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When master of the city, Morgan was afraid that his men might get drunk, and be surprised and cut off by the Spaniards: to prevent this, he caused it to be reported that all the wine in the city had been expressly poisoned by the inhabitants. The dread of poison kept the fellows sober. But Morgan had scarcely taken up his quarters in Panama when several parts of the city burst out into flames, which, fed by the cedar wood and other combustil e materials of which the houses were chiefly built, spread so rapidly, that in a short time a great part of the city was burnt to the ground. It has been disputed whether this was done by design or accident by the buccaneers or the despairing Spaniards; but it appears that Morgan, who always charged it upon the Spaniards, gave all the assistance he could to such of the inhabitants as endeavoured to stop the progress of the fire, which, however, was not quite extinguished for weeks. Among the buildings destroyed, was a factory-house belonging to the Genoese, who then carried on the trade of supplying the Spaniards with slaves from

Africa.

The licentiousness, rapacity, and cruelty of the buccaneers, had no bounds. They spared in these, their cruelties, no sex nor condition whatsoever. As to religious persons (monks and nuns) and priests, they granted them les quarter than others, unless they procured a considerable sum of money for their ran som. Detachments scoured the country to plunder and to bring in prisoners. Many of the unfortunate inhabitants escaped, with their effects, by sea, and reached the islands that are thickly clustered in the bay of Panama. But Morgan found a large boat lying aground in the port, which he launched, and manned with a numerous crew, and sent her to cruise among those islands. A galeon, on board which the nuns of a convent had taken refuge, and where much money, plate, and other effects of value had been lodged, had a very narrow escape from these desperadoes. They took several vessels in the bay. One of them was large, and admirably adapted for cruising. This opened a new prospect that was brilliant and enticing; an unexplored ocean studded with islands was before them, and some of the buccaneers began to consult how they might leave their chief, Morgan, and try their fortunes on the South Sea, whence they proposed to sail, with the plunder they should obtain, by the East Indies to Europe. This diminution of force would have been fatal to Morgan, who, therefore, as soon as he got a hint of the design, cut away the masts of the ship, and burned every boat and vessel lying at Panama that could suit their purpose.

ings, which have the most romantic interest. These
were Basil Ringrose, Barty Sharp, William Dampier,
who, though a common seaman, was endowed with
great observation and a talent for description, and
Lionel Wafer, a surgeon providently engaged by the
buccaneers.

was killed. She came from Callao with a cargo of wine, brandy, oil, and fruit, and had in her as much money as yielded ninety-four dollars to each buccaneer. Through their ignorance of metals, they missed a much greater booty. There were seven hundred pigs of plate which they mistook for tin, on account of its not being refined and fitted for coining. They only took one of the seven hundred pigs, and twothirds of this they melted down into bullets, and otherwise squandered away. After having beaten along the coast, coming at times to anchor, making a few discoveries, and giving names to islands and bays, but taking no prizes, they sailed early in November from the shores of Patagonia. Their navigation hence was more than could be imagined; it was like the journey of travellers by night in a strange country without a guide. The weather being very stormy, they were afraid to venture through the strait of Magellan, but ran to the south to go round Terra del Fuego. Spite of tempests, clouds, and darkness, and immense icebergs, they doubled in safety the redoubtable Cape Horn, after a cruise of nearly twelve months' duration.

It was on the 16th of April, that the expedition passed over from Golden Island, and landed in Darien, each man provided with four cakes of bread, called dough-boys, with a fusil, a pistol, and a hanger. They began their arduous march marshalled in divisions, each with its commander and distinguishing flag. Many Darien Indians came to supply them with provisions, and to keep them company as confederates; among these were two chiefs, who went by the names of Captain Andreas and Captain Antonio. After enduring tremendous fatigues, the party at length reached Santa Maria, a town situated on a river which falls into the South Sea. This place they plundered, and put to death numbers of the inhabitants. As their booty was not great, they resolved on pushing onwards by the river to the ocean. On the 17th of April, the expedition embarked, and fell down the river to the gulf of San Miguel, which they did not These ocean robbers had the fortune to be left in reach until the following morning, owing to a flood-quiet possession of their spoils. Two or three were tide. They were now fairly in the South Sea! The tried and hanged, but on this, as on other occasions, prophesy of the Spaniards was accomplished, and the the bulk of the party were never called to account, or buccaneers looked across that magnificent expanse of if they were, they found means by bribes to escape a waters with sanguine hope. On the 19th of April, well-deserved punishment. Some had even the imthey entered the vast bay of Panama, and captured pudence to write and publish narratives of their piraat one of the islands a Spanish vessel of thirty tons, tical expeditions; and a sort of apology for their crimes on board of which one hundred and thirty of the has been hazarded in modern times on account of their buccaneers immediately threw themselves, overjoyed discoveries in the South Seas. to be relieved from the cramped and crowded state they had endured in the canoes-though of a certainty, even now, so many men on board so small a vessel could leave small room for comfort.

One of the last of the class of sea robbers we have
been noticing, was the noted Captain Kid, who fi
gured principally as a rover in the East Indian seas.
This worthy finished his career on the gallows at
Execution Dock in London, in the year 1701. His
memory has been preserved in a doggrel ballad, be-
ginning, if we recollect properly, with the lines
My name was Captain Kid,
When I sail'd, when I sail'd,
My name was Captain Kid,
When I sail'd.

I roam'd from sound to sound,
And many a ship I found,
And them I sunk or burn'd,

When I sail'd, when I sail'd.

The foregoing sketch is presented with the view of giving our readers an idea of the lawless state of society at a period as late as the close of the seventeenth century, and, therefore, of showing by contrast the improvement which has since taken place in national manners. Fortunately for commerce, and the friendly intercourse betwixt nations, all systematic piracy on a great scale, such as we have alluded to, has been long since extirpated by the concurring efforts of every civilised power.

It would be tiresome to recite minutely the adventures of these marauders. By means of their boats or canoes, they had the boldness to capture some vessels lying in the bay of Panama, and in less than a week from their appearance on the coast, they possessed a tolerably well equipped fleet. In the battles by which they had captured these ships, they lost a number of men; still this did not discourage them. They chose a new commander, one Richard Sawkins, in the room of their deceased leader, and prepared for a cruise. Panama was, luckily, now well fortified, and held out against their attacks. After staying ten days here to no purpose, they retired to the island of Taboga, in the neighbourhood. Here they stopped nearly a fortnight in expectation of the arrival of a rich ship from Lima. This ship came not, but seve ral other vessels fell into their hands, by which they obtained nearly sixty thousand dollars in specie, twelve hundred sacks of flour, two thousand jars of wine, a quantity of brandy, sugar, sweetmeats, poultry, and other provisions, some gunpowder, shot, &c. Among their prisoners was a number of unfortunate negro slaves, which tempted the Spanish merchants of REJECTED ADDRESSES. Panama to go to the buccaneers, and to buy as many of the slaves as they were inclined to sell. Those [BY MRS OPIE.] merchants paid two hundred pieces of eight for every WHENEVER I hear that any man of my acquaintance negro, and they sold to the buccaneers all such stores is paying his addresses to one out of many sisters, and and commodities as they stood in need of. therefore exposed to the severity of female criticism, Ringrose, one of the buccaneers, relates, that dur-I always pity him, because I doubt of his success; as I have rarely known a suitor, under such circumsent to demand of their leader, "Why, during a stances, accepted at once, if he has been accepted at time of peace between England and Spain, Englishmen all. And this has been owing, not to an amiable reshould come into those seas to commit injury?-and luctance in the object of his love, to leave her sisters, from whom they had their commission so to do?" or in them to part with her; but that the poor lover's Sawkins replied, “That he and his companions came person, manner, and qualities, were made the theme to assist their friend, the king of Darien (the said of that sort of laughing detraction, of all things the chief Andreas), who was the rightful lord of Panama, most fatal to a lover's success. and all the country thereabouts. That, as they had The following anecdote will exhibit a case in point, come so far, it was reasonable that they should receive which partly came uuder my own observation, and some satisfaction for their trouble; and if the gover-which, as the most amusing way of narrating it, I nor would send to them five hundred pieces of eight shall relate in dialogues :for each man, and one thousand for each commander, and would promise not any further to annoy the Darien Indians, their allies, that then the buccaneers would desist from hostilites, and go quietly about their business." The governor could scarcely be expected to comply with these moderate demands.

