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infectious. It does not endanger life, or vision, or elicit scrofula or consumption, or leave behind it dis. gusting marks. Above all, it is in a great majority of cases, and apparently in all ordinary circumstances, a preventive of small-pox, or, at the worst, a powerful modifier of its violence; the only exceptive cases occurring where a vaccinated patient has been exposed to a very severe small-pox epidemic.

PLEASURE TOURS.

THE TROSACHS AND LOCH KATRINE.

THE tourist, having satisfied his curiosity with a view of Stirling and its neighbourhood, will now think of proceeding onwards in his journey. The road towards the Trosachs proceeds by way of Doune and Callander, the latter being sixteen miles distant from Stirling in a westerly direction. A stage-coach leaves Stirling every afternoon at five o'clock during summer for Callander, the fare to which is about three or four shillings. Should you prefer it-we now, for convenience, speak to the tourist in the first person -you may hire a post-chaise or gig at any of the inns. If you intend to go no farther than Loch Katrine, the best way is to hire a gig or other vehicle for the trip. However, should you proceed by the stage to Callander, vehicles can there be procured to carry you to the Loch and back again; and the stage, which leaves Callander every morning at half-past six, will put you down at your place of starting at Stirling.

storey whitewashed houses, the residence of a population chiefly engaged in rustic pursuits. At the west end of the village stands a commodious inn, to which large additions have just been made for the accommodation of all classes of tourists. Every thing that is excellent in the way of vivers, is here to be had the same as in the best appointed inn in England.

The scenery around Callander is worthy of being explored; two places, in particular, should be visited. The first is the fall of Bracklin, situated among the hills, at the distance of a mile and a half in a northeasterly direction from the village. A boy from the The road to it is inn will act as guide to the spot. bad, and can only be travelled on foot. The fall being reached, is found to consist of a series of cascades formed by the impetuous rushing of a mountain stream, termed the Keltie, down a rugged rocky ravine. Each cascade is from eight to ten feet in depth, and altogether, the falls may measure upwards of a hundred feet, before they finally settle in a profound receptacle at the bottom. Above the chasm, there is thrown a rustic foot-bridge, from which the view of the falls, when the water is large, is particularly grand. This spot is worthy of being visited by geologists, on account of the singular developement of the masses of rifted rocks over and among which the water impetuously dashes.

The other place to which we would draw your attention, is the Pass of Leny. This is a narrow opening about a mile to the north-west of the village, which affords access, as its name imports, from the low country into the wild recesses of the Highlands. While the vale of the Teith continues towards the west, the road to the Pass of Leny strikes off in a north-westerly direction after you have passed the tollbar of Kilmahog. Skirted with waving woods and bound in by lofty mountains, this is a scene of great sublimity. A rapid river, which issues from the mountain lake denominated Loch Lubnaig, hurries through the narrow vale over a series of little cascades, yielding a music harsh and wild, in strict keeping with the ruggedness of the scene. The road leads along the brink of Loch Lubnaig, to the small parish village of Balquidder, where, in the churchyard, the grave of Rob Roy is still pointed out.

The road from Stirling to Callander, after leaving the flat country, winds along the open valley of the river Teith, a considerable tributary of the Forth, and is on both sides environed with long-ascending braes and hills, partially clothed with plantations, and under the best processes of husbandry. There is little on the way to interest the tourist, except the vil. lage and castle of Doune, lying about half way from Stirling. The village, now much improved and beautified, was in days of clanship noted for its manufac tory of Highland pistols. It may be recollected that it was at this point of entrance into the Lowlands that Waverley, the hero of the novel of that name, stop-valley. In the bottom of the vale, lie in succession ped to have his horse shod, and was entrapped by the gifted Gilfillan. The ruins of the once famed castle of Doune stand a short way from the village, on the brink of an elevated peninsula formed by the junction of the Ardoch with the Teith, its lofty towers rising to a great height above the lofty trees which encompass them. The sight of this grand baronial fortress is calculated to have a most striking effect on the mind of the passing stranger. It figures in the ancient history of the country, and was often inhabited by Margaret of England, daughter of Henry VII., and widow of James IV. During the rebellion of 1745, it was held in the interest of Prince Charles Stuart, by a nephew of Rob Roy; and here for a time were depo-proach the Trosachs. At this point is situated an inn, sited the prisoners taken on the return of the expedition. Doune Castle has long been the property of the Earl of Moray, who derives from it the secondary title of Lord Doune. Most readers of the old traditionary poetry of Scotland will remember the beautiful, pic-chaise to the verge of Loch Katrine. turesque, and affecting stanza, which concludes the bailad of the death of the "Bonny Earl o' Moray :" Oh lang may his lady

Look ower the Castle Doune,
Ere she see the Earl o' Moray

Come sounding through the toun.

On leaving Doune, the road pursues a direction almost close upon the Teith, on its north bank. Proceeding along the margin of this clear and rapid river, the traveller finds, on his way to Callander, Lanrick Castle, the magnificent seat of Sir Evan Macgregor Murray, Bart., and, some miles farther on, Cambusmore, the seat of John Buchanan, Esq. 66 Here," says Dr Graham, in his Sketches of Perthshire, "it may not be uninteresting to notice, that it appears probable that the author of the Lady of the Lake first imbibed his taste for the sublime scenery of the Highlands, which he has so felicitously pourtrayed in the vicinity of the spot where the traveller now stands. It is said that, in his juvenile days, he delighted to spend some months for several summers at the houses of Newton and Cambusmore. Here, on the outskirts of Benvorlich and Ua-var, with Benledi full in his eye on the west, and within an easy ride of the wonders of Loch Katrine, he might have satiated his poetic imagination with the sublime in external nature, and with the heroic, in the study of Celtic character." The village of Callander, eight miles from Doune, lies in the bosom of the valley of the Teith, and with lofty hills on all sides except the east, and apparently occupying the last patch of level ground before the traveller enters the Highlands. It consists of little else than a single street or double row of one and two

The road towards the Trosachs, after passing the above tollbar, pursues a tortuous line along the base of a mountain range, skirting the north side of the nachar and Loch Achray. Immediately before aptwo long stripes of water, or lakes, called Loch Venproaching the eastern extremity of the last of these lakes, which is by much the smallest, a road leads off to the right, into the vale of Glenfinlas; a tract of ten titute of the smallest symptom of habitation or of culmiles in extent, formerly a royal hunting-forest, destivation, and which any one who wishes to have a complete idea of an Ossianic desert, in all its sterile and lonely wildness, may be recommended to traverse. The bridge crossing the stream which descends from this vale, is called the Bridge of Turk, on account of a wild boar, which had done much mischief in the neighbourhood, having been slain at the place in times long bygone. The reader will remember the notice taken of the Bridge of Turk in the Lady of the Lake. On coming to the head of Loch Achray, you aphaving a strange Gaelic name, sounding something like Ardkencrock ran. This is the last human habitation on the route, and here travellers usually quit their vehicles in order to walk the remainder of the distance; the road, however, will accommodate a Those who

wish to sail upon the lake must engage a couple of boatmen from the inn, as no one resides at the boathouses at the east end of the lake-a matter, by the way, which indicates any thing but good manage

ment.

Leaving the inn, you may be said to enter the Trosachs. This romantic district is simply a conclud. ing portion of the vale along which you have been passing, about a mile in extent, and adjoining to the bottom of Loch Katrine; where, on account of a tumultuous confusion of little rocky eminences, of all the most fantastic and extraordinary forms, which lie throughout the bottom of the vale, and are every where shagged with trees and shrubs, nature wears inextricable boskiness, totally unexampled, it is supan aspect of roughness and wildness, of tangled and posed, in the whole world. The valley being here contracted, hills, moreover, rise on each side to a great height, which, being entirely covered by birches, hazels, oaks, hawthorns, and mountain ashes, contribute greatly to the general effect. The meaning of the word Trosachs in some measure describes the scene; a rough or bristled piece of territory. The wildering scene of mountains, rocks, and woods thrown author of the Lady of the Lake has described it as "a together in disorderly groups." But perhaps nothing could give the reader so distinct an idea of the scene, as to suggest to him that, if a heap of rude stones of all shapes and sizes were first thrown down into a ditch or trench, then these powdered with a thin sprinkling of earth, next suppose an infinite variety of curious shrubs to grow from that earth, the whole would be a sort of miniature of the Trosachs, formed as it is by a rude and irregular range of rocky hillocks, in the hollow bottom between two hills, and sprinkled over by such a wilderness of bushes.

