the dle age; which he accounts for by supposing that
way for others on the human subject: the result the food they eat is expended rather in the function
hitherto obtained is, that the temperature of the of respiration than in compensating the waste of
body in health is not constant, but rises and falls the system. The observations generally show that
under the general influences of heat and cold, rest the temperature of man undergoes fluctuations in
and exercise. common with some other animal functions, and,
The method pursued was by the introduction of like them, seems to obey a certain orderthe one
a glass thermometer, bent at right angles, into the diurnal, in connexion with passive states of the
mouth, so as to enable the observer to read off the body; the other accidental, dependent on irregular
indications as given by the mercury. The bulb circumstances, exercise physical or mental, expo-
must be placed as far back as possible, under the sure to heat and cold. The temperature of various
tongue, and the breathing be carried on through the individuals, after working several hours in a heated
nostrils. If introduced between the cheek and factory, was found to be raised one or two degrees
teeth, the temperature given will be under the real above the average; thus verifying the general
amount as shown under the tongue, where it should proposition, that the heat of the body rises and falls
be left for some minutes, to insure the maximum, with that of the atmosphere. Here, however, the
In a series of observations carried on daily for a doctor remarks that the increased heat penetrates
period of eight months, the highest average temper- but a short distance below the surface, whether it
ature was found to be, just after the operator had arise from surrounding causes, or from exercise.
risen in the morning, 9874; the medium, about A certain law of compensation appears to come into
three hours after noon, 9852 ; and the lowest, at play: by active exercise, the pulse and the respi-
the time of retiring to rest at midnight, 9792. A ration are both accelerated; more oxygen, it may
corresponding depression of the respiration and be presumed, is consumed; more heat is generated
pulse was noticed at the sanie hours. The tem- the blood is made to circulate more rapidly, and is
perature of the room in the morning was 509; and sent in larger quantities into the extremities, and
at night 62~ on the average of the whole eight where, in consequence, the excess of heat is con-
months; thus showing that the maximum tempera- veyed and expended, and its accumulation in the
ture of the body is highest after the nights repose, central and deep-seated organs prevented, affording
and lowest at midnight, although at the latter another striking example of harmonious adapta-
period the atmosphere was many degrees warmer. tion.
The effect of active exercise is to increase ani- Dr. Davy truly observes that the extension of
mal heat, when not carried to a fatiguing extent. these observations over a greater number of subjects
The average temperature of 98 rose to 995 after will lead to wider results, from which more par-
a fourteen miles ride under an August sun; the ticular inferences may be drawn, especially in con-
respiration and pulse quickened in a corresponding junction with respiration and the hearts action, not
ratio. The proportion of heat to the amount of without interest to physiology; and they may admit
muscular exertion is seen in the sum of the results of important practical application to the regulation
obtained after riding from seven to ten miles in a of clothing, the taking of exercise, the warming of
close carriage; which, showed a lower temperature dwelling-roomsin brief, to various measures con-
than any previously indicated, even by the midnight ducive to comfort, the prevention of disease, and its
observations. Desultory walking exercise in cold cure. A step in advance is made if it is only deter-
weather is also attended by a depressing effect; mined that, in the healthiest condition of the system,
there must be vigor and animation to insure an there is danger attending either extreme, either of
agreeable warmth. But the most lowering effects low uniform temperature, or of a high uniform tem-
of all were noted after sitting, during service, in a perature: and that the circumstances which are
church in which there was no fire. Notwithstand- proper to regulate variability within certain limits,
ing warm clothing, a painful chill was experienced, not prevent it, are those which conduce most to
with a strong tendency to drowsiness, health, as well as to agreeable sensation, enjoy-
Excited and sustained attention, such as reading 1meat, and length of life.
96
IDLE DATJGWF as. It is, said Mrs Ellis, a
most painful spectacle, in families where the mother
is the drudge, to see the daughters elegantly dressed,
reclining at their ease, with their drawing, their
music, their fancy work, and their reading; beguil-
ing themselves of the lapse of hours, days and weeks,
and never dreaming of their responsibilities; but, as
a necessary consequence of their neglect of duty,
growing weary of their useless lives, laying hold of
every newly invented stimulant to arousetheir droop-
ing energies, and blamin~ heir fate, when they dare
not blame their God for placing them where they are.