At length, on the 24th of February 1672, about four weeks after the taking of Panama, Morgan and his men departed from the still smouldering ruins of that unfortunate city, taking with them one hundred and seventy-five mules loaded with spoil, and six hundred prisoners, part of whom were detained to carry burdens across the isthmus, and others for the ransom expected for their release. Among the latter were many women and children, who were made to suffer cruel fatigue, hunger, and thirst, and artfully made to apprehend being carried to Jamaica and sold as slaves, that they might the more earnestly endeavour to procure money for their ransom. When these poor creatures threw themselves on their knees, and weep-ing these communications the governor of Panama ing and tearing their hair, begged of Morgan to let them return to their families, his brutal answer was, that "he came not there to listen to cries and lamentations, but to seek money." This idol of his soul, indeed, he sought from his comrades as well as his captives, and in such a manner that it is astonishing they did not blow his brains out.

Having accomplished their fatiguing march back to San Lorenzo, the buccaneers divided their spoil, and soon after separated with their vessels, most likely to go upon new expeditions. As for the arch-villain Morgan, he subsequently came to England, and received the honour of knighthood from the hands of Charles II., who afterwards sent him to Jamaica to fill a judicial office. Here he behaved with his wonted cruelty, and in a few years was transmitted home a prisoner at the instance of the Spanish court; but no charge being preferred against him, he was liberated. Circumstances such as these give us a curious insight into the state of morals towards the conclusion of the seventeenth century.

The plundering of Panama by Morgan fired the imaginations of the buccaneers, who now planned similarly daring expeditions to the South Sea, the coasts of which and their cities seemed to them like a newly discovered mine of wealth-a place where gold was to be had for the gathering. This became known to the Spaniards, and gave rise to numerous forebodings and prophesies, both in Spain and in Peru, of great invasions by land and sea.

After one or two ineffectual attempts of parties of pirates to cross the isthmus of Darien, an expedition was planned, in 1680, by a set of English adventurers, who found means to procure the friendship and cooperation of the Indians who inhabited the line of route. The buccaneers who engaged in this expedition were the crews of seven vessels, amounting altogether to three hundred and sixty-six men, of whom thirty-seven were left to guard the ships during the absence of those who went on the expedition, which was not expected to be of long continuance. There were several men of some literary talent among the marauders, who have written accounts of the proceed

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Three sisters, whom I shall call Lydia, Maria, and Eleanor, one evening, on their return from a dinnerparty, drew round the just-replenished grate, in the chamber of the eldest sister, in order to talk over the company which they had recently left.

When the female part of it had been sufficiently Tired of waiting for the rich ship from Peru, the criticised, the young men came in for their share of buccaneers in a short time sailed on a cruise, deter- the detraction. One of them was pronounced to be a mined to take whatever fell in their way. Generalis- dandy; another was well-dressed, but silly; a third, ing the account of their expeditions, it may be stated clever, but conceited; in short, each in his turn, was that they, from time to time, fell in with and captured set up as a nine-pin, to be, like a nine-pin, bowled both richly and poorly laden vessels; but quarrels down again. But Eleanor, the youngest sister, who among them about the division of the spoil were in- was never censorious in her remarks, and had no precessant, and they lost to one another by gambling tensions to the epithets, "witty" and "severe," which their hard-won plunder. Diminished in numbers by were often bestowed on her sisters, was, on this octheir encounters to a crew of seventy men, under a casion, unusually silent. At last, however, she said, new leader, Barty Sharp, they at length bethought with some hesitation, "But what did you think of themselves of returning to the Atlantic. While in that young man who came with Dr B?" "Do this mind, they had the "good fortune," as they you mean that frightened youth in the corner, who termed it, to pick up three valuable prizes. The first nearly fell down as he picked up your glove, and was a ship called the San Pedro, with a lading of blushed as if accused of stealing it, while he trembled cocoa-nuts, and 21,000 pieces of eight in chests, and it into your hand ?" "Yes, Maria, I mean him,” 16,000 in bags, besides plate. The money in bags, she replied; "his name, I find, is Edward Vincent." with all the loose plunder, was immediately divided, "Oh! I scarcely looked at him or noticed him; each man receiving two hundred and thirty-four pieces therefore, I certainly did not remember him long of eight. The money in chests was reserved for a enough to ask his name; but I recollect he was full of future division. Their second prize was a packet attention to you, Eleanor." "Oh, yes," cried Lydia, from Panama bound to Callao, by which they learned" and see how she blushes; I believe the poor thing is that in Panama it was believed that all the buccaneers really charmed." "No, no," replied Maria, "she had returned over land to the West Indies. The has too much good taste for that." "Indeed," obthird was a ship called the San Rosario, which made served Eleanor, modestly, "I think he is handsome." a bold resistance, and did not submit until her captain "Handsome!" exclaimed Maria; "he has not a good

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feature in his face ?" "Then you did look at him sufficiently to examine his features," replied Eleanor with a smile, though you scarcely looked at or noticed him!" "There!" retorted Maria, "Eleanor is sarcastic for the first time in her life; and that wonder.

word "was," nor did she choose to own her friend's assertion was true; she therefore only replied, "But how strange, he used to stammer a little, and lisp, I think, and my sisters used to mimic him so admirably." "Did they? What amiable consideration for an ex

