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OBSERVATIONS ON PLAGUE AND

QUARANTINE.

DR. BOWRING has published a tract, entitled "Observations on the Oriental Plague, and on Quarantines." These observations were addressed to the medical section at the last meeting of the British Association. One of the objects of Dr. Bowring, in writing and publishing, is to draw attention to the subject, in the hope of inducing the British government to take some steps, such as the appointment of a special commission, for the purpose of investigating the real character of the plague, whether it be contagious or not, and whether, therefore, quarantine is of use in preventing the propagation of this formidable disease.

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sible to produce by them the spread of the disorder. I have
never seen a case occurring sporadically where any person about
the patient, or in contact with him, was attacked; and I cannot
find any one that has seen one, although it is talked of among
the Levantines as a common occurrence.'
Gibbon, in his animated way, has described the origin and
nature of the plague. Ethiopia and Egypt," he says,
been stigmatised in every age as the original source and seminary
of the plague. In a damp, hot, stagnating air, this African fever
is generated from the putrefaction of animal substances, and es-
pecially from the swarms of locusts, not less destructive to man-
kind in their death than in their lives. The fatal disease which
depopulated the earth in the time of Justinian and his successors,
first appeared in the neighbourhood of Pelusium, between the
Serbonian bog and the eastern channel of the Nile. From thence,
tracing as it were a double path, it spread to the east, over Syria,
Persia, and the Indies, and penetrated to the west, along the
coast of Africa, and over the continent of Europe. In the spring
of the second year, Constantinople, during three or four months,
was visited by the pestilence; and Procopius, who observed its pro-
gress and symptoms with the eyes of a physician, has emulated the
skill and diligence of Thucydides in the description of the plague
of Athens. The infection was sometimes announced by the visions
of a distempered fancy, and the victim despaired as soon as he
heard the menace and felt the stroke of an invisible spectre. But
the greater number, in their beds, in the streets, in their usual
occupations, were surprised by a slight fever, so slight indeed
that neither the pulse nor the colour of the patient gave any
signs of the approach of danger. The same, the next, or the suc-
ceeding day, it was declared by the swelling of the glands, parti-
cularly those of the groin, of the arm-pits, and under the ear;
and when these tumours were opened, they were found to con-
tain a COAL or black substance of the size of a LENTIL. If they
came to a just swelling and suppuration, the patient was saved by
this kind and natural discharge of the morbid humour; but if
they continued hard and dry a mortification quickly ensued, and
the fifth day was generally the term of his life." Gibbon adds
that it is not wholly inadmissible to believe that one hundred
millions fell victims to this contagion in the Roman empire.

The common use of the word contagion, is to express the idea of communication; a contagious disease is a communicating disease, one which may be conveyed from one person to another. In a strict sense, contagion is considered as a poison which enters the blood; and which, when it passes from a diseased to a healthy person, raises in the healthy person the same disease. The word contagion, in its primitive signification, means propa. gation of disease by actual contact-that is, a diseased and a healthy person must in some way touch each other, or breathe in each other's faces, the one to inhale or imbibe the poison from the other, in order to communicate disease. It is still, to a large extent, considered in this light; though, as the reader knows, there are diseases which are considered to be communicated through the air, independently of actual contact. Smallpox, for instance, is contagious (so it is considered) in both ways-both by actual contact, and from its poison being suspended in the Medical men are divided into two parties on the subject of contagion. There are not a few, and many of them of high character, who believe and teach that contagious diseases may be prevented from spreading, by erecting a fence round the healthy, or round the diseased; and in this they agree with what may be regarded as the common sense and the common practice of mankind. They, therefore, think that quarantine, properly conducted, may prevent the importation of a pestilence from a country where that pestilence may be raging. There are others again, who consider that contagious diseases are not propagated by the contact of diseased and healthy persons and substances, and that, therefore, quarantine is of no use in a medical point of view, and productive of much inconvenience and evil to commerce. Dr. Bowring has taken this side with reference to that terrible scourge, the plague. He does not consider the plague to be contagious; that is, he does not consider that it is propagated by diseased and healthy persons coming in contact; and that it is not prevented from spreading by the practice of quarantine, or by shutting up diseased persons, and preventing them from baving any communication with the healthy. This is an opinion which is supported by many striking and startling facts; and, if Then, after invoking Apollo,— it were true, would be a great relief to commerce. sent state of commercial intercourse in the world, it is hardly possible to enforce the practice of quarantine so effectually as to cut off all communication. What a satisfaction, then, it would be, to establish it as a fact, that the plague is not communicated by contact, but invariably arises from other causes !

