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fastnesses of the Cevennes and the Vivarez to defy the power of their sovereign. It was a fierce and protracted contest; and, at the time when our tale opens, the sieur de Montrevel, an officer of high repute, had been sent against the rebels. The severity with which he treated those who fell into his hands, struck no terror into the survivors; they seized every opportunity of making stern reprisals; and, as he advanced farther into the heart of their territory, carrying devastation among their humble cottages, and the fields which they had almost created on the bare rocks, they fought him at every pass with frenzied courage.

He arrived one sunny morning at a defile, which led down into a green valley, whose peaceful hamlet was to be reduced to ashes. Not a human being appeared along the grey cliffs above, not a living thing stirred in the silent village; a few smokes rose from the cottages, but no children sported on the green, no old men sat before their doors, no dogs barked at the stranger's approach. On marched the well-trained soldiers into the scene of their work; and, in a few minutes, brands, snatched from the lately deserted hearths, kindled a crackling conflagration; the red flames and black smoke rushed up, and the soldiers, again forming into ranks on a green slope where the rising breeze drove the smoke from them, sent forth a shout of triumph to the surrounding rocks. The rocks echoed it back again and again, and, as the last reverberation died away among the hills, another and yet wilder sound answered it from the depths of their forests. A yell of mingled voices arose from unseen spectators, which might have thrilled stouter hearts than those of the armed myrmidons of power. The march was again resumed; there appeared to be no farther passage through the everlasting barrier that rose beyond the village, and the sieur de Montrevel led his men back through the defile he had descended so quietly an hour before. But at a sudden turn in the road, his quick eye discerned the figures of several mountaineers, vanishing behind the trees and rocks; and he halted, that his men, already panting with the fatigue of climbing the steep, might take breath before encountering the next and still more precipitous ascent. It was a sudden and fortunate pause; the next minute a fearful sound was heard breaking the solemn stillness; his men's eyes turned wildly in every direction, not knowing at first whence it proceeded; but presently a tremendous rock came thundering and crashing down the precipice on their right, bearing earth, stones, and trees before it; and dashing into the centre of the road, with a weight and fury which would have crushed to the dust the leader and front rank of the party, had they not halted at the moment they did. Disappointed in their purpose, the peasants now appeared armed with rude weapons of every description, and fast and heavy came down showers of stones upon the soldiers, as they obeyed their commander, and hastened to scramble over the fallen rocks and rubbish. Not a shot was fired till Montrevel espied two figures, which might well arrest his attention, even in such a moment as this. On a cliff which overlooked the scene, and from whose ragged side it was plain that the rock had been hurled, knelt a female in an attitude of earnest and almost frantic supplication; her bare arms thrown wildly up,-her hands clasped, -her hair and scarlet drapery streaming on the wind,-her eyes fixed on the blue sky. She was apparently heedless of the confusion below; and, above all the din, her shrill but unintelligible accents could be plainly distinguished. By her side stood a slight but graceful young man leaning with perfect composure on his huntingspear, and occasionally giving directions with his voice and gestures to his rude followers. He was clad, like many of them, in a white tunic; but a single eagle-feather in his cap marked him as the youthful leader of the Camisards, the celebrated Cavalier. No sooner did Montrevel behold this apparition, than a cry burst from his lips :-"They are there! to the chase! to the chase!" and in a moment the soldiers were climbing the rough sides of the pass, driving the peasants before them in the sudden onset, firing and reloading continually. The prophetess,-La Grande Marie, as she was termed,-was dimly seen through the smoke, still on her knees and immovable, while the sounds of the musket-shots came nearer and nearer. Cavalier, confident that more than earthly power would defend the being he thought supernaturally gifted, had rushed to direct the operations of his scattered followers. To his amazement, however, she remained in her ecstatic trance, till a ball whizzed by her; and then, rising slowly, she looked around with an eye from which gleamed the light of insanity. It seemed as if a consciousness of her danger then crossed her mind, for she glanced with some eagerness to the right and left, as if éxamining her means of escape; and, as two French soldiers sprang upon the ledge she occupied, she made an effort to throw herself

