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murmur, I feel nothing but sympathy for their condition; and ask myself what merit I possess that should entitle me.to so much ampler a share of the good things of life. This is a reflection which leads to moderation in ourselves, and to kindness and beneficence towards them. It is one which should as seldom as possible be forgotten by the rich, or remembered by the poor.

FATAL EFFECTS OF OVER-STUDY IN
EARLY YOUTH.

[Being Extract Third from Dr Brigham's Work.]
[In this part of his work, Dr Brigham appears to us to have been
tempted, by his keen sense of the dangers of the over-cultivating
system, to throw some undeserved ridicule upon what is called
the intellectual mode of instruction, and to assign too late a date
in the age of children for their commencing school tasks. We are
inclined to dread the result of allowing a child to run wild till
seven. The infant school system, which properly is only a sys-
tematic means of gratifying childish curiosity with natural know-
ledge, and at once giving healthful exercise to their bodies and a
judicious training to their dispositions, is in no respect uninjured
by all that the learned doctor has said. Though thus challenging |
some parts of the chapter, we deem so favourably of its general
soope, that we willingly commit it, unmutilated, to the judgment
TEACHERS of youth, in general, appear to think that
in exciting the mind, they are exercising something
totally independent of the body-some mysterious
entity, whose operations do not require any corporeal
assistance. They endeavour to accelerate to the ut-

of our readers.

most the movements of an extremely delicate machine,
while most unfortunately they are totally ignorant or
regardless of its dependence on the body. They know
that its action and power may both be increased for
a while, by the application of a certain force; and
when the action becomes deranged, and the power de-
stroyed, they know not what is the difficulty, nor how |
it can be remedied. Fortunately they do not attempt
to remedy it themselves, but call in the physician,
who, if he affords any relief at all, does it by operat-
ing on a material organ. If medical men entertained
the same views as teachers, they would, in attempting
to restore a deranged mind, entirely overlook the
agency of the body, and instead of using means cal-
culated to effect a change of action in the brain, would
rely solely upon arguments and appeals to the under-
standing. For if the mind may be cultivated inde-
pendently of the body, why may not its disorders be
removed without reference to the body?

Instructors of youth, and authors of books for children, would do well to acquaint themselves with human anatomy and physiology, before they undertake to cultivate and discipline the mind. The neglect of these sciences on their part is a most lamentable evil. If they had been understood, I am confident that innumerable books for children, which have been highly recommended and esteemed very useful, would never have been published; books which, instead of being blessings to the community, have, I fear, done incalculable injury. Few things, I think, will be more surprising to future generations than the fact, that those whose business it is in this enlightened age to cultivate the human mind, were ignorant of the organ by which the mind acts, and of course were inattentive to the condition of that organ. It will appear strange hereafter that many, through the medium of books, ventured to dictate the manner in which the mind should be disciplined and tasked; and when it became disordered, acknowledged its dependence on an organisation of which they were ignorant, and expected to have it restored by those who, in all attempts to remedy it, act upon the bodily organisation. Should teachers of youth venture thus, like Phaeton, to guide the chariot of the sun, while ignorant of the power they endeavour to superintend, and of the means of controlling its irregular action?

As reference has just been made to books for children, it seems a fitting opportunity to enlarge a little upon this topic. They are then excessively abundant. Some are announced as purposely prepared 66 for children from two to three years old." Where is the proof that they have ever benefited a single child? Do the youth now, of the age of fifteen, who have used such books most of their lives, who committed to memory innumerable truths, and were taught to reason when at the age of three or four, possess more active and independent minds than their parents possessed at the same age? Does their mental power now show the good effect of their early and extraordinary culture? Do not the numerous slender, delicate, and pale-faced youths who are seen in our colleges, and in boarding-schools for girls, exhibit the bad effects of this system? I ask again, where is any evidence that books, put into the hands of children before the age of seven or eight, are of any lasting benefit, either to the body or the mind? I have shown that they may do immense injury.

But apart from the injury which such books produce, by too early exciting the mind and feelings of children, many of them are very objectionable, on account of the nonsense and falsehood which they contain. Some contain much that is questionable as to its truth, much that infants had better not know, and much that is far above their comprehension. Some contain garbled accounts from Scripture, of the creation of man, and his apostacy, and other religious truths which no child can understand, or profit by, if

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he could understand them; the full account given in
Other books for infants con-
the Bible is far better.
tain "lessons in geometry, botany, astronomy," &c.
The method of teaching little children varies in
different schools; but that is every where considered
the best which forces the infant mind the fastest. In
some schools, the memory is chiefly cultivated, and
children are taught innumerable facts. Here we see
those who are scarcely able to talk, exhibited as
wonderful children. They are declared to be deserv-
ing of the highest praise, and prophesied about as
giving promise of great distinction in future, because
they are able to tell us who was the oldest man, and
many other equally useful and important facts. They
are also able to tell us many truths in astronomy,
geometry, chemistry, &c. &c., of which the innocent
beings know about as much as do parrots of the jar-
gon they deliver. In other schools, teachers are op-
posed to such practice, and say that a child should
learn nothing but what he understands; that the
memory should not alone be cultivated; therefore
they teach children that Methuselah was not only the
oldest man, and nine hundred and sixty-nine years of
age, but that he was the son of Enoch, and the grand-
father of Noah, and that a year means three hundred
and sixty-five days, and a day twenty-four hours;
and all this they teach, in order, as they say, that a
child may fully understand what he learns. Other
teachers say that it is very wrong to compel a child to
learn-very wrong indeed; and that he should learn
no more than he will cheerfully : but though they
do not gain their purpose by exciting fear, they awaken |
system of rewards and of praise. Now, of all these
other passions of the strongest kind in the child, by a
methods, if there is any preference, it should be given
to the first; for that is the least objectionable which
has the least tendency to develope the mind, and
awaken the passions prematurely. They must all,
however, be wrong, if they call into action an organ
which is but partially formed; for they do not con- |
form to the requirements of the laws of nature, and
wait for organs to be developed, before they are tasked.
I beseech parents, therefore, to pause before they
attempt to make prodigies of their own children.
Though they may not destroy them by the measures
they adopt to effect this purpose, yet they will surely
enfeeble their bodies, and greatly dispose them to
nervous affections. Early mental excitement will serve
only to bring forth beautiful, but premature flowers,
which are destined soon to wither away, without pro-
ducing fruit.

Let parents not lament, because their children do
not exhibit uncommon powers of mind in early life, or
because, compared with some other children, they are
deficient in knowledge derived from books. Let them
rather rejoice if their children reach the age of six or
seven, with well-formed bodies, good health, and no
vicious tendencies, though they be at the same time
ignorant of every letter of the alphabet. If they
are in this condition, it is not to be inferred that their
minds are inferior to those of children who have been
constantly instructed. It is a great mistake to sup-
pose that children acquire no knowledge while engaged
in voluntary play and amusements.

he does learn as a task, and not from the desire of ascertaining the truth and gratifying his curiosity.

Let not the parent, therefore, regret that his child has passed his early hours out of school; for in all probability the knowledge he has gained while running and exercising in the open air at play, is more valuable than any he would have gained at school. At all events, he has gained what is far, very far more valuable than any mental acquirements which a child may make, viz. a sound body, well-developed organs, senses that have all been perfected by exercise, and stamina which will enable him in future life to study or labour with energy and without injury.

The remarks which I have made relative to the danger of too early exerting and developing the minds of children, are not made without some knowledge of the education of children in various parts of our country.

