THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. XX. No. 557.] SATURDAY, JULY 14, 1832. [Price 2d.
* * * * *
[Illustration: BIRTHPLACE OF BEWICK, THE ENGRAVER.]
The above cottage stands in the village of Cherryburn, near Ovingham, on
the banks of the Tyne, about twelve miles west of Newcastle.
In this humble dwelling, hitherto of "unlettered fame," was born, August
12, 1753, THOMAS BEWICK, the celebrated artist and engraver on wood; or
more strictly speaking, the reviver of this branch of art. His whole life
was one of untiring industry and ardent attachment to the object of his
study--the only sure passport to success--which it is truly delightful to
contemplate: from the first dawnings of his early genius to the enthusiasm
that led him to examine proofs of wood-engravings on the morning of his
death. His life is exemplary, inasmuch as it illustrates the homely maxim,
that every man is the architect of his own fortune. Apart from this
consideration, the memory of Bewick should be cherished by all our readers;
since he re-invented the ingenious means by which we are enabled to
embellish unsparingly each of our weekly sheets.[1]
Of Bewick's genius, and personal habits, many interesting particulars have
been preserved. From his earliest years he delighted, above all things, in
observing the habits of animals; and it was his fondness for this study
that gave rise, while he was yet a boy, to his first attempts in drawing.
Long before he had received instruction in that art, he used to delineate
his favourites of the lower creation with great accuracy and spirit. His
introduction to the regular study of his future profession was purely
accidental. He was in the habit of exercising his genius by covering the
walls and doors of the houses in his native village with his sketches in
chalk. Some of these performances one day chanced to attract the attention
of a Mr. Beilby, a copper-plate engraver of Newcastle, as he was passing
through Cherryburn; and he was so much struck with the talent they
displayed that he sought out the young artist, and obtained his father's
consent to take him with him to be his apprentice. This was in the year
1767. In the following year Bewick executed his first wood-cut for Dr.
Button's Treatise on Navigation, the diagrams for which work were, at the
suggestion of Mr. Beilby, engraved on wood, and printed with the
letter-press, instead of being on copper and stitched in with the sheets.
Bewick executed the whole of the cuts for Dr. Button's work with so much
accuracy, and a finish so greatly beyond what had usually been attained in
that species of work, that Mr. Beilby advised him to give his chief
attention henceforward to wood-engraving, and make it his profession. He
did so during the remainder of his apprenticeship, at the expiration of
which he repaired to London, and obtained employment in his trade. He soon
returned to the country, and in 1777 he entered into partnership with his
former master, Mr. Beilby. Bewick with his taste for rural scenery and
enjoyments and the observation of nature, doubtless found little to
interest him in London; nor even after he had obtained his highest
celebrity, did he ever again think of establishing himself in the
metropolis. He spent the remainder of his life in his native district.
At the time of Bewick's first entering into active life, the art of
wood-engraving had fallen into the lowest repute. Few of its specimens
were superior to the pictures on street ballads of the present day. To
explain Bewick's improvements would occupy too much of our space, but, we
may observe, generally that the engravings of the above period were mere
patches of black and white, till Bewick introduced those beautiful reliefs,
or varieties of light and shade which principally form the pictorial
effect of an engraving. By this means he raised wood-engraving from a
state of contempt to the rank of one of the _fine arts_.
The first specimen of his talents by which Bewick made himself publicly
known was a cut of an old hound, for which, in 1755, he received a premium
from the Society of Arts. The block had been cut for an edition of Gay's
fables; the complete work appeared in 1779; and immediately attracted
general attention by the striking superiority of its embellishments, which
were all from wood-cuts executed by Bewick and his younger brother John,
who, when Beilby and he entered into partnership, had become their
apprentice. From this time the reputation of the artist went on increasing
steadily, and he produced a succession of works which very soon gave
altogether a new character to his art itself.
Bewick's principal work, or that which established his fame, was his
_History of Quadrupeds_, which appeared in 1790. He had been employed many
years in preparing this publication, all the cuts in which were not only
engraved by himself or his brother, but were all copied from his own
drawings. He had cultivated his early talent for the delineation of
animals with unwearied industry: he had not the advantages of academical
studies, which education in the metropolis might have afforded him, but
_he drew from life_, taking sketches of all the striking specimens that
came under his notice, and visiting whatever menageries of exotic animals
were brought to Newcastle.[2] Thus he studied assiduously _from nature_,
and to this course may be attributed the excellence of the cuts in the
_History of Quadrupeds_. Many of the vignettes also, with which this
publication was adorned, had uncommon merit as original sketches; for
Bewick did not confine his pencil to the mere delineation of animals. His
vignettes have been said to partake of his determinate propensity to
morality, tenderness, and humour; each telling articulately its own
tale.[3] and bearing in every line a lesson.
A catalogue of Bewick's various works will not be expected in this brief
sketch. He did not confine himself to animal engraving; for in the years
1795 and 1796, were published by Mr. Bulmer, of Newcastle, the _Traveller_
and the _Deserted Village_, by Goldsmith; Parnell's _Hermit_; and
Somerville's _Clara_; with cuts by Bewick. In 1797, appeared the first
volume of his _History of British Birds_: in 1818, he completed his first
volume of _Fables of Aesop_ and others. In 1820, Mr. Charnley, of
Newcastle, published a volume of Fables, as a vehicle for the impressions
of the earlier blocks, both of head-pieces and vignettes, engraved by
Bewick when very young, all previous to the year 1785, and for various
publications. This collection amounted to upwards of twelve hundred.[4]
This volume contains an impression of the celebrated Old Hound, and five
portraits, on wood, copies at different periods of Bewick's portrait; that
facing the title, from a painting of James Ramsay, is considered the
nearest likeness.
It may now be interesting to note a few traits of the genius and personal
habits of Bewick, as they have been sketched by his friend, Mr. Dovaston.
This gentleman observes:
"It has been said that Linnaeus did more in a given time than ever did any
one man. If the surprising number of blocks of every description, for his
own and others' works, cut by Bewick, be considered, though perhaps he may
not rival our beloved naturalist, he may be counted among the
indefatigably industrious. And amid all this he found ample time for
reading and conviviality. I have seen him picking, chipping, and finishing
a block, talking, whistling, and sometimes singing, while his friends have
been drinking wine at his profusely hospitable table. At nights, after a
hard day's work, he generally relieved his powerful mind in the bosom of
his very amiable family."