In the pre

Dr. Laidlaw, an eminent English physician, who has devoted seven years to the study of the plague in Alexandria, and whose case-book is said to record a higher average of cures than has yet been known in this disease, says, "If the plague is propagable by contagion (and this I by no means deny in toto), yet it has been greatly exaggerated, and that, so far from its following as a general rule, that persons exposed to the contact of the infected are always, or generally attacked, it ought rather to be considered as the exception."

Dr. Bowring has seen "thousands and tens of thousands of cases, in which the most intimate intercourse with persons, ill or dead of the plague, the dwelling in their houses, the wearing their garments, the sleeping in their beds, were not followed by disease in any shape."

These facts are worthy of being followed up by a very searching investigation, in order to see if they lead to the general truth, that the plague is not communicable by contact. Dr. Laidlaw says, "I have no hesitation whatever in expressing my decided conviction that, unless the state of the atmosphere is favourable to the spread of the plague, as is undoubtedly the case during the epidemic, there is no danger whatever from the causes of contagion, that they are purely accidental, and that it is impos

But we may go much higher in history for notices of the operation of the plague, than this fatal period in the sixth century. It was, perhaps, the plague by which the first-born of Egypt fell; and probably it also, which, in the reign of David, swept his kingdom for three days, when "there fell of Israel seventy thousand men." In Homer we read

"Latona's son a dire contagion spread,

And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead;
The King of men his reverend Priest defied,
And for the King's offence the people died."

"God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ,
Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy-"

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the favouring power attends
And from Olympus' lofty top descends;
Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound,
Fierce as he moved his silver shafts resound;
Breathing revenge a sudden night he spread,
And gloomy darkness roll'd about his head.
The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow,
And hissing fly the feather'd fates below;
On mules and dogs the infection first began,
And last the vengeful arrows fix'd in man.
For nine long nights through all the dusky air,
The pyres thick flaming shot a dismal glare;
But ere the tenth revolving day was run,
Inspired by Juno, Thetis' godlike son
Convened to council all the Grecian train,
For much the goddess mourn'd her heroes slain."

We can trace the course of the dreadful plague, which, between the years 1346 and 1352, pervaded the whole of Europe. It is supposed to have begun in China, and was carried by the caravans, which every year crossed Tartary, to the north of the Caspian Sea, and even to Azof. Hence it proceeded gradually westward to Constantinople and Egypt; from Constantinople it extended to Greece, Italy, France, and Africa, and embraced the islands of Britain and Ireland; it then proceeded to Germany, Hungary, Poland, Denmark, Russia, and the other northern

NORMANDY.

kingdoms. It thus arose in the east, and gradually extended it- THE ONE-HANDED FLUTE-PLAYER OF ARQUES IN self to the remotest west. This has been the belief in all periods of the history of the west-the east has always been pointed to as the creating birth-place of pestilence. And this leads us at once to the originating causes of plague-the putrefaction of animal and vegetable substances under a hot sun-in other words, the want of proper drainage and cleanliness in countries where drainage and cleanliness are all-important matters.

In London, previously to the Great Fire, we had the plague for half a century-from 1603 to 1665, with the exception of three years, in which its operation appears quiescent. In many of the intervening years the mortality was very considerable; in 1604 it amounted to 900 persons, in 1605 to 400, in 1606 to 2000, and as many in the two following years. And up to 1640 and 1648 the yearly average exceeded 1000; and lastly, during the season of the great attack, 68,000 were computed to have perished, of which number 46,000 were carried off in the months of August and September.

Thus it appears that London, like the countries of the East, must have had some circumstance within itself capable of inducing the plague, like ancient Rome with its undrained marshes-this is to be found by reference to the state of London in the time of Charles II. Its streets were mostly unpaved, filth in every corner, the drainage little thought of, and the houses built of wood generally, and overhanging the ground-floor windows. Now, if human life depends on the atmosphere, and the longevity of man upon its purity, who can wonder that the London of that and earlier times should have been so subject to the ravages of the plague? Disease must naturally have been very prevalent, and life but of little value, where the atmosphere was so much polluted. Where cleanliness exists, and the air above can have free access, and there is a thorough draught through our streets and habitations; where that food is eaten which is found to produce the most healthful and uniform action of the system, and that is avoided which leads to its excitement, particularly spirituous drinks, we need not apprehend much danger. These great truths have been disseminated in Egypt with good results; and could the Turks but be thoroughly aroused from their apathy, and the whole of the East aid in the effort, the pest of ancient and of modern times, the disease which swept whole hecatombs from the living, and caused the depopulation of whole districts and coun. tries, will be known but as a matter of history.