That children do have their mental powers prematurely tasked, is a fact which I know from personal observation. I have seen a course like the following pursued in many families in various parts of the country, and I know that this course is approved of by many excellent persons. Children of both sexes are required, or induced, to commit to memory many verses, texts of Scripture, stories, &c., before they are three years of age. They commence attending school, for six hours each day, before the age of four, and often before the age of three; where they are instructed during three years in reading, geography, astronomy, history, arithmetic, geometry, chemistry, botany, natural history, &c. &c. They also commit the Scriptures, catechisms, &c. During the same to memory, while at school, many hymns, portions of period, they attend every Sunday a Sabbath school, and there recite long lessons; some are required to attend upon divine service at the church twice each Sunday, and to give some account of the sermon. addition to these labours, many children have numerous books, journals, or magazines to read, which are designed for youth. I have known some required to give strict attention to the chapter read in the family in the morning, and to give an account of it; and have been astonished and alarmed at the wonderful power of memory exhibited on such occasions by children when but five or six years of age. I have known other children, in addition to most of the above performances, induced to learn additional hymns, chapters of Scripture, or to read certain books, by the promise of presents from their parents or friends.

In

The injurious and sometimes fatal effects of such treatment have been already mentioned. But I cannot forbear again to state, that I have myself seen many children who were supposed to possess almost miraculous mental powers, experiencing these effects, and sinking under them. Some of them died early, when but six or eight years of age, but manifested to the last a maturity of understanding which only increased the agony of a separation. Their minds, like some of the fairest flowers, were "no sooner blown than blasted." Others have grown up to manhood, but with feeble bodies and a disordered nervous system, which subjected them to hypochondriasis, dyspepsia, and all the Protean forms of nervous disease. They thus do acquire knowledge as important as Their minds, in some cases, remained active, but their is ever acquired at school, and acquire it with equal earthly tenements were frail indeed. Others of the rapidity. Many think that the child who has spent class of early prodigies, and I believe the most nuthe day in constructing his little dam, and his mill, in merous portion, exhibit in manhood but small mental the brook, or the stream that runs in the gutter; or powers, and are the mere passive instruments of those in rearing his house of clods or of snow, or in makwho in early life were accounted far their inferiors. ing himself a sled or cart, has been but idle, and de- Of this fact I am assured, not only by the authority serves censure for a waste of his time, and a failure of books, and my own observation, but by the testito learn any thing. But this is a great error of judg-mony of several celebrated teachers of youth. ment; for while he has thus followed the dictates of nature, both his mind and body have been active, and thereby improved. To him any thing which he sees and hears and feels is new, and nature teaches him to examine the causes of his various sensations, and of the phenomena which he witnesses. For him the Book of Nature is the best book; and if he is permitted to go forth among the wonders of creation, he will gather instruction by the eye, the ear, and by all his

senses.

He is for a while just as ignorant that stones are hard, that snow will melt, that ice is cold, that a fall from the tree will hurt him, and a thousand other common facts, as he is of the "diameter of the sun," or the "pericarpium of flowers," or of many other similar things, which some think important for infants to know. If his time is constantly occupied in learning the last, he will grow up ignorant of many common truths, and fail in the best of all learning,

common sense.

The child, when left to himself, manifests a true philosophical spirit of inquiry. The story related of the celebrated Schiller, who, when a boy, was found in a tree, during a thunder storm, trying to find where the thunder and the lightning came from, is an instance of the natural tendency of every child to selfeducation. This tendency it is highly important to encourage, for it involves the cultivation of that spirit of inquiry, "which is far more valuable than limited acquirements in knowledge; a spirit which teaches us to distinguish what is just in itself, from what is merely accredited by illustrious names; to adopt a truth which no one has sanctioned, and to reject an error of which all approve, with the same calmness as if no judgment was opposed to our own." But this spirit will never be acquired, when the child is taught from his infancy to depend upon others for all he knows, to learn all

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Self

The history of the most distinguished men will, I believe, lead us to the conclusion, that early mental culture is not necessary in order to produce the highest powers of mind. There is scarcely an instance of a great man, one who has accomplished great results, and has obtained the gratitude of mankind, who in early life received an education in reference to the wonderful labours which he afterwards performed. The greatest philosophers, warriors, and poets, those men who have stamped their own characters upon the age in which they lived, or who, as Cousin says, have been the "true representatives of the spirit and ideas of their time," have received no better education, when young, than their associates who were never known beyond their own neighbourhood. In gene ral their education was but small in early life. education, in after life, made them great, so far as education had any effect. For their elevation they were indebted to no early hothouse culture, but, like the towering oak, they grew up amid the storm and the tempest raging around. Parents, nurses, and early acquaintances, to be sure, relate many anecdotes of the childhood of distinguished men, and they are published and credited. But when the truth is known, it is ascertained that many, like Sir Isaac Newton, who, according to his own statement, was "inattentive to study, and ranked very low in the school until the age of twelve; or, like Napoleon, who is described by those who knew him intimately when a child, as "having good health, and in other respects was like other boys,"* do not owe their greatness to any early mental application or discipline. On the contrary, it

Memoirs of the Duchess of Abrantes. This lady says, " My boyhood had none of that singularity of character attributed to uncles have a thousand times assured me that Napoleon in his him."

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The employment of these compurgators was continued till about the middle of the century, when, taking Mr Peter Blackburn (father of Mr Blackburn THE following interesting scraps relative to the rise of Killearn) into custody for walking on Sunday in and progress of society in Glasgow, are from the New the Green, he prosecuted the magistrates for an unwarranted exercise of authority, and prevailing in his Statistical Account of Scotland, now in course of pub-suit in the Court of Session, the attempt to compel lication:

From 1500 to 1550.-Prior to this time the inhabi

tants of this city and neighbourhood were governed by
churchmen, who kept them in such a state of igno-
rance and superstition as was truly deplorable.
From 1550 to 1600.-During this period the Refor-
mation took place. The great body of the people,
however, still retained their fierce and sanguinary
disposition. This is strikingly marked in their being
constantly armed. Even their ministers were ac-
coutred in the pulpit. The number of murders and
other criminal acts which were turned over to the
censures of the church, but too plainly point out the
depraved character of the people.

From 1600 to 1650.-The distinguishing character of the people during this division of time is marked by certain malignity of disposition. Their belief in and treatment of witches, second sight, &c. afford strong symptoms of superstition grounded on ignorance; and the profanation of the Sabbath, by working and rioting on that day, displays gross profanity.

From 1650 to 1700.-During the beginning of this period and the end of the former, the people, who had become more civilised, and paid more attention to moral and religious duties, were dreadfully harassed and persecuted. The abdication of James II., and with him the exclusion of the Stuart family, brought about the happy Revolution, which put an end to the religious troubles. The union with England, which took place soon after this period, opened up a spirit for trade hitherto unknown in this city, and the increase of population became truly astonishing.

this observance was abandoned.

The wealth introduced into the community after the union, opening the British colonies to the Scotch, gradually led to a change of the habits and style of living of the citizens. About the year 1735, several individuals built houses, to be occupied solely by them selves, in place of dwelling on a floor entering from a common stair, as they hitherto had done. This change, however, proceeded very slowly, and up to the year 1755 to 1760, very few of these single houses had been built-the greater part of the most wealthy inhabitants continuing to a much later period to occupy floors, in very many cases containing only one public room.

period, such a person would have been put into a mil liner's shop. These wine-shops were opposite to the Tontine Exchange, and no business was transacted but in one of them.

