THE PENNY MAGAZINE

[Old Somerset-House.]

The history of Somerset-house is, in a great degree, a history of the variable characteristics of successive ages. The present building is of modern date. But upon the same site stood the old Somerset-house, erected in the year 1549, by the Protector Somerset. This was the age of arbitrary violence and lawless power. Somerset-house originally rose upon the ruins of ecclesiastical edifices and of private dwellings. The proud man who degraded and abused his authority, by making it the minister to his personal gratification, pulled down an ancient church, an inn of court, and a number of houses, to make room for the magnificent palace which he here erected. Not the slightest compensation was made to the owners. But Somerset did not long enjoy the poor gratification of his splendid abode. He died on the scaffold in the year 1552.

In succeeding times Somerset-house became the residence of various queens. The great Elizabeth sometimes resided here. Anne of Denmark, Queen to James I., here kept her court, which was remarkable for its grotesque amusements, being, as an old author says, “a continued masquerade.” The unfortunate Queen of Charles I. resided here after her husband’s execution; and here the Roman Catholic Queen of Charles II. kept a separate court. Those were the ages in which royalty displayed itself in cumbrous pomp; and in which religious contentions of the most intolerant character interrupted the quiet of the people, and degraded the faith which, as it was professed, they were meant to uphold.

At length arrived the age of regulated freedom,—of national wealth produced by unfettered industry,—of science applied to the manufacturing arts,—of diffused comforts and enjoyments. In the reign of George III. a building of sufficient magnitude for the business of several of the most important departments of public affairs was required, and old Somerset-house presented an eligible site. The present extensive pile was commenced in 1774, from the design of Sir William Chambers.

The principal departments of Government which are here carried on, are the Stamp-Office, the Victualling-Office, the Audit-Office, and the Navy-Office. The front of Somerset-house to the Strand contains the apartments belonging to the Royal Society, the Society of Antiquaries, the Geological Society, and the Royal Academy of Arts.

The Commissioners appointed by his Majesty’s Government to superintend and facilitate emigration to the Colonies have just published a little tract^[1], the extensive circulation of which, we think, will be productive of much benefit. The reliance which may be safely placed on an official document gives this publication a superior value. It should be in the hands of every one who is interested (either on his own account, or on that of others) in possessing accurate information respecting the facilities which are afforded to persons who wish to emigrate to the Canadas, or to New Brunswick. The great difficulty which formerly beset the emigrant, was his helpless condition on his arrival in a strange country. For want of knowledge of the country—for want of an acquaintance with persons who possessed that knowledge—and too frequently from acquaintance with persons who possessed that knowledge, but who turned it to their own account and to his disadvantage, the emigrant, to use a common phrase, not knowing which way to turn himself, frequently turned wrong, and the bad consequences of a mistake, at so critical a moment, can seldom be retrieved. The offer of a grant of land rather increased his difficulty; for when a poor man had got this bit of land, he soon found that he had not the means of living during the interval necessary to raise a crop, and that if he had the means of doing so, he did not know how to apply his labour and his money to the best advantage. So that he was, after all, forced to work for wages, until he could get together a few savings, and could learn a little of the way of living and farming in Canada. Now, in Canada, there is plenty 18of work and very high wages; so that an industrious man has not long to wait for good employment under any circumstances. But it is very vexatious to have spent time and money, and perhaps health, and to find oneself obliged to begin all over again. The Commissioners, therefore, recommend the emigrant, who has little to depend upon but his own manual labour, to begin by working for wages. Land is no longer given for nothing, but it is to be had so cheap, and labour is so well paid, that if a man is thrifty as well as industrious, he ought to be able to become a purchaser by the time he has learned enough of the way of the country to be a successful cultivator.

It is clear, therefore, that the best thing that Government can do is to secure immediate employment for the emigrant labourer. And, for this purpose, Agents are maintained at the principal colonial ports, whose duty it is to protect emigrants against imposition on their first landing, to acquaint them with the demand for labour in different districts, to point out the best roads and conveyances, and to give them such advice as may set them in a fair way of doing well. For this valuable assistance no fee or reward will be accepted by the agents. When a private engagement cannot be had without loss of time, employment will be afforded on some of the public works which are going on. No emigrant should lose a minute after his arrival in going straightway to the Government Agents for Emigrants, where he will find what he most wants—advice and employment.

The best months for leaving England are March and April.

The price of passage from the different ports is stated to be as under:—

For children under twelve months no charge is made. At the above charges the emigrant is supplied with provisions during the voyage, and this is, perhaps, the best mode of making the bargain, as the emigrant is protected by law against the supply of provisions being insufficient, and dangerous mistakes are frequently made by persons who are not in the habit of laying in stores, and who are not able to foresee what they shall want on board a ship. Besides the probability of their being much better provided for by the shipowner than by themselves, it is pretty certain that they will save money by it. The price of a passage, exclusive of provisions, that is, where nothing is found by the shipowner but water, fuel, and bed-places, is one-half of the above rates. To avoid being detained at the port by the vessel not sailing on the appointed day, a particular day ought always to be named in the bargain; after which, whether the ship sails or not, the passenger is to be received on board and victualled by the owners. If that is done, the emigrant has a right to be received on board on that day so named, and to consider the ship as his home until she does sail. This prevents his being brought to the place of embarkation too soon, and kept waiting at a tavern, where he may spend the little money he has, or contract debts which will prevent his leaving the country.