The debateable question, as to whether, when the plague is generated, it is communicable by actual contact, must be left to further research and experiment. Gibbon, repeating the current opinion of his own, and even of our day, says, "Contagion is the inseparable symptom of the plague; which, by mutual respiration, is transfused from the infected person to the lungs and stomachs of those who approach them." He adds, "Those salutary precautions to which Europe is indebted for her safety were unknown to the government of Justinian. No restraints were imposed on the free and frequent intercourse of the Roman provinces: from Persia to France the nations were mingled and infected by wars and emigrations; and the pestilential odour which lurks for years in a bale of cotton, was imported, by the abuse of trade, into the most distant regions." But the question will probably be keenly contested for some time, as to whether quarantine has really proved a salutary regulation," and this might be helped by some judicious, intelligent, medical man investigating the history of the plague since quarantine was introduced,

Quarantine is a regulation by which the communication with vessels from ports infected with the plague, or other infectious disease, is interdicted for a definite period. The word comes from the Italian quaranta, forty, it being supposed that, if no symptoms of disease be discovered within that period, there can be no further reason for continuing the restriction. In several of the foreign ports establishments have been formed, denominated lazarettos, in which the quarantine is performed instead of on board ship, as in the other instance by which quarantine is enforced. Of these establishments, those at Leghorn, Genoa, Marseilles, Odessa, &c. are the most complete.

The Venetians were the first who endeavoured to guard against the introduction of infectious diseases from abroad by means of quarantine. This was about the year 1484. Since that time, the system has been gradually adopted. One point for consideration is-Has quarantine ever had a fair trial? If it has had, and has proved ineffectual, let it be discarded (if we can induce other governments to discard it), for assuredly it is a great nuisancea serious obstruction to commerce.

I WOUND my way up the eminence on which the old towers totter to decay, and passing under the broken archway which received the triumphant Henry after his victory, and then tracing the rugged path which marks the grand approach, I got on the summit of the mound which forms the basement of the vast expanse of building. The immense extent of these gives a fine feeling of human grandeur and mortal littleness; and the course of reflection is hurried on as the eye wanders over the scenery around. This may be described in one sentence, as the restingplace on which a guilty mind might prepare for its flight to virtue. While I stood musing "in the open air, where the scent comes and goes like the warbling of music"-and neither wished nor wanted other melody, the soft sounds of a flute came faintly towards me, breathing a tone of such peculiar and melting expression, as I thought I had never before heard. Having for some time listened in great delight, a sudden pause ensued ;—the strain changed from sad to gay, not abruptly, but ushered by a running cadence that gently lifted the soul from its languor, and thrilled through every fibre of feeling. It recalled to me at the instant the fables of Pan, and every other rustic serenader, and I thought of the passage in Smith's "Nympholet," where Amarynthus, in his enthusiasm, fancies he hears the pipe of the sylvan deity.

I descended the hill towards the village at a pace lively and free as the measure of the music which impelled me. When I reached the level ground, and came into the straggling street, the warbling ceased. It seemed as though enchantment had lured me to its favourite haunt. The gothic church, on my right, assorted well with the architecture of the houses around. On every hand a portico, a frieze, ornaments carved in stone, coats of arms, and fret-work, stamped the place with an air of antiquity and nobleness, while groups of tall trees formed a decoration of verdant yet solemn beauty.

Part

A few peasant women were sitting at the doors of their respective habitations, as misplaced, I thought, as beggars in the porch of a palace; while half-a-dozen children gambolled on the grassplot in the middle of the open place. I sought in vain among these objects to discover the musician; and, not willing to disturb my pleased sensations by common-place questionings, I wandered about, looking, in a sort of semi-romantic mood, at every antiquated casement. Fronting the church, and almost close to its western side, an arched entrance caught my particular attention, from its old yet perfect workmanship, and I stopped to examine it, throwing occasional glances through the trellis-work in the middle of the gate, which gave a view of a court-yard and house within. of the space in front was arranged in squares of garden, and a venerable old man was watering some flowers: a nice young woman stood beside him, with a child in her arms; two others were playing near him and close at hand was a man, about thirty years of age, who seemed to contemplate the group with a complacent smile. His figure was in part concealed from me, but he observed me, and immediately left the others, and walked down the gravel path to accost me. I read his intention in his looks, and stood still. As he advanced from his concealed position, I saw that his left leg was a wooden one-his right was the perfect model of Apollonic grace. His left arm was wanting. He was bare-headed, and his curled brown hair showed a forehead that Spurzheim would have almost worshipped. His features were all of manly beauty. mustachios, military jacket, and light pantaloons with red edging, told that he had not been "curtailed of man's fair proportions" by any vulgar accident of life; and the cross of honour suspended to his button-hole, finished the brief abstract of his history.