Prior to the breaking out of the American war, the "Virginians," who were looked up to as the Glasgow aristocracy, had a privileged walk at the Cross, which they trod in long scarlet cloaks and bushy wigs; and such was the state of society, that, when any of the most respectable master tradesmen of the city had oc casion to speak to a tobacco lord, he required to walk on the other side of the street till he was fortunate enough to meet his eye, for it would have been presumption to have made up to him. Such was the prac tice of the Cunninghams, the Spiers, the Glassfords, the Dunmores, and others; and from this servility, the Langs, the Ferries, the Claytons, and others who were at the head of their professions, and had done much to improve the mechanical trade of the city, were not exempt. About this period, profane swearing among the higher classes of citizens was considered a gentlemanly qualification; and dissipation at entertainments was dignified with the appellation of hospitality and friendship; and he who did not send his guests from his house in a state of intoxication was considered unfit to entertain genteel company. Latterly, the ris ing generation of the middle class, better educated than their fathers, engaged extensively in trade and commerce; and by honourable dealing and correct conduct, procured a name and a place in society which had been hitherto reserved for the higher grades, Since the opening of the public coffeeroom in 1781, the absurd distinction of rank in a manufacturing town has disappeared. Wealth is not now the criterion of respect; for persons even in the inferior walks of life, who conduct themselves with propriety, have a higher place assigned them in society than at any former period of the history of the city.

Families, as has been already said, who were formerly content to live in the flat of a house in the Old, have now princely self-contained houses in the New Town. Entertainments are now given more frequently, and the mode of giving them is materially changed. Persons who formerly gave supper parties and a bowl of punch, are now in the way of giving sumptuous dinners, entertaining with the choicest wines, and finishing with cold punch, for which Glasgow is so celebrated. The value of the table-service, and the style of furniture in the houses of many of the Glasgow merchants, are inferior to none in the land. In drinking there is a mighty improvement: formerly, the guests had to drink in quantity and quality as presented by their hosts; now every person drinks what he pleases, and how he pleases after which he retires to the drawing-room, and drunkenness and dissipation at dinner parties are happily un

After the year 1740, the intercourse of society was by evening parties, never exceeding twelve or fourteen persons, invited to tea and supper. They met at four, and after tea played cards till nine, when they supped. Their games were whist and quadrille. The gentlemen attended these parties, and did not go away with the ladies after supper, but continued to sit with the landlord, drinking punch to a very late hour. The gentlemen frequently had dinner parties in their own houses, but it was not till a much later period that the great business of visiting was attempted to be carried on by dinner parties. The guests at these earlier dinner parties were generally asked by the entertainer, upon 'Change, from which they accompanied him, at same time sending a message to their own houses, that they were not to dine at home. The late Mr Cunningham of Lainshaw, meeting the Earl of Glencairn at the Cross, in this way, asked him At the commencement of the eighteenth century, to take pot-luck with him, and having sent immediate and during the greater part of the first half of it, the notice to his wife of the guest invited, entertained him habits and style of living of the citizens of Glasgow with a most ample dinner. Some conversation taking were of a moderate and frugal cast. The dwelling-place about the difference between dinners in Glasgow houses of the highest class of citizens in general con- and Edinburgh, Lord Glencairn observed, that the only tained only one public room, a dining-room, and even difference he knew of was, that in Glasgow the dinthat was used only when they had company-the_fa- ner was at sight, while in Edinburgh it was at fourmily at other times usually eating in a bedroom. The teen days' date. These dinner parties usually termigreat-grandfathers and great-grandmothers of many of nated with hard drinking, and gentlemen, in a state the present luxurious aristocracy of Glasgow, and who of intoxication, were in consequence to be met with at were themselves descendants of a preceding line of most evening parties, and in all public places. The burgher patricians, lived in this simple manner. They dinner hour about the year 1770 was two o'clock: im-known. had occasionally their relations dining with them, mediately after that, it came to three o'clock, and graand gave them a few plain dishes, put on the table at dually became later and later, till about 1818 it reached once, holding in derision the attention, which, they six o'clock. said, their neighbours the English bestowed on what they ate. After dinner the husband went to his place of business, and, in the evening, to a club in a publichouse, where, with little expense, he enjoyed himself till nine o'clock, at which hour the party uniformly broke up, and the husbands went home to their families.

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The wife gave tea at home in her own bedroom, receiving there the visits of her cummers' (female acquaintances), and a great deal of intercourse of this kind was kept up, the gentlemen seldom making their appearance at these parties. This meal was termed the four hours.' Families occasionally supped with one another, and the form of the invitation, and which was used to a late period, will give some idea of the unpretending nature of these repasts. The party asked was invited to eat an egg with the entertainer, and when it was wished to say that such a one was not of their society, the expression used was, that he had never cracked a hen's egg in their house. This race of burghers living in this manner had, from time to time, connected themselves with the first families in the country. The people were in general religious, and particularly strict in their observance of the Sabbath some of them, indeed, to an extent that was considered by others to be extravagant. There were families who did not sweep or dust the house, did not make the beds, or allow any food to be cooked or dressed on Sunday. There were some who opened only as much of the shutters of their windows as would serve to enable the inmates to move up and down, or an individual to sit at the opening to read.

Influenced by this regard for the Sabbath, the magistrates employed persons termed 'compurgators,' to perambulate the city on the Saturday nights; and when, at the approach of twelve o'clock, these inquisitors happened to hear any noisy conviviality going on, even in a private dwelling-house, they entered it,

Shakspeare, Moliere, Gibbon, T. Scott, Niebuhr, W. Scott,

Byron, Franklin, Rittenhouse, R. Sherman, Professor Lee, Gif

ford, Herder, Davy, Adam Clarke, &c. The last-named person was a very unpromising child, and learned but little before he was eight or ten years old. But at this age he was "uncommonly hardy," and possessed bodily strength superior to most children.

He was considered a "grievous dunce," and was seldom praised by his father but for his ability to roll large stones; an ability, however, which I conceive a parent should be prouder to have his son possess, previous to the age of seven or eight, than that which would enable him to recite all that is contained in all the manuals for infants that have ever been published.

Up to the middle of the century, commercial concerns, whether for manufactures or foreign trades, were in general carried on by what might be termed joint stock companies of credit: six or eight responsible individuals having formed themselves into a company, advanced each into the concern a few hundred pounds, and borrowed on the personal bonds of the company whatever farther capital was required for the undertaking. It was not till commercial capital, at a later period, had grown up in the country, that individuals, or even companies trading extensively on their own capital, were to be found.

