USE AND ABUSE OF CLASSICAL impossibility in nature. The lapse of years, and the waving of feathers, and rustling of silks!-and the There is one Nodder of my acquaintance, whom I never could make any thing of. He nods mysteriously. I don't understand him at all. I cannot recollect when I first knew him. I am ignorant even of his name. I once met him accidentally, while detained at court as a witness, and in a few words very seriously spoken, he discovered a most surprising knowledge of me and my family affairs, and asked with the utmost familiarity after all my relations even so far removed as cousins and sisters-in-law, calling them by their Christian names, John, Peter, Sam, Betsey, Peggy, and Jane. I could never find him out. When I meet him in the street, he marches up with military precision, casts his eyes on me, lowers his chin one inch into his cravat, raises it, turns eyes to the front, and marches on again, while a curious smile lurks about his lips. I never could tell whether that fellow was my friend or my enemy. | THE following views of the use and abuse of classical tive part of life is passed away. Now, this long career of classical learning, we may, if we please, denominate a foundation; but it is a foundation so far above ground, that there is absolutely no room to put any thing upon it. If you occupy a man with one thing till he is twenty-four years of age, you have exhausted all his leisure time; he is called into the world, and compelled to act, or is surrounded with pleasures, and thinks and reads no more. If you have neglected to put other things in him, they will never get in afterwards; if you have fed him only with words, he will remain a narrow and limited being to the end of his existence. The bias given to men's minds is so strong, that it is no uncommon thing to meet with Englishmen, whom, but for their grey hairs and wrinkles, we might easily mistake for schoolboys. Their talk is of Latin verses; and it is quite clear, if men's ages are to be dated from the state of their mental progress, that such men are eighteen years of age, and not a day older. Their minds have been so completely possessed by exaggerated notions of classical learning, that they have not been able in the great school of the world to form any other notion of real greatness. Attend, too, to the public feelings-look to all the terms of applause. A learned man!—a scholar !—a man of erü dition! Upon whom are these epithets of approbation "To almost every Englishman up to the age of bestowed? Are they given to men acquainted with three or four-and-twenty, classical learning has been the science of government? thoroughly masters of the great object of existence; and no man is very apt the geographical and commercial relations of Europe? to suspect, or very much pleased to hear, that what to men who know the properties of bodies, and their he has done for so long a time was not worth doing. action upon each other? No: this is not learning; His classical literature, too, reminds every man of the it is chemistry or political economy-not learning. scenes of his childhood, and brings to his fancy seve The distinguishing abstract term, the epithet of schoral of the most pleasing associations which we are lar, is reserved for him who writes on the Eolic capable of forming. A certain sort of vanity, also, reduplication, and is familiar with Sylburgius his very naturally grows among men occupied in a com- method of arranging defectives in o and mi. The mon pursuit. Classical quotations are the watchwords picture which a young Englishman, addicted to the of scholars, by which they distinguish each other pursuit of knowledge, draws his beau ideal of human from the ignorant and illiterate; and Greek and La-nature-his top and consummation of man's powerstin are insensibly become almost the only test of a is a knowledge of the Greek language. His object is cultivated mind. not to reason, to imagine, or to invent, but to conjugate, decline, and derive. The situations of imaginary glory which he draws for himself, are the detection of an anapæst in the wrong place, or the restoration of a dative case which Cranzius had passed over, and the never dying Ernesti failed to observe. If a young classic of this kind were to meet the greatest chemist, or the greatest mechanician, or the most profound political economist of his time, in company with the greatest Greek scholar, would the slightest comparison between them ever come across his mind? would he ever dream that such men as Adam Smith and Lavoisier were equal in dignity of understanding to, or of the same utility as, Bentley and Heyné? We are inclined to think that the feeling excited would be a good deal like that which was expressed by Dr George, the schoolmaster, about the praises of the great king of Prussia, who entertained considerable doubts whether the king, with all his victories, knew how to conjugate a Greek verb in mi. Some men through indolence, others through ignorance, and most through necessity, submit to the established education of the times, and seek for their children that species of distinction which happens, at the period in which they live, to be stamped with the approbation of mankind. This mere question of convenience, every parent must determine for himself. A poor man who has his fortune to gain must be a quibbling theologian, or a classical pedant, as fashion dictates; and he must vary his error with the error of the times. But it would be much more fortunate for mankind if the public opinion which regulates the pursuits of individuals were more wise and enlightened than it at present is. | There are two questions which grow out of this subject, 1st, How far is any sort of classical education useful? 2d, How far is that particular classical eduI seldom cut a man. It is rude, to say the least; cation adopted in this country useful? Latin and but there is one whipper-snapper, however, on whom Greek are, in the first place, useful, as they inure I could not help trying the experiment. I had known children to intellectual difficulties, and make the life Another misfortune of classical learning, as taught him as a sickly boy of quiet manners, and I thought of a young student what it ought to be, a life of con- in England, is, that scholars have come, in process of amiable disposition, but the curse of aristocracy siderable labour. We do not of course mean to con- of time, and from the effects of association, to love fell on him; and being weak-minded and ignorant, fine this praise exclusively to the study of Latin and the instrument better than the end; not the luxury his sudden accession to a large fortune completely Greek, or to suppose that other difficulties might not which the difficulty encloses, but the difficulty; not turned his head. He has grown up to be a buck-be found which it would be useful to overcome; but the filbert, but the shell; not what may be read in drives a tandem with silk reins, and, to do him justice, though Latin and Greek have this merit in common Greek, but Greek itself. It is not so much the man excels in cracking a whip, and has scarcely a rival with many arts and sciences, still they have it, and who has mastered the wisdom of the ancients, that is any where in whiskers; nevertheless, he is a white- if they do nothing else, they at least secure a solid and valued, as he who displays his knowledge of the vefaced, puny, round-shouldered creature, whose coarse vigorous application at a period of life which materi-hicle in which that wisdom is conveyed. The glory oath is the laughing-stock even of his boon compa- ally influences all other periods. is to show I am a scholar. The good sense and innions, as it rings through the tavern. Altogether genuity I may gain by my acquaintance with ancient he is a character saved from being hateful only by authors, is matter of opinion; but if I bestow an imbeing contemptible. I addressed him once on an acmensity of pains upon a point of accent or