worker, love, must have made her so." "No doubt," cellent young man, whose happiness and well-being said Lydia; "and, as the love is mutual, the blushing might, for aught they knew, depend on the success of youth will come hither a-wooing soon. Oh, it will be his suit!" "But he neither stammered nor lisped to so amusing!" "It will, indeed, Lydia; and when day." "No, certainly not, for he was at his ease, as he says, 'Will you marry me, dear Ally, Ally Croker?' your sisters were not here; and as he is no longer what will you reply, Eleanor?" "Nay, nay, Eleanor, your lover, you know, your presence was no more to you must say No, for we never can call that red and him than that of any other woman; therefore he did white, blushing, quizzical being, brother!" Eleanor himself justice; but he does speak thick, and hesidid not choose to reply, and she was rallied into si- tate, when he is agitated; he did so at a Bible Meetlence. In one respect, the sisters were right: Edwarding the other day, when he first got up to speak, but Vincent had conceived a strong attachment to Eleanor; he soon recovered himself, and was so eloquent! and having had frequent opportunities of being in her "Is it possible!" cried Eleanor, "Edward Vincent company, he at length came forward as her lover. speak at a Bible Meeting, and speak well? Amazing! Such were his fortune, situation in life, and personal my sisters used to think him so far from clever!" "I character, that Eleanor's parents highly approved his will trouble you, Eleanor," replied her friend, in rather proposals; but so completely was her conviction of an indignant tone, "not to repeat any more of your his worth kept under by her sisters' ridicule, that she sisters' mischievous, unjust, and unfeeling detraction. refused him; and very reluctantly acceded to his ear- I see very clearly that, but for their unchristian satire, nest request not to be dismissed immediately, but al- you, my dear friend, would now have been the happy lowed time and opportunity to acquire her good opi- wife of a most deserving man; but my regret is vain, nion. But he never came without such a conscious- and I am sorry that it is so." She then left Eleanor ness of being the object of satirical observation to the to muse on what she had said, believing she would sisters, that he was deprived by timidity of the power not soon forget it; but would dwell, probably with of speaking or moving without embarrassment and no pleasant feelings on the words, "but my regret is awkwardness; and as soon as he departed the sisters vain." mimicked his manner, his annunciation, and awkward And she did dwell on them-and she did, herself, motions, to the life; and one of them-likening him regret the loss of what she now, more than ever, beto Cymon, and Eleanor to Iphigene, in Dryden's Fa- lieved would have been her happy prospects. And for ble and to imitate his stupid care of fond sur- some time they, indeed, seemed to be lost for ever. prise," while he looked at Eleanor, till at length she Whether Edward Vincent was or was not conscious was induced to dismiss him finally. But when she saw of the advantage which he had gained, he had not a him leave the house, after he had received his dismis- remnant of his former awkwardness; he spoke with sal, her eye watched him so wistfully till he was out fluency, and moved with grace. True it was, that he of sight, and then she heaved so deep a sigh, that Ma- came to the house of Eleanor's friends every day-that ria sarcastically exclaimed, "Shall we call Cymon he showed Eleanor his cottages and his school-house, back, poor Iphigene? It is not too late," she added, and accompanied the ladies in their rides and drives; running to the window; "here, Cymon! here!" "It but he never offered to show Eleanor his own house, is too late," said Eleanor, sighing again; "and now and this was a proof to her that he no longer wished that he is to come hither no more, must desire that her to be its mistress. Her friend thought it a proof he be neither mimicked nor ridiculed." Soon after, of the contrary, but was too wise to say so, especially Edward Vincent sold his house in the neighbourhood, as the confusion and awkwardness, once Edward Vinand went, as it was said, on his travels, but was still cent's, seemed now, at times, transferred to poor Elearemembered with kindness by her, and respect by her nor herself, who would have been glad to have heard parents; especially as his change of residence was at- him stammer and lisp again, and by his sheepish stare tributed to his unfortunate attachment. of admiration, have deserved to be likened to Cymon in the fable.

66

6.

Nearly a twelvemonth afterwards, Eleanor's sisters accompanied a near relation abroad, and she was perIn the meanwhile Edward Vincent, who, in his mitted to visit a friend of hers, who was lately mar-heart, was no uninterested observer of what was passried, and residing near Edinburgh. ing, saw, that as Eleanor was now left to her own unbiassed judgment, that judgment was in his favour; and being, therefore, convinced that he was now not likely to be refused, he called on her silent but observant friend, to lay his whole case before her. Beginning by asking her whether Eleanor had told "She was too honourable, too delicate," cried she, interrupting him, "to tell me anything; but I am too penetrating, my dear friend, not to have discovered everything; but say no more to me; you will find Eleanor alone in the library." He took the hint, and when Eleanor's sisters returned from abroad, they found her, to the great joy of their parents, the happy wife of Cymon, alias Edward Vincent.-Pledge of Friendship, 1828.

As soon as Eleanor was settled in her new abode, her friend said to her, "So, my dear Eleanor, your mother writes me word that you have been so foolish as to refuse a very charming man, and an excellent offer." Charming! Oh, no!" replied Eleanor, blushing, "amiable, I own, but-" But what, my dear?" "Oh! my sisters could not bear him, they thought him such a quiz, and used to laugh at him so much!" "Indeed!-that was the case, was it?" replied her friend, who well knew the satirical turn of the sisters, and their influence over her yielding mind; "but he was not their lover; if he had-but no, perhaps, he would not, even then, have fared much better, except they had been on the verge of old-maidism. Pray, what is his name? That your mother refuses to tell me. 99 "And very justly," said Eleanor; "names, on such occasions, it is dishonourable to mention." "Right," replied the other; "but woman's curiosity is, you know, proverbial."

A few days afterwards, her friend told her that she had invited a very agreeable young man to dinner, who was lately come amongst them, and had already made himself popular in the neighbourhood, by building cottages and a school-room, and by other useful actions and kindnesses of a private and public nature. "But it is time for you to dress," added she; "and pray try to look your best."

When the dinner-bell rang, and Eleanor, hanging on her friend's arm, entered the room, the first person whom she saw was Edward Vincent! His impulse, on seeing her, and seeing her unexpectedly, was to depart directly; but he conquered his feelings, and stayed. Probably he observed her blushing, embarrassed surprise, and believed it was not the blush of vexation. He therefore welcomed her to Scotland with tolerable ease, and had less difficulty than Eleanor in telling the host and hostess, what they could not help discovering untold, that Miss and himself were old acquaintances; while the sagacious hostess drew her own conclusions from what she saw, and was far gone in secret prognostics before the day

THE PRISONER IN THE IRON MASK.

ONE of the most remarkable prisoners known to have ever been confined in the Bastile, was an individual described in history by the designation of the Man in the Iron Mask. The first and most remarkable account given of him was in Voltaire's Age of Louis XIV. According to that writer, some months after the death of Cardinal Mazarin (1661), an unknown prisoner, young, and of noble appearance, distinguished stature, and great beauty of person, was sent in profound secrecy to the state prison in the Isle St Marguerite, on the coast of Provence. The unfortunate wore, when travelling, a mask, so contrived by means of steel springs that he could take his meals without uncovering his face, a peremptory order having been given, that, if he disclosed his features, he should be instantly put to death. The minister, Louvois, paid him a visit, and spoke to him standing, and with an attention that implied respect. On one occasion he wrote something with a knife upon a plate, and threw it out of the window of his apartment; it was picked up by a fisherman, who brought it to the governor of "Eleanor," said she, at night, when she followed the fort. The man was rigidly examined, and on its her to her room, "how do you like our new neigh-being ascertained that he could not read, the governor bour?" "Oh! he is very good, I know." "Good! dismissed him with the remark, that he was lucky in no, that you can not know, except from our report." his ignorance. In 1698, when the governor St Mars "But, you know, he is no stranger to me.' is clear enough; but, has he not good manners?" "Ye-es, now; but how very odd !-he used to look so sheepish when he visited us." "No wonder, for I suspect he was in love then with a certain young friend of mine, and knew her sisters were full of satire and malicious laughter whenever they saw him; for I know he is a modest man, and I am convinced he was then your lover."

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That

"Was your lover!" Eleanor did not quite like the

was appointed to the same office in the Bastile, he carried the Masked Prisoner along with him, and there the unfortunate was remarked to be attended with great ceremony, and supplied with many luxuries which no other prisoner was permitted to enjoy. The governor seldom sat down in his presence. fond of music, and had a passion for lace and fine linen. The physician of the prison had inspected his

He was

tongue, but never saw his face. The very tone of his voice was said to inspire interest; no complaint ever escaped him, nor did he attempt, even by a hint, to make himself known. At his death in 1703, he was interred, like all other persons who died in the Bastile, in the neighbouring churchyard of St Paul's, the name registered being that of Marchiali. Immediately after his death, his clothes, linen, and all his apparel, were burnt with the most anxious care; the very floor of his apartment was scraped and taken up, and every vestige of his existence annihilated.