Emigrants should bear in mind that the sea-voyage will not bring them at once to the place of their destination, but that at least £2 should be reserved for each grown person for the inland journey. Including the journey from his home to the port where he gets on board, the expense to a grown person of removing to Canada appears, from this document, to be from £7 to £9.

Arrangements have been made by which persons, who may wish to furnish emigrants with money for their use in the colony, may have the means of making the money payable there, instead of giving it into the hands of the emigrant before he leaves this country.

The number of emigrants is considerable already, and the Commissioners have done wisely in directing their attention, in the first instance, to providing for the emigrant on his arriving in Canada; but in the work of facilitating his departure from this county, much remains for them to do. They have begun at the right end, and begun well; but the Commissioners will not fulfil the expectation which the public have formed from their appointment, unless, in due time, they apply themselves to remove the difficulties which attend the first steps of the emigrant. We say, in due time, because we do not wish to see encouragement to emigrate held out to the labouring poor, until preparation is fully made for their well-doing elsewhere, and until the legislature give their sanction to such improvements in our system of poor laws, as shall render the departure of the emigrant a real and permanent benefit to his country as well as to himself. In a future number we shall return to this interesting and important subject.

The inhabitants of a place occupying a position on the surface of the globe directly opposite to our own country are called our Antipodes, a name derived from two Greek words meaning opposite and foot. If Hobart Town, the capital of Van Diemen’s Land, were about fourteen hundred miles farther east, and about five hundred miles farther south, the inhabitants of that place and the inhabitants of London would stand with their feet planted exactly against each other. As it is, the difference in longitude occasions a difference between the time of the day with them and with us of nearly ten hours—or, when it is noon, for example, with us, it is about ten o’clock at night with them. The more remarkable difference, however, between their situation and ours is that arising from the circumstance that we lie on the one side of the equator, and they nearly at as great a distance on the other. The consequence is, that when it is winter in England, it is summer in Van Diemen’s Land; when winter there, summer here; and that all the appearances of the year, in short, are completely reversed in the two countries. Thus the spring quarter of the Van Diemen’s Land year begins in September, on the first day of which month, as is seen by the Calendar in the Van Diemen’s Land Almanack, the sun rises and sets at the same hours as it does with us on the 4th of March; and the day is lengthening, as in our spring. It continues to do so till the 21st of December (our shortest day), when it is at the longest; and then it gradually diminishes in length through the summer and autumnal months of January, February, March, April, and May, till on the 21st of June (our longest day) it reaches the utmost limit of its contraction. The latitude of Hobart Town, however, being not quite so high as ours, the longest day there is not so long, nor the shortest day so short, as with us. The length of their 21st of December is about 15 hours 12 minutes, that of our 21st of June being 16 hours 34 minutes; and that of their 21st of June is 8 hours 48 minutes, that of our 21st of December being only 7 hours 44 minutes. Our earliest sunrise is at 43 minutes past 3, theirs at 24 minutes past 4; our latest sunset is at 17 minutes past 8, theirs at 36 minutes past 7. At no period of the year, therefore, do their days either increase or decrease so fast as ours. In reviewing the different seasons with reference to this particular of the continuance of the sun above the horizon, it may be stated generally that September, October, and November 19in Van Diemen’s Land answer very nearly to March and April in England; December, January, and February there, to May, June, July, August, and about the first third of September with us; March, April, and May there, to the remainder of September, October, and the first third of November with us; and June, July, and August there, to the remainder of November, December, January, and February here. There are other circumstances, however, besides the mere length of the days, which affect the progress of the seasons; and therefore the succession of the natural appearances of the year in the two countries will not be found to follow exactly the commencement and close of these corresponding periods.

Almost every one who has rendered a great service to mankind, by striking out inventions, whose objects are misconceived or imperfectly understood by the world, has had to complain of the neglect or coldness of his own generation. Even his best friends are apt to suspect his motives and undervalue his labours. The real recompense, in such circumstances, as in all others, is the consciousness of doing one’s duty. Fulton, the inventor of the steam-boat in North America, which, in a few years, has produced such an astonishing change in that vast country, by connecting together its most distant states, sustained the mortification of not being comprehended by his countrymen. He was, therefore, treated as an idle projector, whose schemes would be useless to the world and ruinous to himself. At a discourse, delivered at the Mechanics’ Institute, Boston, in 1829, by Judge Story, the feelings of Fulton, upon his first public experiment, are thus related:—

“I myself have heard the illustrious inventor of the steam-boat relate, in an animated and affecting manner, the history of his labours and discouragements. When, said he, I was building my first steam-boat at New York, the project was viewed by the public, either with indifference or with contempt, as a visionary scheme. My friends, indeed, were civil, but they were shy. They listened with patience to my explanations, but with a settled cast of incredulity on their countenances. I felt the full force of the lamentation of the poet,