ABSTRACT OF A LECTURE ON STEAM-
CARRIAGES,

:

DELIVERED BY DR LARDNER, AT THE MEETING OF THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION IN DUBLIN, AUG. 1835. THE learned doctor commenced by speaking generally of the properties of steam; a solid inch of water, on being converted into the invisible power called steam (for the vapour which we see is not the steam, but smoke), raises a weight of 15 pounds 150 feet, or 150 times 15 pounds one foot; and hence we might obtain as a simple formula, easy to be remembered, that a solid inch of water in evaporation raises a ton one foot; and it possesses the same power in the re-conThe first adventure which went from Glasgow to version; so that, by this principle, we have a double Virginia, after the trade had been opened to the Scotch mechanical agency-first, in the conversion of water by the union, was sent out under the sole charge of into steam, and secondly, in the re-conversion of steam the captain of the vessel, acting also as supercargo. into water in the common steam-engines both these This person, although a shrewd man, knew nothing agencies are employed. There was a cylinder, into of accounts; and when he was asked by his employers, which a plug exactly fitted; the steam being admitted on his return, for a statement of how the adventure above, drove this plug down, and the steam having had turned out, told them he could give them none, thus performed its office, was changed again into cold but there were its proceeds, and threw down upon the water, while the application of steam below drove table a large hoggar' (stocking) stuffed to the top back the plug: to the plug thus driven up and down with coin. The adventure had been a profitable one; is attached a rod communicating with a vibrating and the company conceived that if an uneducated, un-beam, which sets in motion an arm, to which is attrained person had been so successful, their gains tached a wheel, the motion of which may be applied would have been still greater had a person versed in to any purpose. The most difficult point was the reaccounts been sent out with it. Under this impres- conversion of the steam into water. This was effected sion, they immediately dispatched a second adventure, by mixing the steam with cold water; for this, therewith a supercargo, highly recommended for a know- fore, a constant supply of cold water was requisite, ledge of accounts, who produced to them on his return which prevented the employment of this principle in a beautifully made out statement of his transactions, the locomotive engines. These engines, therefore, but no hoggar.' altogether depended upon the first power, that produced by the conversion of water into steam, and the steam, instead of being re-converted into water, was permitted to escape. In the mode of its escape a most important improvement had been effected; and here was another instance of that humiliating truth, that many of the most important discoveries have been accidental. The steam, when suffered to escape at random, proved annoying to those in its immediate neighbourhood; and it was accordingly found convenient to convey it through the chimney. Here, however, it was found to serve a most important purpose. In passing into the flue, it created a most powerful blast; and the current of air thus drawn up through the flue acted as a bellows infinitely more powerful than any that could be contrived, and with this additional advantage, that the blast was powerful or weak as circumstances required. When the steam was strong, the blast was increased in

The Virginia trade continued for a considerable time to be carried on by companies formed as has been described; one of the partners acted as manager, the others did not interfere. The transactions consisted in purchasing goods for the shipments made twice a-year, and making sales of the tobacco which they received in return. The goods were bought upon twelve months' credit, and when a shipment came to furnishers, to meet him on such a day, at such a winebe paid off, the manager sent notice to the different shop, with their accounts discharged. They then received the payment of their accounts, and along with it a glass of wine each, for which they paid. This curious mode of paying off these shipments was contrived with a view to furnish aid to some well-born young woman whose parents had fallen into bad circumstances, and whom it was customary to place in one of those shops, in the same way, that, at an after

intensity, and the combustion of the fuel more intense. The speed of a locomotive engine depends altogether on the quickness with which steam can be supplied, and the generation of the steam on the heat. Heat acts in two ways; it acts first by radiation, just as the lamps communicate their light; the particles of heat are radiated against the sides of the boiler, and so the water becomes hot; but, besides, the air which is employed in sustaining combustion escapes at an intense temperature. If this air were, therefore, allowed to pass away without any diminution of its temperature, it would be a waste of fuel; it is therefore contrived, by making it pass through intricate passages, that it shall not pass away without being reduced to the temperature of the water, and, according to the laws of equilibrium of heat, it could not be reduced below this without cooling the water. Here, then, was the difficulty so to regulate its escape that it might just be reduced to the proper temperature and it was interesting to observe the struggles of invention to attain this object. Two or three expedients had been employed. The first plan he would endeavour to explain. (Here he referred to a diagram placed in a conspicuous position upon the wall.) Round about the fireplace there was a hollow shell filled with water; against the sides of this the heat radiates, and, the steam bubbles being generated, the steam is conveyed into the chamber prepared for its reception-the air, however, employed in combustion is not permitted to escape at once a round vessel filled with water is placed between the fire and the chimney-through this vessel run a hundred tubes open at both ends and these are so contrived in their diameters and arrangements that the heated air which rushes through them is reduced, by the time it reaches the chimney, to the temperature of the water; by this all waste of fuel is prevented, and the air having reached the chimney, although in its cooled state, it does not retain sufficient tendency to ascend to bear it up with sufficient rapidity, is caught by the blast produced by the admission, previously explained, of the steam, and carried up the chimney with great force. This was the contrivance adopted in locomotive engines; and by this an engine, weighing itself 10 tons, and with a train attached of 100, 200, or even 240 tons, moves along a railroad at the rate of twelve miles an hour. Having thus given a rapid outline of locomotive engines, he would proceed to explain the principle of railroads. The perfection of a road is that it should be perfectly hard, smooth, and level. The first requisite railroads possess almost to perfection-the second is disturbed by the joining of the rails; this is not apparent on the Kingston railway, where the rails are new, but on the Manchester and Liverpool it is possible to count the number of rails by the jolts of the carriage. To obtain the level is the most difficult part of all-on a level railroad the power of nine pounds is sufficient to draw a ton; that is, in round numbers, the same as 1 to 250; this proportion of weight upon a level would be equivalent to the resistance of an acclivity rising 1 foot in 250-an acclivity of so gentle ascent, as not to be perceptible to the eye, and yet requiring double the power which is necessary on a level road. Engines have been constructed so as to surmount this difficulty; in fact, at one time to put forth double the power which they do at another; but when the rise is 1 foot in 125, it requires treble force to surmount it, and this is beyond the power of the profitable application of locomotive force. If the rise is less than 1 foot in 100, an additional engine is added, that pulls the train up the hill; but if it be greater than this, it is beyond the power of locomotive engines for this ascent. He had trespassed very long, but he would only detain them by glancing briefly at the great lines of communication which are projected. The most forward is the line between Liverpool and London-a railway is to run from Liverpool to Birmingham, and from Birmingham to meet the Manchester railway, at a point about half way to Liverpool; this railway will be 200 miles long-there is a magnificent viaduct over the valley of the Ouse, a mile and a quarter long-and several tunnels, one under Primrose Hill, close to the Regent's Park, of half a mile, another a mile and a half, with several of shorter lengths. By this railroad, even were no further improvement to be effected in the speed of the engines beyond the ordinary rate of travelling, the journey from London to Liverpool would be effected in ten hours; but as it is probable that carriages built expressly for the purpose of speed, which has never yet been the object of attention, could keep up during the whole way the rate of 40, 50, or even 60 miles, which speed had been attained on the Kingston railway in experimental trips, the mail might be conveyed from London to Liverpool in three hours and a half. Dr Lardner then referred to a map on which all the projected railroads were marked-one from London to Southampton, another from London to Bristol. It was impossible to calculate the moral, political, and commercial effects of these railroads. It was found

that the making of a railroad trebled the intercourse along the line. The intercourse between London and Liverpool was thirteen hundred persons a-day, as ascertained by stamp returns. The intercourse between London and the three towns he had mentioned was annually a million and a quarter-very nearly the amount of the whole population of London. Other railroads were projected to York, and Edinburgh, and Lincoln; and last, not least, one that he trusted yet to see the highway to New York-he meant the projected one to Valentia. From this the

AUTHORS AND THEIR WRITINGS.

greatest good must follow; steam-packets could ply from Valentia to Halifax in twelve days, and thus the THERE is as I think it has been somewhere remarked whole intercourse with America be brought within by a French writer-there is that in our character the reach of steam navigation; all passengers from which never can be seen except in our writings. Yes, the western world would then pass through Ireland, all that we have formed from the ideal all our noble and he (Dr L.) knew of no project more calculated to aspirings our haunting visions our dreams of virtue tranquillise and enrich Ireland than the construction all the celata Venus which dwells in the lonely Ida of the proposed railway, in the line of which there is of the heart-who could pour forth these delicate mysno insuperable obstacle. Our trans-Atlantic brethren teries to gross and palpable hearers, who could utterly had done much in constructing railroads, which were not inferior to ours, as had been erroneously stated-rished and revered images-dim regrets and vague unveil to an actual and indifferent spectator the che46 were completed, and 137 either completed or in hopes? progress; one was now projecting from Baltimore to the vale of the Ohio, which would be 330 miles in length.

BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

It was a summer evening,
Old Caspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun :
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
That he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.
Old Caspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by ;
And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh-
"'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the Great Victory.

"I find them in the garden, for
There's many here about;
And often, when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out;
For many a thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in the Great Victory."

"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up,

With wonder-waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they kill'd each other for ?"
"It was the English," Caspar cried,
"That put the French to rout;
But what they kill'd each other for
I could not well make out;
But every body said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a Famous Victory!

66

My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream's hard by ;

They burnt his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;

So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.
"With fire and sword the country round,
Was wasted far and wide;
And many a childing mother then,
And new-born infant died:
But things like that, you know, must be
At every Famous Victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
For many a thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun :

But things like that, you know, must be
After a Famous Victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
And our good Prince Eugene."
"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing !"
Said little Wilhelmine.
"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a Famous Victory!

"And every body praised the duke,
Who such a fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last ?"
Quoth little Peterkin.
"Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 'twas a Famous Victory!"
-Southey.

THE BLEST IN HEAVEN.
No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow,
No bloodless malady empales their face,
No age drops on their hairs his silver snow,
No nakedness their bodies doth embase,
No poverty themselves and theirs disgrace,

No fear of death the joy of life devours,
No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers,
No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours.
But now their naked bodies scorn the cold,
And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain;
The infant wonders how he came so old,
The old man how he came so young again;
Still resting, though from sleep they still refrain ;
Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe,
And all are kings, and yet no subjects know,
All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow.
For things that pass are past, and in this field
The indeficient spring no winter fears;
The trees together fruit and blossom yield,
The unfading lily leaves of silver bears,
And crimson rose a scarlet garment wears;

And all of these on the saints' bodies grow, Not, as they wont, on baser earth below: Three rivers here, of milk, and wine, and honey flow. GILES FLETCHER, a poet of the seventeenth century.

put upon paper, he would yawn in your face, or he In fact, if you told your best friend half what you would think you a fool. Would it have been possible for Rousseau to have gravely communicated to a living being the tearful egotisms of his Reveries? could Shakspeare have uttered the wild confessions of his sonnets to his friends at the "Mermaid ?" should we have any notion of the youthful character of Miltonits lustrous but crystallised purity-if the Comus had been unwritten? Authors are the only men we ever really do know the rest of mankind die with only the surface of their character understood. True, as I have before said, even in an author, if of large and fertile mind, much of his most sacred self is never to be revealed-but still we know what species of ore the mine would have produced, though we may not have exhausted its treasure.

Thus, then, to sum up what I have said, so far from there being truth in the vulgar notion that the character of authors is belied in their works, their works are, to a diligent inquirer, their clearest and fullest illustration an appendix to their biography far more valuable and explanatory than the text itself. From this fact we may judge of the beauty and grandeur of the materials of the human mind, although those materials are so often perverted, and their harmony so fearfully marred. It also appears that-despite the real likeness between the book and the man -the vulgar will not fail to be disappointed, because they look to externals; and the man composed not the book with his face, nor his dress, nor his manners but with his mind. Hence, then, to proclaim yourself disappointed with the author is usually to condemn your own accuracy of judgment, and your own secret craving after pantomimic effect. Moreover, it would appear, on looking over these remarks, that there are often two characters to an author-the one essentially drawn from the poetry of life the other from its experience; and that hence are to be explained many seeming contradictions and inconsistencies in his works. Lastly, that so far from the book belying the author, unless he had written that book, you (no, even if you are his nearest relation, his dearest connection_his wife his mother) would never have known the character of his mind.

All biography proves this remarkable fact! Who so astonished as a man's relations when he has exhibited his genius, which is the soul and core of his character ? Had Alfieri or Rousseau died at thirty, what would all who had personally known either have told us of them? Would they have given us any, the faintest, notion of their characters? None. A man's mind is betrayed by his talents as much as his virtues. A councillor of a provincial parliament had a brother a mathematician" How unworthy in my brother," cried the councillor, "the brother of a councillor of the parliament in Bretagne, to sink into a mathematician!" That mathematician was Descartes! What should we know of the character of Descartes, supposing him to have renounced his science, and his brother (who might fairly be supposed to know his life and character better than any one else), to have written his biography? A reflection that may teach us how biography in general ought to be estimated.Bulwer's Student.

A COOK OF TASTE.-It is related of a celebrated French cook, who has been in the service of the late Marquis of Abercorn, that he refused to accompany the Duke of Richmond to Ireland, with a salary of L.400 per annum, on learning that there was not any Italian Opera in Dublin.

HEDGEHOG.—It is said that the hedgehog is proof against poison. M. Pallas states, that it will eat a hundred cantharides without receiving any injury. More recently, a German physician, who wished to dissect one, gave it prussic acid, but it took no effect; he then tried arsenic, opium, and corrosive sublimate, with the same results.

HOW TO PLEASE YOUR FRIENDS.-Go to Indiastay there twenty years-work hard-get moneysave it come home-bring with you a load of wealth, and a diseased liver-visit your friends make a will -provide for them all-then die: what a prudent generous kind-hearted soul you will be!

LONDON: Published, with Permission of the Proprietors, by ORE & SMITH, Paternoster Row; and sold by G. BERGER, Holywell Street, Strand; BANCKS & Co., Manchester: WRIGHTSON & WEBB, Birmingham; WILLMER & SMITH, Liverpool: W. E. SOMERSCALE, Leeds; C. N. WRIGHT, Nottingham; M. BINGHAM, Bristol; S. SIMMS, Bath; C. GAIN, Exeter; J. PUR DON, Hull; A. WHITTAKER, Sheffield; H. BELLERBY, York: J. TAYLOR, Brighton; GEORGE YOUNG, Dublin; and all other Booksellers and Newsmen in Great Britain and Ireland, Canada. Nova Scotia, and United States of America.

Complete sets of the work from its commencement, or n bers to complete sets, may at all times be obtained from the Pub lishers or their Agents.

Stereotyped by A. Kirkwood, Edinburgh.
Printed by Bradbury and Evans (late T. Davison), Whitefria

[graphic]

CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM CHAMBERS, AUTHOR OF "THE BOOK OF SCOTLAND," &c., AND BY ROBERT CHAMBERS,
AUTHOR OF "TRADITIONS OF EDINBURGH,” “PICTURE OF SCOTLAND," &c.

No. 192.

EXTEMPORE INVITATIONS.