quantity, cidental meeting; and although I knew his surprise this is something positive: I establish my pretensions was affected, he feigned to have forgotten me, and to the name of scholar, and gain the credit of learnpassed my extended hand, which set some of his gang ing, while I sacrifice all its utility. a-tittering. It fell out that he was paying his ad. dresses to a very wealthy, but lovely and amiable girl, who in her heart despised him, as all must who know him. I happened to be on friendly terms with the object of his wishes, and walking with her a week afterward in Broadway, we met my fine gentleman stepping daintily along, with a rattan, and his elbows crooked. He recognised me by the light of his inamorata's eyes, and, after speaking my name, made me an insinuating bow, which discovered an intention of joining us. I looked him steadily in the eyes, without returning the slightest sign of recognition. It was not even the last freezing nod of my rich country friend; it was a broad vacant stare of unequivocal ignorance and surprise. My fair companion laughed outright. The crimson flush of shame burnt in his face, and by his awkward attempts to extricate himself from his embarrassment, he became so supremely ridiculous, that I scarcely knew whether to pity or despise him the most. In closing these thoughts on Nodders, I may observe, that in this, as in every other action, the true gentleman is separated from all others. He avoids the two extremes of wounding by arrogance, and annoying by familiarity. He addresses the poor with civility, and the rich without ostentation: he is neither abrupt nor obsequious. I have lately discovered some strange nods among the ladies. When many of my fair countrywomen encounter each other in the street, they generally make an eager display of loving attentions. Such To go through the grammar of one language thoroughly, is of great use for the mastery of every other grammar; because there obtains, through all languages, a certain analogy to each other in their grammatical construction. Latin and Greek have now mixed themselves etymologically with all the languages of modern Europe and with none more than our own; so that it is necessary to read these two tongues for other objects than themselves." The reviewer next endeavours to show that style in writing is improved by a study of the classics. This we doubt very much. From what has repeatedly come under our observation, we are of opinion that the writing of an easy correct style in English is seldom found to belong to Latin and Greek scholars. The study of the classics seems to give a stiffness in writing, and is certainly productive of the bad habit of inverting the sentences. "That advantages may be derived from classical learning, there can be no doubt. The advantages which are derived from classical learning by the English manner of teaching, involve another and a very different question; and we will venture to say, that there never was a more complete instance in any country of such extravagant and overacted attachment to any branch of knowledge, as that which obtains in this country with regard to classical knowledge. A young Englishman goes to school at six or seven years old, and he remains in a course of education till twenty-three or twenty-four years of age. In all that time, his sole and exclusive occupation is learning Latin and Greek: he has scarcely a notion that there is any other kind of excellence; and the great system of facts with which he is the most perfectly ac quainted, are the intrigues of the heathen gods. These facts the English youth get by heart the moment they quit the nursery, and are most sedulously and industriously instructed in them, till the best and most ac Another evil in the present system of classical education, is the extraordinary perfection which is aimed at in teaching those languages; a needless perfection; an accuracy which is sought for in nothing else. There are few boys who remain to the age of eighteen or nineteen at a public school, without making above ten thousand Latin verses a greater number than is contained in the Æneid: and after he has made this quantity of verses in a dead language, unless the poet should happen to be a very weak man indeed, he never makes another as long as he lives. It may be urged, and it is urged, that this is of use in teaching the delicacies of the language. No doubt it is of use for this purpose, if we put out of view the immense time and trouble sacrificed in gaining these little delicacies. It would be of use that we should go on till fifty years of age making Latin verses, if the price of a whole life were not too much to pay for it. We effect our object, but we do it at the price of something greater than our object. And whence comes it, that the expenditure of life and labour is totally put out of the calculation, when Latin and Greek are to be attained? In every other occupation, the question is fairly stated between the attainment and the time employed in the pursuit; but in classical learning, it seems to be sufficient if the least possible good is gained by the greatest possible exertion; if the end is any thing, and the means every thing. It is of some importance to speak and write French; and innumerable delicacies would be gained by writing ten thousand French verses: but it makes no part of our education to write French poetry. It is of some importance that there 'should be good botanists; but no botanist can repeat lick, and Jenison killed a deer. In the morning, The great objection is, that we are not making the most of human life, when we constitute such an extensive and such minute classical erudition, an indispensable article in education. Up to a certain point we would educate every young man in Latin and Greek; but to a point far short of that to which this species of education is now carried. Afterwards, we would grant to classical erudition as high honours as to every other department of knowledge, but not higher. We would place it upon a footing with many other objects of study, but allow to it no superiority. Good scholars would be as certainly produced by these means as good chemists, astronomers, and mathematicians are now produced, without any direct provision whatsoever for their production. Why are we to trust to the diversity of human tastes, and the varieties of human ambition, in every thing else, and distrust it in classics alone? The passion for languages is just as strong as any other literary passion. There are very good Persian and Arabic scholars in this country. Large heaps of trash have been dug up from Sanscrit ruins. We have seen, in our own times, a clergyman of the University of Oxford complimenting their majesties in Coptic and Syrophoenician verses; and yet we doubt whether there will be a sufficient avidity in literary men to get at the beauties of the finest writers which the world has yet seen; and though the Bagvat Gheeta has (as can be proved) met with human beings to translate, and other hu man beings to read it, we think that, in order to secure an attention to Homer and Virgil, we must catch up every man-whether he is to be a clergyman or a duke-begin with him at six years of age, and never quit him till he is twenty, making him conjugate and decline for life and death; and so teaching him to estimate his progress in real wisdom, as he can scan the verses of the Greek tragedians. An infinite quantity of talent is annually destroyed in the universities of England, by the miserable jealousy and littleness of instructors. It is in vain to say we have produced great men under this system. We have produced great men under all systems. Every Englishman must pass half his life in learning Latin and Greek; and classical learning is supposed to have produced the talents which it has not been able to extinguish. It is scarcely possible to prevent great men from rising up under any system of education, however bad. Teach men demonology or astrology, and you will still have a certain portion of original genius, in spite of these or any other branches of ignorance and folly. We should be sorry if what we have said should appear too contemptuous towards classical learning, which we most sincerely hope will always be held in great honour in this country, though we certainly do not wish to it that exclusive honour which it at present enjoys. A great classical scholar is an ornament, and an important acquisition to his country; but, in a place of education, we would give to all knowledge an equal chance for distinction, and would trust to the varieties of human disposition, that every science worth cultivation would be cultivated. Looking always to real utility as our guide, we should see, with equal pleasure, a studious and inquisitive mind arranging the productions of nature, investigating the qualities of bodies, or mastering the difficulties of the learned languages. We should not care whether he were chemist, naturalist, or scholar; because we know it to be as necessary that matter should be studied, and subdued to the use of man, as that taste should be gratified, and imagination inflamed." AMERICAN WOOD ADVENTURES.