down to a yet more narrow and hazardous spot. But their motions were too quick for the poor lunatic; and, as the infatuated peasantry saw their prophetess rudely seized, her powerless hands bound with leathern belts, while her head sunk despairingly on her breast, they again sent forth a howl, which startled the wolves in their dens. It was in vain that Cavalier now strove to rally the undisciplined insurgents; astounded, panic-stricken at an event so unexpected as the capture of La Grande Marie, they lifted not a hand against the triumphant soldiery, but hovered along the precipices above the road, and gazed in stupid amazement at their progress. When Cavalier reminded them, that she had the power to save herself yet from the hands of the destroyer, and would undoubtedly put it forth in some unlooked-for miracle, a gleam of hope brightened their rugged faces; but they only watched the more intently for the anticipated exhibition of superhuman power. Montrevel and his party at length disengaged themselves in safety from the passes where alone their enemies could annoy them, and marched down with floating banners and gay music upon the green plains. The mountaineers still kept them in view from the nearest heights, striving with sad and wishful eyes to distinguish the form of the prophetess. Instead of proceeding with rapid steps to the white town, which glittered in the sunshine at a few miles' distance, Montrevel no sooner found himself on level ground, safe from the assaults of hill-warfare, than he halted near a solitary tall tree, which stretched its branches abroad, as if to invite the heated traveller to its shadow. There was a pause; the soldiers were taking breath after their hurried march; there was a bustle; but they did not disperse, nor sit down on the grass to rest their weary limbs; and in a few minutes more, their march was resumed with increased speed. As they cleared the ground under the large tree, the distant spectators caught sight of a fearful object. It was the well-known scarlet drapery,-it was the body of their prophetess, suspended from one of the lower branches of the oak. No cry burst now from their lips; not daring to believe their own eyes, they strained their gaze, then looked in each other's faces with blank and speechless horror. Still doubting,-still hoping,— Cavalier was the first to rush down to the place of execution, while the sound of martial music yet came on the breeze, and the cloud of dust raised by the troops, who had now reached a high road, was still in view. La Grande Marie was dead. Her body was yet warm, but the spirit had forsaken it; and never more should the bold accents of her prophecies kindle the souls of the Camisards against their oppressors. With reverent hands they bore her remains away to a cavern among their remote fastnesses; for in the minds of some, there lingered even now the hope of a miracle more stupendous than any hitherto performed by their departed friend. Upon the brow of Cavalier, however, a cloud had settled, such as that open placid countenance had never yet worn. It was not despair which brooded on his heart; but a profound sorrow, and a feeling that all now depended on his own unaided and desperate efforts. It is only on the unreflecting, that a sense of increased responsibility falls lightly.

It was scarce high noon, when the party of royalists encamped in safety near the town of N-, after their merry morning's work. Before nightfall, Cavalier had scoured the mountains in the neighbourhood; and, either in person or by his emissaries, had drawn together a large and furious body of peasants. As the sun sunk towards the west, black clouds gathered round his couch, and, glowing like fire at his approach, soon shrouded the blazing orb in premature twilight. The wind howled among the hills with those portentous sounds which, to the practised ear, foreboded a sudden and violent storm; and Cavalier smiled triumphantly as he looked at the gloomy heavens, and hurried over the rocks to the place of rendezvous. A voice calling him by name arrested him on his way, and, ere he had time to answer the call, a boy scarce fifteen, clad in the ordinary dress of a shepherd, sprang into his arms. "My brother! my Philip!" exclaimed the young leader, “why are you here? why have you left the upper mountains? "I have come to fight, with you," cried the lad. "My child," returned Cavalier, "you know not what you say. With that beardless cheek and feeble hand, what should you do in these fierce battles?"

"I have fought with the wolves, and I can fight a soldier," said the boy; "let me go with you; I cannot stay there among the women and children."

"But you must,-till you are a man," said Cavalier; "who will tend our flocks, if our boys neglect their charge?"

"Let the women watch sheep, or let the wolves eat them," answered the lad; "I am old enough, and strong enough, and bold

enough, to fight these robber-soldiers; and if you will not let me
go with you, brother, I will fight them alone. People say they
have taken La Grande Marie; they have hung her on a tree! Is
it true?"
Cavalier's countenance, which had brightened as he looked on
his brave young brother, grew sad as he whispered, "It is too
true; God and his angels left her, we know not why,-unless
that we might revenge her murder."