"It has been supposed by many, and publicly asserted by a few, that Bewick
never wrote his own works, but was wholly and solely employed on the
designs; to this I have his positive contradiction, which would be enough;
but that in addition to his own Memoir, which I have read in his own MS.,
I have seen him compose, extract, and translate passages for each bird he
has engraved while I was in his house. If his works have any great defect,
'tis the defect of omission; every one laments he has given so little of
the history of each bird. I have often offered him to rewrite the whole of
the birds wherewith from early and lasting habits I was well acquainted,
their characters and manners, interspersed with anecdotes and poetry,
particularly from good old Chaucer, the bard of birds, and passages of
every bearing brought together, flinging over the whole what may be called
the poetic bloom of nature, in which none have so sweetly succeeded as
honest White of Selborne. But this he always resolutely refused; alleging
that his descriptions, whether original, copied, or compared, were
unimpeachably accurate; and that was enough. And not only did he write his
own language, but I often thought his talent in that department not
surpassed even by the other effusions of his genius; witness his
unparalleled Preface to his Fables, and his other Introductions. He said,
even to the last, he felt no deficiency of his imaginative powers, in
throwing-off subjects for his _tail_-pieces (as I named them), which were
always his favourite exercise; the bird or figure he did as a task, but
was relieved by working the scenery and back-ground; and after each figure
he flew to the tail-piece with avidity, for in the inventive faculty his
imagination revelled."
Mr. Dovaston visited Bewick, at Buxton, in 1827. Here he relates
"There were three windows in the front room, the ledges and shutters
whereof he had pencilled all over with funny characters, as he saw them
pass to and fro, visiting the well. These people were the source of great
amusement: the probable histories of whom, and how they came by their
ailings, he would humorously narrate, and sketch their figures and
features in one instant of time. I have seen him draw a striking likeness
on his thumb-nail in one moment; wipe it off with his tongue, and
instantly draw another. We dined occasionally at the public table; and one
day, over the wine, a dispute arose between two gentlemen about a bird;
but was soon terminated by the one affirming he had compared it with the
figure and description of Bewick, to which the other replied that Bewick
was next to Nature. Here the old gentleman seized me by the thigh with his
very hand-vice of a grasp; and I contrived to keep up the shuttlecock of
conversation playfully to his highest satisfaction, though they who
praised him so ardently, little imagined whose ears imbibed all their
honest incense."
Bewick's observations on the Dove would alone prove him to have been a
close observer of nature:
"He said, of all birds he thought the dove tribe most beautiful. Their
outline presents every possible variety of the line of beauty; their
colours are brilliant and varied; their notes amorous and soothing; their
manners gentle and affectionate; their flight both rapid and graceful; and,
in all times and nations, they have been emblems of peace, love, and
fidelity. They have moreover, many qualities and habits exclusively
peculiar to their tribe; they drink differently (by immersion), and have
no gall." The "peace, fidelity, and love" of the Dove have, however, been
much questioned by naturalists.
Every one will admire the simplicity of mind and heart in the following
opinions of Bewick, in his chat with Mr. Dovaston. Paradise, he said, was
of every man's own making; all evil caused by the abuse of free-will;
happiness equally distributed, and in every one's reach. "Oh!" said he,
"this is a bonny world as God made it; but man makes a packhorse of
Providence." He held that innumerable things might be converted to our use
that we ignorantly neglect, and quoted with great ardour, the whole of
Friar Lawrence's speech in Romeo and Juliet to that effect. Again, Mr.
Dovaston says, "Every body loved Bewick; all animals love him; and
frequently of mornings I found him in the inn-yard, among the dogs, ducks,
or pigs, throwing them pieces of biscuit, and talking to them, or to the
boors, beside them, waiters, _chay_-boys, or boots." "Frequently,"
observes Mr. D., "as I walked with him along the streets of Newcastle, it
was gratifying to witness how much and how generally his character and
talents were respected." Of all esteem there is none more gratifying than
that shown to a good man in his native place.
Bewick's powers of whistling appear to have been extraordinary. "His ear,"
says the agreeable reminiscent already quoted, "(as a musical feeling is
called) was so delicately acute, and his inflexorical powers so nice and
rapid, that he could run in any direction or modulation, the diatomic or
chromatic scale, and even split the quarter-notes of the enharmonic;
neither of which, however, did he understand scientifically, though so
consummately elegant his execution: and his musical memory was so
tenacious that he could whistle through the melodies of whole overtures;
and these, he said, he could obtain having once heard from the orchestra
of a playhouse, or a holiday band, in both of which he took extreme
delight." Bewick's contempt for luxury was remarkable. He generally slept,
even in the depth of winter, with the windows of his chamber open, though
in consequence he sometimes, on awakening, found the snow lying on his
bed-clothes. For money, which men in general prize so highly, Bewick had
all the indifference of a philosopher.
But we must let Mr. Dovaston tell Bewick's last labours, and the close of
his well-spent life:
"Having exhausted the quadrupeds and British birds as vehicles to his art,
instruction, and amusements, he, late in life, took up a fervent
resolution to engrave all the British _Fishes_, and write their histories.
To this his mind was well trained, having been ever a lover of the
fountains and rills, the still pools and broad waters, the majestic rivers
and the mighty ocean. Here he felt the seeds of his talent stirring all
a-life, where he should have to display the beauties of the finny tribe,
and treat of the wonders of the great deep. When I was last in
Northumberland, they showed me _thirty_ fishes he had cut by way of trial,
with the spirit and execution whereof himself was well satisfied, and his
judicious friends enraptured; together with more than a hundred
tail-pieces, conceived and cut, 'ay, every inch,' with all his usual
imaginative appropriation and power. His art here got entirely into a new
element; for, as he was forced to show the fishes _out_ of water, he was
deprived of his favourite excellence, _motion_; yet such motion as a fish
new-landed _has_, he has given with elasticity and life: brilliance to the
scaly, and lubricity to the smooth; so as to remind the naturalist of
excellent old Chaucer's touches of nature, where
"They swommin full of smale fishes lighte,
With finnis rede, and scalis silver brighte."
A single impression of his John Dorée sold lately in London for ten
guineas. And when they do come out, though every admirer will lament he
was, long ere completion, called to his blessed account, their sorrow will
be softened at beholding with what effect and spirit his animated graver
has been caught up by his son."
In the summer of 1828, Bewick visited London about his works. "He was,"
says Mr. Dovaston, "very honourably received by many learned societies and
individuals, of whom, and of whose collections, he wrote in raptures. On
his return, the London and provincial papers had many paragraphs
respecting this visit, his reception, and his life; to amend the errors of
which statements, I must have been writing one at the very hour of his
death; for I had not time to stop its insertion in one of the Shrewsbury
papers, when I received a short, but most affectionate and affecting
letter from his son, informing me, 'as his father's most valued friend,'
that he expired, in full possession of his fine and powerful mental
faculties, in quiet and cheerful resignation, on the 8th of November, 1828,
in the 76th year of his age. On the morning of his death he had the
satisfaction of seeing the first proof-impression of a series of large
wood-engravings he had undertaken, in a superior style, for the walls of
farm-houses, inns, and cottages, with a view to abate cruelty, mitigate
pain, and imbue the mind and heart with tenderness and humanity; and this
he called his last legacy to suffering and insulted Nature."
[1] _The Mirror_, it will be remembered, was the first work of
its class that presented this economical attraction to the
public: the Engravings throughout the Series number upwards
of Eight Hundred.
[2] In the Museum at Newcastle, are many of the identical
specimens from which Bewick drew his figures for the
wood-cuts of his zoological works.