-"On Thursday Tast," says the Western Inquirer, U. S., "Jenison Alkire took with him his sister Elizabeth, and proceeded about three miles from home, for the purpose of watching a deer lick. They staid all night at the SITES OF TOWNS.-The increasing or decreasing civilisation of a nation may be ascertained by the sites of its towns and its villages: as security and independ. ence predominate, the towns descend from the mountains to the plains; but when tyranny and anarchy reign, they re-ascend the rocks, or take refuge on the high sands of the sea. In the middle ages, in Italy, on the Rhine, in France, the towns stood, like eagles' nests, on the points of inaccessible rocks.-Dela. martine. ODE TO PEACE. [By Professor Tennant; published along with his "Anster Fair Sweet PEACE! shall ne'er again Whilst, as each maddening people reels, Shriek Murder and Dismay. The sense of human guilt and woe, For much I long to see, Wave Love and Harmony ! AN EASTERN STORY-TELLER. WHILE in Constantinople, I went with my friend the wall was a rostrum and a large easy arm-chair, on ene side of which stood a little desk. Our Oriental friends behaved with much politeness; for, perceiving from our European costume that we were strangers, they offered us places in front of the stage; and after a few minutes' delay, a man entered, and was handed up to the platform and chair amidst a burst of universal applause. In his hand he carried a small stick, and in gait, physiognomy, and manner, bore a singular resemblance to our English Mathews. He was dressed in a frock-coat, now so generally worn in Constantinople; and wore on one of his fingers a most superb brilliant ring, which, it is said, was presented to him by the sultan as a mark of his especial approbation. A profound silence prevailed among the company the moment he made his appearance; every one seemed desirous to be amused, and most anxions to catch every word that fell from his lips. No story-teller of Stamboul had ever enjoyed so much fame and popularity as this Turkish Mathews, who, rising from his seat and making three very profound obeisances to the company, commenced his "At Home" with a series of imitations, in which he personated a Turk from Aleppo, the Yorkshire or Calabria of the East. This Oriental John Trot is represented as setting out on his journey to see the world and make his fortune, and with this intent visits various places. On one occasion, being mistaken for a pacha in disguise, he is every where feasted and treated with the most respectful attention, until the real truth being discovered, he is bastinadoed, spit upon, plucked by the beard, and, in short, maltreated in a thousand different ways. At last he finds his way to Stam. boul, and manages to obtain an interview with his Sublime Highness; after which he visits England, France, &c., and on his way back is taken by a pirate, who carries him to the coast of Africa. Dur. ing this compulsatory voyage, he describes himself as affected with a most horrible sea-sickness; and here his representation of a person labouring under that detestable malady was so accurate, that I almost fancied myself again in the cockpit of the Acteon, and all the terrors of the voyage across the Adriatic arose fresh to my imagination. After many other adven. tures, he returns safe to Aleppo, his native city, no richer than he set out; but, like the monkey who had seen the world, "full of wise saws" and strange assertions. His hairbreadth escapes, the unlucky scrapes he gets into, the blunders he is incessantly committing from his imperfect knowledge of the languages of the various nations among whom he is thrown, the continual equivoque and play upon words, his absurd misconceptions of the orders he receives, his buffetings, bastinadoes, feasts, imprisonments, and escapes, the odd satirical remarks elicited by the diffe rent objects, places, and strange fashions he encounters, all afforded opportunities to the ingenious mimic for displaying the versatility of his powers. The changes, too, of voice, manner, look, gesture, suitable to the va rious characters he assumed, were infinitely ludicrous and entertaining. In this respect he was little, if at all, inferior to his mirth-inspiring brother of the Adelphi; in proof of which, I need only state, that, though utterly unacquainted with his language, and enabled to follow the thread of the story only by the hurried explanations of my friend, I sat listening and laughing with the greatest satisfaction for more than two hours, without feeling my attention at all beginning to flag. As to the Turks, they were literally convulsed with laughter; shouting, screaming, and uttering a thou. sand exclamations of delight; and more than once it was evident, from their uproarious mirth, that he had succeeded in satirising the peculiarities of some wellknown individual. At every pause in the storyvery necessary for the actor, who was often exhausted by the violence of his gesticulations-wooden trays were handed about, and every one was expected to contribute a few paras. Of course the liberality of the audience was proportioned to the gratification they received; and on the present occasion he no doubt experienced substantial proofs of their approbation in a pretty considerable harvest of silver pieces. -Auldjo's Visit to Constantinople. Messrs Chambers respectfully intimate, that they have now published the second volume of the SPIRIT OF CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL, Price 4s., handsomely done up in boards. The first volume may be obtained uniform with it, at the same price. This work, which from time to time will be continued, consists of a collection of the original tales, essays, and sketches, which first appeared in the Journal, and is published for the convenience of those individuals who may desire to possess such papers in a portable shape. Also, now completed, CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE, In one volume 4to., uniform with the volumes of the Journal. This work consists of a series of treatises on those branches of human knowledge in which the greater part of the community are most interested, and designed to serve the chief uses of an encyclopædia, at a price beyond example moderate. LONDON: Published, with Permission of the Proprietors, by ORR & SMITH, Paternoster Row; and sold by G. BERGER, Holywell Street, Strand; BANCKS & Co., Manchester; WRIGHTSON & WEBB, Birmingham; WILLMER & SMITH, Liverpool; W. E. SOMERSCALE, Leeds; C. N. WRIGHT, Nottingham; M. BINGHAM, Bristol; S. SIMMS, Bath; C. GAIN, Exeter; J. PUR DON, Hull; A. WHITTAKER, Sheffield; H. BELLERBY, York; J. TAYLOR, Brighton; GEORGE YOUNG, Dublin; and all other Booksellers and Newsmen in Great Britain and Ireland, Canada, Nova Scotia, and United States of America. Complete