his error, endeavoured to fight his way back with a bravery worthy of the sons of freedom themselves. The slaughter among his followers was great; and they might perhaps have been utterly cut to pieces, had Cavalier retained the same presence of mind, which had marked him throughout the night. But, while he was engaged in superintending the motions of his troops, he suddenly perceived a conflict going on, upon the very edge of a cliff at no great distance, which made his blood run cold. It was a boy,"Then let me go, let me go!" cried Philip, vehemently, as the sword in hand,-fighting most gallantly with a young royalist blood rushed into his face; and he strove to drag his brother officer. His cap was off,-the moon shone full on his face,-it forward. was Philip! Cavalier sprang towards him, but at the same moment "Nay," returned Cavalier, calmly, "hear me, Philip. You he was himself set upon by two soldiers, and compelled to fight for and I are alone in the world. We have no parents to love us, no his own life. Still he glanced continually at the rock beyond; he brothers, no sisters. This day they have taken away the only saw that Philip was unaware of the precipice behind,—that his other earthly being for whom I cared, and have cut deep into my antagonist gained upon him, that the boy was yielding, retreating, heart. If I lose you too,-you are but a child, Philip; a noble but but still parrying the thrusts aimed at his body; Cavalier uttered a feeble boy, and your arm could not ward off the death-stroke a warning cry, but it was unheard, and in an instant more, as aimed against you. I should behold some ruthless sword drinking Philip again stepped back to avoid the desperate lunge of his foe, your life-blood, and the sight would palsy my own right arm. Go he disappeared! A mist came over the eyes of Cavalier; he back, dear Philip! you are too young and weak for these bloody fought like a blind man ; and, had not some of his own friends encounters." come to his rescue, that night would have seen two of the boldest spirits of the Cevennes for ever extinguished. As it was, his faculties seemed benumbed; and, deprived of his wise command, the mountaineers suffered the soldiers to extricate themselves from their perilous position, and march back with some show of order to their quarters, under the grey dawn.

"But you are scarce twenty," rejoined the boy," and you have not the stout limbs of a mountaineer; yet men say, God has given you such a wise head and bold heart, that you can lead them to battle. I only ask to follow after you."

"In time, Philip, in time! Do you love me, my dear brother?" The younger Cavalier looked up in the speaker's face with amazement, and then throwing his arm round his neck, exclaimed, "You know I do, Louis!"

"Then go back to the heights, and take care of your precious days, Philip; for I tell you, that, if you are in this conflict to-night, my thoughts will not be my own. I have more need of the clear head than of the strong hand, to guide yonder brave but undisciplined men, and will you add to my perplexities, Philip?" The boy's bright colour faded, and his head drooped, as he said dejectedly, "I will do as you bid me, brother."

This was but one of a thousand conflicts, which those unhappy regions beheld. But, whether in defeat or victory, from that night the private and profound sorrows of Cavalier found no utterance. The gravity of premature manhood was on his brow; and, having but one object for which to live, his energies were wholly absorbed in the cause of freedom. The uneducated son of a peasant, he had naturally imbibed those superstitions, which had led him to yield all deference to the claims of the maniac prophetess; and many a time, in the dead watches of the night, did he groan in spirit as he remembered her murder; many a time did the tears gush from his Cavalier pressed him to his heart: "That is well, my noble eyes in those solitary hours, as he recollected the heroic boy, the boy! I love you all the better for your bold purpose, and better darling of his heart, whom he had seen dashed in pieces, as it were, still that you can submit to disappointment. God knows if I do before his face. The fortunes of the fight had led him far from not love you too well, for I feel that to lose you would almost break the dreadful spot before daylight; and no funeral rites had honoured my heart. Away, then, to the upper hills! it grows late." So the object of such fond affection; but his early virtue, his precocious saying, he disengaged himself hastily from the lad, and rushed down courage, and sad fate, were treasured in the bosom of his brother. the rocks. As he looked back now and then through the deepening For weeks and months the weary contest went on. The valour twilight, he discerned Philip still standing in a melancholy attitude, and cool judgment of Cavalier had exalted him to supremacy above and repeatedly waved his hand to him to depart. But it was not the other leaders of the Camisards; his fame had spread far and till Louis had entirely vanished from his sight, that the gallant wide; and, when he had succeeded in cutting off a large detachboy turned, with a heavy sigh, and with lingering steps began to ment of the royal troops near Martinargue, Montrevel was recalled; ascend the mountain. and a general of no less reputation than Marshal Villars was sent against the once despised rebels of the Cevennes. In a few months more, Villars himself came to the conclusion, that the warfare must be interminable; it was possible to harass and distress, but not to conquer. So indomitable was the spirit of the enemy, so impregnable the fastnesses of their mountains, that all hope of putting an end to the war by force of arms was abandoned by this able leader. And in the heart of Cavalier, who beheld the incessant sufferings of the peasantry from fatigue and famine, there also arose a secret longing for the return of peace to their valleys. Fearful was this conscientious young man, however, lest the voice of inclination should drown the commands of duty; he scarcely dared trust his own judgment; and it was not till he ascertained, that ten thousand rebels would lay down their arms if fitting conditions should be offered, that he consented to hold an amicable parley with the enemy.