A LADY, to whom I have the honour to be related in a near degree, favoured me, some time since, with the following letter:

'Dear, I have been much surprised, that, amidst all your household sketches, which come home to so many firesides, you have never presented us with one respecting that odious practice, which some gentlemen have, of giving extempore invitations. My husband, as you well know, is of a social and easy disposition; very happy himself (at least so he tells me), and fond of seeing others happy. We are in tolerable circumstances, and have a pleasant house, full of thriving children. Every thing, indeed, goes on smoothly with us, except that he occasionally distresses me by the practice alluded to. He, poor man, as I often tell him, knows little of the toils and troubles of housekeeping: not a single thing has he to do but furnish the money; and even that is generally brought to me by some one connected with the warehouse. He rises in the morning to a good breakfast; has all his little ones brought to him in clean pinafores to be kissed and prattled with; goes off to business; comes back to dinner, which is invariably ready for him at a certain hour; spends the evening in reading, chatting, or a game at chess: never once does he reflect on the almost ceaseless anxieties, not to speak of positive labours, which I have to undergo, between morning and night, in keeping the wheels of the domestic system in motion. To do him justice, he is not difficult to please, but allows himself, on washing days, and at other times of high domestic concernment and bustle, to be put off with as poor a dinner as any wife could well have the conscience to set before a husband. In that respect I have no fault to find with him. My only complaint is, that, well as he might know by this time the banyan days of the establishment, he has either so little tact, or so slight a regard for my comfort, that on no day does he scruple to ask one or more of his friends home with him, to take what he calls their chance, though, were he to reflect but for one moment, he might assure himself that this chance, properly interpreted, was a sheer certainty of starvation. For instance, now, on the Mondays, we are just as sure to have a refacciamento or revival of the Sunday dinner, as we are to have a dinner at all. Suppose that to have been a boiled jigot, up it comes again, perhaps stewed, possibly hashed, or, if we have been very busy, not improbably cold; and a very fair dinner, say I, for two persons. But a set-out like this, you will readily allow, is not fit to appear before a stranger-insufficient alike in quantity and in quality. Well, what do you think my wise husband will sometimes do, but bring home two-nay, three-I have even known four-of his gentleman friends, to regale themselves on this apparition of all that is scranky! I shall never forget the first surprise of this kind which he gave me. It happened about three months after our marriage, all the previous time having been, as he will gaily tell me, devoted to home and me, though I strongly suspect that he was at that period compelled to see too many friends by regular invitation to have any heart for extempore ones. Only think of what I then was a young creature, little skilled in housekeeping, but most tremblingly anxious to conduct it in a creditable mannerthe first fearful, prideful feelings with which I found myself seated at table of my own, hardly yet worn off; resolved to have every thing neat,* every thing of the best, as long as I should be there not being yet aware

A new-made wife, fu' o' frippish freaks,
Fond o' a' thing feat for the first five weeks.
William Nicholson, a Galloway poet.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1835.

of the "gulraivitching" which children occasion in
a dwelling; and, above all, solicitous of maintaining,
by every part of my own conduct and all domestic ap-
pearances, the honour of my husband in the eyes of his
friends. What, then, must have been my sensations
when, one day-when, as ill luck would have it, I had
trusted to a relic of cold lamb-he came in at five with
two of his old jolly bachelor friends, regular mut-
toneers, as you would call them, overflowing with
good spirits and hungry as ogres, whom after intro-
ducing to me he said he had just seized upon 'Change
and dragged home-such were his words to dinner.
"Never mind, my dear, what you give us: we will
just take our chance, and, if better fare be scant, make
all up with the cheese." It was very well for him to
say so; but, as for myself, I could have wished at
that moment to sink into the floor-to be unmarried
any thing, in short, that would have relieved me
from existing responsibilities. Even the tablecloth
was not in its first day; and all three, I should
have mentioned, had come bouncing, in the height of
their good humour, into the dining-room. I shrunk
from the room, rushed in trepidation to see what
there was in a garde-mange where I well knew there
was nothing, and finally, in desperation, dispatched
our servant Betty-for we then had but one-in
search of a beef-steak. During the absence of the
girl, I returned to keep all right in the dining-room,
where I found two out of the three gentlemen (now
pretty well sobered down) musing with glaring eye-
balls over lumps of dry bread, which, with a shameful
defiance of the rules of epicurism, they were trying
with all their might to swallow. "Well, Kate, what
are we to have? and when are we to have it ?"
"You must just have a little patience, my dear, and
I will do my best." This put them off for about three
minutes, when again did my good-natured spouse in-
quire, with all the solicitude of Blue Beard's wife,
whether any thing was yet coming. With a mind
effectually discomposed, I tried by conversation, play-
ing on the piano-forte, and bustling a little about, to
beguile the weary time of waiting, often listening
eagerly to hear and hail the expected beating of the
steaks in the kitchen. Twenty minutes elapsed before
that blessed sound met my ear; fifteen more passed
ere Betty appeared with the dish. The cold lamb was
placed at the foot, the steak at the head; potatoes
supported on one side; on the other, lay the relic of a
lobster, amounting to a head and one pair of clippers

A dinner like my mighty self,

Four nothings on four plates of delf.
Apologies had in the meantime passed unreckonable,
and been invariably declared by our guests to be un-
necessary. They were really sorry to see me take so
much trouble any thing would do-light dinners
were by far the best. On the removal, however, of
the cover which had hitherto concealed the steak,
their dinner proved to be any thing but light-in
colour. The fire had been atrocious, and Betty, in
the hurry, had smoked and burnt our steak out of all
countenance. Each gentleman was helped, neverthe-
less, to a small crumpy cinereous morsel, and, to do
justice to the politeness of mankind, they ate two bites
each at an average. Recourse was then had to the
lamb, which at the most could not have sufficed for
above two mouths. It was helped as sparingly as the
steak; and our guests, I saw, contrived to make about
half a dinner out of it. A few scraps still remained
on the shank, and not one present, myself includ-
ed, but, I am persuaded, would have been glad to
gobble all up. Oh, to be behind a door, like Sancho,
with this shank all to one's self! When asked round,
however, not one would take another morsel. And so

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

some of my scanty feast was left, after all. The odd ends of the lobster, cheese, and a glass of good sherry, helped but poorly to eke out this miserable dinner; and yet it was not the want of viands that formed the worst part of the case. The mutual sense of embarrassment and difficulty was the true distress. My discomposure was beyond concealment: it was dreadful; burning on my cheeks and flashing in my eyes. James and his friends, though hearty at first, and, as they believed, indifferent to the fare which was to be set before them, found it so surprisingly bad, and were so much disconcerted by my evident misery, that they soon sank to my own level. I saw one of Tom White's best jokes die on his tongue, as the cover went off the steak. Their free bachelorly manners became tamed into a cold and dull civility. The situation of all concerned was truly deplorable; and I do not believe a single word was spoken in the genuine spirit of mirthful fellowship, till a third rummer had rendered them in some degree oblivious of this, as well as all other woes.