sets of the work from its commencement, or numbers to complete sets, may at all times be obtained from the Publishers or their Agents, Stereotyped by A. Kirkwood, Edinburgh. Printed by Bradbury and Evans (late T. Davison), Whitefriars CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM CHAMBERS, AUTHOR OF "THE BOOK OF SCOTLAND," &c., AND BY ROBERT CHAMBERS, AUTHOR OF "TRADITIONS OF EDINBURGH," "PICTURE OF SCOTLAND," &c. No. 185. THE BEAUTY AND THE BEGGAR. Not long since, in passing through one of our principal squares, I observed an elegantly dressed young lady, of the finest form and features, descend from a carriage, in order to enter a fashionable mercer's shop. As she stepped like a queen across the pavement, an infirm old female beggar, whose figure denoted almost the last stage of wretchedness, curtseyed to her for an alms. The noble-looking beauty passed on, without noticing the petitioner, who slowly turned away, with that patient and unoffended look which the habit of suffering and denial usually give, and pursued her halting and toilsome walk. Though my eye did not rest above a moment on this little scene, the contrast of the two figures struck me very forcibly, and I could not help following it out into all the circumstances in which the beauty and the beggar might be supposed to differ. First, there was the delightful consciousness in the one, of possessing a person which procured a perpetual incense of praise and homage, and was likely to obtain for her a place in life even more elevated than that in which she had hitherto existed; while, in the other, the external figure, bowed down by age, dis. ease, and apparently natural decrepitude, clothed in rags, and unpleasing to all who looked on it, was only a source of pain and humiliation, inspiring no other hope in her who dragged it along, than that of its being soon shovelled into some mean but not unwelcome grave. In one party, there was the elevating sense of high connection, with those pure and lofty feelings which, however apt to be tainted with fastidiousness and pride, are after all the most enviable result of a perfect exemption from ignoble cares; while in the other there could only be, at the best, a mortification of all sense of personal dignity, and a despairing resignation to every contumely and every sorrow. The one probably went home to a splendid mansion, in which she could command, from obsequious menials, every luxury that she could desire: the other probably would hide, but not terminate, her daily distresses in a hovel destitute of all comfort, where, huddling her shrivelled form into a blanket, she would attempt to sleep away the appetite she could not gratify. On awaking to a new day of triumph and pleasure, the deliberations of the beauty would be as to what new or revived splendour she should adorn herself with-what robe of price, what lace, what trinket; she would ponder well and choose late, finding a regalement in the very difficulties and troubles which caprice would connect with her morning employment. The beggar, on reviving from a sleep which she herself wonders has not proved that of death, and dispelling the additional feebleness which sleep itself seems at first to leave, would have to weigh rag against rag, and debate with herself the thickness to which she should patch herself up with them. But it is not alone in general circumstances that a difference would be found. In every particular of form, thought, dress, habits, and associations; in every outgoing and incoming; in every point of worldly circumstance and destiny; they would differ. Nothing could be pronounced to be common to them but the human type, and the hope of an ultimate exist ence, in which no such differences shall be cognisable. At a first view of such contrasts in the condition of human beings, we are apt to tax nature or fortune with partiality; but, on consideration, the charge is found to be less just than it at first appeared. No doubt, the beggar seems to enjoy a very small portion of that kind of happiness which the beauty derives from external circumstances; she has a body distressed with cold, disease, and infirmity, a home (if she have a SATURDAY, AUGUST 15, 1835. home) which yields no personal solacements; and tastes PRICE THREE HALFPENCE. anticipating fate, is the true humiliation of human greatness. It may be the fortune of this elegant form to flourish for many years after the mendicant has closed her earthly woes; but it is also possible that another week may see her (if life be wealth) in a condition beyond conception poorer than any ever experienced by the beggar-prostrated in that dust which the beggar is still allowed to tread-a worm beneath the foot of her on whom she will now hardly deign to look. Such are the communities of destiny which it may be legitimate to trace on earth. Beyond this lower sphere I do not look, not only because it were presumptuous to do so, but because earth's accidents must there be nothing. Earth, however, may have its angels as well as heaven; and in the language of compliment, such an epithet might have been bestowed upon the lovely being who shared in calling forth these remarks. She wanted the most necessary of all the elements of this character: she wanted charity. The bestowal of the merest mite, nay, of one kind and compassionate glance, upon the humble object who stood before her in such strong apparent contrast, would have given her the enviable title. But the eye which looked to see heaven meet the earth in golden sympathy, saw only one clod pass another, and glory was forfeited for a farthing. INOCULATION. INOCULATION-8o called from oculus, the eye (Latin), because the sore which it forms resembles that organ in figure is an art in surgery, by which one of the diseases which human beings only take once, can be communicated in a milder and less dangerous form than when it is contracted in the natural way. It has been practised with most success in cases of small-pox, a virulent and infectious malady which seems to have taken its rise in Arabia about the sixth century, and for several ages used to commit dreadful ravages among the nations of the earth, spreading even to South America, where, in the sixteenth century, it destroyed one-half of the inhabitants. Under this malignant dis ease, the patients endured for several days the most acute agony, and were covered from head to foot with small suppurating sores, of an insupportable fetor, which usually left on the face, and any other part exposed to the air, marks utterly destructive of the smooth surface and complexion, and not unfrequently of vision. It often, moreover, developed the latent seeds of scrofula and consumption, and never failed to aggravate any tendency to those diseases. At the close of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth centuries, seventy out of every thousand deaths which occurred in London were owing to small-pox; one out of every six cases being fatal. About that period, the fourth of the inhabitants of Iceland were carried off by it; and in 1733 it nearly depopulated Greenland. It annually broke up the peace and happiness of thousands of families, leaving the mother childless, and disappointing the hopes of the gay and young, by printing ugliness where for merly there had been beauty. Till about a hundred years ago, the learned knew of no means of preventing the occurrence of this pest. That the communication of its morbific matter to the living fibre should have produced a milder kind of the disease, and precluded its attacks in any more dangerous form, was obviously a fact which no theoretic skill could have surmised, but was only to be discovered by accident. Having in all probability been thus discovered, it was practised by the ignorant of various countries under various circumstances-generally in connexion with some superstitious observances. 