As I had occasion to pass daily to and from the building-yard, while my boat was in progress, I have often loitered unknown near the idle groups of strangers, gathering in little circles, and heard various inquiries as to the object of this new vehicle. The language was uniformly that of scorn, or sneer, or ridicule. The loud laugh often rose at my expense; the dry jest; the wise calculation of losses and expenditures; the dull but endless repetition of the Fulton Folly. Never did a single encouraging remark, a bright hope, or a warm wish, cross my path. Silence itself was but politeness, veiling its doubts, or hiding its reproaches. At length the day arrived when the experiment was to be put into operation. To me it was a most trying and interesting occasion. I invited many friends to go on board to witness the first successful trip. Many of them did me the favour to attend, as a matter of personal respect; but it was manifest that they did it with reluctance, fearing to be the partners of my mortification, and not of my triumph. I was well aware, that, in my case, there were many reasons to doubt of my own success. The machinery was new and ill-made; many parts of it were constructed by mechanics unaccustomed to such work; and unexpected difficulties might reasonably be presumed to present themselves from other causes. The moment arrived in which the word was to be given for the vessel to move. My friends were in groups on the deck. There was anxiety mixed with fear among them. They were silent, and sad, and weary. I read in their looks nothing but disaster, and almost repented of my efforts. The signal was given, and the boat moved on a short distance, and then stopped, and became immoveable. To the silence of the preceding moment now succeeded murmurs of discontent, and agitations, and whispers, and shrugs. I could hear distinctly repeated, ‘I told you it would be so, it is a foolish scheme; I wish we were well out of it.’ I elevated myself upon a platform, and addressed the assembly. I stated that I knew not what was the matter; but if they would be quiet, and indulge me for half an hour, I would either go on, or abandon the voyage for that time. This short respite was conceded without objection. I went below, examined the machinery, and discovered that the cause was a slight mal-adjustment of some of the work. In a short period it was obviated. The boat was again put in motion. She continued to move on. All were still incredulous. None seemed willing to trust the evidence of their own senses. We left the fair city of New York; we passed through the romantic and ever-varying scenery of the highlands; we descried the clustering houses of Albany; we reached its shores; and then, even then, when all seemed achieved, I was the victim of disappointment. Imagination superseded the influence of fact. It was then doubted if it could be done again; or, if done, it was doubted if it could be made of any great value.”

It is a man’s proper business to seek happiness and avoid misery. Happiness consists in what delights and contents the mind; misery in what disturbs, discomposes, or torments it.

I will therefore make it my business to seek satisfaction and delight, and avoid uneasiness and disquiet; to have as much of the one and as little of the other as may be.

But here I must have a care I mistake not; for if I prefer a short pleasure to a lasting one, it is plain I cross my own happiness.

Let me then see wherein consists the most lasting pleasure of this life, and that, as far as I can observe, is in these things:—

1st. Health,—without which no sensual^[2] pleasure can have any relish.

2nd. Reputation,—for that I find every body is pleased with, and the want of it is a constant torment.

3rd. Knowledge,—for the little knowledge I have, I find I would not sell at any rate, nor part with for any other pleasure.

4th. Doing good,—for I find the well-cooked meat I eat to-day does now no more delight me, nay, I am diseased after a full meal;—the perfumes I smelt yesterday now no more affect me with any pleasure; but the good turn I did yesterday, a year, seven years since, continues still to please and delight me as often as I reflect on it.

5th. The expectation of eternal and incomprehensible happiness in another world is that also which carries a constant pleasure with it.

If, then, I will faithfully pursue that happiness I propose to myself, whatever pleasure offers itself to me, I must carefully look that it cross not any of those five great and constant pleasures above mentioned. For example, the fruit I see tempts me with the taste of it that I love; but if it endanger my health, I part with a constant and lasting for a very short and transient pleasure, and so foolishly make myself unhappy, and am not true to my own interest.

Innocent diversions delight me: if I make use of them to refresh myself after study and business, they preserve my health, restore the vigour of my mind, and increase my pleasure; but if I spend all, or the greater part of my time in them, they hinder my improvement in knowledge and useful arts, they blast my credit, and give me up to the uneasy state of shame, ignorance, and contempt, in which I cannot but be very unhappy. Drinking, gaming, and vicious delights will do me this mischief, not only by wasting my time, but by a positive injury endanger my health, impair my parts, imprint ill habits, lessen my esteem, and leave a constant lasting torment on my conscience; therefore all vicious and unlawful pleasures I will always avoid, because such a mastery of my passions will afford me a constant pleasure greater than any such enjoyments, and also deliver me from the certain evil of several kinds, that by indulging myself in a present temptation I shall certainly afterwards suffer.

20All innocent diversions and delights, as far as they will contribute to my health, and consist with my improvement, condition, and my other more solid pleasures of knowledge and reputation, I will enjoy, but no farther; and this I will carefully watch and examine, that I may not be deceived by the flattery of a present pleasure to lose a greater.

A regulated habit of looking beyond our immediate situations is justly considered the parent of all laudable enterprises. But the habit must be regulated, and strictly regulated, or it will become the source of miseries and crime. The secret for its regulation may be shortly expressed. He who pursues a future happiness, prosperity, or honour, by the right path, does not cast away the good in his possession, nor neglect the duties which lie before him; but he endeavours to shape them by slow degrees to that model of perfection which his feelings or his reason have set up. On the other hand, he who views some distant object of desire, without connecting it with his immediate obligations, neither attains the blessings within his reach, nor approaches a single step to the ideal good; he has cast away the link which connects the present with the future.