Cavalier's plans had been wisely laid. He was aware, that a blow must be immediately struck, to revive the drooping spirits of the insurgents. He knew that reinforcements for Montrevel's party were on the march, and would probably arrive the next day; and that no time was to be lost. Before midnight, the storm commenced, as if in league with the oppressed; it was accompanied by a violent wind, and, in the midst of its fury, his followers, divided into parties, approached the camp of Montrevel unperceived, from three quarters, and burst upon the bewildered soldiers, while the thunder roared over their heads, and the hurricane whirled their light tents into the air. Flushed with success, the assailants piked their victims without mercy, and pursued them into the very outskirts of the town.

Cavalier alone was cool in the midst of the general confusion; and his ear was the first to catch the sound of drums beating to arms within the town. He divined the truth instantly. Seeing the approach of the tempest, the officer sent to the aid of Montrevel had hurried forward, and had quartered his troops among the inhabitants, not two hours before the attack of the Camisards; and now it required the utmost powers of the young leader to bring together his scattered and raging adherents, and draw them off in good order to the mountains. He succeeded, however; and by turning occasionally to face his antagonists, then flying as if in consternation, tempted them on from the plains, into the broken soil at the base of the mountains. Before this was accomplished, the brief fury of the tempest had spent itself; the clouds were breaking away; and the moon, nearly full, looked out at times, from her quiet chambers in the sky, on the scene with unwonted brilliancy. Encouraged by this circumstance, the hot-headed young officer who commanded the fresh troops of the royalists, suffered himself to be lured among the hills; and then, soon finding

An interview first took place between Cavalier and Lalande, an officer of high rank under Marshal Villars. Lalande surveyed the worn garments and pale cheeks of the young hero, whose deeds had reached the ear and troubled the mind of Louis the Fourteenth, in the midst of his mighty foreign wars; he looked upon the bodyguard of the rebel chief, and saw there, too, signs of poverty and extreme physical suffering; and believed that he understood how to deal with men in such a condition. After a few words of courtesy, he drew forth a large and heavy purse of gold, and extended it towards Cavalier. The mild eye of the youth rested on it a moment with surprise; he looked in the officer's face, as if unable to comprehend his meaning; then, composedly folding his arms and stepping back, he shook his head, with an expression of countenance so cold, resolute, and dignified, that Lalande blushed at his own proffer. Glancing at the poor fellows who stood behind Cavalier, with ready address he intimated that the sum was but

intended for a free gift to relieve their distress, and scattered the glittering coin on the turf before them. Their eyes rested on it wishfully, as they thought of their half-famished wives and children; but, so perfect was the subordination into which they had been brought by their extraordinary chief, that not a man stirred hand or foot, till, after a brief conference, Cavalier signified his pleasure that they should accept the donative. That was not till he had made satisfactory preliminary arrangements with Lalande, and a final interview had been appointed between Lalande

and himself.

It was on the 6th of May, 1704, that the renowned French marshal, the antagonist of Marlborough,-descended into the Garden of the Recollets, at St. Césaire, near Nismes, to discuss peace and war with the son of a mountain peasant. He first reached the appointed spot; a grass-plot surrounded by formal gravel-walks and trim hedges, bright with the verdure of spring. He stood musing by a fountain, careless of the songs of a thousand birds; for the interests of his master were at his heart; and he was eager to terminate a contest, most annoying in the present crisis of the monarch's affairs. Cavalier approached him with a brow equally perturbed; for, though the sufferings of his countrymen had made him resolve on peace, if it could be honourably obtained, yet the forms of his departed friend and brother had haunted his dreams through the past night. His own wrongs swelled in his bosom; and he felt, that Peace, with her sweetest smiles, could not bring back the murdered to cheer the loneliness of his lot. Sad, therefore, were the tones of his voice, and melancholy the aspect of his countenance, as the conference opened between him and his noble adversary; and Villars looked on him with a deep admiration and sympathy. He knew, from common report, what had been the keenest trials Cavalier had ever experienced; and judged rightly, that, as the season of the year returned, which had been marked by events of pain, the jocund voices of spring could bring no gaiety to a heart so full of bitter associations. For a time, he spoke of the objects for which they had met, but with a military frankness, calculated to place the uncourtierlike Cavalier at his ease, questioned him of himself and his career; and gave just praises to the troops he had formed from raw mountaineers. At last the feelings uppermost in the heart of Cavalier could no longer be suppressed, and he broke forth, "My countrymen are born free and fearless, and from their tenderest years can defend themselves against oppression. I had a brother, General

He could not go on, but Villars did not wait. "I know you had; a hero of fifteen; the tale of that gallant boy's fate has reached me since I came into these parts. You might well be proud of him."

Cavalier's eyes were swimming in tears, as he repeated, in a stifled voice, Proud of him! I prized him while he was mine, and, when he was gone, I thought I had never prized him enough, -noble, loving, beloved Philip!"

"Were you satisfied, perfectly satisfied, that he perished in the pass of Montluc?