8 In Africa and Turkey; in different parts of Italy, France, Germany, Denmark, and Sweden; in South Wales and in the Highlands of Scotland; a portion of matter was introduced by a pin, or in some other manner, and it was supposed that no benefit would ensue unless a piece of money or some other article, however trifling, were given by the patient to the individual performing the operation. This was called buying the small-por; and there can be little doubt that the superstitious character which the operation thus assumed, was one of the reasons why it did not sooner attract the respectful notice of physicians. The noise in the world, deserve at all to be compared with had rendered the reverse; and, notwithstanding its The discovery of a more effectual means of staying this terrible plague will be detailed in a subsequent paper. THE HARVEST DAY. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, GRAY. persons who practised the art were usually of a class rity could be expected against a future attack, while To many, a harvest day may appear a commonplace occurrence, which can have nothing in it worthy of being recorded. To those who have all their life-long been accustomed to think of society only in that artificial state in which it exists in cities, such a simple story oculation were acknowledged only by the enlightened For a long time, nevertheless, the benefits of infew. The multitude dreaded it as a voluntary incurrence of a certain degree of danger; the physicians despised it on account of its mean origin; and another large class regarded it as an impious interference with the will of heaven. One of its most powerful medical opponents was Dr Wagstaffe, physician to St Bartholomew's Hospital, who denounced it as contradictory to reason, and maintained, that, though some who were inoculated took the disease in a moderate form, others were either not affected, or so slightly, that no secuothers had it in the most malignant form, and died of degraded much beneath the general level of popular in it. He denied its power in securing the constitution telligence the Greek slaves, for instance, of Turkey, against the disease in future. He condemned it as and the old women of all countries. That from this keeping up a focus of contagion from which much quarter any useful instruction should have come to danger to others proceeded; and took advantage of the dissensions existing among its abettors, as evincthe professionally learned, was certainly as little to being that their positions were unworthy of confidence. as that I am about to narrate, can have little attracexpected as that inoculation should prove a means of The same views were maintained in a variety of pub- tion. Yet these may rest assured that feeling exists neutralising disease.* lications by Dr Hillary, and Messrs Howgrave and among the poor as well as the rich. Art and educa Sparham. But the most formidable piece of composition may give new external appearances, new ceretion on this side of the question, was a sermon preached monies, and new manners, but these belong all to the in 1722 by the Rev. Edmond Massey; in which it was maintained that the whole art was of infernal in. outside-they cannot enter the machinery within. vention; that, diseases being sent by Providence for Nature exhibits the same phenomena in the cottage as the punishment of our sins, this attempt to prevent in the palace. To the village maid, therefore, or the peathem was a "diabolical operation;" that the preten- sant girl, who has reached her fifteenth year under the sions of the inoculators were nevertheless vain and groundless, except as a means of spreading the evil. paternal roof, and without ever being farther from home Finally, the learned divine hoped that a time would than a day's journey to visit an uncle or an aunt to come when those preparers of poison, and spreaders her, her " first har'st” is a matter of as great importof infection, should have a stigma affixed upon them, ance as “bringing out” is to a young lady of fashion. and no longer be permitted to mingle with other pro- The combined circumstances of quitting her father's fessional men. house for three or four weeks, the strangers among whom her lot is to be cast for a time, and the disgrace attendant on being "an ill shearer"—these to her young and inexperienced heart are sources of deep anxiety and ceaseless thought. But then, among the crowd with whom she is thus to associate, there is the chance that some one of the other sex may see and fancy her, whom she-what is more natural to woman ?-may fancy in return; some lad, with raven hair and sunny brow, whose speaking eye shall tell her that she is dearer to him than the rest, or whose smiles and half-suppressed attentions shall unfold the mind's eye, clothed with all the attributes of manly tale his tongue refuses to utter. He is already, in her strength or youthful bloom, which the ardent ima ginings of a young female can heap upon an ideal object of affection. A very violent small-pox, which prevailed at Constantinople in 1701, was the means of first introducing inoculation to the notice of a higher department of society. The Greeks were then employed to operate upon the children of their Turkish masters, and, suc cess following the first trials, it soon became general. When Lady Mary Wortley Montagu accompanied her husband on his embassy to the Sultan, she found engrafting, as it was then called, in high reputation, and, having satisfied herself of its efficacy, she caused her son, a child of three years old, to be subjected to the process, at Belgrade, on the 18th of March 1718. Some years before, the art of inoculation and its utility had been treated in two papers, respectively written by two Italian physicians, named Pylarini and Timoni, in the Transactions of the Royal Society. But it was to the humane zeal of Lady Mary, and to the ceaseless exertions which she made, on her Thus opposed by various kinds of prejudice, it is not surprising that inoculation, for some time after its first introduction, experienced something like a decline. The number inoculated in 1724 was only forty; in 1725, a hundred and fifty-one; in 1726, a hundred and five; and in the next two years only a hundred and twenty-four. Of the 897 inoculated during these return to England, that the world was mainly in- first eight years, 845 had true variolous pustules, and debted for a knowledge of this valuable secret of na13 an imperfect eruption; in 39 no disease was proture. Mr Maitland, who had accompanied the embassy duced by the matter; and 17 were supposed to have in the capacity of physician, first endeavoured, under died of the inoculated disease—that is, about 1 in 50. her ladyship's patronage, to establish the practice of The art was introduced in 1723 into Ireland; and in it in London. In 1721, as its expediency had been 1726, Mr Maitland, who had accompanied the Turkmuch agitated among scientific men, an experiment, ish embassy, practised it for the first time in Scotto be sanctioned by the College of Physicians, was al- land, by inoculating eleven persons at Aberdeen. One lowed by government. Five criminals under sentence of these individuals having died, a violent prejudice of death willingly encountered the danger, with the against inoculation was the consequence, and no other hopes of life. Upon four of them the eruption ap- person was subjected to the process in that part of peared on the seventh day; the fifth was a woman, the country for twenty years. At Dumfries it was on whom it never appeared, but she confessed that first practised in 1733, during the prevalence of a ma- But it is not to the village maid alone that a "first she had had the disease when an infant. Lady Marylignant small-pox; but in other parts of Scotland it har'st" is a matter of deep interest. To the growing proceeded to enforce the salutary innovation among was not generally adopted till 1753. So lately as 1781, lad, who hitherto has only shorn along with his mo mothers of her own rank, and for some time, as we owing to the non-prevalence of the