[3] See a paper on "the Life, Genius, and Personal Habits of
Bewick," in the _Magazine of Natural History_, vol. iii.; by
his friend, John F. Dovaston, Esq., A.M., of Westonfelton,
near Shrewsbury. There is a vein of generous enthusiasm--a
glow of friendship--a halo of the finest feelings of our
nature--throughout and around this memoir, which has the
sincerity and singleness of heart of--A FRIEND.
[4] In Mr. Dovaston's paper is a misprint, which it may be as
well to notice here. It is stated that Bewick cut the Old
Exchange, at Newcastle, (the vignette of the above volume) in
1719.
* * * * *
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.
FUNERAL GARLANDS.
Mr. Rhodes, in his interesting _Excursions in Derbyshire_, notices the
following rite at the village of Hathersage: "In this church we observed
the traces of a custom that once generally prevailed in various parts of
the kingdom, but is now almost totally disused; when unmarried women died,
they were usually attended to the grave by the companions of their early
years, who, in performing the last sad offices of friendship, accompanied
the bier of the deceased with garlands tastefully composed of wreaths of
flowers and every emblem of youth, purity, and loveliness, that
imagination could suggest. When the body was interred, the garlands were
borne into the church, and hung up in a conspicuous station, in memory of
the departed. In Hathersage Church there were several of these memorials
of early dissolution, but only one of a recent date: the others were
covered with dust, and the hand of time had destroyed their freshness."
In Mr. Tymms's _Family Topographer_, vol. ii. we read--"In Stockton Church,
Wilts, is a piece of iron frame-work, with some remains of faded ribbon
depending from it. It is the last remain of the custom of carrying a
garland decorated with ribbons before the corpse of a young unmarried
woman, and afterwards suspending it in the church. This instance occurred
about thirty years ago."
* * * * *
THE DRUIDS AND THEIR TIMES.
_Translated from the Notes to Oberon, Uber das romantische Epos. By C.M.
Wieland_.
The people were, during this period, in a state of the most abject
vassalage; two classes alone possessing all rank and dignity, and for the
most part all the riches of the country. These were the Druids and the
warriors. The former composed an order consisting of three classes, Druids,
Prophets, and Bards; all of whom were subject to the power of the
Arch-Druid. To this order appertained the knowledge of all the sciences
which were then understood. The Druids were the expounders of religious
mysteries, the framers of laws, the pronouncers of judgments, and the
arbitrators of rewards or punishments. The immunity which they enjoyed
from war, allured many young men to enrol themselves in this order. Their
education was a poetical one, for it was necessary to learn by rote
several thousand verses, in which all the knowledge then extant was
contained.
Kings were the servants of the Druids; and could not, without their
sanction, declare war or conclude peace; nor even assemble a council. In
reality, the Druids possessed the kingly power, and those who bore the
name of royalty, were the mere agents who executed their commands. The
first had all the authority; the latter only the odium, which attached
itself to the office of the sovereign. In matters of little importance,
they yielded to the monarch a trifling pre-eminence. He was permitted to
wear seven different colours in his cloak, while they were modestly
content with six. But even in things of imaginary importance, the Druids
took care, that while they conceded but little to their king, no one
should be nearly equal to them in dignity. Persons of the highest rank
were only allowed to wear four colours, and the inferior grades
proportionally fewer. The Druids wore long garments reaching to their
heels; all others had them so short that they scarcely covered the knees.
Their hair was kept short, the rest of the nation wore theirs long; while
they suffered their beard to grow, others were obliged to submit their
chins to the knife. They carried in their hand a white staff, called
"_Slatan drui eachd_," or magic wand, and hung around their necks an amulet
in the form of an egg, set in gold. The object of these distinctions
appears to have been, that no one might fail to recognise a Druid at the
first glance, and pay him the respect which his office was supposed to
demand.
* * * * *
THE SKETCH-BOOK.
RECOLLECTIONS OF A WANDERER.
_The Chase_.
...."It is past eleven," answered Lieutenant ----, as he descended the
companion way, after giving some orders on deck; "a regular gale this, by
Jupiter; but we are spinning away ten knots, off and on."
I stirred the fire in the cabouse, which threw a flickering light around
the cabin,--now revealing the half-concealed face of a sick or sleeping
passenger in the larboard tier of berths, then sinking as suddenly into
gloom. The Lieutenant, Major F----, and myself, barring the boy, were the
only souls astir aft below hatches. We were soon engaged in the agreeable
discussion of grog and small talk. Nothing interrupted our conversation.
The heavy lashing and rush of the weltering sea on the quarters--the
groaning and straining of the vessel--the regular strokes of the engines
which boomed indistinctly yet surely on the ear, were alike unattended to.
Impelled by that mighty power, we almost bid defiance to wind and weather.
As the glass circulated, the Lieutenant amused us in his own dry way with
some early recollections of service; and knowing that the Major had been
quartered in the Emerald Isle in "Ninety-eight," I pressed him to give us
some memento of that eventful period. "Come F----, spin us a yarn, as our
topmen used to say round the galley-fire, during the night-watch," added
the Lieutenant.
"Now you mention ninety-eight," he replied, "I remember a 'beautiful bit
of a story,' as Pat would say, which occurred that autumn; its hero was a
brother officer, a particular friend of mine--it may serve to keep you
awake."
Here it is:
Lieutenant Smyth had entered the army only a few months, when his regiment
was suddenly ordered to march from very pleasant quarters in Devonshire to
the north-west of Ireland. The change at any time would have been
unpleasant, but the service they were entering upon was particularly
irksome and jarring to the feelings. Grumbling, in a military man, is,
however, downright folly, and they soon made themselves tolerably at home
in their new quarters. It is needless to dwell upon the disturbed and
distracted state of the country, or on the military movements of the time.
After the regiment had been quartered at the town of ---- for some months,
Smyth obtained a week's leave of absence from the commanding officer,
having received a pressing invitation to visit a gentleman's family, to
whom he had letters of introduction, and who resided more than twenty
miles from ----. This town bordered on a very wild, hilly moorland track
of country, then, and perhaps now, the refuge of numerous bands of
smugglers, and then also a hiding-place for a number of unfortunate people
with arms in their hands. The road--if such it could be called--to his
friend's house ran principally along the borders of this territory, though
it sometimes diverged into it for several miles. However, matters had been
tolerably quiet in the immediate district about ---- for some time, and he
resolved to go, especially as there was capital sporting at L----. It is
unimportant to enter into a narration of all his sporting feats--how many
birds he bagged, or how many salmon he caught, or _ought_ to have caught,
had it not been for some "untoward" occurrence, specifying the exact
weight of the missing fish to an ounce--as fishermen generally do. On the
fourth afternoon after his arrival, a letter was put into his hands, (just
as the cloth was drawn, and the party were going to discuss the
superlative merits of some genuine _poteen_,) which the servant said had
been brought by a man, who waited in the hall. It was from Colonel ----,
and briefly stated that peremptory orders had just been received from
head-quarters, that all officers absent on leave should instantly return
to duty. This was a disagreeable piece of intelligence, particularly at
that hour, but _necessitas non habet legem_, as Dr. Birch used to tell our
hero at school--the orders were imperative. Long and loud were the laments
and remonstrances of the party, we are assured. After ordering Dart to be
saddled, the Lieutenant stepped into the hall to have a moment's survey of
the bearer of the letter, who the Colonel informed him in a postscript was
a man well acquainted with the country, and would safely guide him back
to ----. He found a tall, lumbering sort of fellow, one of the "finest
pisantry in the world," whose appearance was not much in his favour. He
started on seeing Smyth, who fancied that he discovered something deeper
in the glance of his eye than his bogtrotting bearing first betokened. But
it was only transitory; the fellow had a straight-forward story to tell,
and of course Colonel ---- would send a trustworthy messenger. Dart was
soon ready at the door, and away they marched on their journey to ----.