A story so mysterious could not fail to excite much curiosity; and the literary ingenuity which has been expended since Voltaire's time, in vain attempts to discover who the Masked Prisoner really was, is of very considerable amount. The subject was discussed by Gibbon in an ingenious essay, and, in 1825, M. Delort published at Paris a complete volume on the subject, containing many authentic documents which he considered as illustrative of it. From these documents, the late Lord Dover, then Mr Agar Ellis, drew up a new narrative somewhat more clear and logical than that of the French writer; which was published in 1826. The theory of Delort and Ellis represented the prisoner to be a person named Matthioli, an agent or minister of the Duke of Mantua, who had incurred the resentment of Louis XIV., in consequence of some treachery he practised in a negotiation for the surrender of a Mantuan fortress to the French, and who, being inveigled into the French territory, was there seized, May 1679, and conveyed as prisoner to St Marguerite by M. St Mars, by whom he was subsequently removed to various prisons in succession, as his jailor happened to be translated from one to another, till he finally settled in the Bastile. The chain of evidence upon which this surmise is grounded appears to be deficient in one link, and accordingly it cannot be considered as perfectly satisfactory. This has given scope to the revival of an old theory, which represented the prisoner as a twin-brother of Louis XIV., consigned to durance in order to prevent a contest for the crown. Only a few months ago, the French newspapers contained a letter written by M. A. Belliard, formerly secretarygeneral to the Minister of the Interior, in which that gentleman stated that he had seen, in the public archives, a manuscript relation by M. St Mars, which described the Prisoner with the Mask as what is above stated, and represented St Mars himself as having been his guardian and keeper from the hour of his birth till his death. Belliard gives, from recollection, the following statement from the manuscript :-"It was predicted to the queen, Anne of Austria [consort of Louis XIII.], that she should bring forth twins, which should one day be the cause of great troubles in the kingdom. The queen was struck with this prediction. Arrived at the moment of her accouchement, she was delivered of a boy, whose birth was verified after the official mode. When the court attendants had retired, with the exception of her own imme. diate servants, the queen was again seized with the pains of labour, and was soon delivered of a second prince; which immediately recalled and seemed so far to verify the prediction which had been made to her. In our ancient jurisprudence, it was considered that the last-born twin was the eldest. It was decided, therefore, to conceal this second birth; and the infant was delivered to M. de Saint Mars, who was ordered to depart immediately for Bourgogne, where he had a residence. Arrived at the age of sixteen, the young man suspected that the messages which came from time to time from the court related to himself. Profiting by a momentary absence of M. de Saint Mars, he forced open the lock of a cabinet in which that per. son kept his letters; and he read enough to discover who in reality he was. M. de Saint Mars, when he returned and found what had taken place, ordered him on the peril of his life to be silent as to his discovery. Having immediately sent off a courier to the court with the news, he received orders to proceed to the Isle Saint Margaret with his pupil, who then became his prisoner. M. de Saint Mars repeats frequently youth: he speaks of the gentleness of his character, and that he took always the greatest care of the unfortunate of the resignation with which he supported a captivity which was only to finish at his death." But chronology is grievously at issue with this relation. If the prisoner was a twin-brother of Louis XIV., he must death; and it is not at all likely that St Mars could have been born in 1638, and been sixty-five at his have been the keeper of any individual during so long a life. In order to be entrusted with such a charge at first, St Mars would have required to be at least thirty: supposing this to have been the case, he must have acceded to the command of the Bastile at ninety, and been nearly a hundred when the prisoner died. Setting aside this part of the narration, it seems likely that the Masked Prisoner was a person whose features contained some such danger to the state as what might have accrued from the pretensions of a twin-brother to the Grand Monarch; while it seems not in the least probable that so much care would be taken with a person of the order of Matthioli.

The Bastile was one of the first parts of the old system of things which fell beneath the outbreaking

fite upon me.' The king replied, that he was amazed at such a request from a man who could neither shape nor sew. 'Sir,' rejoined the poet, that maks nae matter, for you have given bishopricks and benefices to mony standing here about you, and yet they can nouther teach nor preach, and why not I as weill be your taylor, though I can nouther shape nor sew, seeing teaching and preaching are nae less requisite to their vocation than shaping and sewing to ane taylor.' The effect of this well managed jeu d'esprit upon the bystanders, many of whom came within its range, may be readily conceived. Whatever might be their feelings on the subject, James himself enjoyed it "Whatever way I turned (says Park), nothing appeared but greatly, and found much amusement in contemplatdanger and difficulty. I saw myself in the midst of a vast wildering the angry looks which it occasioned."

rage of the French people in 1789. On July 14th of mon in some parts of England, the usage being ap
that year, during the commotions which followed the parently one of those evils which not even the progress
dismissal of M. Necker from the royal counsels, the of intelligence is able to overcome. In Holland, the
mob of Paris, after taking the Hospital of the Inva- custom prevails to an almost inconceivable extent.
lids, proceeded to the terrific prison which had so long In Rotterdam, for instance, every lady or gentleman
insulted humanity, justice, and all the more sacred who calls on or visits a friend or a neighbour, is ex-
feelings that connect man with man. A brief but pected to give a small silver coin, value fivepence, at
fierce and sanguinary siege took place, and the people, least, to the servant on departing. No one who values
enraged beyond bounds by the loss of some of their his character dares to break through the usage; and
friends, who fell under the fire of the garrison, bat-visiting thus becomes, as may be supposed, a seriously
tered a breach in the gate, and pouring into the cas- expensive luxury.
tle, soon made themselves masters of it, and took the
garrison prisoners. The governor and other officers
were taken to the Hotel de Ville, condemned, and
immediately after executed. As for the prison itself,
the people did not leave one stone of it standing, and
accordingly the space which it occupied is now a level
and paved area.

CUSTOM OF GIVING VAILS TO
SERVANTS.

[From Dr King's Anecdotes of his Own Times. London,
Murray, 1819.]

PARK'S FIRST JOURNEY IN AFRICA.

ness; in the depth of the rainy season, naked and alone, sur-
rounded by savage animals, and men still more savage. I was
five hundred miles from the nearest European settlement. At
this moment, painful as my reflections were, the extraordinary
beauty of a small moss in fructification irresistibly caught my eye.
I mention this to show from what trifling circumstances the mind
will sometimes derive consolation, for, though the whole plant
was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I could not
contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and
capsula, without admiration. Can that Being, thought I, who
planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part
of the world, a thing which appears of so small importance, look
with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures
formed after his own image? Surely not. I started up, and, dis-
regarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled forward, assured that
relief was at hand, and I was not disappointed."

written by Alexander Letham, an inmate of the Asylum for the
The following verses on the above affecting incident, have been

Blind, at Edinburgh.