art, sixty-three ther, or the stripling of a cottar-town, who has been discover by her letters, she was much engrossed by children died in a short time of small-pox at Peebles, bred to the loom, and lived in the seclusion of a medical consultations. In 1721, 1722, and 1723, four a town then containing less than two thousand in-weaver's shop ever since he left school-to these the hundred and seventy-four persons, including two of habitants. new scene of life in which they are about to engage, the royal family, were inoculated, of whom only nine and the untried labours of the harvest season, are died. In the ensuing year, a public writer spoke in subjects of serious thought, which often pass in review the following terms of the talented woman who had before them long ere the ripened field calls forth the been the means of introducing the art:-"It is a reaper. But perhaps their feelings at this important godlike delight that her reflection must be conscious season may be better illustrated by my own, than by of, when she considers to whom we owe that many any other account which I could give of them. thousand British lives will be saved every year to the use and comfort of their country, after a general establishment of this practice. A good so lasting and so vast, that none of those wide endowments and deep foundations of public charity, which have made most Some notices respecting the various popular methods of inoculation may here be given. In Arabia, where the custom is beJieved to be as ancient as the disease itself, they prick some fleshy part, generally between the fore-finger and thumb on the outside of the hand, with a needle imbrued in variolous matter taken from a pustule of a favourable kind. The child to be inoculated carries a few dates, raisins, sugar-plums, and such like; and, showing them to the child from whom the matter is to be taken, asks how many pocks he will give in exchange. The bargain being made, they proceed to the operation. In Hindostan, the art was practised by a particular tribe of Brahmins, by means of a slight puncture, over which they tied a rag impregnated with matter, accompanying the operation with superstitious observances. About Bengal, however, it seems to have been considered sufficient that one bought it from another. The intending patient, having found a house where there was a good sort of small-pox, went to the bed side of the sick person, if he was old enough, or, if otherwise, to one of the relations, and said, "I am come to buy the small-pox." The answer was, "Buy if you please." A sum of money was accordingly given, and one, three, or five pustules (it was necessary that the number should be odd, and not exceeding five), were taken from the sick person, and rubbed on the skin of that part of the person above described, but without any puncturing. This was also the practice all along the northern shores of Africa. The East Indians had another method, namely, to impregnate a thread with the powder of dry pustules, and draw it through the skin between any of the fingers. The Chinese communicated the disease by putting a similar powder, mixed with musk, into a piece of cotton, which they thrust up the nostrils. The Greeks seem to have considered the forehead and chin as the most appropriate places for receiving inoculation, abrading the skin, and then applying matter warm from a patient. In our own country, the Highlanders communicated it by impregnated woollen threads tied round the wrist, the skin of which had previously been rubbed, while the Welsh seem to have proceeded by puncture. It was proved that the custom had existed in Wales for at least a hundred and sixty years previous to 1722, two villages near Milford Haven, named St Ismael's and Marloes, having always been particularly famous for it. That the superstition as to the necessity of purchasing this disease should have been common to the Arabians, the Hindoos, the Swedes, and the Welsh, is certainly a fact of a most extraor dinary nature, and would seem to prove, either that there are unperceived communications between the ignorant of all countries, or that the disease and its prevention were known at a much earlier age than is generally supposed, when those distant nations were as yet parts of one family in another portion of the globe. For some years after 1729, inoculation experienced a still further decline in England, and it was not till after it had proved its efficacy in some other parts of the world, that it was extensively practised in that country. In 1746, three hospitals were opened for the small-pox and inoculation in the county of Middlesex, and a few years later an institution was formed in London, with three houses in different parts of the town, one for preparing the patients by the tedious regimen then deemed necessary, another for receiving them when the disease appeared, and the other for persons afflicted with natural small-pox. The terrors, however, excited by these centres of infection, as they were called, soon caused their being given up. Though inoculation was afterwards practised in a superior manner and more extensively, it does not appear likely that the prejudices, indifference, and terrors of the people at large, would, for centuries to come, have allowed its real advantages to be experienced. It no doubt afforded, to every one who chose, a means of obviating one of the greatest perils of life; by thus incurring a disease which carried off only one in 250, it completely precluded all danger from one which destroyed one of every six who chanced to take it, besides more or less injuring the remainder, and, upon a calculation of the London bills of mortality, seems to have regularly brought premature death to one-fourteenth part of the human race. But in order to be fully useful to a community, inoculation would have required to be universal. So long as any considerable portion of the people, for whatever reason, did not avail themselves of it, it rather increased than diminished the general mortality, each inoculated person being a focus for the diffusion of the disease in its natural form among his uninoculated neighbours; and so extensively did this operate, even at the close of the last century, when inoculation was at its height, that the mortality in London from small-pox was found to have for thirty years been 95 in every thousand, or fifteen more in the thousand than it had been before the introduction of the art! In truth, inoculation might be described as a means of safety to the cautious and enlightened, at the expense of the numerous individuals whom nature and circumstances The Plain Dealer, July 3, 1724, Even at this distance of time and it is now more than a dozen years since I have a perfect recollection of that anxious forethought with which I looked upon the approaching harvest in which I was to make my debut as a reaper. I was then about sixteen-but little acquainted with the world; and this seemed to be a sort of era in my existence. I had been eager to learn to shear, and had often assisted at harvest work; but to be placed upon a rig as a man, with the respon sibility of keeping it as well advanced as the othersthe risk of having ill neebours-to commence work by five o'clock in the morning, and, when the sun was hot and high, perhaps, to be engaged in the heat of a kemp-fall behind, and be laughed at by the whole field-these, with many other contingencies seldom absent from my mind, made my "first har'st" to me what a first battle is to a soldier-a thought in which, for the time being, all other thoughts were merged. This anxiety about what was really nothing increased as the days and hours of the intervening period diminished, till, on the night previous to the day on which harvest was to begin, my feelings were fairly wrought to a climax. I arose in the morning from no refreshing slumber, but a night of unrest; went to the field, and, as is often the case in those difficulties which imagina. tion magnifies, found relief