His

A short interlocution, consisting of apology on my part and invitation on his, ended in my accompanying him towards the house; and as I shifted from his left to his right side to offer one of my arms to his only one, I saw a smile on the countenance of his pretty wife, and another on that of his old father; and my good footing with the family was secured. We entered the hall, a large bleak ante-room, with three or four old portraits mouldering on the walls, joined to each other by a cobweb tapestry, and unaccompanied by any other ornament. We then passed to the right into a spacious chamber, which was once, no doubt, the gorgeously decorated withdrawing-room of some proudly-titled occupier. nobility of its present tenant is of a different kind, and its furni ture confined to two or three tables, twice as many chairs, a corner cupboard, and a secrétaire. A Spanish guitar was suspended to a hook over the gothic mantel-piece; a fiddle lay on the table; and fixed to the edge of the other was a sort of wooden vice, into

The

which was screwed a flute of concert size, with three finger holes and eleven brass keys, but of a construction sufficient to puzzle Monzani.

It is useless to make a mystery of what the reader has already divined: my one-legged, one-armed host was the owner of this complicated machine, and the performer on it, whose wonderful tone and execution had caused me so much pleasure. But what will be said when I tell the astonished and perhaps incredulous public, that "his good right hand" was the sole and simple one that bored and polished the wood, turned the keys and the ivory which formed the joints, and accomplished the entire arrangement of this instrument!

Being but an indifferent musician and worse mechanic, I shall not attempt to describe the peculiarities of the music, or the arrangement of the flute, as the maker and performer ran over, with his four miraculous fingers, some of the most difficult solos in Vernes and Berlinger's compositions, which lay on the table before him.

This extraordinary man is a half-pay colonel in the French service, though a German by birth. His limbs received their summary amputation by two quick-sent cannon balls at the battle of Deerden (I believe): since he was disabled he has lived in his present retirement, "passing rich on thirty pounds a year," and happy for him that nature endowed him with a tasteful and mechanical mind,-rare combinations!-while art furnished him with knowledge of music, without which his mind would have been a burden.

Without regard to his flute-playing, he actually brought tears into my eyes by his touching manner.

It needs not to be told he was an enthusiast in music, and when he believed himself thus deprived of the last enjoyment of his life he was almost distracted. In the feverish sleep snatched at intervals from suffering, he used constantly to dream that he was listening to delicious concerts, in which he was, as he was wont, a principal performer. Strains of more than earthly music seemed sometimes floating round him, and his own flute was ever the leading instrument.

Frequently, at moments of greatest delight, some of the inexplicable machinery of dreams went wrong. One of the sylphs, the lovely imaginings of Baxter's fanciful theory, had snapped the chord that strung his visioned joys. He awoke in ecstasy, the tones vibrated, too, for a while upon his brain; but, recalled to sensation by a union of bodily pain and mental anguish, his inefficient stump gave the lie direct to all his dreams of paradise, and the gallant and mutilated soldier wept like an infant for whole hours. He might make a fortune, I think, if he would visit England, and appear as a public performer; but his pride forbids this, and he remains at Arques to show to any visitor unusual proofs of talent, ingenuity, and philosophy !—New Monthly Mag. 1822.

THE POET'S PEN.

(FROM THE GREEK OF MENECRATES.)

I was a useless reed: no cluster hung
My brow with purple grapes; no blossom flung
The coronet of crimson on my stem;
No apple blushed upon me, nor (the gem
Of flowers) the violet strewed the yellow heath
Around my feet; nor jessamine's sweet wreath
Robed me in silver: day and night I pined
On the lone moor, and shiver'd in the wind.
At length a poet found me. From my side

He smooth'd the pale and wither'd leaves, and dyed
My lips in Helicon. From that high hour,

I SPOKE! my words were flame and living power!
All the wide wonders of the earth were mine;
Far as the surges roll, or sunbeams shine;
Deep as earth's bosom hides the emerald;
High as the hills with thunder-clouds are pall'd;
And there was sweetness round me, that the dew
Had never wet so sweet on violets blue.

