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The ultimate effect of the abolition of slavery on the coffee production of Brazil is a subject of anxious speculation among the planters. It has been ably discussed in a recent report by Mr. Phipps, British Secretary of Legation. The conclusion at which he arrives is that coffee production will be carried out by the separation of the agricultural from the industrial element. A system so complicated as the preparation of coffee for the market can only be undertaken by a large capitalist with machinery at his disposal. In Brazil the large coffee planter and slaveowner of the present day will, in the future, play the same part in relation to the free negro cultivator which the miller does to the farmer in England. The effect of emancipation in Brazil will probably be, as in the United States, the break-up of the large estates.

A question has been raised as to the practicability of substituting free labor for the gangs of slaves by whom all extensive agricultural operations have hitherto been carried on in Brazil. It is said that in a tropical climate no man will do more physical work than is absolutely essential to procure the necessaries of life, and that the cost of living for the free man is twice as great as the maintenance of the slave. Those advocates of free labor reply that it has had no chance. In San Paulo, where alone the metayer system has been tried, the planters have exacted such extortionate terms for their advances that it was impossible for the tillers of the soil to succeed. The hardy races of the North are not fitted to undertake manual labor in a hot climate; but all the great public works of Brazil have been constructed by Portuguese emigrants, whose native vigor is not impaired by many years of toil under a tropical sun. There is no reason, therefore, to believe that free labor is inapplicable to the industrial conditions which present themselves in Brazil. There, as elsewhere, the cost of production will depend on the successful application of the. great administrative principles of payment by the piece, cooperation between labor and capital, and participation on equitable terms in the benefits derived from their united efforts.

It is a too common practice to find fault with the climate, the soil, and other

conditions over which man has no con-
trol, when, in truth, the difficulties,
which are deemed insuperable, are
caused by laws and institutions estab-
lished with the most selfish objects, and
maintained by arbitrary force.
It was
truly said by Montesquieu: 'Il n'y a
peut-être pas de climat sur la terre, où
l'on ne peut en gager au travail des
hommes libres. Parce que les lois
étaient mal faites, on a trouvé des
hommes paresseux; parce
que ces
hommes étaient paresseux, on les a mis
dans l'esclavage.'

After our return to Rio de Janeiro we made several excursions into the beautiful mountain regions in the vicinity. The ride to the foot of the peak of Corcovado, and the ascent by a steep path to the almost perpendicular needle rock which forms the summit, are especially charming. The lower slopes are clothed with the luxuriant evergreen vegetation of the tropics, and streams and torrents dash with refreshing murmur down the deep glens which furrow the mountain side.

A long climb cn horseback brought us to the steps which lead to the peak. From its summit we surveyed, as from an eagle's nest, the richly cultivated plain at our feet, the wide-spreading city of Rio de Janeiro, the bay, the purple sea, and the noble amphitheatre of mountains extending from the Gavia, near at hand, on the east, to the magnificent range of the Organ mountains on the

west.

Another excursion was that to Tijuca, where we stayed four days. Rich woods, boulders of marvellous mass and picturesque form, waterfalls, peaks and precipices, and sequestered vales, tend to give to this favored spot the charms of Welsh and Scotch scenery, combined with the luxuriance only to be found in the tropics. The resemblance to the hilly districts of England was the more striking, because it rained every day that we spent at Tijuca.

The yellow fever is one of the great curses of Rio. In the summer it is always more or less severe. The cause of this terrible disease is probably to be found in the want of water to clear the sewers, in the dirty habits of the people, and in the overcrowded state of the dwellings. The crews of the foreign

ships in the harbor are the greatest sufferers; while, on the other hand, the negro population of the city seem to be secure from attack. The shipping would suffer much less severely if the authorities were to distribute the vessels widely apart over the whole area of the harbor, and were to prohibit their being moored near the quays, through which the sewers are emptied into the sea. The sewers might be purified by means of powerful pumping machinery, applied to raise sea-water and force it through the drains. This resource, at any rate, would merit consideration, should a sufficient supply of fresh water from the mountains be unobtainable.

The overcrowding of the dwellings is an admitted evil. A certain proprietor, having been charged with receiving 800 lodgers into a house of very moderate dimensions, replied in a tone of injured innocence: Eight hundred! I have never had more than six hundred people in my house.' The yellow fever having once broken out, all classes are exposed to the infection, and the only means of securing immunity from attack is to remove to the mountain suburbs, such as Tijuca, which are at some distance from the city, and are not very convenient, therefore, for men of business.

I must not conclude these extracts from my note-book at Rio without some allusion to the condition and duties of the British naval force maintained on the south-east coast of America. The British sailor on this station, in spite of the relaxing climate, is kept thoroughly up to the mark. During our stay here we have been anchored under the guns of H.M.S. 'Volage,' and it has been a constant delight to us to witness the seamanlike smartness with which the exercises aloft have been carried on.