Ah! lovely flower, what care, what power,
In thy fair structure are displayed
By him who reared thee to this hour
Within the forest's lonely shade!
Thy tender stalk, and fibres fine,

Here find a shelter from the storm;
Perhaps no human eyes but mine

Ere gazed upon thy lovely form.
The dew-drop glistens on thy leaf,

As if thou seem'st to shed a tear;
As if thou knew'st my tale of grief;
Felt all my sufferings severe !
But, ah! thou know'st not my distress,
In danger here from beasts of prey,
And robbed of all I did possess,

By men more fierce by far than they.
Nor canst thou ease my burdened sigh,
Nor cool the fever at my heart,
Though to the zephyrs passing by
Thou dost thy balmy sweets impart.
Yet He that formed thee, little plant,
And bade thee flourish in this place,
Who sees and feels my every want,
Can still support me by His grace.
Oft has His arm, all strong to save,
Protected my defenceless head,
From ills I never could perceive,
Nor could my feeble hand have staid.
Then shall I still pursue my way

THE custom of giving money to servants is now be-
come such a grievance [this was about 1760], that it
seems to demand the interposition of the legislature to
abolish it. How much are foreigners astonished,
when they observe that a man cannot dine at any
house in England, not even with his father or his
brother, or with any other of his nearest relations, or
most intimate friends and companions, unless he pay
for his dinner! But how can they behold without
indignation or contempt a man of quality standing by
his guests, while they are distributing money to a
double row of his servants? If, when I am invited
to dine with any of my acquaintance, I were to send
the master of the house a sirloin of beef for a present,
it would be considered as a gross affront; and yet as
soon as I shall have dined, or before I leave the
house, I must be obliged to pay for the sirloin which
was brought to his table, or placed on the sideboard.
For I contend that all the money which is bestowed
on the servants is given to the master. For if the
servants' wages were increased in some proportion to
their vails (which is the practice of a few great fami-
lies, the Duke of Norfolk's, Mr Spencer's, Sir Francis
Dashwood's, &c.), this scandalous custom might be
totally extinguished. I remember a Lord Poor, a
Roman Catholic Peer of Ireland, who lived upon a
small pension which Queen Anne had granted him :
he was a man of honour, and well esteemed, and had
formerly been an officer of some distinction in the
service of France. The Duke of Ormonde had often
invited him to dinner, and he as often excused him-
self. At last the duke kindly expostulated with him,
and would know the reason why he so constantly re-
fused to be one of his guests. My Lord Poor then
honestly confessed he could not afford it: "but," says
he, "if your grace will put a guinea into my hands as
often as you are pleased to invite me to dine, I will not
decline the honour of waiting on you." This was
done; and my lord was afterwards a frequent guest
in St James's Square. For my part, whenever I am
invited to the table of any of my noble friends, I
have the vanity to imagine that my company is de-
sired for the sake of my conversation; and there is
certainly no reason why I should give the servants
money because I give the master pleasure. Besides,
I have observed the servants of every great house
consider these vails to be as much their due as the fees
which are claimed in the customhouse, or in any other
public office; and therefore they make no distinction
between a gentleman of L.200 a-year, and one of
L.2000; although they look on the former as inferior
in every respect to themselves. Upon the whole,
if this custom, which is certainly a disgrace to our
country, is to continue in force, I think it may at least
be practised in a better manner. Suppose there were
written in large gold letters over the door of every
man of rank, "The fees for dining here are three
half-crowns [or ten shillings] to be paid to the por-
ter on entering the house: peers or peeresses to pay
what more they think proper." By this regulation
two inconveniences would be avoided: first, the dif-
ficulty of distinguishing, amongst a great number,
the quality of the servants. I, who am near-sighted,
have sometimes given the footman what I designed
for the butler, and the butler has had only the foot-who lived at the beginning of the sixteenth century,

man's fee for which the butler treated me with no small contempt, until an opportunity offered of correcting my error. But, secondly, this method would prevent the shame which every master of a family cannot help feeling whilst he sees his guests giving about their shillings and half-crowns to his servants. He may then conduct them boldly to his door, and take his leave with a good grace. My Lord Taaffe fo Ireland, a general officer in the Austrian service, came into England a few years ago on account of his private affairs. When his friends, who had dined with him, were going away, he always attended them to the door; and if they offered any money to the servant who opened it (for he never suffered but one servant to appear), he always prevented them, saying, in his manner of speaking English, "If you do give, give it to me, for it was I that did buy the din

ner.

Had Dr King lived till our own times, he would have been still more surprised to learn that the custom of visitors giving money to servants is still com

O'er this wild desert's sun-burnt soil,
To where the ocean's swelling spray
Washes my longed-for, native isle.

ODDS AND ENDS.

A MANAGING WIFE.-Some women are never happy unless when they are scrubbing, brushing, sweeping, or otherwise toiling in household affairs, although they have servants to do all that they require. The Honourable Henry Erskine's first wife was one of this class, and her extreme nervous irritability and eccentric ways, it may be supposed, did not contribute greatly to Harry's domestic happiness. One of her peculiarities consisted in not retiring to rest at the usual hours. She would frequently employ half the night in examining the wardrobe of the family, to see that nothing was missing, and that every thing was in its proper place. The following is told as a proof of her oddities:-One morning, about two or three o'clock, having been unsuccessful in a search, she awoke Mr Erskine from a sound sleep by putting to him this important interrogatory, "Harry, lovie, where's your white waistcoat ?"

DAVIE LINDSAY.-Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, and rose in the world by having been employed as a humble attendant on James V. while a child, possessed an extraordinary talent for ridicule, which found vent in a number of humorous and satirical poems. He was the Burns of his day. His poems were in every mouth. Among the lower orders he was especially popular. His broad humour delighted them beyond measure, and there was scarcely one of them but could repeat large portions of "Davie Lindsay" from memory. Of the felicity and point with which Davie could exercise his dangerous gift of satire, the following curious instance is related by Dr Irving in his life of the poet:-" The king being one day surrounded by a numerous train of nobility and prelates, Lindsay approached him with due reve rence, and began to prefer an humble petition that he would install him in an office which was then vacant. 'I have,' said he, servit your grace lang, and luik to be rewardit as others are, and now your maister taylor, at the pleasure of God, is departit, wherefore I wald desire of your grace to bestow this little bene

ENGLISH AND FRENCH MANNERS.-If the various occupations of Englishmen divide them more from the fair sex than the futile pleasures of the French, we cannot but think that though there may be some cause for regret, on both sides, for this separation, yet the advantages of our system more than compensate its defects. The men remain more men than when softened by the perpetual presence of females. Their minds are more masculine, more capable of the great affairs to which they seem destined by nature, and not unfitted for any of the minor social relations. The women have more leisure for their domestic concerns, more time for improvement; and, as they know that their mates and partners will return to them with invigorated minds, it is natural that they should encations of the men to public meetings, public dinners, deavour to meet them on the same heights. The avo. &c. and the seclusion in which the ladies live during those moments, are, we are convinced of it, favour. able to both parties; and their meeting again, when those are past, has no taste of satiety. The exclusive tea-table may sometimes be as dull as Madame de Staël has described it in her Corinna, and the evening sittings of the gentlemen may be now and then abusive. But we are persuaded that were these daily secessions to be abolished, as in France, both sexes would be the worse for it, and the nation would lose a part of its greatness.-Quart. Rev.

BENEFICENCE.-Man is naturally a beneficent

creature.

own.

The greatest pleasure wealth can afford, is that of doing good. All men of estates are in effect but trustees for the benefit of the distressed, and will be so reckoned when they are to give an account. Defer not charities till death: he that doth so is rather liberal of another man's substance than of his Reckon upon benefits well placed as a treasure that is laid up, and account thyself the richer for that which thou givest a worthy person. It is part of a charitable man's epitaph, "What I possessed, is left to others; what I gave away, remains with me." Do good with what thou hast, or it will do thee no good. Men of the noblest dispositions think themselves happiest when others share with them in their happiness. It is better to be of the number of those who need relief, than of those who want hearts to give it. No ob. ject is more pleasing to the eye, than the sight of a man whom you have obliged; nor any music so agreeable to the ear, as the voice of one that owns you for his benefactor.-From a Scrap Book.

MASTER AND SLAVE.-Amidst the intoxication of his anger, Usbek, an Eastern monarch, swore he would put an innocent slave to death. Already his murdering hand, waving over the victim a mewith his blood: "Strike, inhuman master, gratify thy nacing cimeter, was going to besprinkle the dust. fury," said the slave, bending under the destructive steel. "Thou mayest deprive me of life: use thy power; but remember that, by making me a sacrifice, avenging remorse will rob thee of the two greatest sweets of thy existence, esteem of thyself, and peace of mind." Usbek's wrath immediately subsided, and he acknowledged the horror of the intended deed: "Live," replied he; "I am now sensible that hap

piness ends where crime begins."