Five and twenty miles across a country--and such a country on an autumn
night, was not a very cheering prospect. The guide did not belie his
active appearance, but though Smyth repeatedly endeavoured to keep up a
conversation, he seemed to shrink from inquiry, and went doggedly on his
way, returning at last merely monosyllabic replies when addressed.
It was an autumnal evening;--the sky looked wild and stormy, though the
air was densely still, and save when a momentary breeze swept by, as the
night was setting in, a general hush prevailed. A general character of
intense loneliness pervaded the district they were traversing. Now and
then a mountain stream would flash along the bosom of a valley and relieve
the mind of the traveller; but rocks and mountains, heaths and dreary
wilds succeeded with unwearying sameness. Time was creeping on. After
passing over this wild, irregular district they at last entered into a
dark valley, which seemed of some extent. The Lieutenant thought that he
had been certainly led a very different route to his friend's house, from
that which his guide was now leading him, and as the gloom was increasing,
he seriously expostulated with the man on the subject. He replied that
five miles were saved by cutting across the moors, on which they would
enter after clearing the valley. A shade of suspicion now crossed over the
Lieutenant's mind. There was something remarkable in the man's silence,
and he resolved when they entered on the moors to put spurs to his horse
and leave the rest to fate. The road which had been on the ascent for some
time, now became exceedingly bad, and indeed almost impassable. Large
masses of rock were scattered over the path, and deep hollow chasms, the
effect of the violent storms which descend in these wilds, were
continually endangering both horse and man. At length they began to
descend. The moors lay at the foot of the hill. On this side, however, the
road became worse and worse, and the night darker, so that although Dart
had hitherto avoided danger with the remarkable sagacity which horses
possess in such cases, his rider was obliged to descend, and lead the way
himself. The Lieutenant had not gone far before he was suddenly felled to
the ground by a blow aimed from behind. The violence of the shock fell
principally on his shoulders, though there was no doubt his assailant had
intended it for his head. He was a powerful and active young man, and a
desperate struggle commenced between them. They continued for several
minutes in this death-wrestle, during which time they had imperceptibly
drawn close to the edge of tremendous precipice which bounded the road.
Smyth already heard just below them the wild screaming of some ravens, who
had been disturbed by the encounter; when he made a desperate effort on
the very brink of the precipice--tore from his assailant's murderous
grasp--and in another instant there was a void before him; a wild shriek of
despair arose in the night blast, as the wretch bounded from crag to
crag--and then there was a death-like stillness.
Smyth paused not to reflect. Dart was no where visible. He, therefore,
descended as fast as possible, and after one or two falls occasioned by
his impatience and the darkness of the night, at last entered on what
appeared to be a vast moor. In a short time the moon rose. Two immense
parallel masses of dense clouds stretched across the entire horizon; the
upper limb of the planet, of a deep crimson, was alone visible betwixt
them, and shed a sombre light over the waste. He thought he had seldom
seen any thing so impressive; combined with the low moaning of the
night-breeze, which rose and sank at intervals, with a wild and wailing
murmur. The light was so indistinct that he could discover nothing of his
horse, and in the lawless state of the country no time was to be lost in
getting to a place of safety. But, the direction?
After wandering on for several miles, he at last struck on a path, and
following it a short way, his attention was attracted to a glow of light,
which rose just before him, on what appeared to be the surface of the moor.
He cautiously advanced several steps, and perceived that the light rose
near the edge of a declivity, and the noise of human voices was now
distinctly apparent. Little doubt could exist that it was a haunt either
of smugglers or insurgents, with the description of some of which the
situation accurately corresponded. It would have been more prudent to have
instantly retreated; but the organ of inquisitiveness was, we presume,
very fully developed in Smyth; he stepped forward a little to have a
better survey of the locale, when the ground or rather turf roof of a sort
of outhouse, suddenly gave way under him, and he gently descended among
some hay, with which the place was nearly filled. It may be supposed his
curiosity received a sudden check by this adventure. An imperfectly
constructed partition divided him from the party whose voices he had heard
aloft. You might have heard his heart beat for two or three minutes, as it
was very probable that the noise of his fall would have disturbed the
inmates--but the conversation went on in the same monotonous tone.
"Och, Brine Morrice, _avic_, sure an that thief o' the worl', Will Guire,
hasn't been after letten' the soger-officer com' over him?"
"Bad luck to him, Misthress Burke, _agra_, in troth I was jist awond'ring
what keeps Tom Daly and the b'ys out--and them were to have had the
red-coat these three hours agone!"
"Hisht jewel, I heard a noise--och, _musha_, its the b'ys sure enough--and
the ---- Saxon with 'em, I'll be bail!"
At this moment several men arrived in front of the edifice, and, to the
horror of Smyth proceeded first to the outhouse: the door was banged open,
and after muttering something, a heavy substance was thrown in and the
door again pulled to. Presently they entered the kitchen, and Smyth's
heart beat high when his own name was mentioned. In the confusion of
voices, he could not make out much of their brogue, but it appeared that
the messenger sent by Colonel ---- had been waylaid, and the fellow that
attempted his life was sent in his stead: this party had arranged to meet
him at a certain place, on his return, but after waiting three hours,
apprehending treachery, they came away. He could make out little else,
except a volley of outlandish oaths at their unsuccessful trip. It
appeared evident from this that the temptation of plunder had induced the
guide to make the attack beforehand.