With regard to desertion, however, no inconsiderable anxiety has been experienced by officers on this station, especially by those in command of small vessels in the River Plate.

A recent return gives the following numbers of deserters from the navy :Blue jackets. Others.

1872-3

Total.

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1873-4 1874-5 In 1874-5, 282 of the deserters were recovered. Previous to that year returns

of the number recovered had not been kept.

How to put an end to desertion is a grave problem. Every seaman in the navy has cost the country at least 300l. for the expenses of his training; and when, as it recently happened, six firstclass boys are sent out on board a storeship to join a gunboat stationed in the River Plate, and four desert on the day after their arrival, it is plain that the service does not present all the attractions that might be desired. The man-ofwar's man of the present day is surrounded by comforts never dreamed of in olden times, and the amount of labor devolving upon the numerous crews of our ships of war is never excessive; while the care and attention bestowed upon their health, food, and clothing, and the cleanliness and commodiousness of their quarters, leave nothing to be desired.

In this respect the condition of the merchant seaman contrasts most unfavorably with that of the man-of-war's man. In regard, however, to wages, the latter is in a position of regrettable inferiority. It is idle to expend large sums of money in other ways, however beneficial to the sailor, in the belief that compensation may thereby be made for insufficiency of pay. The seaman would appreciate far more the expenditure of equal sums in the more direct and tangible form of higher wages. After a short period of service in the navy as able seaman, an addition of sixpence a day to the present scale of pay-which addition might perhaps be limited to those who were in the first class for conduct-would be highly desirable. The diminution in the number of desertions would amply repay the increased outlay.

In consequence of the comparative smallness of the numbers who re-engage, the proportion of experienced men in the crews of our ships is sometimes scarcely sufficient. A further advance of pay, therefore, to seamen engaging for a second period of service, would be highly advantageous to the navy. By the pres ent system of entering boys, a body of admirable seamen is raised up for the navy; but it is eminently unsatisfactory to know that the country is deprived of the proper return for the large expenditure incurred in training seamen, both

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So saying, light-foot Iris pass'd away.
Then rose Achilles dear to Zeus; and round
The warrior's puissant shoulders Pallas flung
Her fringed ægis, and around his head
The glorious goddess wreath'd a golden cloud,
And from it lighted an all-shining flame.
As when a smoke from a city goes to heaven
Far off from out an island girt by foes,
All day the men contend in grievous war
From their own city, and with set of sun
Their fires flame thickly, and aloft the glare
Flies streaming, if perchance the neighbors round
May see, and sail to help them in the war;
So from his head the splendor went to heaven.
From wall to dyke he stept, he stood, nor join'd
The Achæans-honoring his wise mother's word—
There standing, shouted; Pallas far away
Call'd; and a boundless panic shook the foe.
For like the clear voice when a trumpet shrills,
Blown by the fierce beleaguerers of a town,
So rang the clear voice of Æakidês;
And when the brazen cry of Æakidês
Was heard among the Trojans, all their hearts
Were troubled, and the full-maned horses whirl'd
The chariots backward, knowing griefs at hand;
And sheer-astounded were the charioteers
To see the dread, unweariable fire

That always o'er the great Peleion's head

. Burnt, for the bright-eyed goddess made it burn.
Thrice from the dyke he sent his mighty shout,
Thrice backward reel'd the Trojans and allies;
And there and then twelve of their noblest died
Among their spears and chariots.

The Nineteenth Century.

MRS. SIDDONS AND JOHN KEMBLE.

FROM Ward, who was Roger Kemble's father-in-law, and an actor under Betterton, to Mrs. Scott Siddons, who still

graces the stage, we have five successive generations of a family some member of which has been attached to the theatrical

profession. This is an astonishing sequence, embracing as it does a period of quite two hundred years, and has probably no parallel.

Ward was a strolling manager when Roger Kemble, who united hair-dressing with acting, eloped with his daughter. The young couple started in management upon their own account and strolled from town to town and village to village after the manner and under the difficulties and disadvantages of the time; at some places received with gracious favor, at others treated like lepers and threatened with the stocks and whipping at the cart's tail, according as the great people were liberal-minded or puritanical. Their first child, born June 13th, 1755, at Brecon, was christened Sarah; their second, a boy, christened John Philip, was born at Prescott in Lancashire in 1757. The old farm-house in which the latter event took place is, it is said, still standing. There came a Stephen in the following year, and other sons and daughters with whom we have nothing to do followed in due succession. All these were put upon the stage as soon as they were old enough to speak a few lines, and as the years advanced Mr. Roger Kemble's company, like that of Mr. Vincent Crummles, was almost entirely included under one patronymic. At thirteen we find Sarah playing Ariel in the great room of the King's Head at Worcester, which boasted no other theatre, and four years later sustaining all the principal parts at Wolverhampton. She had now grown to be a very beautiful girl, and made great havoc among the hearts of susceptible squires, and even included an earl among the list of her adorers. But in her father's company there was a handsome young fellow from Birmingham named Henry Siddons, whom she preferred to all her rich admirers. As Mr. and Mrs. Kemble had married against parental consent it followed as a matter of course that they would not allow their daughter to choose for herself; besides, they had their pride and their ambition, and