MAGNANIMITY.-When the Emperor Vespasian commanded a Roman senator to give his voice against the interest of his country, and threatened him with immediate death if he spoke on the other side, the Roman, conscious that the attempt to serve a people was in his power, though the event was ever so uncertain, answered with a smile, "Did I ever tell you that I was immortal? My virtue is in my own disposal, my life in your's; do you what you will, I shall do what I ought: and if I fall in the service of my country, I shall have more triumph in my death, than you in all your laurels."

fly from Mexico, no less than L.275,000 worth are consumed in Great Britain annually-a vast amount for so small a creature, and well calculated to show us the absurdity of despising any animals on account of their minuteness.

VALUE OF SMALL INSECTS. Of the small cochineal

HUMAN LIFE. I have always thought, says a recent writer, that life is too short to waste any portion of it in fretting at the prosperity of others.

LONDON: Published, with Permission of the Proprietors, by ORR
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Stereotyped by A. Kirkwood, Edinburgh.
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CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S HISTORICAL NEWSPAPER."

No. 162.

THE DELUSIVE NOTIONS OF SUCCESSIVE

AGES.

EVERY successive age thinks itself the cleverest that ever existed but is usua.ly disposed to look back upon the preceding as its superior in virtue. We readily acknowledge the morality of our fathers, but are care ful to allow them a very small share of understanding. Excellent stupid people we think them-every man innocent himself, and trusting to find the like innocence in his neighbours-a worthy honest race, who troubled themselves very little to ascertain the principles of anything, and were good they knew not how or wherefore.

The writer of an article entitled "The Old Cut," which lately appeared in our paper, went largely into this notion, and endeavoured to show that the young men of his own early day, about fifty years ago, were almost unexceptionably steady and well-behaved, without any vices corresponding to those which distinguish existing youth. Strange to say, on looking | into the books of the time referred to, we find the very same complaints made as to the rising generation of that day, as are so loudly trumpeted respecting the present. In the Mirror, a periodical paper, conducted by Mr Mackenzie, and which was published in the years 1779 and 1780, an old gentleman, full of the virtuous notions of the then old school, fills the fourth number with an account of his two sons, who had been completely demoralised by a residence in Paris, and who despised their unpretending father "for the want of those frivolous accomplishments on which they valued themselves so highly." Another ancient and honourable gentleman, in the ninth number, tells how greatly he was shocked, on visiting the theatre for the first time in twenty years, to see the conduct of the young men in the upper boxes. In the fifty-seventh number, a travelled man, newly come home, attends an assembly, and finds the lady directress surrounded by a number of persons of both sexes, who all "spoke at the same time, and some of them, as I thought, with a voice and gesture rather rough and vehement." He is told that the real men of fashion are not yet come in, and presently he hears a loud noise at the lower end of the hall. "There they come,' said the lady directress, and I soon perceived a number of young gentlemen staggering up the room, all of them flustered, some of them perfectly intoxicated. Their behaviour (I forbear to mention the particulars) was such as might be expected." At another place, the editor himself says "I perceive, in the pit of the playhouse, some young men who have got fuddled in punch, as noisy and as witty as the gentlemen in the boxes, who have been drinking Burgundy." Mr Mackenzie's testimony is, however, less decisive than that of his publisher, Mr Creech, who, in a series of Letters addressed to Sir John Sinclair, respecting the changes of manners between 1763 and 1783, characterises the one period as remarkable for decency, dignity, and delicacy, and the other as equally marked by dissipation and licentiousness. ، Many people," says he, "ceased [in 1783] to blush at what would formerly have been reckoned a crime." He says it was fashionable at the one period to go to church, and it was held disgraceful to be seen on the streets during public worship ; but that, in 1783, attendance on church was greatly neglected-the streets were far from being void of people during worship-the Sunday evenings were signalised by riots-and domiciliary visiting had been given up by the clergy. "In 1763," says this observer, "a young man was termed a fine fellow, who, to a well-informed and accomplished mind added elegance of manners, and a conduct guided by principle; one who would not have injured the rights of the

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SATURDAY, MARCH 7, 1835.

meanest individual; who contracted no debts that he
could not pay; and thought every breach of morality
unbecoming the character of a gentleman; who stu-
died to be useful to society, so far as his opportunities
or abilities enabled him." Alas, how changed was the
fine fellow of 1783 !“ one who could drink three |
bottles; who discharged all debts of honour, and eva-
ded payment of every other; who swore immoderately,
and before ladies, and talked of his word of honour;
who ridiculed religion and morality as folly and hypo-
crisy (but without argument); who was forward in
all the fashionable follies of the time; and who disre-
garded the interests of society, or the good of man-
kind, if they interfered with his own vicious selfish
pursuits and pleasures." About the time when Mr
Creech was writing, Dr Vicesimus Knox, whose ob-
servations extended over a wider circle of society,
wrote thus respecting young men-"Far more take
pains to shine amidst the little circle of their vicious
acquaintance, in the character of gay libertines, than
to acquire, by useful qualities, the esteem of the good.
From motives of vanity, health and peace are sacri-
ficed, fortunes lavished without credit or enjoyment,
every relative and personal duty neglected, and reli-
gion boldly set at defiance. To be admitted into the
company of those who disgrace the family title which
they inherit, thousands plunge into debauchery with-
out passion, into drunkenness without convivial en-
joyment, into gaming without the means or inclina-
tion for play."

It being thus proved that the young gentlemen of
the eighties were no better than they should be, our
next business is to go back twenty or thirty years far-
ther, and endeavour to ascertain if those who were old
in 1779, were what they pretended to have been in
their own young days. It is, in the first place, not
very favourable to Mr Creech's theory, that the most
conspicuous article of native intelligence in the Scots
Magazine for 1762, is one respecting the alarming
prevalence of the crime of infanticide, and that the
General Assembly of 1760 was very generally peti-
tioned for a national fast, "on account of the great
increase of vice and immorality, owing in no small de-
gree to the growing profanation of the Sabbath." In
the periodical paper called the World, published in
1753 by Mr Edward Moore, author of the Gamester,
a worthy old gentleman employs himself in the twenty-
ninth number to describe what he suffered through
the fashionable follies of his wife, son, and daughter.
The profligacy of the son is set down by the editor as
only an instance of what was to be observed in all pub-
lic places, and as, in his opinion, the unavoidable re-
sult of imperfect or erroneous education. "The an-
cients," says he, "began the education of their children
by forming their hearts and their manners. They
taught them the duty of men and citizens; we teach
them the language of the ancients, and leave their
morals and manners to shift for themselves." In the
forty-ninth number, a definition is given of a modern
gentleman, exactly corresponding in every particular
with Mr Creech's fine fellow of 1783. He is repre-
sented as a person with a tolerable suit of clothes, and
a sword by his side, who may lie with impunity, if he
be ready to demonstrate his veracity with a pistol,
abuse and starve his wife and sisters, pay no debts but
those contracted in gaming, and do every thing else he
pleases, except decline single combat, or cheat at play
-a dispensation being allowed even in the last parti-
cular, if the transaction be done at a horse-match.