As the description given of the Trosachs in the

Lady of the Lake may well be supposed superior to
any other which can be given, it is here subjoined.
The western waves of ebbing day
Rolled o'er the glen their level way;
Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
Was bathed in floods of living tire.
But not a setting beam could glow
Within the dark ravine below,
Where twined the path, in shadow hid,
Round many a rocky pyramid,
Shooting abruptly from the dell
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle;
Round many an insulated mass,
The native bulwarks of the pass,
Huge as the towers which builders vain
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
The rocky summits, split and rent,
Formed turret, dome, or battlement;
Or seemed fantastically set
With cupola or minaret,

Wild crests as pagod ever decked,
Or mosque of eastern architect.
Nor were these earth-born castles bare,
Nor lacked they many a banner fair;
For from their shivered brow displayed,
Far o'er the unfathomable glade,

All twinkling with the dew-drops sheen,
The brier-rose fell in streamers green,
And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes,
Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs.

Boon nature scattered, free and wild,
Each plant or flower, the mountain's child.
Here eglantine embalmed the air,
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there;
The primrose pale, and violet flower,
Found in each cliff a narrow bower;
Foxglove and nightshade, side by side,
Emblems of punishment and pride,
Grouped their dark hues with every stain
The weather-beaten crags retain.
With boughs that quaked at every breath
Grey birch and aspen wept beneath;
Aloft the ash and warrior oak
Cast anchor in the rifted rock;
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung
His shattered trunk, and frequent flung,
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high,
Its boughs athwart the narrowed sky.
Highest of all, where white peaks glanced,
Where glist'ning streamers waved and danced,
The wanderer's eye could barely view
The summer heaven's delicious blue;
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem
The scenery of a fairy dream.

After walking through the Trosachs, you reach the eastern extremity of Loch Katrine-so called from the Gaelic word cateran, signifying robbers. The lake measures about ten miles in length, and is justly reckoned one of the most beautiful in Scotland. Its principal charm consists in the singular rugged wildness of its mountainous sides, and its pretty rocky islets, rising to a considerable height out of the water, and tufted over with trees and shrubs. Near the eastern extremity of the lake, there is precisely such an island as that which is described in the poem as the residence of the outlawed Douglas and his family. To fulfil the wishes of the imagination-if such a phrase may be used-Lady Gwyder, the proprietrix of the ground, has erected upon the island a sort of town or cottage, such as that which the said family occupied; and he must be a traveller of more than ordinary churlishness who could refrain from indulg ing in the pleasing deception thus created. Near the island, there is a portion of the shore of the lake, to which travellers are usually conducted to see the extremely white sand and gravel which there forms the beach. This is called "the Silver Beach ;" a beautiful appellation, of which it is well worthy. The boatmen, on inquiry, will point out the other spots most worthy of notice in the scenery.

The view of the lake on approaching it on the east is rather confined, but from the top of the rocky and woody mount above, the prospect is more extensive, and of that singular beauty which the author of the Lady of the Lake has described in the following pas sage :

gleaming with the setting sun,
One burnished sheet of living gold,
Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled,
In all her length far-winding lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,
And islands that, empurpled bright,
Floated amid the livelier light,
And mountains that like giants stand,
To sentinel enchanted land.

High on the south, large Benvenue
Down on the lake its masses threw,
Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled,
The fragments of an earlier world;
A wildering forest, feathered o'er,
His ruined sides and summit hoar;
While on the north, through middle air,
Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare.

Dr Graham, in his "Sketches of Perthshire," in speaking of this mountain scenery, mentions an anecdote characteristic of the former state of the country. "In one of the defiles of the Trosachs, two or three of the natives met a band of Cromwell's soldiers com ing to plunder them, and shot one of the party dead, whose grave marks the scene of action, and gives name to the pass.

In revenge for this, the soldiers resolved to attack an island in the lake, on which the wives and children of the men had taken refuge. They could not come at it, however, without a boat; one of the island and bring away the boat; when, just as he the most daring of the party undertook to swim to was catching hold of a rock to get ashore, a heroine, called Helen Stuart, met him and cut off his head with a sword; upon which the party, seeing the fate of their comrade, thought proper to withdraw."

For the accommodation of those who wish to proceed onwards to Loch Lomond and the Clyde, a row. boat leaves the east end of Loch Katrine every morning at eight o'clock. By this conveyance you are landed at a place, from whence to Loch Lomond is a distance of four or five miles. The road is across a mountain tract, and there is no other mode of travel

ling than walking on foot. We believe, on some occasions, in coming from Loch Lomond, small ponies may be hired as well as persons to carry baggage, but the expense of such accommodations is enormous. That there is no regular road in this oft-visited tract of country, nor no regular vehicular conveyances, argues a wonderful want of tact somewhere. On reaching the head of Loch Lomond, you have an opportunity of being conveyed down that beautiful lake, by means of steam-boats which ply daily.*

THE DREADNOUGHT. THE charitable institutions of London and its neighbourhood have long excited the admiration of foreigners, and with it a respect for the English national

character. Of the various establishments of this nature which attract the attention of strangers, no one is perhaps so worthy of remark as an institution for the relief of sick and distressed sailors. We do not here speak of Greenwich Hospital, which is adapted for the residence of decayed mariners who have spent their lives in the king's service, but of the hospitalship Dreadnought, once of 104 guns, and now lying off Greenwich. This floating wall of Old England, after years of service in the navy, has been converted into an hospital, under circumstances that do honour to all the parties concerned. It appears, that, in the winter of 1818, a number of gentlemen subscribed to a fund for the temporary relief of distressed seamen who at that time were found in the streets of London. These gentlemen, finding the funds increase, appointed a committee, and at a public meeting it was determined that a permanent Floating Hospital should be established on the river Thames. In consequence of this arrangement, the Grampus, a 50-gun ship, was fitted up and appropriated to the use of sick and diseased seamen only. In 1830, in consequence of numerous poor fellows not finding room on board, and many cases of sickness and misery being thereby unassisted, a representation was made to his Majesty's government, and the Dreadnought was immediately fitted up with every attention to the purposes of humanity. To the lasting honour of every subscriber, from his Majesty, through a long list of noblemen, merchants, officers, and others, down to Jack in the waste, be it recorded, that attention in sickness, and relief under misfortunes to which seamen are liable, are here extended to the wretched of all nations. A benevolence so universal might well be appreciated in the utmost corners of the world; accordingly, we find in the list of subscribers the monarchs of Russia, Denmark, Prussia, Sweden, Belgium, and Portugal, also the heads of mercantile establishments in America and the East and West Indies.

Those best acquainted with the peculiar character of seamen, know that they have habits distinct from persons employed on shore. From long contempt of dangers, Jack has an absence of thought for the morrow, and often seems to have no idea of the possible approach of wretchedness; and if it come, he bears its utmost pang-strips the last rag from his back for relief, rather than enter an hospital on shore. To meet this unaccountable prejudice against infirmaries on land, the Dreadnought offers all that benevolence can teach, or humanity suggest. The establishment possesses experienced medical gentlemen, acquainted with diseases incident to climes which seamen visit-acquainted with the causes of protracted illness, or exhausted strength, to which they are liable from severe privations, long exposure to debilitating heat or benumbing cold. Even the results of abject poverty are relieved, and a balm for affliction is here presented

to every comer of whatever nation.

The situation of the hospital-ship Dreadnought is well determined, being contiguous to the docks, and in the stream where accidents are of frequent occurrence. But, from any part between the mouth of the Thames and London Bridge, if a sick seaman present himself alongside, he is at once received and his case attended to. This facility of reception is of incalculable benefit, as thereby the funds are rendered more extensively useful, and the unfortunate sailor is sooner enabled to resume his duties. All this is worthy of a maritime nation, which stands indebted for a great portion of its prosperity to its hardy and persevering From a statement recently published, it appears that the number of patients who have received relief and assistance from this excellent institution,

seamen.