Advantages of the Diffusion of Knowledge.—An intelligent class can scarce ever be, as a class, vicious; never, as a class, indolent. The excited mental activity operates as a counterpoise to the stimulus of sense and appetite. The new world of ideas; the new views of the relations of things; the astonishing secrets of the physical properties and mechanical powers, disclosed to the well-informed mind, present attractions, which, unless the character is deeply sunk, are sufficient to counterbalance the taste for frivolous or corrupt pleasures; and thus, in the end, a standard of character is created in the community, which, though it does not invariably save each individual, protects the virtue of the mass.—Everett’s Essay.

The Moles are beginning to throw up the earth, and to destroy the herbage of the light soils. What an extraordinary animal is the mole! We constantly see his traces of destructiveness, but how difficult is it to track him to his hiding-place. And no wonder: his excavations are galleries of many feet in length, worked out by his snout and strong fore-paws, with all the skill and expedition of a human miner; and when he is alarmed he retreats to his citadel, and defies all enemies. The mole, as is well known to our country readers, is destroyed by a trap of peculiar construction, which is discharged by the little animal passing through it. The mole-catcher—in general a quiet old man, who passes the winter in making his traps in his chimney corner—comes forth at this season with his implements of destruction. His practised eye soon discovers the track of the mole, from the mound which he throws up to some neighbouring bank, or from one mound to another. It is in this track or run that he sets his trap, a few inches below the surface of the ground. As the mole passes through this little engine of his ruin he disturbs a peg which holds down a strong hazel rod in a bent position. The moment the peg is moved the end of the rod which is held down flies up, and with it comes up the poor mole, dragged out of the earth which he has so ingeniously excavated, to be gibbetted without a chance of escape. The trap is very simple and effectual; but, somehow, the moles flourish in spite of their human enemies. Mole-catchers, a plodding, unscientific race, know little of their trade, which requires the most accurate study of the habits of the animal. There was a Frenchman of the name of Le Court, (he died about two years ago,) a man of great knowledge and perseverance, who did not think it beneath him to devote his whole attention to the observation of the mole. He established a school for mole-catching; and taught many, what he had acquired by incessant perseverance, the art of tracing the mole to his hiding-place in the ground, and cutting off his retreat. The skill of this man once saved a large and fertile district of France from inundation by a canal, whose banks the moles had undermined in every direction. Le Court alone saw the mischief, and could stop it. Doubts have been entertained whether moles are really so mischievous to the farmer as they are generally supposed to be. It has been said that they assist the draining of land by forming their excavations, and that they thus prevent the foot-rot in sheep.

April 15.—Palm-Sunday.—The Palm, in the countries where it grows, has been the symbol of triumph in ancient and modern times. The triumph which is commemorated on this day is the peaceful entry of Christ into Jerusalem. This festival was observed with much solemnity in the Catholic times in England, and the people were accustomed to make a procession, bearing boughs of blossoming willow as most resembling the fan-like branches of the palm. An old writer on plants says, speaking of willow, “The blossoms come forth before any leaves appear, and are in their most flourishing estate usually about Easter, divers gathering them to deck up their houses on Palm-Sunday; and therefore the said flowers are called Palm.” The date-palm is in many respects one of the most valuable trees of the East, affording sustenance to an immense population, and cheering a sterile region by its beauty.

[Date-Palm, and Fruit.]

April 17.—The birth-day of Edward Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester, a most learned and able prelate, born at Cranbourne, in Dorsetshire, in 1635. Stillingfleet’s greatest and best-known work is his ‘Origines Sacræ, or a Rational Account of Natural and Revealed Religion,’ first published in 1672; a profound and eloquent performance. He is the author also of a considerable number of other works. He was promoted to the See of Worcester soon after the Revolution, and died on the 27th of March, 1699.

April 19.—Maundy Thursday.—Maundy is a corruption of the Latin word mando, to command. This 21is the day on which the Saviour commanded his disciples “to love one another.” The acts of love and humility which he performed on that day used to be imitated by great monarchs of Europe, in washing the feet of the poor. A better imitation would have been to have abstained from those many deeds of tyranny which disfigure the ancient annals of every kingdom. At the present day, in England, the King’s almoner at Whitehall distributes silver pence to old and indigent persons on this celebration.

April 20.—Good Friday, being the anniversary of our Saviour’s crucifixion, is the most solemn fast of the Christian Church. The Cross-bun, however, has long ceased in England to be the morsel by which the severity of the last days of Lent was mitigated. In the old time Lent was not “more honoured in the breach than the observance.” We find from the household book of the Earl of Northumberland, which was kept in 1512, that throughout Lent, “beginning at Shrovetide and ending at Easter,” the breakfast (a great meal in an ancient family) consisted, “for my Lord and my Lady,” of “two pieces of salt fish, four herrings, or a dish of sprats,” instead of the customary allowance at other seasons of “half a chine of mutton or a chine of beef;” and the food at a Lenten supper was equally meagre. The transgressors of Lent were subject to ecclesiastical discipline. Strype, in his ‘Memorials,’ records that a man did penance at St. Paul’s Cross, in 1555, for attempting to sell two pigs ready drest during the fast.