At a later period of the evening, I did not fail, you may be sure, to give my husband a hint as to the impropriety of his conduct, which, I must say, he received in his usual meek spirit, promising amendment for the future. From what you know of him, however, you must be aware that he has a way of assenting and yielding to every thing one can impress upon him, and yet after all taking his own way, as if he had never heard a word on the subject. Whether it arises from absence of mind, or some other defect of character, I cannot tell; but it is the most provoking peculiarity in the world. Often, for instance, I will make an arrangement to walk out with him at a particular hour; off goes he at his own time, never once recollecting any thing about it. I will inquire of him if such a matter be not so, and so he assents; but it is mere chance whether it prove so or not. I ask if he does not like this dish: he replies in the affirmative; and in three days, when I reproduce it, he will express surprise at my offering him such sorry stuff. There is no end to his tricks of this kind-for tricks I sometimes suspect them to be, notwithstanding all his protestations. But there is none of them so utterly intolerable as this habit of bringing home friends to dine, without warning. Never do I remonstrate, but he acknowledges that it is not acting fairly with me and yet, let but a few days elapse, and lo, other three or four good fellows are seized upon 'Change, and dragged home, will they nill they, to meet a vision of grim scrags. On one occasion he brought three friends, after having informed me that he was not to dine at home at all, and when, accordingly, contenting myself with a lunch at an earlier hour, I had let both the fire and Betty out, and was just preparing to pay a visit to my mother. On another occasion, when we were at seabathing quarters, he picked up a couple of foreigners, of pleasing manners, who were perambulating the country, and brought them upon me, when I could not have got up a tolerable dinner without sending a dozen miles for it, and had hardly a room in which I could ask them to sit down. The mischief lies altogether in that friendly and easy character of his. He encounters an old acquaintance, with whom he has reminiscences to revive, or a new one, to whom he wishes to show some kindness; and, totally regardless of my interest in the matter, never casting a thought upon the possible state of my larder, or the confusion into which the house may have been thrown by washings lesser or greater, by our monthly redding-up, or, worst of all, by an incursion of the painters, home they must come with him. So gross an insensibility to all I have told him respecting the honour of our house,

a waywardness so irremediable, can hardly be natural: his conduct seems more like that of a man walking in his sleep than any thing else.

After long despairing of all other means of correcting him, I have resolved, my dear cousin, to request your assistance. An article from you will waken him, I am persuaded, if any thing on earth will; and such, I hope, you will soon administer.-I am, &c. KATHERINE BALDERSTONE.'

driven through the lungs, in them to be reconverted,
by the action of the inspired air, into its florid or ar
terial state; after which it is again propelled into the
aorta, to travel through the arteries as before. Just
before the blood in the veins of the head and neck is
transmitted to the heart, it receives, from a peculiar
duct, a supply of chyle, which has been brought up-
wards along that duct from the organs of digestion,
in a state to be mixed with the blood; and in the
lungs the mixture becomes complete.

or at least each minute ramification, to its very ex

So far from taking up the case of my good friend Katherine in the way she desires, I would, in all hu- The lungs, in which this doubly important office of mility, rather present something on the other side. It converting the chyle into blood, and the venous blood seems to me, most worthy and excellent Mrs James into arterial, is performed, cannot consequently but Balderstone, that you and other ladies allow your- be regarded as organs of extreme importance; and it selves to be a great deal too much put about by such is found that their well-being is quite essential to incidents as those above described. Why! shall a health, and even to ordinary comfort. They are of gentleman not have liberty to entertain whom he great size, filling up all the chest not occupied by the pleases and when he pleases?-shall he not have the heart. Their texture is light and spongy, and they run of his own house? There may be extreme cases; are divided into innumerable cells, communicating but what is the risk of, occasionally, a scrappy dinner with the countless ramifications from the two great and a confused house, against the pleasure of a system divisions of the windpipe: these two main divisions, of unpremeditated sociality! The plague is in the uniting at the upper part of the chest, form a cartilanecessity under which the lady supposes herself to be ginous tube, passing upwards along the front of the of making a fine set-out! "Flesh and blude can stand neck, and terminating superiorly in the larynx, of this nae langer, Willie Gordon," said a Glasgow lady which the cartilages are distinctly felt at the upper to her husband; "there ye've brought hame cripple part of the throat. At each inspiration, air is received between these cartilages, and through this Dick to his dinner, and naething in the house but a cauld hen." "Well, well, Mrs Gordon," said the tube, and passes down the windpipe into its two gentleman alluded to, who, unknown to her, was wash-great divisions, and from them into every corner of ing his hands in a neighbouring dressing-room, and had the elastic and expanding lungs. Each little cell, overheard the speech, "cripple Dick can dine upon a cauld hen any day." Just so; the gentlemen in tremity, becomes dilated with air, and the admitted general are quite easy about the materials of dinner-blood, travelling in small vessels along the walls of care not indeed what it may be, if approaching to the these cells, undergoes the changes already mentioned. quantity necessary for barely satisfying hunger. The The air is then expired, altered in its qualities, and lady, unfortunately, can never be brought to see the the renovated blood passes to its destination in the left cavities of the heart; the next inspiration bringmatter in this light. If the appetite and taste of an unexpected guest were transferred to herself, and de- ing fresh air into the cells, and more blood into the lungs to receive the benefit of it. This wonderful creed suddenly to become, the one the most ravenous and the other the most nice, she could not be more process, on which life hangs, is performed by day and concerned to have her table loaded with delicacies. by night, whether we are sleeping or waking, from To him who daily regales himself in cold lodgings birth until the last moment of life. with a smoky chop, she regrets that she cannot offer venison and game. To him who cannot at any time eat many mouthfuls, she is grieved that she cannot display three courses. She would cram a plain commercial friend with unheard-of dainties, and dazzle a homely old uncle with a realisation of the feast of the Barmecide. The lady cannot understand why her husband should take such pleasure in inveigling his friends into a house where one cold scrag might be said to reign supreme, if it were not solitary; but the gentleman has surely as good a right to be surprised that, when he and his friends are inclined to be content, she, who has no real interest in the matter, should pine with vexation. I cannot but think it highly ridiculous to hear all their professions of satisfaction disputed and argued out of all likelihood, by one who should rather rejoice to hear that the fact is It seems very hard indeed, that, when one is disposed to be happy, another should mar the conclusion by a denial of its possibility.

so.

I would, then, recommend my amiable cousin and all other ladies to moderate somewhat this vicarious appetite and taste which they find so ill to satisfy, and allow others to be pleased when they will. It is seldom that their larder can be altogether unfurnished; but, even when it is, they have only to attend to a recipe which I once saw in an old cookery book-one of those respectable compilations which flourished before the days of Meg Dods, but made up in seriousness of purpose what it wanted in wit. "If a large party should come unexpectedly, at a time when you have nothing in the house," so runs this apothegm, as I may almost call it, "you may take a cold turkey and hash it down in large pieces; stew well with butter, and, if agreeable to taste, a few onions: this, with a dish of artichokes, potatoes, French beans, or any other vegetables that may be in season, will make an excellent dish, and serve a good many people." After so effectual a remedy has thus been pointed out, I hope to hear no more of the distresses of housewives from extempore invitations.

CONSUMPTION.

[The following article is abridged from one which appeared in the 13th number of the Foreign Quarterly Review, and in which, from the respectable nature of its source, we are disposed to place confidence. Among the passages omitted is one descriptive of the use of the stethoscope; a subject which has already been il lustrated in this Journal. Dr James Clark of London has recently treated the subject of consumption in a volume, of the merit of which we have been assured by an eminent Edinburgh

physician, as well as by the opinions of the press. It is very judiciously devoted chiefly to an exposition of the means of preventing the disease. At a subsequent period we may perhaps give an extract from this work.]