To me the mighty sceptre was a wand ;
The roar of nations pealed at my command.

To me the dungeon, sword, and scourge were vain,
I smote the smiter, and I broke the chain;
Or, tow'ring o'er them all, without a plume
I pierced the purple air, the tempest's gloom,
Till blazed th' Olympian glories on my eye,
Stars, temples, thrones, and gods-infinity.

PULCI.

FALSE IDEAS OF FOREIGN COUNTRIES.

THE other day (this little anecdote is "no fiction ") two men were passing through St. Paul's Churchyard, discoursing about a friend or acquaintance, "Oh," said one, "he has travelled nearly all over the world; he has been in Spain, and in Portugal, ay, and in Barbary too!" "Indeed!" "Yes, that he has ; now, we think this building," pointing to St. Paul's, "very wonderful, and so it is-but, bless your heart, it's nothing to what he's seen." "Indeed!"" No, not it-why, it is a mere nutmeg to what he's seen in Barbary and them places!"

Are minds such as these-mere mechanical minds as they seem to be worth trying to reach, and would they repay the labour of endeavouring to force them open? Who that himself enjoys the pleasures of knowledge would be so ungenerous as to doubt it? But how?"Oh," says the poet, "take them down to Blackfriars Bridge; show them the mighty building towering over surrounding brick and mortar

"Rising o'er smoke, like wreaths from altar sent,

God's glorious temple meets the awe-struck gaze,
And o'er the boundless city free conveys
Feelings sublime of power pre-eminent."

Ask them if they feel it now, and explain to them the dimensions of the building. They would, doubtless, admit that it was a wonderful big building, but then they might retort-"How do we know but that in Barbary there is something far more wonderful?"

Try them another way. If they cannot rise up to us, we should go down to them. Tell them all about Barbary in a plain simple style-take them, as it were, in leading-strings, and after a time some of them, at least, will be able to walk alone.

AMERICAN ADVERTISEMENT.

From "The National Advocate" (New York newspaper) of Nov. 7th, 1825. THERE is something in a good Windsor Chair which has a most delicious effect on the mind and the imagination, as well as on the legs and the ribs. When a man has been harassed with business for the space of six long hours, how renovating it is to come home, throw yourself in a Windsor Chair, and tell your wife to fill a glass of Racy's Ale! Your tired haunches recline with the most pleasing sensations on the bottom, and your aching ribs find a restorative in the perpendicularity of the back. In the joy of your heart, you say, Heaven bless the chair inventor, and may the chair maker Montayne prosper for ever.

Again, suppose you invite a small party to your house, and see the pretty wives of your friends dropping one by one into your room. A dozen Fancy Chairs, or a dozen and a half of imita tion Rose Wood ditto, bought at No. 13, Bowery, will set off your room to every advantage, and make your visitors smirk and smile like so many Hebes. "Oh! they are pretty," one will say. "Oh! what delicious Rose Wood Chairs!" another will utter. "Pray, Mr. Timothy," asks a third, where in the whole city did you buy those beautiful Windsor Chairs?" "And this Fancy Settee?" asks a fourth. "Heaven shower its blessings down upon you, my dears," then you must reply, "Of whom else but of Montayne's, No. 13, Bowery,"

'Tis sweet to sit on Windsor Chair,
Beside the modest blushing fair,
Or in her eyes pure feeling see,
While lolling on the Rose Settee.

But again, there are many worthy men and women who contract a friendship for old chairs. To such persons who admit this honourable emotion into their breasts, it must be a source of great satisfaction to know where such good old friends can be repaired, painted, or copal varnished anew. A good man could not see an old chair cast aside because it has lost a leg, or perhaps got defaced from long use. He would certainly apply to those men of art (of whom Montayne is one) who put new legs into old friends with dispatch and punctuality, and who make the withered settee come forth from their shops as beautiful as a bride of fifty issues from the parson's on her wedding day.

All those persons, therefore, who may want any Windsor imitation Rosewood Chairs and Fancy Settees, Copal Varnish of all kinds, or old chairs repaired and painted, will please call on A. D. MONTAYNE, No. 13, Bowery.

WARNING TO DRUNKARDS.