These same individuals will often tell you, with
an air of affected compassion, (for who can believe it
real?) that poor, dear mamma is working herself to
death. Yet no sooner do you propose that they
should assist her, than they declare she is quite in
her element; in short, that she would never he happy
if she had only half as much to do.
OrPREssIoN OF THE WEAKWe have been greatly
pained by a brief examination of the treaties recently
made between the governments of Great Britain and
France, on the one part, and the Hawaiian govern-
ment, on the other. These two great powers have
insisted upon a clause in their treaties to the effect,
that wines, brandies, and other spirituous liquors,
shall be liable to such reasonable duty as the Hawai-
ian government may think fit to lay upon them, pro-
vided always that the amount of duty shall not be so
high as absolutely to prohibit the importation of said
articles. Now we can hardly conceive of anything
more flagrantly wrong, than for these Christian na-
tions to deprive the government of the Sandwich
Islands of the power of excluding, if so disposed,
intoxicating liquors from its borders. Here is a fee-
ble but most interesting people, struggling against
a thousand difficulties, and endeavoring to free
themselves from the degradation in which Christians
found them, kept back from temperance and sohriety
and order by the miserable policy of two great Euro-
pean powers.
Nor is this all. Immediately after the ratification
NEW BOOKSCONTENTS.
of the foregoing treaties, the king of the Sandwich
Islands established a scale of duties for all intoxicat-
ing liquors: but because he imposed heavy duties
on some articles, the representatives of France and
England have entered their protests! We cannot
describe ~the sorrow and the shame which we have
felt in looking over the history of this matter. From
France we did not expect anything else; but we
certainly did look for better things from the enlight-
ened government of Great Britain. And we cannot
hot express the hope, that the effort which the king
of the Sandwich Islands is about to make to secure a
modification of the late treaties, in the particular
which we have now mentioned, ma prove success-
ful. May our own government never become a party
to such a disgraceful affair. Traveller.
ON a tomb-stone in the burial ground near the
court house in Newburyport, erected to the memory
of a sea-captain, who died before the Revolution, may
be read the following lines
Though Neptunes waves and Boreas blasts
Has tossed me to and fro,
In spite of both, by Gods decree,
I m anchored here below,
Where now I do at anchor ride,
With many of our fleet;
But hope I shall in time set sail,
My Saviour, Lord, to meet.
NEW BOOKS AND REPRINTS.
MEssas. HARPER & BROTHERs have published
two new school books
The Juvenile Speaker; comprising elementary
rules and exercises in declamation, with a selection
of pieces for practice. By Francis T. Russell.
A School Grammar of the Latin Language, hy
C. G. Zumpt. Translated by Leonhard Schmitz.
Corrected and enlarged by Charles Anthon, LL.D.
CONTENTS OF THIS NUMBER.
1. The Lost SensesDeafness and Blindnessby J. Kitto,
2. Sundries by last arrival from
3. St. Giles and St. JamesChap. xxxvi.
4. The Cave of the Regicides, in Newhaven
5. To the Stethoscope
6. The Pearl-Diver of Bahrein
7. A Country without a Historya Speculation on the Irish,
8. The Irish Question
9. Killing or Colonizing for Ireland
10. Miscellaneous Foreign News
11. Temperature of the Human Body
North British Review,
Punch
Jerrolds Magazine,
Blackwoods Magazine,
United Service Magazine,
Spectator
Chambers Journal,.
PoxTaY.To Mrs. Madison, 62Where shall I turn to forget, 87.
ScRAPsBeauty of the Sky; Chinese Proverb; Life, 81Returned Prisoner, 87Punch, 91.
The LIvING AGE is published every Saturday, by twenty dollars, or two dollars each for separate volumes.
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large volumes, are for sale, neatly bound in cloth, for incur either risk or expense in the collection of debts.
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