Before setting out from Edinburgh, we would recommend tourists to examine the advertisements in the North British Advertiser, in order to ascertain the precise hours at which steamboats arrive at and leave the various places on Loch Lomond and the Clyde.

amounts to 23,040, of all nations-in the navy, 1679; | of all most true, he felt the wish to dart at once into in the East India Company's service, 1767; in the the vale, and chided the galloping four-in-hand for merchant service of different nations, 19,594. The re- their tardiness. ceipts during the year 1834 were L.6788, 15s. and they were nearly equalled by the expenditure. The utility of this institution is acknowledged to operate beneficially in putting a stop to the practice of giving relief to impostors in the streets and in the vicinity of London. Few, indeed, now of those who assume the jacket, trousers, and tarpaulin hat, are seamen; and the public ought to be upon their guard accordingly. Innumerable instances of the value of the Dreadnought in saving sailors from death or serious distress in the metropolis, could no doubt be mentioned. Within the compass of our own knowledge, one striking case occurred, which may serve to illustrate the utility of

the institution.

Jack Pether was the beau-ideal of a British sailor, brave, generous, and regardless of self. Returning to Portsmouth from a cruise in the Mediterranean, he was paid off along with a number of his shipmates, and on coming on shore, behaved as most of his class do under similar circumstances. It is now a number of years ago, yet we still think we see Jack rolling along in the gaiety of his heart, decked out in new jacket and trousers, a straw hat that afforded no shelter to his weather-beaten face, and a black neckerchief that yielded no protection to his throat. Jack had not been long in Portsmouth before he fell in with the captain of a merchant vessel on the outlook for hands to carry his ship round to Deptford. He had already secured a complement of assistants-half-andhalfers 'long-shore men, who might do well enough in fine weather, but knew nothing of combating with the elements. He now wanted one who could reef and steer, to keep all right; and so Jack Pether was exactly the man for his purpose. The bargain was hastily struck, all hands were summoned on board, and the Lively Nancy swung out of Portsmouth har. bour before the impulse of a gentle breeze. Jack had not spent a day on board before he saw the nature of the crew, and he only hoped that a gale would not arise to frighten and render them useless. A storm, however, did arise. The breeze freshened to a gale, and the gale to a tempest. What was now to be done? Beechy Head, a dangerous promontory projecting into the Channel, was to be weathered, and there its lofty cliffs already loomed through the driving spray in the distance. In this dilemma, the heroism of the true He saw that British tar was exerted to the utmost. thing but duty, he faced the breeze night and day, nearly all depended on himself. Regardless of every standing at the helm, or ever and anon dashing forward to bend the sails or trim the vessel to the storm, and then flying as speedily back again to his post at the tiller.

By this extraordinary protracted exertion, Jack Pether had at length the satisfaction of not only weathering Beechy Head, but of carrying the Lively Nancy past the Goodwin Sands into the mouth of the Thames, which he entered triumphantly, so far as his feelings were concerned, but almost a wreck in his own person, from constant exposure on deck, and the fatigues he had otherwise undergone. All danger being now over, and the ship consigned to its moorings at Deptford, the reaction on Jack's frame became apparent. He was desirous of reaching the place of his nativity near Hampton, but this wish could not be gratified, or carried into effect. Sinking down in a state of fever and entire prostration of strength, he was taken alongside the Dreadnought, and, almost as unconscious as a corpse, was raised by tackle to the deck. He was now attended to in every way that kindness and skill could suggest. On being searched, he was found to possess a considerable sum, which was put aside for him on his restoration to health. Having a good constitution, it was soon renovated to a consciousness of all that was proceeding around. The surgeons were skilful, the nurses were kind, the accommodations were comfortable, and Jack could see that all was right.

The thought of her at Hampton Wick now came over his mind like the sunrise on a benighted traveller; it brightened on his heart till pleasure glistened in his eyes, and he would fain have left the ward before his strength was restored. In this his wish was counteracted; he was told that his friends might be written to; even the secretary who chanced to be on board would do this; and all were anxious to render him service. In the interim, the owners of the brig, having been informed by the captain of the services rendered by Jack Pether, presented him with a handsome acknowledgment of his merits, and an accompaniment in the shape of a pecuniary reward.

The time was now arrived when his health was restored. He walked the deck, talked with others on board of dangers past, and with a feeling of regret left the place where he had enjoyed so much hospitality. He received his chest, his tarpaulin bag, his tin-case of papers, and cash to the utmost farthing Then stepping over the ship's side, he descended to a wherry, and was rowed ashore in health and strength to pursue his way to Hampton Wick by the Kingston coach, the well-remembered coach on which he had ridden when a boy. The town of Wandsworth, too, he recognised, the old steeple of the church, and many a cottage on the road; but when he came to the hill that overlooks the Thames, as it winds along to Hampton Court, and saw the village in which resided she of all womankind the best, of all most lovely, and

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Down the hill he glides, and waves his hat as he passes the sign of "The Jolly Sailors." He sees faces he had known before; he feels as entering the port of home, at least the port that held all he esteemed on earth. The coach passes Kingston market-place; he heeds not the stone on which King John was crowned. He does not observe that the bridge is built of stone in place of an old wooden structure raised on an hun. dred piles; it is enough that he is in the village of Hampton Wick. He sees his Mary at her father's door; he springs from the top of the coach, presses her to his heart, and believes he is the happiest being in the world. He sees not the gaping, laughing people around him; he can only see that she is more beautiful than ever; that her eye is brighter, that her smile is sweeter, and that her manner is more endearing. He does not know what to do; he has a thousand things to say, but not a word escapes his lips; he gazes in her face till she blushes, and then he clasps her again, imprinting a kiss in which his honest heart partakes of bliss unspeakable. At length the tumult of his joy subsides, and he can see and feel like those around. He shakes a dozen hands and gives a hundred nods before he pays the coachman, or receives his luggage. He enters the humble dwelling of his fair one's father, and finds all right. He can obtain employment on shore; the money he has saved will give him a start in life, and he shall be blessed with the partner of his choice. It was even as he wished.

Jack often tells the story of his voyage, as we have rapidly sketched it, and always ends with mentioning the generous treatment he received on board the Dreadnought, for which his and his Mary's united gratitudes are mingled with their prayers. Success attended their exertions. They still live, and enjoy the blessings that ever accompany honest industry, and have frequently declared their intention to act ever on the principles of the Dreadnought hospitalship, which is that beneficent sentiment" Peace and good will towards all."

BIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES.

M. HAUY.

THE history of almost all the sciences is divided into various epochs, or periods distinguished by some extrapulse onward towards perfection. Acute, intelligent, ordinary discoveries which gave them a gigantic im and reflecting minds, are common to every age, but mas. ter-spirits but rarely appear amongst mankind. The former may be considered in the light of pioneers of the latter, and, clearing the way by the removal of numerous petty impediments, allow them an opportu nity of expatiating at large over the broad prospect Or rather, there is a class of opened up to them. philosophers, who, by collecting together a mass of materials which they are unable to put together them. selves, leave them to be wrought up into forms of har. monious beauty by other more fortunate and gifted individuals. In casting our eye over the bright pages of modern discovery, we cannot fail to be struck by this fact. Facts and experiments are accumulated through long years of quiet study, by the industry of numerous observers, and old theories, unable to embrace them, must be abandoned, and a more extensive chain employed to connect them so as to form a whole. The building by successive additions has spread so much latterly, that it becomes necessary to extend the basis in order to secure its stability. But how is this to be effected? For a time no plan appears practicable, when suddenly, and often from the bosom of the people, a great genius springs forth, and by raising himself to a higher vantage ground than that occupied by his fellow-labourers, sees at once how the whole may be arranged and combined so as to form a perfect whole: In proof of this fact we need only refer to the discoveries of Newton, of Watt, of Davy, of Cuvier, and of the distinguished individual of whose life we mean to give a brief outline.