Take especial care that thou delight not in wine, for there was not any man that came to honour or preferment that loved it; for it transformeth a man into a beast, decayeth health, poisoneth the breath, destroyeth natural heat, brings a man's stomach to an artificial heat, deformeth the face, rotteth the teeth, and, to conclude, maketh a man contemptible, soon old, and despised of all wise and worthy men; hated in thy servants, in thyself, and companions; for it is a bewitching and infectious vice. A drunkard will never shake off the delight of beastliness; for the longer it possesses a man, the more he will delight in it; and the older he groweth, the more he will be subject to it; for it dulleth the spirits, and destroyeth the body, as ivy doth the old tree; or as the worm that engendereth in the kernel of the nut. Take heed, therefore, that , such a cureless canker pass not thy youth, nor such a beastly infection thy old age; for then shall all thy life be but as the life of a beast, and after thy death thou shalt only leave a shameful infamy to thy posterity, who shall study to forget that such a one was their father.-Sir Walter Raleigh.

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If he wish his volumes to support their character through the revolutions of time and of opinion, a respect to decency, and a reverence for religion, must be the characteristic of his writings; he need not be afraid that his fame will be the less because he has gained it without artifice or violence, or that his works will be neglected because they do not produce excuses for folly, or arguments for wickedness. If his pages be tinctured with irreligion and obscenity, the beauties they contain will be discovered in vain; they may indeed rise for the moment by the patronage of the profligate and licentious, but it will be discovered that every moment brings them nearer to the gulf which has swallowed up the prose of Voltaire, and the poetry of Rochester.-The Saunterer.

ARCHBISHOP SHELDON.

Bishop Sheldon seems to have been as insensible to the decorum belonging to religion, as he was to good feeling and humanity. Of this Pepys has recorded a remarkable instance, in a piece of buffoonery and profaneness acted at Lambeth Palace, when he was dining there:-" 1669, May 14. At noon to dinner with Mr. Wren to Lambeth with the Archbishop of Canterbury; the first time I was ever there, and I have longed for it. Where a noble house, and well furnished with noble pictures and furniture, and noble attendance in good order, and a great deal of company, though an ordinary day; and exceeding great cheer, no where better, or so much, that ever I think I saw for an ordinary table; and the bishop mighty kiud to me particularly, desiring my company another time when less company was there. Most of the company gone, and I going, I heard by a gentleman of a sermon that was to be there; and so I staid to hear it, thinking it serious, till by and by this gentleman told me it was a mockery of one Count Bolton, a very gentleman-like man, that behind a chair did pray and preach like a Presbyter-Scot, with all the possible imitation in grimaces and voice; and the text about the hanging up of their harps upon the willows: and a serious good sermon too, exclaiming against bishops, and crying up my good Lord Eglinton, till it made us all burst; but I did wonder to have the bishop at this time to make himself sport with things of this kind, but I perceive it was shown him as a rarity. And he took care to have the room door shut but there was about twenty gentlemeu there and myself, infinitely pleased with the novelty."-Pepys's Memoirs.

ENGLISH FIRMNESS.

Defoe gives a fine illustration of the sturdy nature of the English character, in an anecdote of Archbishop Cranmer. "If a king of England," says he, "should, though for any real offence, send his orders to a subject, though of the meanest sort, to be gone, and quit the country, he would not stir a foot; and 'tis forty to one but he would have manners little enough to tell him so in plain English. If the message was to a man of quality, his reply would be more courteous, but equally firm. We have a very handsome instance of this in Archbishop Cranmer in the days of King Henry VIII., when, for some speech made in the House of Lords, his Majesty commanded him out of the House, which he very modestly and humbly, yet boldly refused to do, claiming his privilege of peerage and liberty of speech by right of the constitution; which the king afterwards allowed to be just, when his anger was over."

DESCRIPTION OF JERUSALEM.

The following beautifully descriptive and graphic delineation of Jerusalem is from M. Poujoulat's Egypt and Palestine :-" Jerusalem offers no illusions; it is fair to behold, neither from far nor near; take away a few monuments and a few towers, and the prospect before you is the dullest that can be imagined. It is a vast heap of stone houses, each of whose terraced roofs is surmounted with a small dome: the dark grey colour of these monotonous groups—their mournful character-the rock and desert soil surrounding these walls, which seem only to enclose tombs-the solitary sky above your head, whose wide expanse no bird traverses-combine to form a spectacle uniting in itself all that melancholy can produce of the most sad, all that solitude can produce of the most desolate. If we enter into Jerusalem, what gloom! Narrow and dark streets; huge bazaars, in which you see a sprinkling of Jewish, Greek, and Armenian merchants; miserable shops for the sale of tobacco, kept by Mussulmans; dilapidated inns, where the Arabian stranger reposes beside his steed; whole districts deserted, houses in ruins, the ground covered with weeds, filth and rubbish; ivy twining round disjointed fragments, and stunted palm-trees growing up through crevices. On traversing the city, you see the white or red cloak of the Mussulman, the dark vest of the Rayah, or the veils of the women, who move with the hurried steps of fugitives. Such is the interior of Jerusalem. There is no joy, no movement, no noise, you would take it for a vast prison, where the days are as silent as the nights; or rather an immense monastery, whose inhabitants are constantly engaged in prayer."