strongly objected to an alliance with a poor player. So Henry Siddons was told the manager's daughter was not for him. But on his benefit night he revenged himself by reciting a poem of his own composition, in which he detailed to the audience the story of his hapless love, and thereby greatly won their sympathies and a box on the ear from his inamorata's mother, who was listening at the side-scene in a very great passion.

This brought about a disturbance. Siddons left the company, and Sarah went away in a huff, and hired herself as lady's maid to Mrs. Greathead, of Guy's Cliff, Warwickshire. There she did not remain long, for Roger and his wife, finding her determined, and probably moved by the solicitations of their patrons, gave a reluctant consent to the marriage, and on the 6th of November, 1773, Sarah Kemble became Mrs. Siddons, and from that time so appeared in the playbills. Soon afterwards she and her husband joined the company of Crump and Chamberlain, well-known strolling managers in their day, at Cheltenham; and there for the first time we hear of her being accredited with superior powers as an actress. As Belvidera, in Otway's 'Venice Preserved,' she achieved a great success, and became a protégée of all the fashionable play-goers, especially of the Honorable Miss Boyle, who assisted her scanty wardrobe by the loan of dresses, and helped her with her own hands to make new ones. fame reached London, and Garrick sent his stage manager, King, down to the Gloucestershire watering-place to take stock of her abilities. He reported very favorably, and soon afterwards Parson Bates, of the Morning Post,' pugilist, duellist, and critic, a well-known man of the day, took the same journey for a similar purpose, and brought back a warm eulogy upon her acting as Rosalind. Thereupon Roscius engaged her for Drury Lane at £5 a week. Her first appearance was on the 29th of December 1775, and here is a copy of a portion of the playbill for that evening:

Her

Drury Lane.

(Not acted these two years.)

By His Majesty's Company, at the Theatre Royal, in Drury Lane, this day will be performed,

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The début was a failure. The part was not suited to her, and she was so overpowered by nervousness that a naturally weak voice sank almost to a whisper; her movements were awkward, her dress old, faded—and in bad taste, as it always was even in her great days; there was nothing but her delicate, fragile figure and beautiful face to recommend her. After this she appeared as Venus in the Shakespeare Jubilee, as Mrs. Strickland in 'The Suspicious Husband,' and in several other pieces,-in all she was coldly received both by the press and public. Finally she appeared as Lady Anne to Garrick's Richard; here, again, nervousness paralysed all her powers, she forgot certain stage directions he had given at rehearsal, and was reproved for her forgetfulness by a glance from those terrible eyes that nearly made her faint with terror. One of the newspapers the next morning pronounced the performance "lamentable." Five nights afterwards Garrick took leave of the stage, and the season closed. He promised to recommend her to Sheridan for the next. Sheridan used afterwards to declare that he took an opposite course, and depreciated her, but the great manager's word was not always to be relied upon. Mrs. Siddons ever after nursed a grudge against Garrick; he had used her as a catspaw against the overweening arrogance of Mesdames Abington, Crawford, and Young;-he was jealous of her, she said. There may have been some truth in the first part of the accusation, but the second is ridiculous: it is probable that he really believed her talents to be only mediocre, and in this

he was joined by all his company, except Mrs. Abington, who called them all "fools" in their judgment.

66

"It was a stunning and cruel blow," she says, overwhelming all my ambitions, and involving peril even to the subsistence of my helpless babes. It was very near destroying me. My blighted prospects, indeed, produced a state of mind that preyed upon my health, and for a year and a half I was supposed to be hastening to a decline." Her next engagement was at Manchester, and thence she went to York to Tate Wilkinson. There "all lifted up their eyes in astonishment that such a voice and such a judgment should have been neglected by a London audience." In 1778 John Palmer, on the recommendation of Henderson, engaged her for Bath, then the first English theatre out of London, at £3 a week. In her first parts, Lady Townley and Mrs. Candour -the latter appears a strange character for a young lady-she was only coldly received, and seemed to be on the threshold of new disappointments and mortifications.

But I must now go back to detail the fortunes of another member of the Kemble family. John Philip acted as a child like all the rest of his brothers and sis ters, but by and by his father resolved to make a priest of him. Roger was a Catholic and brought up the boys to that faith, the girls following the Protestant religion of their mother. So at ten years old the boy was sent away to Sedgely Park College, Wolverhampton. There he remained four years, and in 1771 proceeded to Douai, where he was famous as a

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