Every moment, however, that Smyth lingered in this den lessened his chance
of escape. Immediately above him hung a piece of rope, and after a violent
effort, he succeeded in getting his head once more into the fresh air; but
just as he clambered out upon the turf, the noise aroused the dogs in the
kitchen, and their furious barking, accompanied by a great stir amongst
the men, gave wings to Smyth's feet, and he plunged forward at random
again into the waste. At that moment the moon fell full upon his path,
though dense masses of clouds were sailing across the sky. He soon found
they had struck on his track, and already the yelling of dogs and men
boomed distinctly on his ears. By that instinct with which men are often
gifted in such cases, the footsteps of his pursuers already trod, as it
were, upon his heart. The voices of the bloodhounds which were
considerably in advance of the men, had an awful effect in the stillness
of the night. His strength now began to give way--his heart beat
thicker--he almost grew desperate, and more than once resolved to make a
stand, and sell his life dearly. From the rapidity of the chase, a
considerable distance had been traversed, and the sky which had long been
threatening, now began to exhibit warnings of a storm. The moon was
obscured by a vast gathering of clouds, and the deep stillness which had
prevailed in the earlier part of the evening was succeeded by violent
gusts of wind and large pattering drops. It was a dreary moment. The dogs
were fast drawing on their victim, and nothing but despair and death
stared him in the face. The ground now began to get irregular and varied,
and a hope arose in his heart that he was getting on the verge of the
moors. Still he was entirely ignorant as to the direction. The clouds then
burst with a violence which their threatening aspect had long foretold,
and in an instant Smyth was drenched to the skin; the ground became
slippery, and the footing was precarious. Still he burst wildly onwards;
he fancied he heard the noise of running water--he redoubled his now
slackening speed, and in another instant came to the banks of what
appeared a small river. He dashed into the rapid stream, and instead of
crossing ran up the opposite side in the shallow part, knowing that the
dogs would thus be thrown off the scent. He had not advanced far before
they arrived at the brink he had left, and by their increased yelling,
showed that they were at fault. He sustained many a severe and dangerous
fall amongst the slippery stones in the river; but hope had sprung up in
his heart, and it was not without a fervent prayer that he heard the
shouts and yells of his pursuers wax fainter and fainter. In about half an
hour he reached a small lake or _tarn_, as it is called in the north,
which appeared to be the source of the stream. Here he had breathing time;
but he was chilled with wet, and altogether in a dismal condition. He more
than once thought he heard the voices of men and dogs in the blast; but
their search was in vain, for about daybreak he reached a place of safety
more dead than alive.
Here the loud snoring of Lieutenant ----, put an end to the narration.
VYVYAN.
* * * * *
STUPENDOUS BRIDGE IN SPAIN.
[Illustration]
Bridges are amongst the noblest, if not the most ancient, triumphs of
human art. Many of the specimens of former ages are admired for their
massive solidity, as well as for the beauty of their architectural
decoration. The present bridge, a fabric of the last century, has neither
of these attractions, though it is constructed upon the best principle of
modern bridge-building--that of having one single arch. Péronnet and De
Chezi, two celebrated engineers, who are regarded as the founders of a new
school of bridge architecture in France, made it their study to render the
piers as light, and the arches as extended and lofty as possible; and the
above bridge is a handsome structure of this class. It has been objected
that the modern French bridges have not that character of strength and
solidity which the ancient bridges possessed, and that in the latter, the
eye is generally less astonished, but the mind more satisfied, than in the
former. To these objections the Spanish bridge is by no means liable, as
we shall proceed to show from its details.
The present bridge extends across the river, Guadiaro, in the South of
Spain, and connects the romantic city of Ronda with its suburbs. The
situation of the city, encircled by Guadiaro, is described by Mr. Jacob,[5]
as follows:--
"It is placed on a rock, with cliffs, either perpendicular and abrupt
towards the river, or with broken craggs, whose jutting prominences,
having a little soil, have been planted with orange and fig trees. A
fissure in this rock, of great depth, surrounds the city on three sides,
and at the bottom of the fissure the river rushes along with impetuous
rapidity. Two bridges are constructed over the fissure; the first is a
single arch, resting on the rocks on the two sides, the height of which
from the water is one hundred and twenty feet. The river descends from
this to the second bridge, whilst the rocks on each side as rapidly
increase in height; so that from this second bridge to the water, there is
the astonishing height of two hundred and eighty feet. The highest tower
in Spain, the Giralda, in Seville, or the Monument, near London Bridge, if
they were placed on the water, might stand under this stupendous arch,
without their tops reaching to it."
"The mode of constructing this bridge is no less surprising than the
situation in which it is placed, and its extraordinary elevation; it is a
single arch of one hundred and ten feet in diameter; it is supported by
solid pillars of masonry, built from the bottom of the river, about
fifteen feet in thickness, which are fixed into the solid rock on both
sides, and on which the ends of the arch rest; other pillars are built to
support these principal ones, which are connected with them by other small
arches. But as it is difficult to describe such an edifice, I must refer
to the sketch I have made of it." (_See the Cut_.)
"A bridge was built on this spot in 1735, but the key-stone not having
been properly secured, it fell down in 1741, by which fifty persons were
killed. The present bridge was finished in 1774, by Don Joseph Martin
Aldeheula, a celebrated architect of Malaga; and appears so well
constructed as to bid defiance almost to time itself."
"It is impossible to convey an adequate idea of it: from below it appears
suspended in the air; and when upon the bridge, the river beneath appears
no longer a mighty torrent, but resembles a rippling brook. When standing
on the bridge, the optical delusion is very singular: the torrent of water
appears to run up a hill towards the bridge, and the same phenomenon takes
place when viewed in either direction."
"One of the streets of the city is built almost close to the edge of the
precipice, and stairs are hewn out of the solid rock, which lead to nooks
in the lower precipices, in which, though there is very little soil,
gardens have been formed, where fig and orange trees grow with
considerable luxuriance, and greatly contribute to the beauty of the
scenery. From the situation of Ronda on the top of a rock, water is scarce,
and stairs are constructed down to the river, by which means the
inhabitants are supplied. We descended by one flight of three hundred and
fifty steps, and at the bottom found a fine spring, in a large cave, which,
after turning a mill at its source, contributes to increase the waters of
the Guadiaro. From this spot, our view of the lofty bridge was most
striking and impressive, and the houses and churches of the city,
impending over our heads on both banks, had a most sublime effect. Beyond
the bridge, the river takes a turn to the right, and passes under the
Alameyda, from which, the precipice of five hundred feet is very bold and
abrupt, though interspersed with jutting prominences, covered with shrubs
and trees".
[5] Travels in the South of Spain. By William Jacob, Esq., M.P.,
F.R.S. 4to., 1811.
* * * * *
FINE ARTS.
STATUE OF MR. CANNING.
This colossal bronze statue to the memory of George Canning, has lately
been placed in Old Palace Yard, Westminster; the cost being defrayed by
public subscription. The artist is Mr. Westmacott. The figure is to be
admired for its simplicity, though, altogether, it has more stateliness
than natural ease. The likeness is strikingly accurate, and bears all the
intellectual grandeur of the orator. Some objection may be taken to the
disposal of the robes, and the arrangement of the toga is in somewhat too
theatrical a style. We should, at the same time recollect, that the
representation of a British senator in the costume of a Roman is almost
equally objectionable. It would surely be more consistent that statues
should be in the costume of the period and of the country in which the
person lived. We know this will be opposed on the score of classic taste,
which, in this instance, it seems difficult to reconcile with common sense.
The statue is placed on a granite pedestal, and stands within a railed
enclosure, planted with trees and shrubs, and adjoining the footway of
Palace Yard. The bronze appears to have been tinted with the view of
obtaining the green rust which is so desirable on statues. The effect is
not, however, so good as could be wished: the green colour being too light,
and at some distance not sufficiently perceptible from the foliage of the
trees which rise around the figure.