FRIENDSHIP.

life, the lenitive of our sorrows, and the multiplier of our joys; the source Friendship is one of the fairest productions of the human soil, the cordial of equally of animation and of repose. He who is destitute of this blessing, amidst the greatest crowd and pressure of society, is doomed to solitude; and however surrounded with flatterers and admirers, however armed with power, and rich in the endowments of fortune and of nature, has no resting-place. The most elevated station in life affords no exemption from those agitations which can only be laid to rest on the bosom of a friend.-Robert Hall.

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BON-MOTS OF QUIN.

Though I have little to say yet it is worth while to write, only to tell you of two bon-mots of Quin to that turn-coat hypocrite infidel, Bishop Warburton. That saucy priest was haranguing at Bath in behalf of prerogative; Quin said, "Pray, my Lord, spare me; you are not acquainted with my principles; I am a republican, and perhaps I even think that the execution of Charles the First might be justified." "Ay!" said Warburton, "by what law? Quin replied, By all the laws he had left them." The bishop would have got off upon judgments, and bade the player remember that all the regicides came to violent ends-a lie, but no matter. "I would not advise your lordship," said Quin," to make use of that inference, for, if I am not mistaken, that was the case of the twelve Apostles." There was great wit ad hominem in the latter reply, but I think the former equal to anything I ever heard. It is the sum of the whole controversy couched in eight monosyllables, and comprehends at once the King's guilt and the justice of punishing it. The more one examines it the finer it proves. One can say nothing after it, so good night.-Private Correspondence of Horace Walpole, Earl of Orford.

REFORM.

Instead of considering that the nation ought to be treated as a body afflicted with some new and extraordinary distemper, and therefore requiring an uncommon remedy, and that in proportion as its mechanism is better known, the operations performed upon it ought to be altered-such is the force of prejudice, that men continue obstinately to endeavour the cure of their present disorders, by means of which the inefficacy is demonstrated by their inability to prevent the evils or to stop their progress. antiquity, a false notion of causes, occasioned by the distance of time, a want An injudicious reverence for of diligent reflection on the past and of clear views of the future, about which our self-love hinders us from coming to any agreement, all contribute to perpetuate the wrong measures of ancient times. It is a maxim with some that laws and customs are not to be changed, a maxim to which I zealously adhere, except when the advantage, and, what is much stronger, the necessity, of the public, requires an alteration.-Sully.

London: WILLIAM SMITH, 113, Fleet Street. Edinburgh: FRASER AND Co. Dublin: CURRY & Co.-Printed by Bradbury & Evans, Whitefriars.

THE

No. IV.

PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM SMITH, 113, FLEET STREET.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 26, 1839.

THE DAWNING OF THE DAY. WHEN Moses came down from his awful and sublime interview with God, on "the mount that burned with fire," bearing in his hands the "two tables of the testimony," he saw-can we marvel that the sight first chilled and then fired his blood?-he saw the besotted people, whom he had led in triumph from Egypt, dancing round the image of Apis, the Egyptian bull. Moved with a human, yet a holy indignation, he cast from him the tables "which were the work of God, and the writing was the writing of God, graven upon the tables," and "brake them beneath the mount." The rest of the terrible scene the reader of his Bible knows. Shortly afterwards, the LORD was speaking to Moses "face to face, as a man speaketh to his friend." This great, this truly great man, knew that he was living in the earlier part of the world's history-that mightier developments of God's wondrous workings were reserved for future ages-that a time was coming when man would not be such a poor besotted fool, as to worship the work of his own hands—and he longed to look down through the vista of the years of futurity, and have a glimpse of the glory that was to follow. So, taking advantage, as it were, of that familiarity with which he was treated by the God of the spirits of all flesh, he breathed out his passionate desire, "I beseech thee, show me thy glory!" And God forgave the forwardness of his servant, because of the spirit that was in his prayer. "Thou canst not see my face," said the BEING who dwelleth in glory unutterable; "for there shall no man see me and live." But in tender compassion He would reveal a little of that futurity which was to unfold His glory-He would place him in a clift of the rock, and make all His goodness to pass before him. "And the Lord descended in the cloud, and stood with him there, and proclaimed the name of the Lord." Doubtless, in that moment, light was poured into the understanding of Moses; and his heart and mind felt in its grandeur that proclamation, when the Lord passed by before him, and proclaimed, "The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth." What was the effect of this revelation upon the mind of Moses? He "made haste "—for the feeling of profound reverence is like an electric flash, darting in a moment through the very soul of man-and he "bowed his head toward the earth, and worshipped." Nay, more -as if all that was natural and human in his heart had received a shock, and was suddenly overflowing, his thoughts flew towards his poor, ignorant, calf-worshipping, and perverse brethren and countrymen, and thus does he wrestle for them-"If now I have found grace in thy sight, O Lord, let my Lord, I pray thee, go among us; for it is a stiff-necked people; and pardon our iniquity and our sin, and take us for thine inheritance."