René Just Haüy, honorary canon of Nôtre Dame, member of the Royal Academy of Sciences of France, and of nearly all the learned societies of the civilised world, was the son of a poor linen manufacturer. He was a native of St Just, a small country town in the department of the Oise, where he was born on the 28th of February 1743. The circumscribed circumstances of his father prevented so humble and unassuming a spirit as his from entertaining any other ideas beyond those of the paternal loom, but the generosity of others did for him what was otherwise denied. A partiality to music, or rather a disposition to piety, led to his ad. vancement in life. The prior of an abbey in which he used to perform his devotional ceremonies, who had taken notice of his assiduous attendance on divine ser vice, took occasion to enter into conversation with him, and perceiving the intellectual vivacity of the youth,

instructed some monks to give him lessons. So much did he acquit himself to the satisfaction of his tutors, that they warmly recommended his mother to take him to Paris to complete his studies, offering, at the same time, their own recommendations and assistance. The mother was worthy of such a son; for though her means were barely sufficient to support her a few months in the capital, she repaired thither. But what can unaided paternal affection do in such a city as Paris, where so many human beings of every grade of intellect and condition of society are each eagerly pursuing some favourite object, and not likely to stop in their career to listen to the voice of a provincial as pirant, but rather to jostle him aside? And thus it was that Haüy, whose name was to become dear to every lover of science, and to fill Europe, was compelled to gain his livelihood as a chorister in a church. In this humble capacity, however, he had an oppor tunity of cultivating his talents for music, that natural ally of fine genius; but his friends, the monks of St Just, at length succeeded in their generous endeavours to advance his fortunes. A bursary was procured for him in the college of Navarre; and here, quietly pur. suing his classical studies, he attracted the attention of those around him by his amiable manners, his assiduity, and his talents. He became a fellow-teacher, was elevated to preside over a class, and took his degree, when he had only reached his twenty-first year. Some years after, he was removed to a higher class in the college of the Cardinal Lemoine, and for a time his ambition was confined to the discharge of the humble duties of his office. He had begun to make experiments in physics, but a circumstance, which evinces the affectionate dispositions of his heart, led him into the wide and fruitful field of natural history.

At the same college where Haüy was, there was one of the regents called Lhomond, who was partially fond of botany. A conformity of character and moral sentiments made the two preceptors of youth bosom friends of each other; and in their frequent rural walks, Hauy experienced much uneasiness at being ignorant of the science which formed the favourite study of his companion. Learning that one of his old sacerdotal friends of St Just was a proficient in botany, he, with the view of agreeably surprising Lhomond, privately received instructions from the monk, and completely succeeded in his design. At the next excursion with his college companion, he no longer showed himself an uninteresting observer of the structure of plants, but that he knew them in detail, and could describe them in the language of Linnæus. From botany he was conducted to the study of mineralogy, a science still more congenial to his taste than that of plants, and on which he was destined to shed a bright flood of light. In our article upon Crystallisation in a late number, we described the manner in which Haüy made his great discovery of the true theory of crystallisation, so that we need not here repeat the details. Hauy first informed the master on whose lectures he attended, of the discoveries which he had made, and they were by him intimated to Laplace, who at once saw their importance, and encouraged the author to lay them before the Academy. The scruples, however, which retiring modesty suggested, for a time kept him back. But the Academy were in haste to acquire him, and, not waiting until a place in physics or mineralogy was vacant, they preferred him to one in botany over the heads of many distinguished botanists. His new colleagues gave him many flattering tokens of their esteem. He was requested to give oral explanations of his system; and he delivered a course of lectures on the subject, at which were present Laplace, Lavoisier, and many of the greatest philosophers of France. Perhaps no doctrine so comprehensive was ever presented, which from the com. mencement possessed such clearness as that of Haüy. New modes of calculation were invented by him, and he represented by peculiar formulæ all the possible combinations of crystals.

Haüy, however, was not permitted to enjoy an un. disputed triumph. The correctness of his doctrines was denied by some, and others went so far as to allege that he had borrowed the main ideas from a celebrated philosopher of the name of Bergmann. The reply which Hauy made consisted in new researches and a wider application of his principle of which we shall give one instance. At this period the most learned mineralogists, Linnæus, Wallenius, Romé Delisle, and Saussure (an honoured name), confounded, under the name of schorl, a vast multitude of minerals which had no characteristics in common, except that of a certain degree of fusibility, united to a more or less prismatic form; and under that of zeolite, a number of others whose sole distinctive character was that of being converted into a sort of jelly by acids. Haüy went to work upon these, and dividing the crystals according to his own principle, he ultimately succeeded in discovering no less than fourteen different species amongst the schorls, and six amongst the zeolites. The way in which Haüy proceeded was first to ascertain their constituent molecule. If this had been alike in all the schorls, zeolites, and other substances which he examined, then philosophers would have been quite justified in classifying them together, how. ever widely the shapes of the masses might differ; for Hauy determined the species and composition of minerals by their constituent molecule or nucleus. Thus, having mechanically divided in his own way the substance called white schorl, he found in it the

nucleus and molecule of the mineral called felspar.
On examining it by chemical manipulation, it was
found actually to be felspar. Here, then, was disco-
vered a new and powerful means of analysing the
nature of bodies; and from this moment Hauy stood
forth, not as a mere experimenter in physics, but as
the great legislator of mineralogy and crystallisation.
When the French revolution burst forth like a vol-
canic eruption, Hauy was too celebrated in the sciences,
and too attentive to the duties of religion, not to be
singled out as an object of revolutionary fury. He
was surprised in his study by some of those wretches
who prowled about for victims. They commenced
their search by asking him if he possessed any fire-
arms. "None but these," said he, drawing a spark
from his electrical machine. The wretches were
paralysed for a moment, but only for a moment.
He was seized and imprisoned, but liberated just the
day before the fearful massacres which took place in
September 1792. From this period he was allowed
to enjoy unmolested retirement, where he pursued
his favourite studies with his characteristic ardour.
In 1801, he published his celebrated treatise on mi-
neralogy, a work in which every thing is grand in
the plan, precise and vigorous in the details, and, like
the doctrine of which it contains the exposition, per-
fect and complete in all its parts. Although he did
not intend to assert that chemical analysis should be
neglected, he maintained that it was inadequate to
the determination of the species of minerals, because
it has no sure means of determining the accidental
from the essential ingredients. By his indefatigable
industry, Haüy determined the nucleus and molecules,
with the measure of their angles and the proportion
of their sides, of almost every crystallised mineral at
present known. In fact, he may be said to have done
for mineralogy what Sir Isaac Newton did for astro-
nomy, and to have brought it to nearly as high a
state of perfection. On the 9th of December 1802,
he was promoted to be professor of mineralogy to the
Museum of Natural History. Never before was the
chair so ably filled. New life and vigour were infused
into the mineralogical department. Vast additions
were made to the collection of specimens, and they
were all most methodically and distinctly arranged.
His days now quietly passed away in the performance
of religious duties, in continual acts of benevolence,
and in profound researches, unremittingly pursued.
He was requested by government to draw up a trea
tise on physics, for the colleges, which he did, al-
though the work did not add much to his scientific
reputation.

Being repeatedly urged to make known to govern-
ment what he wished to be done for him, his humble
request was, that he might be put in a condition to
bring his family near him. This was accomplished by
Napoleon conferring upon the husband of his niece a
place in the office of the finances. The emperor also
granted Haüy a pension, and on his return from Elba,
decorated the crystallographer with the cross of the
legion of honour. This was alike honourable to both
parties, for Haüy had opposed the assumption of im-
perial dignity by the successful soldier of Corsica. In
the changes which afterwards took place in the French
government, the nephew of Hauy was deprived of his
situation, and he himself, when no longer capable of
active exertion, was stript of his trifling pension.
This was not all the misfortune which he was doomed
to suffer. His brother (well known as the inventor
of a method of instructing persons born blind), who
had gone to Russia for the purpose of gaining informa-
tion relative to the instruction of the blind, returned
without succeeding in his object, and with a consti-
tution so completely broken down, that he fell entirely
to the charge of his relatives. Thus was Hauy in his
old age reduced to his primitive indigence; but the af-
fectionate attention of his pupils in some degree com-
pensated the evils which accumulated around him.
He had, besides their love, the esteem and respect of
all Europe to sweeten his cup of bitterness. Cuvier, in
his beautiful biographical sketch of Haüy, observes,
"The enlightened men of all ranks who arrived at
Paris, hastened to pay their respects to him; and al-
most on the eve of his death, have we seen the heir
of a great kingdom go repeatedly to converse at his
bedside, and express his esteem for him in the most
affecting terms.