from my own feelings in the bustle of the day and the novelty of the scene. Hard labour excepted, I found nothing so terrible as I had anticipated; and even from this I soon found objects to attract my attention, or at least to lighten it, by diverting my thoughts, and preventing me from poring over my toil. The new faces by which I was surrounded, afforded me a wide field for contemplation; and among these it would have been strange, at my age, if the female part of them had not come in for a share of my consideration. Young as I was, I had some perceptions of beauty and harmony of parts; and among the women, whether I viewed them as related to colour and regularity of features, or ele gance of form, and free and graceful motion, I soon discovered that there were various degrees of perfection; and I, unwittingly, began to take a sort of pleasure in comparing, or rather contrasting them together, and settling in my own mind their respective claims to merit. Such, for a time, were the subjects which occupied my mind when its energies could be spared, till at last my attention began to fix rather exclusively upon a single individual, who to me appeared to have no equal. We judge of every thing by comparison, and Mary, when compared with the others, was as superior to them as-But where is the use of comparison? Youthful affection invests its object with all the attributes of excellence. She was the magnet of my thoughts; and if at any time I caught her eye, or seemed to attract her notice for a moment, that was looked upon as a blessed circumstance something for which to watch again. was less dry, or my lips less parched than theirs, but voices at once, was, "that she had gone to Glasgow with her brother, and a person lately returned from that quarter had brought intelligence that she was shortly to be married!" I felt the blood flow back upon my heart at the sound of these words, shortly to be married! A sickness and giddiness came over me, and, unconscious that I was in the presence of nume rous observers, all laughing, talking, and full of glee, I sunk into a sort of apathetic trance. There was now no external object to draw my attention from my toil, and no feeling in my bosom to triumph over the sense of weariness. Success in what I undertook brought no exultation of feeling, and the want of success had lost all its disagreeable qualities. If my rig chanced to be first, I no longer looked with eager eyes to see if my proud station was noticed by others; and if, as sometimes happened, I was last, it gave me little or no uneasiness. Yet it was well for me that I was thus engaged. There is no better cure for diseases of the mind than to keep the hands of the patient actively employed. That attention, which was indispensable to my work, in spite of myself, turned the current of my thoughts. My second harvest at length terminated, but under different feelings than those formerly expe I now pursued my occupations with little hope, but a dogged resolution to better my condition; alas, superlative exertion was but too truly necessary. I had an aged mother in a great measure dependent on me for support-a support it would have been cruel to have grudged. For some years I thus pursued my toil, till the death of my surviving parent released me from my unceasing labour. Having no longer any tie to bind me to the spot, I determined to depart from the humble village in which I had spent so many years, in order to find employment in America. Previous to setting out for this new place of destination, some business led me once more to pass the scene of my earliest attachment. It was in the forenoon; and in all probability I would have passed it without any attention, for my thoughts were preoccupied with the journey before me. But ere I reached this portion of the road, my shoe-tie chanced to break. I attempted to supply its place with a bit of small cord which I had in my pocket, but it was rotten, and broke also. My next determination was to proceed without one; but I found walking in this way so disagreeable, that I at last resolved to step into the first house I should come to, and try if I could find something which might serve as a substitute. I did so, and, to my no small surprise, found there an old acquaintance. I had scarcely seen him since we had shorn our "first har'st" together, yet he almost immediately recognised me. After supplying me with the article in question, he informed me that he had been lately married, and many and pressing were his invitations to stay and take my dinner with him and his wife. At last the bread and ale arrived, and at the words "tak your dinner" from the master, there was a general rush to the pitchers. Men and women almost rolled over each other in their madness for a mouthThough the lovely Mary had thus absorbed the ful of drink. Jostling, threats, entreaties, were all whole attention which I could spare from my labour, resorted to by those who were behind, but in vain. I never once dreamed that it was possible for any one Selfishness was the ruling passion of the moment, to suspect me of being in love, till one day when we and in the wish to slake their own thirst, no one either were seated at our dinners. It might be about a fort- saw or heard his fellow. I had been fortunate in night from the commencement of the harvest. One reaching the ale among the first: I seized a cup, of the bandsters had been jeering Mary with the dashed it into the pitcher, and brought it away full.rienced. number of her lads; she seemed half offended at the Though my own throat was like an oven, my next freedom which he took, and half pleased with the in- care was to discover Mary. I found her struggling, direct tribute which he thus paid to her charms. I unsuccessfully, to procure some for herself, and, draw. had also joined in the conversation, partly to checking her gently back, held it out to her, while my insome strange feelings which I found rising within ward satisfaction displayed itself in a smile. She me, and partly from a mere love of talk. We had could scarcely speak, but her look thanked me; and agreed that I should count Mary's lovers, while he in observing her eye brighten as she drank, I was was to mention their names. I had reached four, more than rewarded for any sacrifice I had made. She I think, and there was a pause of consideration, had not, however, more than half emptied the puny when Janet, the wife of one of the farm-servants, who vessel, when a sudden recollection seemed to cross had been listening to us without speaking, raised her, and she offered it back, with what remained of herself upon her elbow, and, addressing me, said, its contents, inquiring at the same time, with much "Ay, but ye've forgotten to count yoursel', tho' solicitude in her manner, "if I had got any myself?" I'se warrant ye're as deep i' the dish as ony o' "Quick, quick," said I in reply to her question, "and them." I was thunderstruck at this accusation, and I will get more.' At my request, thus hurriedly precould not utter a word in reply. From a hurried ferred, she drank it off, though with seeming relucglance at Mary, I thought her countenance at the tance, and then sat down, observing, with something moment expressive of some scornful feeling; it was between a smile and a blush upon her countenance, at least an expression which I had never seen there that "she was afraid I had taken more care of her before. I could not look again. I felt the blood rush- than of myself." After feasting for a moment on that ing to my face, and with an attempt to laugh, which feeling of satisfaction which now pervaded my bosom, was not very successful I believe, I turned over, as if my first impulse was to look around to see if what Í to seek rest in another position, but in reality to con- had done had attracted notice, for my heart shrank ceal my feelings. from the idea of its partiality being known; but such was the confusion and selfishness which prevailed, that no one