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"Alas! he disappeared; I saw him pressed over the brink of a precipice; I knew it was not possible for flesh and bones to be dashed on the rocks below without destruction."

"Yet, if you remember, torrents of rain had fallen scarce an hour before; at least, so they tell me ; and a deep basin of water had been formed under the cliff whence he fell."

Cavalier looked wildly in the Marshal's face, but spoke not. "If," continued Villars, "he should have escaped death, should have fallen into the hands of our troops, what ransom would you pay for such a prisoner? ?"

"Myself, my liberty,-my life! I have nought else!" cried the young man.

Villars turned away, a benevolent smile lighting up his war-worn features, and raised his sword; the party of soldiers, who were drawn up at a little distance in a hollow square, opened, and there stood the slender stripling, Philip; in another moment, he had bounded like a mountain deer into the arms of his astonished brother, whispering, as he clung round his neck, "Will you forgive me, Louis?

"He is yours," resumed the Marshal, dashing the tears from his eyes; 66 we demand no ransom for those that wear no beards, even though taken sword in hand, as this young goose was, ten minutes after he came dripping and dizzy out of the water. The swords of our dead Frenchmen were scattered too plentifully about him. Carry him off, or I shall steal him; and teach him loyalty, I pray you; for five years hence he will match us all. And now for business."

Briskly indeed the business went on. The cloud had vanished from the brow of Cavalier, the load had been lifted from his heart, and, both parties having the same object honourably in view, a friendly arrangement was speedily concluded, in which the interest of the monarch and of the long-oppressed subject were alike consulted.

It was not till many years after, that the Governor of Jersey,— the veteran of Almanza,-the trusted servant of the English crown,-quietly departed this life of shadows in the ordinary course of nature, leaving behind a high and unblemished reputation. That honoured officer was Louis Cavalier, once the rebel Peasant of the Cevennes.

"FLOWER upon the green hill side,

Thou, to shun the threatening blast,
In the grass thy head dost hide,
By the tempest overpast.
Then to greet the azure skies,
And to feel the soothing sun,
Brighter, sweeter thou dost rise,-
Tell me, flower, how this is done ?"
"I will tell thee as thy friend,

Artless, timid, whispering low;
To the blast 'tis good to bend-
He who made me taught me so!
While His teaching I obey,

I but fall to rise and stand
Brighter for the stormy day,

Leaning on His viewless hand. When to Him I've lowly bow'd,

He with freshness fills my cup From the angry, scowling cloud; Then He gently lifts me up. So I fall; and so I rise;

In the dark or sunny hour

Minding Him who rules the skies!

He's my God, and I'm His flower!"—The Gift, 1839.



It has been maintained that, though there be a great difference between the capacities of man, and the thinking of animals, yet the difference is not in the kind but merely in the degree, and that the mental powers of the highest animal approach so closely to those of the lowest man, that, in fact, it may be said, there is no essential difference, but merely a gradual transition, and that therefore no conclusion, important in an ethic point of view, can be drawn from this difference.

This objection may be answered thus: First, whether the existing state of mind of the lowest man approaches very closely to the intellect of the highest animal, or sinks even below its level, is not the important point to be discussed. The question is-Can the low intellect of man be raised and developed or not? and is the mind of the animal which approaches to that of the lowest man, in its highest manifestation? Everything else is accidental, not essential. The eyes of a new-born eagle may be weaker, and, considered in their actual state, more defective organs of sight, than perhaps those of a mole; yet the eyes of the eagle are far superior, and differ strongly in their organization from those of a mole.

Secondly, I believe we do not venture too far, in considering it as a settled truth, that the mental activity of the animal, which it undoubtedly possesses, does not elevate itself above some of the most elementary combinations of impressions received through the senses-combinations which the mind of the brute performs without consciousness. We, ourselves, perform numerous combinatory processes, without consciousness of the performance; e.g. when we avoid a disagreeable disturbance, which we have repeatedly met with, on our usual walk, by taking a different direction, and become conscious of the cause only after we have been reminded of our change by the fact of having chosen already a different walk. The animal undoubtedly thinks, but man reflects. "A mule," says Frederick the Great, in his Considerations on the Manner of Waging War with Austria (1758), "though it might have made ten campaigns under Prince Eugene, would not become for all that a better tactician." Man reflects upon his reflection; thinks on his thoughts; makes the mind itself the subject of its inquiry. The animal can do no such thing. If it could, it would speak; for though its organs of speech may not be so favourably formed for