But the most substantial support which he found arose from the thought, that, in the midst of his glory and good fortune, he had not renounced either the customs of his college or those of his native village. He had never changed the hour of his meals, nor those of his rising and sleeping. Every day he took nearly the same exercise, walked in the same places, and, on his walks, he embraced all opportunities of exercising his benevolence; he conducted strangers whom he saw embarrassed, gave them tickets of admission to his collections; and many persons experienced these good offices at his hands, who never imagined of whom they received them. His old-fashioned clothing, his simple air, and his always excessively modest language, were not of a nature to make him be known. When he went to reside for some time in the small town which gave him birth, none of his old neighbours could have supposed, from his manners, that he had become a considerable personage in Paris. One day, while walking on the Boulevards, he fell in with two old soldiers who were going to fight; he informed himself of the cause of their quarrel, reconciled them, and to ensure himself that

they would not again quarrel, went with them to seal the peace in the wine-shop."

The end of Haüy was accelerated by an accident. A fall which he received in his room broke the neck of his thigh-bone, and an abscess forming in the joint, the disease was rendered incurable. His death was preceded by long and severe pains, which, however, he was enabled to bear with great fortitude and resig nation. His time was occupied by prayer, by the revisal of the new edition of his work, and by his interest for the future lot of his pupils, who had aided him in composing it. He died on the 3d of June 1822, in the seventy-ninth year of his age; the only heritage which he left his family being his magnificent collection of crystals. The intellectual powers of this great man are sufficiently evinced by his discoveries and by his works. In his moral character, he was sincerely pious and eminently benevolent. Wealth was regarded by him only as the means of gratifying his thirst for knowledge, and those sentiments of philanthropy with which he was penetrated. The most beautiful and precious gems of Europe passed through his hands, but they were by him considered valuable only as crystals which illustrated his theory.

THE PROGRESS OF RUSTIC IMPROVEMENT.
[From the Dumfries and Galloway Courier, edited by
Mr M'Diarmid.]

WE have already expressed our opinion-an opinion
formed from personal observation-that there are
four causes steadily at work which have gone far to
revolutionise the science of agriculture, and with it
the condition of the rural world generally, namely,
bone manure, steam navigation, tile draining, and saw-
mills, whether upright or circular, impelled by water
power. In addition to these there are some persons
who wish to add a fifth, namely, railroads and loco-
motive engines; and there can be no doubt that when
the cheap means of transit afforded by inventions des-
tined to give distinction to the nineteenth century be-
come, as they are likely to do, much more common,
the country will derive mighty advantages from even
an approximation to perfect centralisation. But leav-
ing this branch of the subject, and taking the causes
mentioned above in their order, we begin by remark.
ing, that the leading advantage of crushed bones lies
in their portability, and application to spots which,
from their elevation, are inaccessible to ordinary ma-
nure. It was said of Parry's condensed soup that a
man might carry the materials of his dinner in his
waistcoat pocket; and it is equally true that within
the boards of an ordinary cart a farm-servant may
transport up the steepest slopes manure enough to
cover an acre of land. When bone dust was first in-
troduced into Dumfriesshire, the calculation was that
32 bushels per acre served every purpose, and should
not be exceeded under ordinary circumstances; but
the land once gone over with bones, the manure is
found to be of so abiding a nature that the quantity
is now generally reduced to 20, 22, or 24 bushels.
In some parts of England we have heard of a still
smaller quantity, say 14 or 16; but as our farmers
are not quite so experienced, they think it safest to
adhere to a fair medium. Originally 32 bushels of
bones were considered equal to 20 cubical yards or
heaped carts of stable dung-a quantity which, per-
haps, 40 stout horses (with scatterers to each) could
hardly have conveyed up a steep hill-side. To incur
so much expense and exertion was entirely out of the
question: and hence hill-tops which now bear capital
crops of corn, were left uncultivated as a matter of
necessity, and in the absence of fructifying applica
tions of every kind yielded a very poor return even
as pasture land. In the case of one farm with which
we are acquainted, a precipitous and rather extensive
hill, which could not be manured on the common
plan, excepting at a most exorbitant price, has been
boned with ease for several years, and in that way
rendered as fertile as the valley below, although the
difference of rent is as 1 to 8 in favour of the high and
against the low ground. This farm is, perhaps, pe-
culiarly situated; but similar results, on a smaller
scale, may be witnessed in various parts of Galloway;
and to speak within bounds, there are upland farmers
who will make little fortunes during the currency of
their leases, every shilling of which would have re-
mained untold, but for the introduction of the new
manure. It has sometimes been said that from the
multiplication and increased speed of our coaches,
added to the facilities we derive from steam by land
and water, distance has been abridged, although not
geographically, and places most distant brought into
closer communion; and on the same principle it may
be said that bone manure, in leaving unaltered the
height of our hills, has placed them on a level, in
point of fertility, with our most sheltered valleys. In
late years there may be some difference as regards
climate and the maturity of the pickle; but when the
season is early, there is none whatever.

Steam navigation not only ranks second in the causes of improvement, but is so closely connected with bone manure, that we know not what would be the use of increased fertility unless we possessed the means of communicating cheaply and readily with the best markets. Growth and export, a commodity and a market, are merely links of the same chain; and we agree in the opinion expressed by not a few proprietors, that the progress of improvement within the last few years, has not only increased the value of

land in Dumfriesshire, somewhere in the ratio of 78. 6d. per acre, but averted consequences which have been most severely felt in some other quarters. Since many steamers plied from the port of Annan, quite A new era has arisen in the district; and the opinion, whether well or ill founded, has at least become pretty general, that twenty per cent. has been added to the value of farm produce within a tolerably wide circuit of country. Very recently, we were shown a private letter from Edinburgh, the writer of which mentioned, that, a few days previous, lambs purchased in the Grassmarket, at from 15s. to 18s. per head, were shipped by steam from Leith to London, and sold in Smithfield on the following Saturday at from 32s. to 35s. per head. But we should weary ourselves, and our readers into the bargain, were we to attempt the enumeration, even in a local point of view, of a tithe of the advantages resulting from a power which has bridged every loch and arm of the sea, and rendered us altogether independent of those wizzards who promised at one time to arch the Atlantic as an appro. priate sequel to the magic art of spinning ropes from sand.

Tile draining is the next great element in the list of improvements which are making moss and moor lands blossom like the rose. On all large estates, clay is found, and the landlords, aware of the value of tiles, are every where erecting kilns, and encouraging their tenants to consume freely a manufacture, which has done, and is doing, a world of good. Mr Haig of Seggie, near St Andrews, in the course of two years, earthed no fewer than 220,000 drain tiles. But even this is a trifle compared to what is going forward in almost every part of Ayrshire. Within a few miles of Kilmarnock, at least 5,000,000 of tiles are manufactured annually, and yet the supply, in summer 1834, so far from exceeding, fell short of the demand. The Duke of Portland, season after season, prepares for his own use 3,000,000 of the same article; and, taking into view the whole district, the supply will soon be in the ratio of 10,000,000 yearly. At Ryedale, in our own neighbourhood, the demand for tiles is brisk and increasing; and considering what is being done in the stewartry and the shire by the Earl of Galloway, Colonel Cathcart of Genoch, and others, it would be difficult to assign limits to the progress of an improvement, which we were somewhat tardy in borrowing from our neighbours the English. The Duke of Portland drains for his tenants, and re-imburses himself so far, by adding five shillings to the land per acre, during the currency of existing leases. But the farms, when re-let, advance in value; and already the spirited nobleman alluded to can point to his rent-roll as the best of all proofs of the value of a material, which in the natural state is little better than an inert mass, in the artificial, a mighty promoter of increased and gradually increasing fertility. From kilns and tiles we pass, by what Paley calls an easy gradation, to saw-mills, and trees felled in the merry greenwood. The period is not very remote when sawing was performed, not by machinery, but by a most wearisome species of human labour; and when Wilson composed the graphic poem called "Watty and Meg," we question whether there was a saw-mill in any part of Britain

"Keen December's winds were blawin',

Deep the snaw had wreathed the ploughs;
Watty, wearied a' day sawin',

Daundered down to Mungo Blue's."