The cheapest of all enjoyments by far is that which is derived from books. We hold a library, therefore, to be among the fittest furniture of even the poorest man’s cottage. A most important and cheering consideration in reference to this sort of furniture is, that the more the demand for books shall grow and extend itself the cheaper are they sure to be sold. The price even of many new books, owing to the large sale upon which the publisher can now count by the increase of readers, is now so low, that for a few pounds, expended in the course of as many years, at the easy rate of a shilling or two at a time, almost as many volumes may be purchased, full of the most instructive and interesting information, as a labouring man and his family have, in general, leisure to read and study.

Let but the small sum of one pound annually be expended in this way by a working man; and what a respectable stock of books might be collected in twenty years, gradually increasing as his family grew up. If the purchases were judiciously made, probably between one and two hundred of the most useful volumes in the language might be secured for this money. Many of them, indeed, would be second-hand copies; but, if they were in good condition, they would be no worse for that. Then, once purchased, this library would remain a valuable property for ever. Books, however much used, if they be only used properly, should never wear out. There are many volumes in the great public libraries of this and other countries, which have been in use for centuries, and yet are in as good condition as when they came from the press. It is only careless readers that destroy or injure books in using them.

In many situations a much more ample command of books may be obtained by the poorer classes for even much less than this cost, by a number of them joining together to maintain a common library. This is an advantage which books have over other articles of furniture. The same library might serve many families at the same time nearly as well as it could serve any one of them exclusively. The quantity of chairs and tables and other household goods which is required for the use of one family cannot accommodate more than one, these articles are in constant requisition; their possessor cannot admit his neighbours to share them with him. But the collection of books which we have supposed to be formed in the course of twenty years, at a cost of as many pounds, might be made to dispense its benefits among twenty families, without an individual belonging to any one of them being deprived of any part of the advantage which he would have enjoyed if he had been the only person by whom the books could be read. When so many families, then, can be found in the same place, disposed to join their contributions for this purpose, the complete command of such a collection by all of them is obtained at a very small cost to each. Instead of a pound a year, it is only a shilling; or, if they choose to pay annually a pound each, they have each of them access to twenty times more books in consequence of their union than they could have obtained the use of separately by the same expenditure. They will probably find it best to mix these two advantages—to subscribe, say a fourth part of a pound, or five shillings, which will still procure them five times as much reading as the expenditure of the whole pound by each of them separately would have procured.

Such are the advantages of union, here as in every thing else. But a farther improvement on popular libraries has been lately recommended and put in practice in some parts of the country, and chiefly in Scotland, by the exertions of Mr. Brown, of Haddington. If a poor man were every year, or every quarter, to exchange his tables and chairs and bedsteads for others of about the same value, he would make nothing of the operation except a great deal of trouble and waste of time. The articles which he received would not answer his purpose better than those which he parted with: he would not derive any more accommodation from the strange furniture than he might have done from that to which he had been used. But here again books have an advantage peculiar to themselves. When you have read through one collection, another collection, consisting of different works, although intrinsically of no greater value, has yet a much greater value to you; the information which the new books communicate forms a positive addition to whatever knowledge your mind has already stored up. Hence the idea of itinerating, or travelling, libraries. Let us suppose that half-a-dozen contiguous villages in a particular district have each its small library, provided, in the manner already pointed out, by the united subscriptions of the inhabitants; if an arrangement be made that these six libraries shall consist of different works, and that the several collections, instead of remaining stationary, shall move about from one village to another the body of readers in each village will obtain the use of six libraries at the cost of one. This principle may be applied, of course, either to enlarge the command of reading or to diminish the cost, or to produce partly the one effect and partly the other. It would probably be found the best plan to have a portion of each collection stationary; there being certain books, of general usefulness, or in great request, which it would be desirable to have everywhere always at hand.

But there is one great difficulty which both individuals and associations frequently feel in purchasing books. They are at a loss to know what books it is best for them to procure: or, if they are anxious to procure a particular work, they do not know which is the edition that is likely, from its price or other recommendations, best to suit them. We propose in a series of short notices under our present title to lay before our readers, from time to time, such information as may assist them in the task of selection, in reference both to old and to new books. Without professing to go over the different departments of literature in any regular order, but rather seeking to give variety to our pages, and at the same time to meet the views of different readers, by passing from one subject to another, we shall from time to time give accounts 22of works, which may in our opinion deserve the attention either of managers of popular libraries or of individual buyers of books; or which, although it might not be advisable to purchase them, deserve in whole or in particular parts to be consulted by those who may have the opportunity. We shall in this way gradually provide those who may preserve our paper with a body of directions, embracing all the most important matters which are necessary to be known for the right furnishing of a library for the use of common readers. Of course we do not mean to direct our attention to any works except such as every man decently educated for the business of ordinary life may aspire to become acquainted with. With what is more peculiarly called learning we have here nothing to do. But all works belonging to what may be called popular science and literature will come within our plan, whether they treat of natural history, so much of natural philosophy as may be understood without technical mathematics, moral philosophy, criticism, history, antiquities, geography, voyages and travels, or any other subject of a similar nature. Nor shall we omit to mention such of the productions of our great poets and writers of fiction as may most fitly make part of a popular library. Our aim shall be in every case to describe the work, not by any vague general criticism, but by a distinct account of what it actually contains, and especially of what it contains which is not to be found in other works on the same subject. Keeping buyers, also, as well as our readers in view, we shall always be careful to notice both the price at which the book may be purchased, and the edition which it is best to procure. One edition of a book sometimes differs as much in value from another, or is, in truth, although bearing the same title, as much another book, as if it had really been so designated. Of two editions, accordingly, one is often very valuable, while another is nearly worthless. We believe uninformed purchasers of books are very often cheated by having bad editions sold to them for the same money for which the best editions might have been procured.