the expression of a great variety of tones and accents as the higharched palate, the peculiar construction of the wind-pipe, the peculiarly movable lips, and the many other organs of man which contribute to the variety, pliability and beauty of language; yet there are many animals which possess a scale of tones, even now uncultivated as they are, sufficient to become the basis of articulate communication. It is not because the animals have no perfect organs of speech that they have no language, as Anaxagoras said, that animals would be men had they but hands; but they have no language because they have not the ideas to be expressed. I doubt not but that some of the most intelligent animals feel at times a degree of that unspeakable pain which man suffers when language forsakes him, and his soul is anxious to express more than words can convey. I believe that I have observed this painful effect of a struggle between the mind and means of utterance, in a dog which was anxious to communicate a serious accident, and yet did not succeed in doing so for a long time, But this proves nothing against the position just taken. We observe the same pain in children. Did this pain always press upon the mind of the dog, the means of utterance would finally be raised to the wants of the mind, of whatever compound of sounds and signs this utterance would consist. It is the want of thought which makes the brute the "mute creation."

I am aware that there existed formerly a ready way of accounting for many intellectual phenomena in the brute world, by ascribing them simply to instinct. This is not accounting for the phenomenon. First, the superiority of man was said to exist in his acting by reason, while the animal acts by instinct; and when phenomena were cited, which showed undeniable traces of combinatory powers, and which would have contradicted this dictum, it was said, these phenomena must be explained by instinct, because animals have nothing else to guide them. With this argument in a circle many seem to be satisfied. It can, however, undeniably be proved, that, in some cases, animals act not because impelled by instinct, but in consequence of mental action within them, though it may be, and most probably is, unconscious to them. Ask any hunter whether some pointers think or not. Yet though this mental action in the brute animal is allowedand some instances shall be given directly-there is still a line which very distinctly marks, even in a popular point of view, the difference between man and brute.

1. Man gathers experience and transmits it from generation to generation, conscious of its being experience, and thus capable of receiving new additions. The animal improves likewise by experience; we find around us daily proofs of this fact. All drilling, which does not produce a new habit, is founded upon it. Animals entirely change their habits in different countries, and acquire gradually a facility in protecting themselves against the inclemency of weather or in procuring food. Young animals learn from the old ones, and what thus appears to many, at first glance, to be instinct, i. e. a primitive and direct impulse of nature, will be found, on closer examination, to be the effect of experience. The most timid animals, in parts of the world which had never been visited by intruders, showed no fear at their first approach. The birds or seals, on the solitary islets in the Pacific, show no apprehension of any danger, no shyness when first attacked; but they acquire it as soon as they know the character of their pursuers. Whether the beaver builds his curious hut because it cannot resist an impulse entirely independent upon its volition, as the bee, for instance, forms its regular cell, or whether this species has formed its architecture by a stock of common experience gradually acquired, might be tested by observation; but this seems certain, that knowledge and experience is a species of knowledge-is transmitted with animals by mere imitation, and remains within a very limited circle, even with the most favoured animals; while man improves it infinitely. The beavers of North America build to-day, as they were found the day when the first white men settled on the Western continent. There is likewise a greater uniformity in the actions of animals in different parts of the world; the natural impulses, though acted upon by experience, seem therefore to be more prominent.

2. There is foresight in animals, and yet their foresight differs from that of man, even of the lowest grade, by a marked characteristic. The beaver builds very cunningly his dams at a great distance from his lodge, following entirely the necessity arising out of the shape and current of the river. Animals collect stores for the winter, build bridges, prepare for battles, concert upon plans to decoy, entrap, or otherwise to catch their prey, endeavour to mislead the disturber of their young ones, or the enemy of their

females, wait for favourable winds, observe a fixed order in travelling, relieve each other in the performance of laborious tasks, change their nests according to a change of circumstances, observe in some cases a certain degree of division of labour, (as is the case with the beavers,) the fox resorts to a series of actions having distinct reference to one aother, in order finally to arrive at his object,and whatever else animals may do as indicating foresight or a faculty to combine received impressions. But there exists, as far as I know, no solitary instance of exchange among animals, or of anything that could be fairly considered as approaching it. The animal elevates itself in no case to any exchange of labour or produce, of which a certain degree exists among all men, the very lowest Hottentot or the most barbarous South-Sea Islander not excepted. There is no human tribe known, which has not risen to this incipient stage of all civilisation, however impeded its farther progress may be by constant disturbances, such as incessant warfare, the permanence of savage habits, famine or disease. Even the most brutish Pelew Islander will willingly part with the fish which he has caught, for a piece of iron. So common an act of man is the exchange of articles and of labour, engrossing so much of his attention, and so large a number of all human actions in common life consist in exchanging, that in German the word acting means carrying on trade, and action a commercial house. Yet the etymology of the German word indicates nothing of the kind; for handeln (etymologically the same with the English to handle) is derived from Hand, and means, still, acting, because our visible actions are chiefly performed with the hands.