If we go back to the time when the veterans of 1753 and 1763 were young, we find reason to believe that they were then in no respect better than their children. In an address to the throne in 1722, the town

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PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

council of Edinburgh used the strongest language in representing "the abounding of vice and immorality, particularly horrid cursing and swearing, breach of the Lord's day, drunkenness," and other vices which need not be specified. Nay, Patrick Walker, in his Life of Peden, written about this time, mentions that the young men had become so luxurious in profligacy, as to have the newest-fashioned oaths sent regularly down to them from the metropolis. Those who have read the satirical writings of Swift and Pope, and the preceptive papers of Addison and Steele, will not require to be reminded of the dissolute manners which prevailed at this period in all departments of British society. But it is needless thus to pursue retreating virtue through all the successive stages of our national history. Were we to go back to Horace and Juvenal, we should find such calculations made as to the rapidly increasing wickedness of mankind, as, if true, would have long since left us in a state too horrible to be imagined.

It is not only, however, respecting the morality of mankind that such delusive notions are entertained: we hear much in the present day respecting the cultivation of general knowledge by ladies, of their attendance upon scientific lectures, of their blue-stocking habits, and so forth. Yet Mr Mackenzie, between fifty and sixty years ago, was full of remarks upon the increasing learning of the female sex, and could in no other way account for the brevity of the dresses of his fair contemporaries, than by supposing their attention to be too exclusively engrossed in the adornment of the head, to allow of their taking any care of the other extremity. We hear complaints as to the foolish dances which have lately substituted mere romping for elegance; yet Ward, the author of the London Spy, who wrote at the beginning of the eighteenth century, describes something exactly similar as being in vogue at that time. "All things being now in order," says he, in his chapter on the dancing-school, "Monsieur Shakelegs faces about to his fair company of female pupils, whom he had brought under such discipline that at one word of command they advanced forward from their seats, seeming all to be as ready to put themselves upon a gallop as so many post-horses. When they had drawn themselves into a ring, like so many country people going to play at drop-glove, very concise orders were dispatched to the listening Crowdero to play the Brawls; which being done, the master led up his scholars, and away they scoured round the room after one another, as if they were playing a train-tro; at which kind of sport they continued till they had tired the company, much worse than themselves, before they altered into any variety." Chaucer says that there is no new fashion that is not old; and the remark, in as far as it anticipates the inference from these facts, is its own confirmation. Even that system of cheap literature, by which some wise people think that real learning will soon be overthrown, is not peculiar to the present age. Major Topham, in his Letters from Edinburgh, dated in 1775, states that the business of publishing has been there "carried to perfection-I mean that perfection which includes every requisite in a book at the smallest price possible. A bookseller in this city is now printing a complete set of the English classics in duodecimo; which, with the addition of a very handsome binding, amount only to eighteen-pence. It is such productions as these that do honour to a country." Again, there is a very general impression amongst us, that the taste for the legitimate drama has lately experienced a decline, and that spectacles and buffoonery have come in

Ward's Works, ii., 226.

place of the sorrows of Belvidera and the humours of Major O'Flaherty. What says the Edinburgh Maga zine for 1799 upon this subject? "When we turn our eyes to the theatre, we observe crowds of every rank pressing to see pantomimes and puppet-shows, too contemptible to be criticised, too despicable to be described, and the representation of which ought to be considered as an insult to a civilised and learned nation; were not the managers excused by the depraved taste of the public, and the applause so universally and lavishly bestowed upon these miserable performances." (vol. xiii. 244.) Yes, say the admirers of the legitimate drama, but look back to the age of Garrick that was the true era of a just and elevated theatrical taste. Well, what says the World for October the 25th, 1753? "Happy it is for us, that we live in an age of taste, when the dumb eloquence and manual wit of Harlequin is justly preferred to the whining of tragedy and the vulgarity of comedy. When certain reformations can be brought about, every body," says this ironical satirist, "must allow that a pantomime will be a most rational and instructive entertainment. How pleased will the town be this winter, to read in one of the articles of news in the Public Advertiser, We hear that, at each of the theatres-royal, there is an entire new pantomime now in rehearsal, and that the principal parts will be performed by Mr Garrick, Mr Woodward, Mr Mossop, Mrs Cibber, and Mrs Pritchard, at Drury Lane; and at Covent Garden by Mr Quin, Mr Lun, Mr Barry, Miss Nossiter,' &c. It is not to be doubted that a pantomime so acted would run through a whole season to the politest as well as the most crowded audiences." The writer further insinuates, that, if the best authors of the day were to lend their assistance in composing these productions, there would not be a hundred people at any one rout in town, except it was of a Sunday." Such was the theatrical taste, and such the general morality of 1753.

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to a sense of the number of lectures attended by females, the ridiculous appearance of gallopades, and pantomimes, the number of books published cheaply, and vast machinery in existence for the diffusion of knowledge among all classes; and immediately, without the least reflection, we exclaim that taste degenerates and real learning declines, in proportion to their being spread over large surfaces: altogether unconscious that the same observations were made in the days of our fathers, our grandfathers, and our great grandfathers. It is to be hoped that the attempt which we have here made to show the prevalence of these hastily adopted and delusive impressions in all ages, will be of some small service in putting men upon their guard against adopting or admitting them in the present, and in those which are to come.

THE SHIPWRECK,

A STORY.

My father was a respectable farmer in the neighbour. hood of Glasgow. His fortune merely enabled him to live in comfort, and to educate his two sons and a daughter substantially, and with some degree even of accomplishment. He frequently told us that he would educate us the best he could, but that we must expect nothing more. At the age of fifteen, a good opportunity occurring, I was placed as a clerk and bookkeeper with a mercer; but this person in the course of three years afterwards was obliged to wind up his affairs, and I was turned adrift on the world. I returned once more to my parents. However, I did not remain long a dependent upon them.

A sea captain of our acquaintance, hearing my situation alluded to while he was with the family one evening, said, in a jocular tone, "Well, Allan, how would you like a trip with me to the United States ?" "I would be delighted with it," I replied. "Would you, indeed! You have only to get ready, then; for I shall be off for New York next week.' " If my parents consent, my preparations are soon made." After some demur, and a short delay of a day or two, their consent was procured; and in due time I found lying at Greenock ready for putting to sea. myself on the deck of my friend the captain's vessel,

from the Highlands, and some weavers out of employ. ment from Paisley and Renfrew.

I was particularly struck by an English man and woman that remained apart from the rest. The hus. band leaned against the bulwarks near the forecastle, his cheek pale, his teeth clenched, his lips compressed, and a hand pressed hard on his brow. The wife was seated, clasping in her arms a little daughter about ten years of age. She wept not aloud, but the large tears coursed down her face, while her bosom swelled as if her heart would burst. She seemed to turn aside, as if she wished not to show the grief she could not repress. I had noticed her at intervals for more than two hours. All the others had gained some degree of composure; but if she was tranquil for a single mo. ment, it was only to renew her weeping more bitterly. The daughter seemed not to comprehend her mother's grief; yet seeing that she was unhappy, the little mother; dear mother, don't cry," in most plaintive thing kissed her repeatedly, exclaiming, "Don't cry, tones. All that I could learn of the family was, that it was called Campbell, and had known better days. The vessel passed rapidly the verdant vales and lofty hills of Bute and Arran, the craig of Ailsa, and the rocky cliffs of the Mull of Cantire; and the Paps of Jura were just appearing as night closed in. The next day we passed the north of Ireland, and the land disappeared. I was so sea-sick that it was not until the third day that I could go on deck with comfort. I was delighted with the broad expanse of the deepblue ocean and its thousand waves, capped with fleecy white.