Notices of this kind, as we have said, will form a useful guide both to book-societies, and also to individuals who may have the desire and the means of furnishing themselves with a small library. The means, indeed, to effect this object will seldom be wanting where the desire is felt. We hope to see the day when even the poorest man’s cottage will not be thought to be becomingly furnished without having a few shelves in one of its apartments filled with provision for the mind. This indeed is sure to take place as soon as the working classes shall have become generally educated. Books will then be deemed a necessary of life, or at least as indispensable as anything else whatever, after food, shelter, and clothing.

I was once rambling in the most unfrequented parts of Windsor Forest, on a fine evening during the season between the hay and the corn harvest. Every thing about me was verdant and beautiful. I had passed along a little green, skirted with cottages, on my way to an unvisited part of the forest; and I had remarked the healthful and innocent looks of the children, who were playing on the road-side, and had beheld, with an equal satisfaction, many an industrious labourer either reposing at his cottage-door, or cheerfully prolonging his exertions, to train the beans, or weed the potatoes, of his little garden. At the porch of one or two cottages, “the swink’d^[3] hedger at his supper sate,” as Milton has naturally expressed this characteristic of an English evening,—and several groups of parents and children were gathered round their humble but cheerful meal, in the neatly sanded kitchen, whose door stood open to admit the sweet breath of the evening breeze.

My way conducted me from this scene of animated existence to one of the deepest solitude. I struck across a field or two, which at once led me into one of the most unfrequented parts of the forest. The sun was yet brightly shining in the west, but his rays did not pierce the thick gloom of the elms and beeches into which I had penetrated. The place was singularly wild, and seemed scarcely to belong to the quiet scenery of our inland counties. A rapid stream, which in winter must become a torrent, had formed a deep ravine, with high and precipitous banks; the fern grew about in the wildest profusion; the old roots of the trees which hung over the bourn, as the people of the forest still call it, were bared to the wind and frost; but they grasped the earth resolutely and firmly, offering no inappropriate image of a strong mind struggling with adversity. As I walked on, endeavouring to follow the course of the stream, the scene became still more solitary. I could gain no eminence to look round upon the surrounding country; I could not hear either the tinkling of the sheep-bell, the low of cattle, or the bark of the watch-dog; even the herds of deer had forsaken this spot of unbroken solitude.

The course of the bourn led me on through the same wild and tangled scenery for more than a mile. I at length arrived at a spot where my attention was powerfully excited by traces of human industry, which had something extraordinary in their appearance. On a large beech-tree was rudely carved the letters T. C., and beneath the figures 1787. My attention was drawn to the contradiction which the freshness of the carving presented to the remoteness of the date. Near the tree the grass and fern sprung up with a rank luxuriance; no cattle ever seemed to pasture in this secluded spot. Where the grass grew highest there was a remarkable appearance, which could not have been the effect of accident. For about eight feet in length and two in width the grass had been carefully cut away; indeed, the small surface was as closely trimmed as a newly-mown meadow, while the long grass grew around it as if the scythe had never violated its useless luxuriance. I was forcibly struck by these appearances, and I determined to return to the village for the purpose of seeking an explanation.

I inquired at several cottages without obtaining any satisfactory solution. There were few who knew the spot to which my questions referred. I at last addressed myself to one whose garb bespoke the occupation of a woodman. He was old, and had evidently borne much fatigue and hardship. He said that he could explain all that I wanted to know, for that he every year cut afresh the bark of the beech-tree, and removed the high grass with his sickle as fast as it grew. It was to commemorate an awful event that happened on that spot. His narrative had many pauses and breaks; but it was in substance as follows:—

“It was in the year 1787 that a fellow-woodman met his death in that lonely place. It was on a fine summer evening, as it may be now, that a dozen of us were sitting down beneath that beech-tree to refresh ourselves after our day’s labour. We had been felling some trees close at hand, and a hard day’s work we had of it. The bailiff ordered us some beer, and as we were returning home we met the boy coming with it, and we sat ourselves down in that high grass to enjoy it. We were tired and hot, and we drank freely. We got to talk about our own great doings, and one boasted how much money he could earn, and another bragged how much beer he could drink. There was a quarrelsome chap amongst us—his name was Joe D⸻, and he bullied and hectored poor Tom C⸻ in a strange way. Tom bore it all patiently for some time, for he was a quiet, harmless fellow, and he 23perhaps bethought him that a quarrel would not do any good to his wife and children. At last Joe, who was filling out the mugs of beer, instead of handing Tom his allowance, threw it in his face. The poor fellow could not bear this—for, though goodnatured, he did not want spirit. He resented the insult. The other grew more saucy and savage, and at last he hit Tom a blow in the face. I am ashamed of myself, and of all the set, when I recollect how, for the love of mischief, we encouraged the quarrel, and got up to make a ring for two fellow-creatures to strive against each other like brute beasts. To it they went; in five minutes poor Tom received a blow in the stomach, and he never spoke afterwards. He fell down where the grass is cut away, and he breathed his last under the beech-tree where the letters are carved. We carried him in our arms to the cottage;—oh, that was a scene for his poor wife which I never, never shall forget! Joe fled the country;—I saw him many years after, but he slunk along like a ghost, and I would much rather have died in my youth, like my poor fellow-woodman, than have borne about the fire which that man must have had in his heart. I do what I can to preserve the remembrance of poor Tom, as you see, for I am the last left of all who saw his frightful death. I have told my boys never to let the grass grow there when I am gone; maybe the sight of that lonely token of him may lead some to ask about it, as you have done; and the knowledge of the fatal effect of sudden quarrels may teach our children to live in peace with all about them.”