[Illustration: GEORGE CANNING.]
The situation of the statue has been judiciously chosen, being but a short
distance from the senate wherein Canning built up his earthly fame. The
association is unavoidable; and scores of patriotic men who pass by this
national tribute to splendid talent may feel its inspiring influence.
Still, rather than speculate upon Mr. Canning's political career, we quote
Lord Byron's manly eulogium on the illustrious dead: "Canning," said Byron,
in his usual energetic manner, "is a genius, almost an universal one, an
orator, a wit, a poet, and a statesman." Again,
Yet something may remain, perchance, to chime
With reason, and what's stranger still, with rhyme;
Even this thy genius, CANNING! may permit,
Who, bred a statesman, still was born a wit,
And never, even in that dull house, could'st tame
To unleaven'd prose thine own poetic flame;
Our last, our best, our only Orator,
Ev'n I can praise thee.
It may be interesting to observe that the colour so much admired on bronze
statues is fine dark green from the oxide formed upon the metal, which,
being placed without doors, is more liable to be corroded by water holding
in solution the principles of the atmosphere; "and the rust and corrosion,
which are made poetically, qualities of time, depend upon the oxydating
powers of water, which, by supplying oxygen in a dissolved or condensed
state enable the metal to form new combinations."--_Sir H. Davy_.
* * * * *
THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.
RHYMING RUMINATIONS ON OLD LONDON BRIDGE.
Oh! ancient London Bridge,
And art thou done for?
To walk across thee were a privilege
That some unborn enthusiasts would run for.
I have crossed o'er thee many and many a time,
And hold my head the higher for having done it;
Considering it a prime
And rare adventure--worthy of a sonnet
Or little flight in rhyme,
A monody, an elegy, or ode,
Or whatsoever name may be bestowed
On this wild rhapsody of lawless chime--
When I have done it.
How many busy hands, and heads, and hearts--
What quantities of great and little people
As thick as shot;
Some of considerable pride and parts,
And high in their own eyes as any steeple,
Though now forgot!
How many dogs, and sheep, and pigs, and cattle,
How many trays of hot-cross buns and tarts,
How many soldiers ready armed for battle,
How many cabs, and coaches, drags, and carts,
Bearing the produce of a thousand marts,
How many monarchs poor, and beggars proud,
Bishops too humble to be contumacious;
How many a patriot--many a watchman loud--
Lawyers too honest, ay, and thieves too gracious:
In short, how great a number
Of busy men--
As well as thousand loads of human lumber
Have past, old fabric, o'er thee!
How can I then
But heartily deplore thee!
Milton himself thy path has walked along,
That noble, bold, and glorious politician,
That mighty prince of everlasting song!
That bard of heaven, earth, chaos, and perdition!
Poor hapless Spenser, too, that sweet musician
Of faery land,
Has crossed thee, mourning o'er his sad condition,
And leaning upon sorrow's outstretched hand.
Oft, haply, has great Newton o'er thee stalked
So much entranced,
He knew not haply if he ran or walked,
Hopped, waddled, leaped, or danced.
Along thee, too, Johnson has sideways staggered,
With the old wolf inside of him unfed;
And Savage roamed, with visage lean and haggard,
Longing for bread.
And next in note,
Dear worthy Goldsmith with his gaudy coat,
Unheeded by the undiscerning folks;
There Garrick too has sped,
And, light of heart, he cracked his playful jokes--
Yet though he walked, on Foote he cracked them not;
And Steele, and Fielding, Butler, Swift, and Pope--
Who filled the world with laughter, joy, and hope;
And thousands, that throw sunshine on our lot,
And, though they die, can never be forgot.
These comets of their day
Have passed away,
Their dust is now to kindred dust consigned;
Down at death's knees e'en they were forced to bow,
Yet each has left an honour'd name behind--
And so, old bridge, hast thou;
Thou hast outlasted many a generation;
And well nigh to the last looked well and hearty;
Thou hast seen much of civil perturbation,
And hast supported many a different party.
Yet think not I deride:
Many great characters of modern days,
(The worthy vicars of convenient Brays)
Have thought it no disgrace to change their side.
And yet now many a luckless boat,
How many a thoughtless, many a jovial crew,
How many a young apprentice of no note;
How many a maiden fair and lover true--
Have passed down thy Charybdis of a throat,
And gone, Oh! dreadful Davy Jones, to you!
The coroner for Southwark, or the City,
Calling a jury with due form and fuss,
To find a verdict, amidst signs of pity,
In phrase poetic--thus:--
"Found
Drown'd!"
_Monthly Magazine_.
* * * * *
TRUE STORIES OF MAGIC IN THE EAST.
_By Charles Macfarlane, Esq_.
When that enterprising, intelligent, and inquisitive traveller, Mr. R----
was travelling in Egypt some few years ago, his curiosity was excited by
the extraordinary stories current about magic and magicians, and by
degrees, despite of a proper Christian education, he became enamoured of
the secret sciences. He even made some advances in them, under proper
masters, and would have made more, had he not met an Italian who was
supposed to be a proficient in the learning of Egypt. But this worthy bade
him look at his worn body, his haggard, harrowed countenance, and awfully
warned him, as he valued quiet days, and slumbering nights, to shun the
dangerous pursuits in which he had engaged. Mr. R---- took his advice, and
thought little more of the matter, until some time after when he was
staying with his friend Mr. S---- at the ---- consulate at Alexandria. Mr.
S---- almost as intelligent a gentleman as Mr. R----, had lost some silver
spoons, and it was determined perhaps to frighten the servants of the
house into confession, or perhaps, (and what is just as likely,) for a
frolic and the indulgence of Mr. R----'s well known curiosity, to summon a
conjuror, or wise man. There happened to be a famous magician, lately
arrived from distant parts of Africa, then at hand, and he came at their
call. This man asked for nothing but an innocent boy under ten years of
age, a virgin, or a woman quick with child. The first of the three was the
easiest to be procured, and a boy was brought in from a neighbouring house,
who knew nothing at all of the robbery; in case his age should not be
guarantee sufficient, a sort of charm was wrought, which proved to the
professor's satisfaction that he was free from sin. The magician then
recited divers incantations, drew a circle on the floor, and placed the
boy, who was rather frightened, in the middle of the circle. Other
incantations were then muttered. The next thing the magician did, was to
pour a dark liquid, like ink, into the hollow of the boy's hand; he then
burned something which produced a smoke like incense, but bluer and
thicker, and then he desired the boy to look into the palm of his hand,
and to tell him what he saw. The boy did as he was bid, but said he saw
nothing. The magician bade him look again; this second time the boy
started back in terror, and said he saw in the palm of his hand a man with
a bundle. "Look again," said the magician, "and tell me what there is in
the bundle."
"I cannot see," said the boy, renewing the investigation, "but stop," he
added after a moment, "there's a hole in the handkerchief, and I see the
ends of some silver spoons peeping out!"
"Look again--look again, and tell me what you see."
"He is running away between my fingers!" replied the boy.