had given the least attention. An opportunity was now afforded me, by sitting down also, of being near her for an hour-a thing which had never before occurred. Such were my feelings upon this occasion, and such was the satisfaction I experienced at the fortunate occurrence which thus entitled me to sit down on a stubble field beside a girl of seventeen, without either rank or fortune, that I believe I would not have exchanged my lot with the wealthiest in the land. My happiness was, however, alloyed with the recollection that harvest was now nearly over; and the distance of Mary's place of residence from mine fell upon my heart like a stream of cold water. On the sudden call of the master, I stumbled to that part of the field where I was to resume my labour, and took up my sickle mechanically, and almost without knowing what I was about. A kemp, or strive, followed in the afternoon; and though I had improved so much as a shearer, that I had been looked upon as the leader of the field for the last eight days, yet, upon this occasion, we-that is, myself and the four women who were my fellow-labourers-were fairly beaten. I struck my sickle upon stones, which soon destroyed its edge; and in attempting to sharpen it, I only made it worse, and cut my fingers into the bargain. And though I wrought till I was almost blinded by the sweat which flowed down my face, and the women, too, exerted themselves to the utmost, we only succeeded in getting out third-the rig on which Mary was a shearer being second, and one, which was never before known to be first, having become victorious. This to me was rather an affecting incident, and long to be remembered, because it served to stamp deeper on my heart that powerful passion to which youth is so prone; but it is not coupled with those recollections to which the beginning of this brief history alludes. These had their origin about a week after the abovementioned occurrence, and within three or four days of the end of harvest. Here I may remark, that, up to this period, I had never supposed myself in love with Mary-at least that sort of love which has the appropriation of its object in view. Marriage came not then among my thoughts. To admire the symmetry of her form-to hear her speak-to gaze on her expressive and beautiful countenance unnoticed by any one, and occasionally to be rewarded with a look or a smile from her, was all my heart asked; and this to me was a source of pleasure, to which my past experience afforded nothing half so pure or so delightful. Though I had fancied that Mary at the time was rather angry when she heard my name introduced among those of her lovers, yet, in a few hours after, her manner evinced no sign of permanent displeasure. Our eyes met as they had done before, at first timidly, as I thought, and with an air of embarrassment; but this passed away, and I began almost to imagine that I could read in those glances something of partiality, and an expression of kindness, at the very idea of which my heart danced; and the air I breathed seemed to become purer and lighter-the medium, as it were, through which indescribable happiness was communicated to my whole frame. Thus did our hours glide by, and the short period of our acquaintance draw to a close. I am now approaching a part of my story to which I feel I can never do justice. There are passages in the lives of even the most obscure individuals which beggar all language to describe, and this was one in mine, of which I can only give a mere shadow. It was on one of those days in the month of September, when a frosty atmosphere in the morning had given place to a burning sun at noon-when not a cloud obscured the heavens, and not a blade of grass was stirred by the wind. A dead and sultry stillness reigned around, and nothing was to be heard, save that rustle which we ourselves made. It seemed as if all other sounds had sickened and ceased in the intensity of the heat. Hard labour, and the profuse perspiration which flowed from every pore, had occasioned the most distressing thirst long ere the hour of rest brought our mid-day refreshment. There was no water near; our throats were dry and our lips parched. There was an universal complaint, and many an anxious look in the direction from whence the bearers of the bread and ale for dinner were expected to come. At last we were almost suffocating, and still there was no appearance of relief. Surely if masters only knew what their reapers often endure, they would treat them less as working machines, and more as human beings. In this distressing predicament I seemed to myself to suffer less than those around me-not that my throat The dinner was soon ready, and soon over; but before it was finished, the conversation had turned on the past, on our boyish days and our early acquaintances. I was oftener than once about to speak of Mary, but some strange feeling prevented me from mentioning her name; at last my friend spoke of her, praised her beauty and modesty, and wondered how she contrived not to become vain, beset as she was with a host of flatterers and admirers. It need scarcely be told that on these points I seconded him warmly. It appeared as if the last ten years of my existence had been blotted out, and I felt once more the stripling of sixteen. My friend next rallied me on being, what he called, her "greatest favourite." He had heard the quick-sighted Janet accuse me of being in love, and declared that Mary's blush and the confusion of her manners, though she tried to look scornful upon that occasion, convinced him, young as he was, that, if she cared more for one man than another, Í was the favoured object. This gave birth to some reflections on the treasure I had lost, which were not so pleasing. I tried to banish them, but they were by no means allayed, when he observed, "that he was not certain but it had been better for me if she For the two following days, I strove in vain to get had become my wife, it might have saved me from near the object of my affections; but in spite of all my projected journey." I felt the force of his ob. my schemes, and all the arts I used to be beside her, servation, and became thoughtful. "What ails you, some untoward accident always threw us asunder. man ?" said my friend, in a tone of much pleasantry; At length the last of the corn was cut down; the "who knows but you may yet get her for your wife? harvest was over; and it was with inexpressible feel- only you must stay where you are." I shook my ings of regret that I felt myself compelled to bid fare- head, and told him what I had heard about her being well to my companions, as well as her to whom I durst" shortly to be married." "Pooh!" said he, << not explain the feelings with which I was animated. I was young-I was poor, friendless-what other course could I have safely ventured to have followed? The marriage of the penniless leads but to misery and self-condemnation. There was I returned to my native home a lonely being in the my wife was to have been shortly married to half the young men in the parish before she was married to me; and all this, without her consent ever being asked, or her being once told what the gossips intended for her." He then proceeded to tell me, that about six years ago he had been to see a relation who resided in that neighbourhood, and that then at least she was not married. I cannot tell how this piece of information affected me: something like a gleam of hope shot across my mind; but it was only the effort of the thousand times spoken of "drowning man catching at straws." "Six years ago!" she might be married three times over since then. The conversation, however, to me was deeply interesting. My friend's wife, too, enlivened it with many anecdotes, calculated to rouse me into animation. The sun had considerably declined before I left the house of my friend, and the deepening gloaming had already considerably advanced ere I was far on my way towards home. With the view of shortening the |