But the present has been called the mechanical age, and hence machinery has done for the common saw. pit, with one man above and another below, what Arkwright's invention did for the spinning-wheel, reducing to a discount what was formerly at a premium. It is now some dozen years since an ingenious friend of ours introduced the circular saw for the first time into the south of Scotland. The instrument, however, which is said to be a Swiss invention, had previously been in use in the county of Inverness, and it is stated by some that it is still found in greater perfection in the north than any other part of Scotland. In the march of improvement, example is every thing; and since our friend set circular saws in motion, their value has been so universally recognised, that they may be seen at Maxwelltown, Dalswinton, Closeburn, Newabbey, Dalbeattie, Gatehouse, Newton-Stewart, Garliestown, and several other places. And the period is not remote, when one or more of these machines will be deemed indispensable on every property where wood grows and water runs. The mountains that weep, and the springs that ooze, replenish our burns throughout the year; and wherever there is water, it is easy to make a dam and procure a fall. Wanting the circular saw, persons who buy live timber would be deprived, so to speak, of their right arm; and as the wheel that drives it is made portable, and, with the machinery, can be shifted from one part of the wood to another, we exaggerate very little in saying that the mill waits on and follows the footsteps of the axeman. Still we are not of those who aver that by means of the upright or circular saw, two men can do the work of twenty. A boast so sweeping is pure fiction, and it is nearer sober sense to state that the instrument we speak of has reduced the price of cutting a thousand feet of half-inch board from 22s. to 12s. This of itself is no trifling boon conferred on the public, to say nothing of the convenience of going to the nearest mill, and fitting yourself with any required quantity of timber, as readily as you can step into a currier's shop, and buy the materials of a pair

of boots or shoes. Nor are these the only advantages resulting from machines which turn to excellent account water power, which, in many cases, would otherwise be lost; the rotatory motion fashions into use, wood which, at one time, was considered altogether worthless, excepting as fuel, and enables country gentlemen to serve the public and themselves at the same time, not only as growers, but manufacturers of an article, which, as it was in the beginning, will be indispensable in the arts to the end of time. And thus ends our hurried essay on bone manure, steam navigation, saw-mills, and tile draining.

SILK MANUFACTURE IN FRANCE. THE great developement of the silk manufacture in France (says Dr Ure, in his "Philosophy of Manufactures") is mainly owing to its being the least protected interest in that kingdom. Its spontaneous growth, being fostered by the native taste of the people, has given it stability at home and a steady demand over the whole world. As foreign silks are admitted at a moderate duty, they continually stimulate to fresh improvements and suggest endless variations of style. The opinion generally entertained of the superiority of such French silks as are figured, and which depend for their beauty on tasteful arrangements, is no more a prejudice of mankind, than the feeling in favour of the works of Raphael and Titian. In the manufacturing texture, the prepossession, however, is in favour of Great Britain, on account of our superior machinery. Taste descends to the lowest classes of the community in France, in remarkable contrast with the neglect of it among the lower orders of our countrymen. Taste is, in fact, an abundant and cheap commodity across the Channel; it is rare and costly on this side of it-a circumstance due very much to the pains taken by the French government for a century and a half to encourage the Fine Arts, and to exhibit specimens of them freely to the people, in public buildings, all over the kingdom. Gratuitous schools of design also are established at Paris, Lyons, and many of their principal towns. Taste is displayed both in the forms and grouping of the figures, and the disposition of the colours. The artist creates objects of taste with a brush and a few pigments, independently of the quality of the canvass or ground on which he lays them. The canvass may be equally good in England and in France; but when enriched by figures, it derives its value from the tastefulness of the decorations.

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The amount of protection by duties in France may be estimated at from 15 to 17 per cent. on foreign manufactured silks. The protective duty in this country was calculated to be 30 per cent.; but it is effectively 35 at least, according to Mr Dillon's evidence before the Silk Committee of 1832. One of the leading manufacturers of Lyons informed Dr Bowring, that the importation of foreign silks was a great source of the prosperity of their home manufacture; that, for instance, a number of foreign crapes being sold at a low rate, and carried into general consump. tion, had induced the Lyonese to take up the crape trade in earnest, and to make it now one of their most important branches. The silk manufacture in France is the only one which stands on its own legs, an exception to the vicious system of protection, so prevalent in that country; and hence it is the only one at this time which is not in considerable distress-a hopeless distress, to which there is no parallel in any of our manufactures. The silk is, in fact, the only manufacture which grows under the salutary breeze of competition with the foreigner; and it is indebted for many of its improvements to the invention of The bar-loom, when it was introother countries. duced some years ago for weaving ribbons, would have remained neglected but for the pressure of Swiss competition.

The history of the introduction of the Jacquardloom is a most instructive lesson on the advantage of free intercourse and rivalship between different countries. The inventor of that beautiful mechanism was originally an obscure straw-hat manufacturer, who had never turned his mind to automatic mechanics, till he had an opportunity, by the peace of Amiens, of seeing in an English newspaper the offer of a reward by our Society of Arts, to any man who should weave a net by machinery. He forthwith roused his dormant faculties, and produced a net by mechanism. [The story of Jacquard's invention was given in the 149th number of the Journal. It need be only stated here, that, notwithstanding the patronage of the state, his loom was destroyed by the members of the silk-trade at Lyons.] And it was not till the French people were beginning to feel the force of foreign competition that they had recourse to this admirable aid of their countryman; since which time they have found it to be the only real protection and Drop of their trade.

The bar-loom was a Swiss invention, brought into the neighbourhood of St Etienne by two brothers. They were persecuted for their pains by the ribbonweavers of the old school, and driven forth into the extremity of misery. The last of them died not long ago in an hospital, a victim of neglect and annoyance. Of late years, however, this loom has become a favourite mechanism, and is in almost universal use among the weavers of the very district where it was long an object of execration.

chinery, from the false protective system so prevalent in that country, whereby it pays a duty of from 15 to 33 per cent. on its importation, to protect the machinemaker, who in his turn has to pay for the protected French iron 150 per cent. more than he could for the English; and in like manner more for his timber, to protect the wood-grower. The towns of France are subject to oppressive taxes which fall peculiarly on the labourers; such as town dues on food, drink, and fuel. Hence, the weavers of Lyons and St Etience are now in process of migrating to the mountains, at no little inconvenience to trade. Many of the intelligent manufacturers of these towns are also under considerable alarm at the progress which the silk manufacture, with all our advantages of machinery and commerce, is now making in England. The total number of looms at Lyons, was, in 1832, 25,000, of which one-half was within the walls, and one-half without. The importation of English silks into France increased six-fold between the years 1828 and 1830; amounting, in the first year, to the value of 119,570 francs, and in the last to 643,720 francs. It consisted chiefly of bandana handkerchiefs, not of oriental make, but woven in this country.

It is in the production of the patterns of silk goods that the French have a decided advantage over the British; they probably have little or none after the design is put into the loom. The modes in which taste is cultivated at Lyons deserve particular study and imitation in this country. Among the weavers of the place, the children, and every body connected with devising patterns, much attention is devoted to every thing any way connected with the beautiful either in figure or colour. Weavers may be seen in their holi. day leisure gathering flowers, and grouping them in the most engaging combinations. They are continually suggesting new designs to their employers; and are thus the fruitful source of elegant patterns.