"Before he goes describe his dress, person, and countenance."
The boy looked again into his hand.
"Ay, tell us how he is dressed," cried Mr. S----, who had become more than
half serious, and anxious to know who had purloined his spoons.
The boy turned his head immediately and said,
"He is gone!"
"To be sure he is," said the necromancer angrily, "the Christian gentleman
has destroyed the spell; tell us how he was dressed?"
"The man with a bundle had on a Frank coat and a Frank hat," said the boy
unhesitatingly--and here his revelations ended.
Though much mollified at the interruption of which he had been the cause,
Mr. S---- had the satisfaction to learn that his plate had not been stolen
by an unbelieving Egyptian or Arab, but by a Christian and a Frank, and,
with his friend Mr. R---- to enjoy the conviction, that in the singular
scene they had witnessed there could be no collusion, as the innocent boy
(they were certain) had never seen the necromancer until summoned to
the ---- consulate to make a looking-glass of his hand.
Some recent French publication has trumped up a story about Bonaparte and
the magicians, when that extraordinary man was in Egypt, and separated
from the fair Josephine, who was then, though his wife, supposed to be the
object of his amorous affections; and they make the conqueror--the victor
of the battle of the Pyramids, turn pale, and then yellow with jealousy,
at the revelations which were made to him by the wise men of Egypt. But
besides the characters of Napoleon and of Josephine, I have other grounds
(not necessary to explain here) for believing that the whole of this
incident, is but a parody of the following well known story.
An honest Neapolitan trader who happened to be for some months on the
coast of Africa, about Tunis, and in Egypt, became all at once anxious to
know something of the proceedings of a buxom wife he had left behind him
at the town of the Torre del Greco, not far from the city of Naples, and
was persuaded one night to consult the magicians.
An innocent boy was procured, as usual, who, when the charm began to work,
said he saw a woman in a blue jacket that had a great deal of gold lace
upon it, in a bright yellow robe of very ample dimensions, with a necklace
of coral round her neck, immense earrings to her ears, and a long silver
thing, shaped like an arrow, thrust through her hair which was much
bundled on the top of her head. In short he described most accurately the
gala dress of the Neapolitan's _cara sposa_, and afterwards her features
to the very turn of her nose. She was then kneeling by the side of a box,
in which was seated a man in black, fast asleep. The Neapolitan knew this
must be the confessional.
When told to look again, the scene was changed to a very large and curious
house, such as the _seer_ had never seen, all crowded with people, and
dazzling to the eye from an immensity of gilding and wax-lights. This the
Neapolitan knew must mean the theatre of San Carlo, the paradise of his
countrymen, but he never could fancy his wife should be there in his
absence. She was though, for presently the boy said, "And there I see the
woman in the blue jacket, with a man in a red coat whispering into her
ear." "The devil!" muttered the Neapolitan to himself.
"Look again! and tell me what you see now," said the magician.
"I can hardly see at all," replied the boy, looking into the palm of his
hand very closely, "it is so dark; but now I see a long street, and a
large building with iron gratings, and more than a dozen skulls stuck at
one corner of it, and a little farther on I see a large wide gate, and
beyond it a long road; and now I see the woman in the blue, and the man in
the red jacket, turning down the second street to the left of the road,
and now there is an old woman opening * * *"
"I will hear no more!" bawled the Neapolitan, who had heard but too
correctly described the approach to the "stews" of Naples: and he struck
the boy's hand with such violence against his face that it flattened his
nose.
The charm was thus dissolved; but the correctness of the magician's
revelation was tolerably well corroborated, when some time after the
Neapolitan suddenly appeared at his home at the Torre del Greco, and
learned that his wife had disappeared with a corporal of the guards.
(_To be concluded in our next_.)
* * * * *
NEW BOOKS.
ECONOMY OF MACHINERY AND MANUFACTURES.
The volume lately published by Mr. Babbage, with the above title, is,
without exception, one of the most practical works ever produced in this
or any other country. To our minds, it is beyond all price, and, as
illustrating the arts of life and society, it is, to use a very homely
phrase, worth its weight in gold. The proposition may be a whimsical one,
but we doubt whether a mass of gold, of the same dimensions as Mr.
Babbage's volume, could be made to diffuse more happiness and real
enjoyment than the right understanding and application of the principles
illustrated in its pages. Theory and practice, proposition and proof, go
hand in hand through every chapter; and all this has been done in such
concise language, and with such avoidance of technical terms as to be
intelligible to readers of any grade. The author is a professor of
mathematics at Cambridge, but his honours are not vaunted in fine
unintelligibilities: he writes of common things in a common way, and not,
like Hudibras, who told the clock by algebra, or, like the lady in Dr.
Young's Satires, who drank tea by stratagem. Would that all professors had
written in the same vein. Then, learning would not have been so mixed up
with the mysticism of the cell and the cloister, nor the evils of
ignorance have so long retarded the happiness of mankind: for, "learning,"
observes one of the greatest moralists of his day, "once made popular is
no longer learning; it has the appearance of something which we have
bestowed upon ourselves, as the dew appears to rise from the field which
it refreshes."
The origin of Mr. Babbage's work will best explain its practical worth. He
considers it as one of the consequences that have resulted from the
Calculating Machine, the construction of which he has been long
superintending. Having been induced during the last ten years to visit a
considerable number of workshops and factories, both in England and on the
Continent, for the purpose of endeavouring to make himself acquainted with
the various resources of mechanical art, he was insensibly led to apply to
them those principles of generalization to which his other pursuits had
naturally given rise. It should be observed, that he has not attempted to
offer a complete enumeration of all the mechanical principles which
regulate the application of machinery to arts and manufactures, but he has
endeavoured to present to the reader those which struck him as the most
important, either for understanding the action of machines, or of enabling
the memory to classify and arrange the facts connected with their
employment. Or, a still more lucid explanation of the object of the volume
is--"to point out the effects and the advantages which arise from the use
of tools and machines;--to endeavour to classify their modes of
action;--and to trace both the causes and the consequences of applying
machinery to supersede the skill and power of the human arm."
To dwell upon the interest of these inquiries in a manufacturing country
like our own, would be a waste of time; as it would be to question their
full appreciation by the, _par excellence_, useful classes. Yet, a
lamentable indifference to manufacturing processes pervades wealthier
persons. Mr. Babbage observes, "those who possess rank in a manufacturing
country can scarcely be excused if they are entirely ignorant of
principles whose developement has produced its greatness. The possessors
of wealth can scarcely be indifferent to processes which nearly or
remotely have been the fertile source of their possessions. Those who
enjoy leisure can scarcely find a more interesting and instructive pursuit
than the examination of the workshops of their own country, which contain
within them a rich mine of knowledge, too generally neglected by the
wealthier classes." This complaint is we fear but too well grounded; and
it is to such indifference, not to say ignorance, that we must attribute
the perversion of wealth from the encouragement of art and science to
objects less worthy of patronage. Unhappily for all states of mankind,
enjoyment too often drives from the mind of the possessor, the bare
remembrance of the means of acquisition: luxury forgets the innumerable
ingenuities that minister to its cravings, and wealth, once obtained,
unfits the mind for future self-exertion or sympathy for others. Many an
upstart voluptuary surveys the elegancies of his well-furnished mansion in
comparative ignorance of the means employed for their perfection; and, as
regards his stock of knowledge conducive to happiness, he is in a more
"parlous state" than the poor shepherd who had not been at court. How many
of the prodigals that cross in the steam-boat from Dover to Calais are
acquainted with the first principles of the mighty power by which they are
impelled, or have any feeling beyond vulgar wonder at its advantages!