The Austrian government, like several other Continental governments, still adheres to the system of high duties, amounting to prohibition, on foreign manufactured goods. This is done with the intention of favouring home manufactures. Now mark the consequences! In 1817, an order came from Vienna, assimilating the custom-houses of Lombardy to those of the rest of the empire, and subjecting foreign manufactures to a duty of 60 per cent. on the value, equal, in short, to prohibition in most cases. Large buildings were soon after erected into manufactories, a few clever workmen engaged for a time, some pieces of calicoes, muslins, &c. woven and pompously exhibited, after which the manufacturer supplied himself with English, Swiss, and French cloths, by means of smuggling, which was carried on to an immense extent all along the vast line of frontiers, the delivery being insured by companies established in the neighbouring states, and the pieces, marked with the imperial stamp, came out of the manufactories as home productions; the shops were full of foreign goods. Meantime, the custom-house receipts fell off one-half, custom-house officers and gendarmes were multiplied and maintained at a vast expense, whilst all along the frontier districts, there sprung up a proportionate array of smugglers, men who, by their perilous vocation, become familiar with violence and bloodshed, and by whom the peace of the country is continually endangered. The mock-manufacturers, if prosecuted, can show that they are able to make such and such pieces of the goods, and unless taken in the act of smuggling, there are no means of convicting them. The smuggling is carried on chiefly through the frontiers of Piedmont and Switzerland, countries which have had the good sense to reject the protecting system. A great proportion of the population of the Canton Ticino lives entirely by smuggling foreign goods into Austrian Lombardy. The lakes Maggiore and Lugano, the waters of which are considered neutral; afford the smugglers great facilities. The efficiency of the protection afforded to home manufactures by prohibitory duties may be estimated by the fact that an insurance may be readily effected upon smuggled goods at a rate varying from 10 to 15 per cent. This fact is notorious in Austrian Lombardy. The results of the system are, loss to the government, which might derive a moderate duty on importation,—loss to the consumer who pays high for goods, which, after all, he must use,—and loss to the country at large, which has to support a useless host of custom-house officers, and whose exports are limited by the trammels thus imposed on importation. Besides these evils, habits of fraud and contempt for the laws are fostered among the trading classes, and among the rural population of the border districts.

I remember once, when cruising off Terceira in the Endymion, that a man fell overboard and was drowned. After the usual confusion, and long search in vain, the boats were hoisted up, and the hands called to make sail. I was officer of the forecastle, and on looking about to see if all the men were at the station, missed one of the foretop-men. Just at that moment I observed some one curled up, and apparently hiding himself under the bow of the barge, between the boat and the booms. “Hillo!” I said, “who are you? What are you doing here, you skulker? Why are you not at your station?” “I am not skulking, sir,” said the poor fellow, the furrows in whose bronzed and weather-beaten cheek were running down with tears. The man we had just lost had been his mess-mate and friend, he told me, for ten years. I begged his pardon, in full sincerity, for having used such harsh words to him at such a moment, and bid him go below to his berth for the rest of the day. “Never mind, sir, never mind,” said the kind-hearted seaman, “it can’t be helped. You meant no harm, sir. I am as well on deck as below. Bill’s gone, sir, but I must do my duty.” So saying, he drew the sleeve of his jacket twice or thrice across his eyes, and smothering his grief within his breast, walked to his station as if nothing had happened.

In the same ship, and nearly about the same time, the people were bathing alongside in a calm at sea. It is customary on such occasions to spread a studding-sail on the water, by means of lines from the fore and main yard-arms, for the use of those who either cannot swim, or who are not expert in this art, so very important to all seafaring people. Half a dozen of the ship’s boys, youngsters sent on board by that admirable and most patriotic of naval institutions, the Marine Society, were floundering about in the sail, and sometimes even venturing beyond the leech-rope. One of the least of these urchins, but not the least courageous of their number, when taunted by his more skilful companions with being afraid, struck out boldly beyond the prescribed bounds. He had not gone much farther than his own length, however, along the surface of the fathomless sea, when his heart failed him, poor little man! and along with his confidence away also went his power of keeping his head above water. So down he sank rapidly, to the speechless horror of the other boys, who, of course, could lend the drowning child no help.