Our ship was soon under sail, and with a brisk breeze on the quarter we moved rapidly down the But the great general character of this age-the Clyde. The captain advised me to remain on deck march-of-intellect idea itself-turns out to be a dein order to dispel sea-sickness, though I feel aware that he thought the company and succession of new lusion. According to one set of philosophers, we are objects would dissipate my melancholy. We had great diffusers of knowledge now-a-days, but do very about a dozen cabin passengers, and not less than little in the way of adding to its stock; science, in-sixty in the steerage; the latter mostly poor people deed, is held to be on the decline, and original litera. ture also, and all through the exclusive prosperity which follows the efforts of the popular lecturer and the compiler. According to another set, we are doing great things for those classes who have hitherto known little of liberal education, and must soon work a great improvement in society. All agree that the efforts made for the diffusion of knowledge are something quite new, and peculiar to this age alone. Now, it can be shown incontestibly that the same system existed nearly a century ago. Let the reader only per. use the following extract from Dr Johnson's Preface to Dodsley's Preceptor, written in 1748, and say if the present age could be described in more apt terms:"At a time when so many schemes of education have been projected, so many proposals offered to the puble, so many schools opened for general knowledge, and so many lectures in particular sciences attended; at a time when mankind seems intent rather upon familiarising than enlarging the several arts; and every I age, sex, and profession, is invited to an acquaintance with those studies which were formerly supposed accessible only to such as had devoted themselves to literary leisure, and dedicated their powers to philo. sophical inquiries; it seems requisite that an apology should be made for any farther attempt to smooth a path so frequently beaten, or to recommend attainments so ardently pursued, and so officiously directed." It would be curious to trace the sources of these delusive notions in the ordinary habits of human thinking. The notion of an increasing immorality is certainly occasioned by the breadth in which all the less pure and agreeable traits of existing popular manners are presented to our observation, while, in surveying the past, or listening to the accounts of it given by our seniors, we find the corresponding evils thrown very much into shade. The sentiment of veneration also lends its aid in making us think well of the men and things of a former age, while many capricious feelings and opinions tend to give us a disgust with the present. We are likewise too much in the habit of drawing inferences from a narrow field of observation. We hear of two mercenary marriages in the course of a month, and immediately conclude that the age is marked peculiarly by a system of heartless matrimony; forgetting, if there were nothing else to remember, the Marriage a-la-mode of Hogarth. We suddenly awaken

My companions were in every respect agreeable. According to established usage, there is no intermingling between the cabin passengers and the lowly occupants of the steerage. Indeed, the captain, who took some authority over me, gave me distinctly to understand that any intercourse with them would be improper. I could not forbear, however, attempting to make acquaintance with the English family I have before alluded to; but both husband and wife repelled my advances, as if they wished not to have their situ great politeness, and among other things lent me seve ation pried into. Nevertheless, they behaved with rai books. The daughter was more sociable. Missing the occupations and variety so necessary to children, she seemed delighted whenever I came near her. Probably the parents were pleased that the poor child her familiarity, and very soon she passed the greater found amusement in any way; for they did not check part of every day with me. At first, the captain looked gruff; but seeing that little Catharine was a general favourite, he soon became as fond of her as

the rest.

one.

Her beauty alone might have softened any Her forehead was high and polished, her mouth well formed and set off with pearly teeth, and her face a graceful oval. Her complexion was clear brunette, with not a high, though healthy, colour. Her silky hair and eyes at first seemed black, but were in truth very dark-brown; though the long jetty lashes that shaded the latter gave them alternately the softness of the gazelle and keenness of the eagle. She was small for her age, but, as is not uncommon in such cases, was precocious to a wonderful degree. So ready was her wit, so pertinent and original her observa. tions, that the whole of the cabin passengers were often, at the same time, putting questions or listening

to her remarks.

We had been out ten days when a storm sprung up so violent, that for three days the dead-lights were in, and the hatches closed down. My sea-sickness returning, I kept my bed the whole time. One night in the morning to go on deck and take a walk, as was the wind lulled, and I slept soundly. I arose early my daily habit in good weather. The sailors were pumping out the ship; as the tightest vessel leaks a little, and many people even assert that this is necessary to keep it sweet. It struck me that the water drawn out was not so offensive as bilge water generally is. After the pumping had continued much longer than usual, the captain ordered the well to be

sounded.

"Well, captain," gaily asked a passenger, "have you water enough in the hold ?”

"Yes," answered the captain, turning pale "more than enough-there is four feet."

"For any sake, put into the next port!"

"And that is more than a thousand miles off!" This dismal news spread immediately, and in a few moments the affrighted passengers, men and women, were on deck, crowding round the captain, and asking a hundred hurried questions.

"My friends," said he, "you must prepare for the worst. Our only hope is in keeping the pumps ac tively going, and every one must take his turn meanwhile, I hope we may at all events fall in with a ship." The request was readily agreed to, as he himself set the example, and laboured harder than a commo sailor. Our ship was loaded with dry goods, and the hold filled with coal and iron-castings, which last, according to many, created the leak; but it was more probably occasioned by the straining of the seams in the late storm. The water still gaining, the hatches were ordered to be opened, and the cargo thrown overboard, in order to lighten the vessel. You may readily conceive that I felt some unpleasant emotions in consigning my little all to the deep; though they were soon stilled by the rapid approach of danger. The long-boat was now cleared, and preparation made for rigging her. As soon as this was observed, all commenced bringing their effects above, until the deck was strewed with bundles, trunks, chests, boxes, clothes-bags, and even bird-cages. Indeed there was luggage enough to have freighted a tolerable schooner. What between pumping and lightening the ship, we had toiled from morning till two in the afternoon, with only hurried mouthfuls of food. While working at the pump, the captain said to me, in a low voice, "Put your money and your watch in your pocket im. mediately." I ran down to do so, and found to my horror that the water covered the cabin floor.

I re

sumed my place at the pump, which choked at every instant from the coal in the hold getting into the sucker, and at last could not be worked at all. Alpump snapped in two. The captain immediately had most at the same moment the iron piston of the other a tackle rigged from the yard, and a ten-gallon cask attached to a rope, by which we drew water from the hold as with a bucket from a well. This was indeed like baling out with a thimble. It was evident that the water was gaining in spite of our exertions.

The captain placed all the steerage passengers at different jobs, as if there was no immediate danger. As soon as this was done, I noticed him whispering to each of the cabin passengers in succession. Most of the sailors collected together in one part of the vessel, and exhibited that kind of composure mingled with alacrity that always marks them in imminent peril. The captain, passing close to me, said, "Follow, and keep near me." Hardly had we gained the leeward, when the long-boat was suddenly lowered, and brought alongside. The cabin passengers and sailors in a body quickly clambered down the ladder, while there was a scream from all parts of the vessel,

and a general rush. "Push on," shouted the captain to me. At that instant I saw the English couple and their little daughter, and paused as I was standing on the ladder. The few remaining sailors jumped into the jolly-boat, which was soon swamped, and three men drowned within some yards of us.

The long-boat was attached to the ship by a long rope, or painter, in sea-phrase, and those left on board made several attempts to draw us up to them. The captain, however, assured them he would remain near the vessel to the last moment, and render every assistance in his power, but would put off instantly to sea in case they did not comply in all respects with his orders. A pretty rough sea was running, and from the blackness of the gathering clouds, we had good reason to anticipate a storm. I seriously doubted whether I would not have done better to have reand Ends from the Kra,sack of Thomas Singularity: edited by bravely, than have trusted my life to a frail longmained on board of the ship, which still floated Henry Junius Nott" 2 vols. New York, 1834.

*The above is a condensation of a story which appears among others in a work entitled "Novellettes of a Traveller; or Odds

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