THE chest, or that part of the body which is enclosed by the ribs, may be said to be entirely occupied by the heart and the lungs. The heart is one of the simplest organs in the body, composed of muscular fibres, and divided into four cavities, namely, a right auricle and ventricle, and a left auricle and ventricle. Red blood is sent from the left side of the heart into the aorta or large pipe leading from it, which soon forms an arch in the chest, and descends to carry blood to the abdomen and lower limbs; other vessels being given off from the arch itself, which supply the upper limbs and the head. Losing its florid colour in its course, the blood is brought back of a dark hue to the right side of the heart, by the veins; and before it again passes to the left side of the heart, it is

Now, the term pulmonary consumption has been applied to two distinct affections of the lungs. One of these, being nothing more than a chronic inflammation of the lining membrane of the windpipe and its many ramifications, is perhaps generally a curable disease. The membrane becomes very irritable, and even thickened or ulcerated, and sometimes the patient sinks under the malady. But this form is so often relieved, as not unfrequently to create an opinion of the probable cure of a true pulmonary consumption much more favourable than medical experience sanc

tions.

The nature of a true pulmonary consumption is
this :-Numerous small, hard, greyish bodies are de-
posited in the soft, elastic, spongy tissue of the lungs
themselves. These are, commonly at least, very
numerous. They are sometimes in clusters, and
sometimes scattered all through the lungs ; sometimes
confined to one lung, often extended to both. These
small bodies are what, in medical language, are called
tubercles. It is their nature to enlarge, and, begin-
ning to soften in the centre, to break down into a
fluid mass.
The lung immediately surrounding a tu-
bercle which is undergoing this change, becomes in-
flamed; a communication is established between the
softened tubercle and one of the many ramifications of
the air-passages, and thus the tubercle is expectorated
in the form of a yellow or purulent fluid. When
the tubercles are in a cluster, many commonly break
down together, and, being expectorated, leave a con-
siderable cavity in the lungs. If the tubercles are
not numerous, all of them may be thus got rid of, the
cavity may be obliterated, or cicatrised, and a person
who has been affected with true pulmonary consump-
tion may in this way actually recover. But this is a
The tubercles generally exist in
great number. When some are softening, others are
torming; and when the first are got rid of, the second
have yet to be got rid of. This long process irritates
the constitution; and the irritation being protracted,
destroys life. The action of the heart becomes quick-
ened, the stomach and intestines become highly dis-
ordered, the patient is tormented with hectic fever,
and wasted to a skeleton; although often, notwith.
standing these obvious sources of suffering and symp
toms of decay, cheerful and full of hope to the last.

rare occurrence.

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quency of pulse, or in a female with a defect or sus-
pension of functions peculiar to the female constitution,
it is a symptom well calculated to excite alarm. There
is often little or no expectoration; but the cough is
distressing when the patient lies down at night, or
begins to dress in the morning. The face and figure
soon put on the peculiar external characters of con-
sumption. The hair becomes thin, and the cireum-
scribed scarlet hue of the cheeks is strongly contrasted
with the paleness of the face and of the white part of
the eyes. The shoulders seem pointed, and the chest
narrowed. The hands become pale and slender:
emaciation and debility keep pace together.
From the very commencement of the disease, the
action of the heart and pulse is frequent, above a
hundred pulsations being generally counted in a
minute. Morning chilliness is succeeded by evening
heat and thirst; and to evening hectic, for such the
exacerbation soon becomes, succeed wasting night
perspirations. The appetite for food is often little
affected, although irritability of the stomach, and
vomiting, are common. The bowels are generally
irritable as the disease advances, and diarrhoea alter-
nates with the night perspirations. The lining mem-
brane of the air-passages becomes irritated, inflamed,
ulcerated, or even studded with tubercles. Worn and
harassed by these complicated sufferings, the patient
still, very commonly, indulges in sanguine hope of re-
covery: there is in fact a mental excitement, which
passes on, in the latest stage, to a mild delirium.
The consumptive constitution is characterised by great
susceptibility to impressions, and the delicate nervous
system is readily excited, even before the disorder it-
self commences. With the commencement of the
disorder, or soon afterwards, the signs of an irritable
brain are generally very perceptible; the sensations
of the patient become unfaithful, and the materials
for a correct opinion of their actual condition being
thus withheld, the patients entertain confident hope
when all around them despair.

The cure of this disorder being so rare, the prac titioners of medicine have anxiously sought for the means of prevention, by investigating, with much diligence, those circumstances in the constitution of the patient, and the local disordered actions, which predispose to the deposition of tubercles in the lungs. The majority of pathologists, we believe, will assent without difficulty to the proposition of M. Andral, that "pulmonary tubercles are the product of a morbid secretion."

What constitution of body most predisposes to the creation of tubercles in the lungs, can only be expressed by saying, that it is one of which the predominant feature is debility. This debility is often connected with a scrofulous character, but not invariably or ne cessarily. The progress of the ravages effected in the frame by the irritation which supervenes on the formation of tubercles, seems, however, to be more rapid and more marked when the patient is already affected with any form of scrofula. But consumption may unquestionably appear, and does unquestionably, we believe, appear in a majority of instances, in those who are not of a scrofulous constitution. An altered complexion, an unhealthy state of the skin, a disordered digestion, and many signs of imperfect health, and commonly of defective nutrition, precede the declaration of a decided phthisical affection; or the complaint arises in those who have been from their birth delicate, if not absolutely sickly. Circumstances of a nature to reduce the strength, and perhaps at the same time to affect the nervous system, may bring a healthy individual into that state in which tubercles may become formed in the lungs. Thus nothing is more common than for symptoms of consumption to appear not long after a patient has struggled through a fever; or for the complaint to be induced by a course of reckless dissipation; and we have seen it plainly brought on by deep and long-continued mental affliction. Frequent exposure to wet and cold, with its common consequences, frequent attacks of catarrh, undoubtedly dispose the lungs to disease, and to the creation of tu. bercles; and that poor diet may be a powerful predis posing cause, will readily be credited by those who know how invariably some of the inferior animals may be brought into a state of disease, and that tubercles are formed in their lungs at will, by confining them to particular kinds of food. Habitual confinement in a deteriorated air, in close apartments, in crowded manufactories, or in schools where a number of scholars are kept together for several consecutive hours, seems to be not an uncommon cause of that state of body which favours the developement of tubercles. la these cases, the nervous and vascular systems are probably first debilitated, and the process of digestion is commonly also much impaired, before the phthisical® disorder appears. To the predisposing causes M. Andral adds, want of sufficient exposure to the influence of the sun. Some of the diseases of early life as the measles and hooping-cough-are presumed to dispose The presence of tubercles in the lungs is generally to the formation of tubercles, by producing a considerfirst indicated by some slight oppression of the func-able accumulation of blood in the pulmonary tissue. tion of respiration. The chest seems not to be sufficiently expanded in the act of breathing, and the inspirations are short and frequent. Next in order comes a hard and peculiar cough, first heard, perhaps, in the winter or spring, but not disappearing in summer or in autumn. Sometimes there is a slight spitting of blood thus early, although that cireumstance, taken by itself, is by no means decisive of the nature of the malady. Conjoined with habitual fre

The progress of the tubercles through their changes of character is not always uniform; peculiarities of constitution and various accidents retard or accelerate those changes, and sometimes the progress is long suspended; all the symptoms of constitutional irritation for a time subside, and the friends of the patient delude themselves with the hope of a perfect recovery. Not unfrequently the symptoms suddenly reappear, and the disease becomes speedily fatal, even before the tubercles have undergone the ultimate changes which have been described.

It is to be observed, that the age at which symptoms of consumption may appear is not so constant, or even so limited, as has frequently been asserted, and as many medical authors still assert. The age of puberty is at tended in both sexes with constitutional changes, not effected without a degree of tumult, which becomes &

Phthisis, consumption; phthisical, belonging to consumption. -Ed. C. E. J.

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