Dull and unapt must his mind be that has never felt a desire to penetrate the mystery of this existence-that has never felt his heart yearning with the prayer of Moses-" Show me, I beseech thee, thy glory!" But it is the enlightened Christian alone that enjoys the privilege accorded to the Hebrew lawgiver. Knowledge places him in "a clift of the rock;" he cannot see God's face, follow out in regular succession all His future designs; but the Lord descends to him even in the cloud, and passing by before his unsealed vision, proclaims His ineffable name. And the effect upon his mind is, or ought to be, just what it was upon the mind of Moses. First, he "makes haste" to bow his head and worship; acknowledging a present Deity in all that transpires upon the earth. Then his heart turns towards his poor, ignorant, depraved,

VOL. I.

[PRICE TWOPENCE.

foolish, and obstinate brethren; and he fervently prays that God would "pardon their iniquity and their sin, and take them for His inheritance." He does not wrap himself up in supercilious contempt for those who, not able to ascend the mount with him, and survey the goodly land that stretches on every side, are consuming the present brief moment in dancing round some "golden calf." which their own hands have made. Neither does he sit down in philosophic indifference, and, as it were, leave God to work out His own designs in His own time. The hope that the world will yet one day be a better world than it is now, moves him with generous effort for the world as it now is; and so he enters narrow alleys, and dirty lanes, and dingy hovels, and tries to pour through the crevices of ignorance a portion of the light which illuminates and cheers his own soul. The story we are about to tell is a narration of how a poor youth, in passing through the mist and darkness that surrounded him, felt his soul longing to see the "glory of God;" and how there came a friendly hand that lifted him up, and placed him in "a clift of the rock;" and then the day dawned, the shadows flew away, and, having bowed his head, and worshipped, he "went on his way rejoicing."

In one of those cities which are as the eyes of Britain, there lived a poor, ignorant, yet not altogether unhappy family, bearing the name of Jones. The city wherein they dwelt is a great city, and its merchants rank as honourable ones in the earth-their ships are to be found on every sea. Products of all climes are brought to that city, to be worked up into rare and curious fabrics, or to be consumed for bodily satisfaction and heart's-ease. Our poor family were not so poor but that they could afford to use a little tea and sugar, though from whence these came they knew not, unless it was from some place far abroad, where the blacks live. Intellect had begun its march, in those days of which we now speak but it had marched past the house of the Joneses. You might have made them stare, had you asked, whether the laying down of the handsome pavement on which they daily trod, or the building of the Egyptian pyramids, were the greater performance? And grievously would they have been puzzled with the question, whether, when they opened their shutters of a morning, it was the darkness that went out, or the light that came in. Yet they were human beings; had hearts swelling with all human emotions: maintained communion with the "region of invisibles," and were destined to live for ever.

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The father and mother of this family were as different in their temperaments and dispositions, as day is from the night. Yet, being married, they lived and agreed wondrous well. For though they had never studied the ethics of marriage, nor the philosophy of living, nor analysed the why and the wherefore of the reason of their agreement, by a sort of instinct, they seemed to understand, that opposite tempers might be made to coalesce instead of coming into collision; and they saw as plainly as if it had been laid down to them by a diagram, that the action of two opposing forces might drive the ball of existence, not in the direction of the one or the other, but as it were, in a medium between the two. As for the father, had you seen him, and conversed with him, you might have pronounced him a grim, austere, sour, crabbed man, very ignorant, and very obstinate; and so he was. Ill health made him grim and austere-poverty and toil, ignorant and obstinate. The mother was a lively, merry creature-light, but not volatile,-cheerful, but hardly gay. The whole family, and

[Bradbury and Evans, Printers, Whitefriars.

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