It is not necessary for the present purpose to ascertain when the animal acts, simply impelled by instinct or not. If it be shown that in many cases the brute thinks, it suffices for our purpose, which, in this particular case, is to prove, on the one hand, that it is an erroneous notion, and, I believe, one unworthy of the Creator, to imagine that the whole brute creation moves and acts no ways different from the dissolved chemical elements of some body, when they crystallise; on the other hand, that it is equally erroneous to deny any essential difference in the thinking of the animal and that of man. If a bird builds its nest for the first time, we cannot suppose that it has retained during the whole time it was living singly, a recollection of its parental nest, or that any idea of the fact that at the proper season it will have young ones in its turn, and that it ought, consequently, to provide for them beforehand, has been imparted to it by any other individual of its species. This would necessarily indicate operations of the mind, which we entirely miss where we should certainly expect them soonest. But if, on the other hand, a rising freshet threatens to reach the nest of a granivorous bird, built in a hedge, and the bird hastily builds a temporary nest in a safer place, and carries, against its natural disposition, and contrary to the common use for which the beak is formed, carefully its young from the endangered spot to the new nest, we cannot possibly explain it by instinct, if this word is meant to express any definite idea. When the land-crabs of the West Indies sally forth, at the proper season, in long procession from the interior mountains, and proceed in as straight a line as possible to the sea-shore, to deposit their eggs and shed their shell, and then return in the same order, we can hardly bring ourselves to consider these movements in so low an animal to be the effect of experience and thinking. Take, on the other hand, a Newfoundland dog, which, as is common with dogs, took great pleasure in walking with its master. He soon found out that the act of taking hat and gloves, or of merely putting aside books and papers, at certain times of the day, were indications of the master's intention of going out, and he expressed his anticipation of pleasure by manifest signs. Several times, however, the dog had been sent home, as his company could not always be convenient to the master. The consequence was that the dog would take good care not to show that he expected to leave the house, but he would slyly steal out of the room, as soon as he thought that any indications of a walk had been given,* and

*The abovo instance has not been mentioned, because peculiarly remarkI can give another able, but simply because it fell under my own observation. more striking instance of mental operation in this intelligent animal. He The horse was tied to a tree in front of a house, while the servant executed his accompanied a servant, who rode to a place at some distance from home. message. When, after some delay, he came out of the house, the horse was gone; he went on a hill, and from this elevated spot he observed the dog leading the horse by the bridle, which the canine leader held in his mouth, both trotting at a moderate pace. The dog brought home the horse and led it to its proper place in the stable. So he was in the habit of leading one of the horses

wait at a certain corner, which the master had to pass daily, and which was at a considerable distance from home. Surely this indicates some operation of the mind, not to be accounted for by instinct.-Lieber's Political Ethics.


DURING the past year the metropolis and country generally have suffered considerably from the prevalence of small-pox, which, in its virulence, has far exceeded any of its visitations for several years. Unhappily, many individuals who have been vaccinated, and whose security might consequently have been anticipated, did not escape an attack of this loathsome and direful disease; which circumstance has given rise to opinions respecting the non-efficacy of vaccination that are altogether fallacious, although such notions might reasonably be entertained by persons totally unacquainted with the generally permanent influence of vaccine on the constitution, when once received into the system. The two prevailing opinions on this subject amongst the uninformed, are these:-That the protecting property of the cow-pox has become deteriorated by being transmitted through the constitutions of so many hundreds of thousands of individuals, and that the only way to ensure its success is, again to take the vaccine lymph from the cow, which they would not find very practicable, as the disease is of very rare occurrence amongst cattle, and seldom, if ever, shews itself, except when they are collected in herds. Others, again, imagine, that re-vaccination is absolutely necessary every seventh year, considering its influential effects to have then ceased. Neither of these opinions can be sanctioned by medical men; they, on the contrary, unanimously assert, that the character of the vaccine vesicle of the present day is exactly what Dr. Jenner described and delineated. It runs through the same course, occupies the same number of days, and is in every respect identical with what it was in 1790. We know of no other matter, whether animal or vegetable, which, by inoculation on man, would produce a like series of symptoms as the vaccine virus does. From an early period after its discovery, it was known that even those who had the cow-pox by direct inoculation from the cow, were as liable as others to the chance of subsequent small-pox. Persons vaccinated by Dr. Jenner himself, and in the very infancy of the cow-pox, were attacked by small-pox. The children of a distinguished naval officer residing at Chatham were vaccinated by Dr. Jenner; one of them, five or six years afterwards, had an attack of small-pox, and unfortunately died, whilst the others resisted the infection through the protecting property of the cow-pox. We are, therefore, of opinion, that there is no reason to believe that the cow-pox virus has been injured in the slightest degree by successive inoculations, or by the time which has intervened since it was taken from the cow.