There is hardly any considerable house in Lyons, in which there is not a partner who owes his place in it to his success as an artist. The town of Lyons is so conscious of the value of such studies, that it con tributes 20,000 francs per annum to the government establishment of the School of Arts, which takes charge of every youth who shows an aptitude for drawing, or imitative design of any kind, applicable to manufactures. Hence all the eminent painters, sculptors, even botanists and florists of Lyons, become eventually associated with the staple trade, and devote to it their happiest conceptions. In the principal school, that of St Peter's, there are about one hundred and eighty students, every one of whom receives from the town a gratuitous education in art for five years; comprehending delineations in anatomy, botany, ar chitecture, and loom-pattern drawing. A botanical garden is attached to the school. The government allows 3100 francs a-year to the school of Lyons. The school supplies the scholars with every thing but the materials, and allows them to reap the benent of their works. Their professor of painting is a man of distinguished talent, well known to connoisseurs.

The French manufacturer justly considers that his pattern is the principal element of his success in trade; for the mere handiwork of weaving is a simple affair, with the improved Jacquard-loom. He therefore visits the school, and picks out the boy who promises, by taste and invention, to suit his purpose the best. He invites him to his home, boards him, and gives him a small salary, to be gradually advanced. One gentle. man told Dr Bowring that he had three such youths in his employment, to the youngest of whom he gave 1000 francs, or L.40 per annum. After three or four years, if the young artist's success be remarkable, he may have his salary raised to double or treble that sum; and when his reputation is once established, he is sure of the offer of a partnership. Such is the ge neral history of many of the schoolboys of Lyons. Even the French weaver, who earns only 15d. or 20d. a day, prides himself upon his knowledge of design: he will turn over several hundred patterns in his pos session, and descant on their relative merits, seldom erring far in predicting the success of any new style. By this disposition, the minds of the silk-weavers in France become elevated and refined, instead of being stultified in gin-shops, as those of the English too fre quently are. In flower patterns, the French designs are remarkably free from incongruities, being copied from nature with scientific precision. They supply taste to the whole world in proportion to the extent of their exportations, which amount to one hundred and ten millions out of one hundred and forty. In the Lyons school, collections of silk fabrics may be studied, extending over a period of four thousand years, with explanations of the modes in which every pattern was produced, from the rude silks of the Egyp tian mummies to the figured webs of the last year.

There are also weaving-schools, containing from sixty to eighty scholars. In these a pattern being exhibited, they are required to exercise their invention immediately as to the best means of producing the The master re design on a piece of silk goods. moves such difficulties as are occasionally encountered, and leads them on to successful accomplishment of the

task.

Within a few years, a large legacy has been left by General Martin, for the purpose of establishing an other institution similar to the school of St Peter.

Their superiority in art is turned to good account The silk-trade of France labours, as we have said, in many other French manufactures. Notwithstand. under a disadvantage in the construction of its maing the double price of the raw material in France,

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their fancy articles in iron and steel are exported in large quantities. Their bronze figures have made their way into all parts of the world, alongside of their silk goods; both being equally productions of fine taste, and therefore yielding profitable returns. The establishment at Lyons, which takes charge of the interests of its trade, called the "Conseil des Prud'. hommes" (Council of Honest Men), is of a very useful nature. When a manufacturer has invented a new pattern, he deposits a specimen of it, sealed, in the archives of that body, on which he pays from two to ten francs, according to the desired duration of his copyright. The Conseil can seize all pirated imitation goods, fine the offender, and even imprison him for ten days. There is found to be practically very little difficulty in a man's vindicating his patentright before this equitable tribunal, which is one of the most popular and best organised institutions of France. It is composed at Lyons of nine master manufacturers and eight weavers, one of the former being the president; each party being elected by the general votes of its own body respectively, every weaver who possesses four looms being entitled to vote. This court decides all questions connected with the manufacturing interests of its particular district. Their proceedings are distinguished for temperance and sagacity. The men who represent the operatives, display sound sense, and join in the discussions of the open court with equal propriety as their employers. All questions between masters and men, between men and apprentices, and, in fact, all which bear in any way on the silk trade, are referred to the Conseil des Prud'hommes. Their disposition seems always to be conciliatory. They examine parties, summon witnesses, with the power of compelling their attendance, and give awards, from which there is no appeal, in reference to any sum less than one hundred francs. The number of appeals from this tribunal is very

few.

[It appears from the preceding and other details connected with the silk-trade of France and England, that the dependence of this country is solely on its factory machinery. If deprived of the full power of this mighty auxiliary, our silk manufacture would immediately fanguish, and allow the product of the French and Swiss looms to obtain a complete command of the market.]

MY FIRST ACTION.

then, and once set our hammock-nettings on fire.
They could not, however, stand our land batteries,
which opened upon them in great force, and they soon
hung out a white flag, and demanded a truce for four
hours. Great was my delight, on this cessation of
hostilities; and I would not even confess my fright
when the action was over; but fancied myself quite
a hero, and ready to face any enemy, because I had
escaped unhurt, particularly when the captain, who
partly well guessed the state of my feelings, laughed
at me for my "immoveability," as he called it. I
have been in many battles since, in many situations
of equal or greater danger, yet none affected me like
this.-Recollections of a Valetudinarian.

A BEE HUNT.

THE following is taken from Washington Irving's
recent publication, containing an account of a Tour in
the Prairies of "The Far West:"-" The beautiful
forests in which we were encamped abounded in bee
trees; that is to say, trees in the decayed trunks of
which wild bees had established their hives. It is
surprising, in what countless swarms the bees have
overspread the far West, within but a moderate num-
ber of years. The Indians consider them the har-
binger of the white man, as the buffalo is of the red
man; and say, that, in proportion as the bee advances,
the Indian and the buffalo retire. We are always
accustomed to associate the hum of the bee-hive with
the farm-house and the flower-garden, and to con-
sider those industrious little animals as connected
with the busy haunts of men; and I am told that
the wild bee is seldom to be met with at any great dis-
tance from the frontier. They have been the heralds
of civilisation, steadfastly preceding it, as it advanced
from the Atlantic borders; and some of the ancient
settlers of the West pretend to give the very year
when the honey bee first crossed the Mississippi.
The Indians, with surprise, found the mouldering
trees of their forests suddenly teeming with am-
brosial sweets; and nothing, I am told, can exceed
the greedy relish with which they banquet, for the
first time, upon this unbought luxury of the wil-
derness. At present, the honey bee swarms, in
myriads, in the noble groves and forests that skirt
and intersect the prairies, and extend along the allu-
viai bottoms of the rivers. It seems to me as if these
beautiful regions answer literally to the descrip-
tion of the land of promise-a land flowing with
milk and honey;' for the rich pasturage of the prai-
ries is calculated to sustain herds of cattle as countless
as the sands upon the sea-shore, while the flowers
with which they are enamelled render them a very
paradise for the nectar-seeking bee. We had not been
long in the camp, when a party set out in quest of a
bee-tree; and, being curious to witness the sport, I
gladly accepted an invitation to accompany them.
The party was headed by a veteran bee-hunter, a
tall lank fellow in homespun garb, that hung loosely
about his limbs, and a straw hat, shaped not unlike
a bee-hive; a comrade, equally uncouth in garb,
and without a hat, straddled along at his heels, with
a long rifle on his shoulder. To these succeeded
half-a-dozen others, some with axes, and some with
rifles; for no one stirs from the camp without fire-
arms, so that he may be ready either for wild deer
or wild Indian. After proceeding some distance, we
came to an open glade on the skirts of the forest.
Here our leader halted, and then advanced quietly
to a low bush, on the top of which I perceived a
piece of honeycomb. This, I found, was the bait
or lure for the wild bees. Several were humming
about it, and diving into its cells. When they had
laden themselves with honey, they would rise up in
the air, and dart off in one straight line, almost with
the velocity of a bullet. The hunters watched atten-
tively the course they took, and then set off in the
same direction, stumbling along over twisted roots
and fallen trees, with their eyes turned up to the
sky. In this way they traced the honey-laden bees to
their hive, in the hollow trunk of a blasted oak, where,
after buzzing about for a moment, they entered a hole
about sixty feet from the ground. Two of the bee-
hunters now plied their axes vigorously at the foot of
the tree, to level it with the ground. The mere spec-
tators and amateurs, in the meantime, drew off to a
cautious distance, to be out of the way of the falling
of the tree, and the vengeance of its inmates. The
jarring blows of the axe seemed to have no effect in
alarming or agitating this most industrious commu.
nity. They continued to ply at their usual occupa-
tions-some arriving full-freighted into port, others
sallying forth on new expeditions, like so many mer.
chantmen in a money-making metropolis, little sus-