The captain of the forecastle, a tall, fine-looking, hard-a-weather fellow, was standing on the shank of the sheet-anchor with his arms across, and his well-varnished canvass hat drawn so much over his eyes, that it was difficult to tell whether he was awake, or merely dozing in the sun, as he leaned his back against the fore-topmast backstay. The seaman, however, had been attentively 24watching the young party all the time, and rather fearing that mischief might ensue from their rashness, he had grunted out a warning to them from time to time, to which they paid no sort of attention. At last he desisted, saying they might drown themselves if they had a mind, for never a bit would he help them; but no sooner did the sinking figure of the adventurous little boy catch his eye, than, diver-fashion, he joined the palms of his hands over his head, inverted his position in one instant, and urging himself into swifter motion by a smart push with his feet against the anchor, shot head-foremost into the water. The poor lad sunk so rapidly that he was at least a couple of fathoms under the surface before he was arrested by the grip of the sailor, who soon rose again, bearing the bewildered boy in his hand; and calling to the other youngsters to take better care of their companion, chucked him right into the belly of the sail in the midst of the party. The fore-sheet was hanging in the calm, nearly into the water, and by it the dripping seaman scrambled up again to his old berth on the anchor, shook himself like a great Newfoundland dog, and then, jumping on the deck, proceeded across the forecastle to shift himself.

At the top of the ladder he was stopped by the marine officer, who had witnessed the whole transaction, as he sat across the gangway hammocks, watching the swimmers, and trying to get his own consent to undergo the labour of undressing and dressing. Said the soldier to the sailor, “That was very well done of you, my man, and right well deserves a glass of grog. Say so to the gun-room steward as you pass; and tell him it is my orders to fill you out a stiff nor-wester.” The soldier’s offer was kindly meant, but rather clumsily timed, at least so thought Jack; for though he inclined his head in acknowledgment of the attention, and instinctively touched his hat when spoken to by an officer, he made no reply till out of the marine’s hearing, when he laughed, or rather chuckled out to the people near him, “Does the good gentleman suppose I’ll take a glass of grog for saving a boy’s life?”

Mr. Scott, of Exeter, travelled on business till about eighty years of age. He was one of the most celebrated characters in the kingdom for punctuality, and by his methodical conduct, joined to uniform diligence, he gradually amassed a large fortune. For a long series of years, the proprietors of every inn he frequented in Devon and Cornwall knew the day and the very hour he would arrive. A short time before he died, a gentleman on a journey in Cornwall stopped at a small inn at Port Isaac to dine. The waiter presented him with a bill of fare, which he did not approve of, but observing a fine duck roasting, “I’ll have that,” said the traveller. “You cannot, sir,” said the landlord, “it is for Mr. Scott of Exeter.” “I know Mr. Scott very well,” rejoined the gentleman, “he is not in your house.” “True, sir,” said the landlord, “but six months ago, when he was here last, he ordered a duck to be ready for him this day, precisely at two o’clock;” and to the astonishment of the traveller, he saw the old gentleman jogging into the inn-yard about five minutes before the appointed time.

When Lord Nelson was leaving London, on his last but glorious expedition against the enemy, a quantity of cabin furniture was ordered to be sent on board his ship. He had a farewell dinner-party at his house; and the upholsterer having waited upon his lordship, with an account of the completion of the goods, was brought into the eating-room, in a corner of which his lordship spoke with him. The upholsterer stated to his noble employer, that everything was finished and packed, and would go in the waggon, from a certain inn, at six o’clock. “And you go to the inn, Mr. A., and see them off?” “I shall, my Lord; I shall be there punctually at six.” “A quarter before six, Mr. A. (returned Lord Nelson), be there a quarter before six. To that quarter of an hour I owe everything in life.”

Dr. Fowler, bishop of Gloucester, in the early part of the eighteenth century, was a believer in apparitions. The following conversation of the bishop with Judge Powell is recorded:—

“Since I saw you,” said the lawyer, “I have had ocular demonstration of the existence of nocturnal apparitions.”

“I am glad you are become a convert to truth; but do you say actual ocular demonstration? Let me know the particulars of the story.”

“My lord, I will. It was, let me see, last Thursday night, between the hours of eleven and twelve, but nearer the latter than the former, as I lay sleeping in my bed, I was suddenly awakened by an uncommon noise, and heard something coming up stairs and stalking directly towards my room; the door flying open, I drew back my curtain, and saw a faint glimmering light enter my chamber.”

“Of a blue colour no doubt.”

“The light was of a pale blue, my lord, and followed by a tall meagre personage, his locks hoary with age, and clothed in a long loose gown, a leathern girdle was about his loins, his beard thick and grizly, a large fur cap on his head, and a long staff in his hand. Struck with astonishment, I remained for some time motionless and silent; the figure advanced, staring me full in the face: I then said, Whence, and what art thou?”

“What was the answer—tell me—what was the answer?”

“The following was the answer I received:—‘I am watchman of the night, an’t please your honour, and made bold to come up stairs to inform the family of their street door being open, and that if it was not soon shut, they would probably be robbed before morning.’”

Only the nation which invented ‘comfort’ was capable of conceiving ‘good temper,’ for ‘good temper’ is to the moral what ‘comfort’ is to the physical man. It is the most contented, the most comfortable state of the soul; the greatest happiness both for those who possess it, and for those who feel its influence. Perhaps it is found in perfection in woman alone; for it is rather a passive than an active quality: and yet we must by no means confound it with mere apathy, which is either tedious, or exasperates one’s anger and contempt; whereas ‘good temper’ soothes and tranquillizes all who approach it. It is a truly kind, loving, and cheerful principle; mild and balmy as a cloudless May-day. With ‘gentleness’ in his own character, ‘comfort’ in his house, and ‘good temper’ in his wife, the earthly felicity of man is complete.—Tour of a German Prince.