Again, what account can such persons furnish of the curious processes
employed in workshops, which they have witnessed--as the manufacture of a
musket at Birmingham, a razor at Sheffield, a piece of cotton at
Manchester, a pair of stockings at Nottingham, a tea-cup at Worcester, a
piece of ribbon at Coventry, an anchor or a ship at Portsmouth, &c. Yet
these labours involve triumphs of ingenuity which once witnessed ought
never to pass from the memory.
We intend to devote a future page or two to exemplars from Mr. Babbage's
volume; but, as our extracts can be but solitary specimens we recommend
the reader who wishes fully to appreciate its worth to purchase the work.
* * * * *
STATISTICAL SKETCHES OF UPPER CANADA.
This eighteenpenny pamphlet--"for the use of emigrants, by a Backwoodsman,"
is one of the pleasantest and most sensible little books of the day. It is
worth all the "great big books" upon the same subject, and, strange to say,
has scarcely a spice of the leaven of party wickedness in its pages. The
information is in a facete but earnest vein, and we cheerfully miss in its
tone the dull preachment, the cold calculation, and matter-of-fact
obstinacy of a work professing to be statistical. After a just censure
upon the swarm of books on emigration, and their insufficiencies, (from
which we are glad to perceive Mr. Gourlay's "really valuable and
statistical account" is exempt,) the writer observes:
"My endeavour in these pages shall be to give such information to
emigrants, that they may not be disappointed on their arrival in
Canada;--that they may know how to proceed and where to go, and not as too
often happens, waste their time and their money in the great towns, making
fruitless inquiries of people just as ignorant of the nature and
capabilities of the country as themselves with this difference, that they
are aware of their ignorance, whereas their advisers think they know
something about the matter, and thereby often unintentionally mislead and
deceive them. In looking over this my introduction, I find I have been
most abominably egotistical;--so much so indeed, that my printer, were I
to continue through the work in this strain, might have the same excuse
that poor John Ballantine had for his delay in printing a learned work by
the Earl of B----, viz. that he had not a sufficient number of capital I-s
in his printing-office. But if the reader will overlook this fault for
once, I shall try to avoid it in future."
The first chapter opens with the cause of the present distress: then comes
the remedy, and a reply to the question, _Who are to go to Canada?_--
"In the first place, all who cannot comfortably support themselves by
their labour at home; because let a man be ever so poor in this country,
his wages as a labourer will more than support his family,--and if he be
prudent and sober, he may in a short time save money enough to purchase
for himself a farm,--and if he has a family, so much the better, as
children are the best _stock_ a farmer can possess, the labour of a child
seven years old being considered worth his maintenance and education, and
the wages of a boy of twelve or fourteen years of age being higher than
those of a stout and skilful ploughman in most parts of Great Britain,
generally from three to four dollars a month, with bed, board, and washing
besides. At home they talk of 'a poor man with a large family;' but such a
phrase in Canada would be a contradiction of terms; for a man here who has
a large family must, under ordinary circumstances, soon cease to be a poor
man. Mechanics and artizans of almost all descriptions,--millwrights,
blacksmiths, carpenters, masons, bricklayers, tailors, shoemakers, tanners,
millers, and all the ordinary trades that are required in an agricultural
and partially ship-owning and commercial country, will do well to come to
Canada.
"Of these trades, the blacksmith, tailor, shoemaker, and tanner, are the
best. If there were in nature (which is doubtful) such a being as a sober
blacksmith, he might make a fortune. One exception there is, however, in
the case of mechanics. First-rate London workmen will not receive such
high wages either positively or relatively, as they would at home,--for
this reason, that there are few on this continent who either require or
can afford work of the very first order, and those that do, send to London
for it."
The services of a family in managing a business are thus illustrated:
"If a man has not sons capable of looking after the different branches, he
must entrust the care of them to clerks and servants. But these are not to
be had ready-made:--he must, therefore, take a set of unlicked cubs and
teach them their business; and when that is fairly done, it is ten to one
but, having become acquainted with his business and his customers, they
find means to set up an opposition, and take effectually the wind out of
their former patrons sails. Where, however, a man has a large family of
sons, he can wield a large capital in business, and to very good purpose
too."
A man of fortune ought not to come to Canada. It is emphatically "the poor
man's country;" but it would be difficult to make it the country of the
rich. It is a good country for the poor man to acquire a living in, or for
a man of small fortune to economize and provide for his family.
Infant emigration, or the sending out of parish children, of from 6 to 12
years of age with a qualified superintendant, is a favourite idea of the
writer. He objects to bringing out adult parish paupers from the chance of
getting only the drunken, the vicious, and the idle as emigrants, though
"there is one security, however, that we must always have against such a
contingency, namely, that the rapscallionly part of the community, knowing
that, if they remain in England, the parish must maintain them, and that
if they go to Canada they must work for their living, may not be easily
induced to quit their present advantageous position."
Chapter II. details preparations for emigration. Carrying heavy lumbering
wooden furniture to the woods of Upper Canada is as "coals to Newcastle."
The black walnut makes handsomer furniture than mahogany, and does not so
easily stain, a property which saves much scrubbing and not a little
scolding in families. In clothes, boots and shoes are most useful, for
Canadian leather resembles _hide_, and one pair of English shoes will
easily last out three American. In Canada, a sovereign generally fetches
23_s_. or 24_s_. currency, that is 5_s_. to the dollar;--1_s_. sterling,
passes for 1_s_. 2_d_. currency, so that either description of bullion
gives a good remittance: "one great objection, however, to bringing out
money, is the liability there is of losing, or being robbed of it." Live
stock is much wanted: "dogs would be very valuable if trained to bring
home the cattle, which often stray into the woods; with careless settlers,
indeed, one half of the day is often spent in hunting up, and driving home
the oxen." The water of the St. Lawrence is, it appears, more deleterious
than our Thames: "when you arrive in the St. Lawrence, having been on
shortish allowance of water, you will be for swallowing the river water by
the bucket full. Now, if you have any bowels of compassion for your
intestinal canal, you will abstain from so doing;--for to people not
accustomed to it, the lime that forms a considerable constituent part of
the water of this country, acts pretty much in the same manner as would a
solution of Glauber's salts, and often generates dysentery and diarrhoea;
and though I have an unbounded veneration for the principles of the
Temperance societies, I would, with all deference, recommend, that the
pure fluid be drank in very small quantities at first, and even these
tempered with the most impalpable infusion possible of Jamaica or Cognac."