THE operations against the town of Flushing not keeping pace with our commander-in-chief's impatience, he determined to force the batteries with his squadron; and as our ship bore the flag of Lord G, the second in command, we were to follow next in the line to him, giving the town the advantage of our broadsides as we passed. Whether in our ardour we went too near the shore, or whether we drew more water than our leader, we grounded stern-on to the batteries, and were consequently exposed to the whole weight of the enemy's fire, without being able to return but a few shot from our stern-chasers. I shall never forget my sensations on this occasion. When told that we were preparing for action, I could scarcely believe that my precious person was to be endangered; that I, so lately the pet of a whole household, on whom the breath of heaven was hardly allowed to blow, and who, but a few short days before, would have been surrounded by a whole host of doctors if but my finger ached, was now to be exposed to the shot and shells of a real enemy. It appeared to me impossible; and I was much more afraid of being hurt than killed. When the drum beat to quarters, my heart was in my mouth; and although we sailed gaily into action, with the band playing "God save the King," not all the pomp of war, or even the ridicule of my more experienced companions, could overcome the agony of my sensations. I was stationed on the quarter-deck, I suppose in order to accustom me to stand fire, and was nominally one of the captain's aides-de-camp; I say nominally, because, if he had not had others of more use to him than I was, he would have been but indifferently served. I stood under the poop awning, almost paralysed with fear; I do not think any power on earth could have induced me to have moved one inch from the place where I happened to be when the first shot was fired. To add to my terror, as soon as the ship struck against the ground, I heard the admiral say distinctly to the captain, "Codrington, we shall be all blown up; it will be impossible to get her off before next tide." This was an awful moment for older and braver hands than I: we could do nothing with our guns, and the men were ordered to lie down at their quarters. The shot passed over us and through us; and we could use only the carronades on the poop, which was dreadfully exposed to the enemy's fire. One single shot did horrid exe-picious of impending bankruptcy and downfall: even cution among the marines, by striking a stand of arms, and killing or wounding several men with the splinters. I shall not easily forget a poor corporal of marines, who had both his arms and both his legs shot off, as he was elevating a carronade on the poop. It is now twenty years ago, yet the poor man's countenance is as plainly before me at this moment as if it were only yesterday, as he was carried past me to be lowered down the hatch way to the surgeon below. He bore the amputation of three of his limbs, and died under the operation of the fourth. At length the gun-boats and bomb-vessels got in shore of us, and took off part of the enemy's fire, by giving them other employ. ment; but they still sent us a red-hot shot now and

a loud crack, which announced the disrupture of the
trunk, failed to divert their attention from the intense
pursuit of gain: at length down came the tree, with
a tremendous crash, bursting open from end to end,
and displaying all the hoarded treasures of the com-
monwealth. One of the hunters immediately ran up
with a wisp of lighted hay, as a defence against the
bees. The latter, however, made no attack, and sought
no revenge they seemed stupified by the catastrophe,
and, unsuspicious of its cause, remained crawling and
buzzing about the ruins, without offering us any mo
lestation. Every one of the party now fell to, with
spoon and hunting-knife, to scoop out the flakes of
honeycomb with which the hollow trunk was stored.

Some of them were of old date, and a deep brown colour; others were beautifully white, and the honey in their cells was almost limpid. Such of the combs as were entire were placed in camp kettles, to be conveyed to the encampment; those which had been shivered in the fall were devoured upon the spot. Every stark bee-hunter was to be seen with a rich morsel in his hand, dripping about his fingers, and disappearing as rapidly as a cream tart before the holiday appetite of a schoolboy. Nor was it the bee-hunters alone that profited by the downfall of this industrious community. As if the bees would carry through the similitude of their habits with those of laborious and gainful man, I beheld numbers from rival hives, arriving on eager wing, to enrich themselves with the ruins of their neighbours. These busied themselves as eagerly and cheerily as so many wreckers on an Indiaman that has been driven on shore-plunging into the cells of the broken honeycombs, banqueting greedily on the spoil, and then winging their way full-freighted to their homes. As to the poor proprietors of the ruin, they seemed to have no heart to do any thing, not even to taste the nectar that flowed around them, but crawled backwards and forwards, in vacant desolation, as I have seen a poor fellow, with his hands in his pockets, whistling vacantly and despondingly about the ruins of his house, that had been burned. It is difficult to describe the bewilderment and confu. sion of the bees of the bankrupt hive, who had been absent at the time of the catastrophe, and who arrived, from time to time, with full cargoes from abroad. At first they wheeled about in the air, in the place where the fallen tree had once reared its head, astonished at finding all a vacuum. At length, as if comprehending their disaster, they settled down in clusters on a dry branch of a neighbouring tree, from whence they seemed to contemplate the prostrate ruin, and to buzz forth doleful lamentations over the downfall of their republic. It was a scene on which the 'melancholy Jacques' might have moralised by the hour."

ON THE DEATH OF YOUTH.

ALTHOUGH death, in all its forms, is appalling and terrific, there are circumstances which partly divest it of its horrors. The usual subjects of editorial notices are not always the most deeply mourned. They are, generally, individuals who have completed many of the promises of existence-who have not ended their pilgrimage without accomplishing the purposes of their youth, and the visions of their ambition. Their capacities have been filled their energies awakened their faculties developed - the secret springs of their mind and character touched, and all their nature unfolded and displayed. Affection, while it mourns over their grave, is consoled and cheered by memory, who paints their past greatness and hap. piness. Their name is sounded abroad. They have left their characters as examples, and their deeds as a monument. Their excellence is acknowledged. Those most closely allied to the departed, are soothed by the consciousness that his worth was known-that his absence is lamented; and this sympathy softens the harsh features of sorrow into melancholy and tenderness. When we behold, therefore, a great or an aged man consigned to the tomb, although the scene is impressive, solemn, awful, it is yet neither unnatural nor terrific. It resembles the setting of the sun when the duties of the day are over, or the passing away of autumn after the harvest has been gathered in. In these cases, we are hushed with awe, but not stricken with dismay, and death, though sublime, is not altogether horrible. The biographer, then, has the simple but the proud and grateful task of enumerating the labours of genius and virtue, and of painting the fruits which they have brought forth. Over them is shed the warm colouring of fancy and love; the respect of mankind hallows and consecrates his gravemakes it a sweet retreat, and a holy resting-place for the imagination of the survivors; and, if it does not fill, at least illumines the dark void left in their hearts.

With thoughts and feelings far different from these we follow youth to the tomb. Even when no rare promise has been given-when the bud was bursting with no more than the ordinary beauty of early lifewhen only innocence, and hope, and untried ambition, have been summoned, the mind recoils with horror. The passing away of age is only the fulfilment of des. tiny; but youth was not made to die. Here is a calamity which was not expected, and therefore is not easily borne. It is a double woe. It is alike woe to the young eagle stricken down by the thunder, when first spreading its wings for its heavenward flight, and to the trembling, shuddering creatures left behind. Where shall they look for consolation? How different is their sorrow from that of the mourner over the grave of matured manhood, ripened genius, and successful ambition! They possess no proud recollections to lean on in the dark hour of weakness and affliction. Their loss is not only the bereavement of love it is the disappointment of hope-of tenderness

of worldly interest-of deep passion-of a thousand gay dreams, and fond aspiring wishes. Every thing is crushed and broken. The grave of youth is indeed a ruin. That of age resembles the remains of some ancient temple, failen, it is true, into decay, but mouldering in the lapse of ages, and the natural course of things. The broken arches and dilapidated columns have served their purposes to past beings, and now, covered with verdant ivy, and associated with no vio

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