Although public attention is attracted to the number of cases of small-pox following vaccination, even when the latter has been performed with the greatest care, and has proceeded through all its stages with the utmost regularity; we are warranted in stating that permanent security is afforded to the many, whilst only the few are attacked; and out of the few, we are bold to say, that twenty-nine out of thirty have the small-pox so changed, so modified, and so slight, that they are able to walk about on the fourth day; whilst there is not one out of a hundred who dies, or who is permanently marked by it.-Is this not a boon to be thankful for? Is it not a prize of great value, which we should treasure up and preserve with all care? Especially when we recollect what happened before the introduction of the cow-pox. It appears from the bills of mortality, that in the latter part of the last century the deaths from small-pox in the metropolis averaged two thousand annually, or about one-tenth of the total mortality. In the year 1796, it prevailed with such severity, that in the metropolis alone, 3549 lives are recorded to have been sacrificed to its virulence. The deaths by small-pox throughout England, 10 be watered. This animal was sent from the coast of Labrador, and was not of the common long-haired breed of Newfoundland dogs.

before the year 1800, were computed to be 45,000 annually! The number of deaths by small-pox has been considerable during the year 1838. In November, 1837, the disease began to spread epidemically in London; and during the ensuing twelvemonths, (till November 1838,) the admission into the London Small-Pox Hospital amounted to 740; and about 100 were refused admission, from want of room. The wards were 80 crowded, that fever of a very malignant sort gained a footing in the hospital, and swelled the already severe mortality. A considerable number of the patients admitted of late years had been vaccinated in early life. The proportion of these was two vaccinated persons to three unvaccinated. Hence, unthinking persons have hastily concluded, that the vaccine matter has lost its protecting power. In refutation of this idea, it is stated in the annual report from the National Vaccine Institution to the Secretary of State, dated in the spring of 1838, that "the virus of small-pox itself has lost nothing of its force in the course of two hundred years; and we are enabled to state a strong fact, with perfect confidence, that of more than 70,000 vaccinated in descent, with successive portions of the matter originally collected by Dr. Jenner, influence in all; though, of this number, some hundreds have thirty-eight years ago, vaccination has manifested its peculiar been subjected to the severest trials by exposure to small-pox in its most fatal form."

We repeat, and can safely say, that if the cow-pox is not in all cases a perfect protection against the attack of the small-pox, it renders it, in forty-nine cases out of fifty, a mild and manageable disease.

Nothing can be urged against the practice of re-vaccination. On the contrary, it is likely to be attended with benefit, even if it only confers additional confidence to the person, making surety doubly sure. The period of puberty, when important changes take place in the constitution, appears to be the most advisable period to have it performed. There are, however, many who labour under the delusion that if they have their children once vaccinated, they must necessarily have the protecting influence of the cow-pox; whereas, it not unfrequently happens that the operation is obliged to be performed three or four times before it is done successfully. The following case will illustrate this fact :-A medical gentleman last summer visited a part of the country where the small-pox was prevailing. He had occasion to speak to a poor woman who had a daughter, an interesting-looking child, and he inquired if it had had the cow-pox. The poor woman assured him, with joy on her coun tenance, that as soon as she heard of the small-pox being in her neighbourhood, she had her child vaccinated by the Union doctor, and hoped that she was safe. Curiosity, combined with an interest felt for the interesting subject of their conversation, induced the gentleman to examine the child's arm, when he discovered that it did not bear a mark of vaccination, and that the child was consequently unprotected. We believe that there are many such cases, where the children are vaccinated, but, from some cause or another, they are never taken again to the medical man who performed the operation, to see whether the disease has gone through its proper stages, or not. In the course of time, some of those who have been vaccinated, but who are, like the above case, unprotected, take the small-pox, have it severely, or die; and these are the cases that are frequently reported to have happened after vaccination. An odium is consequently, and most unjustly, cast on one of the kindest blessings of Providence. The following is a general statement of what takes place after vaccination; and any deviation should be carefully attended to by parents, who, in such cases, should have their children re-vaccinated.

On the third day the incision or incisions are elevated, and resemble a flea-bite. On the fifth, a distinct vesicle (like a small blister) is formed, elevated at the edges, and depressed in the centre. It gradually enlarges till the eighth day, when it is distended with a clear fluid, or lymph, and on this day is perfect. On the morning of the ninth day an inflamed ring forms round the vesicle, which is now of a light yellow colour.

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