CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,"
"CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c.

NUMBER 551.

DECISION.

ALL wisdom is a system of balances. It is allowed that caution and deliberation are good things; but in many circumstances these are false friends, and it is found afterwards that a less considerate policy would have been best. Again, however, it would be very wrong to counsel a bold policy as invariably preferable to a cautious one : it would often be found dangerous. There is, in short, no maxim which is a specific: conditions modify the eligibility of every one of them. With regard to decision in conduct, the first great point is to know what to decide upon, and the second to know if the plan adopted should be unflinchingly carried out. Many men are remarkably decisive without being wise, or finding their choice a fortunate one. Many hold firmly enough to their plan, when wisdom would rather recommend its being abandoned. Decisiveness of conduct is, in such cases, manifestly no advantage. But when a quick and far-seeing sagacity has once chosen a right course, it is well to adopt it unhesitatingly, cordially, fully, and to go through with it with boldness and energy. Then is decision in conduct found to be a valuable quality-but then only. There is no point in which more mistakes are made. A vast number of men think they are acting with decision, when they are simply rash and headstrong. Many believe they are thinking with decision when they are merely uncandid towards all opposing considerations, wise in their own conceit, and perilously obstinate.

It often happens, nevertheless, that decisive men of this kind can point to their happy instances. Conduct like theirs is now and then attended by good fortune. But such cases are only like the dreams that prove true-strongly remarked, while all the false ones are lost sight of. They no more justify the rashness and obstinacy of the parties, than does a death happening soon after the hearing of the death-watch prove that there is a connexion between the perforations of the insect and human mortality. These instances are the ruin of the unwise decisive men, for they encourage the fatal failing. Perhaps successful in one case, which involved no important results, they are emboldened to try the same plan in a very different one, and are sadly punished. Such blindfold decision is, indeed, only a kind of gambling.

In aiming at decisive thinking on controversial subjects, and at the duty and credit of holding fast by opinions, it is important to guard against similar errors. It is easy, by shutting one's eyes to every thing that can be said on the opposite side, and getting one's self-love interested in the matter, to obtain a very comfortable set of very decided opinions, and thus become a respectable sort of wronghead or bigot. But it is not so easy, out of the contending considerations on all sorts of difficult questions, to select such as may form a reasonably sound set of opinions, in adherence to which there may be genuine usefulness and real honour. On the contrary, many of the soundest heads have been amongst the most hesitating on a certain dubious class of subjects. It is easy to laugh at the difficulties and doubts of a Lord Eldon, and to admire the nimbleness of some other men in the same situation; but it is by no means certain that quick decisions in law, any more than in speculative questions, are the best. Mr Canning describes a man as swearing,

"with keen discriminating sight, Black's not so black, nor white so very white." But, though such a manner of speaking is apt to convey a notion of weakness or hesitation, we should remember that the patient separation of the true

from the false, and the correct adjustinent of the
respective limits of both, are amongst the highest
efforts of the logical intellect. Perhaps there are some
things on which to talk decisively is only to make
an open declaration of short-sightedness and folly.
We see more clearly the value of decision in con-
duct than that of decision in forming a set of abstract
opinions. It must ever be of vast consequence to be
able to decide at once upon what is the best course of
procedure in any of the affairs of life. It often hap-
pens that the reasons for taking a particular step are
made a little obscure and dubious by the presence of
some advantage connected with the opposite course,
or by a difficulty and disadvantage attending the right
one. For example, in the great fire at Hamburg, it
became evident that no expedient for stopping the
conflagration would be effectual but the forming of a
gap in the buildings. Here the great difficulty of the
senate was to determine on making a large enough
sacrifice of buildings, for the buildings were of course
valuable, every body was interested for the saving of
his own house, and there was still the hope that the
flames might not come so far, in which case the sacri-
fice would have been made needlessly. On the other
hand, the risk from making too small a sacrifice was
obvious, for the fire was advancing, and it might come
up to the site marked cut for a gap before the gap was
effectually made, when of course a much larger gap
would become necessary. It was a fine case for the
exertion of a wise decisiveness of judgment. In this,
unfortunately, the senate failed. They could not take
a sufficiently liberal view of the required sacrifice.
The gap which they made was made in vain; the
flames went on, and were only finally stopped by a
perhaps ten times greater sacrifice.

PRICE 14d.

counter two objects, and, aiming to compass both, fail in each. Bonaparte possessed that rare and decisive vigour which prompts at once the choice and the sacrifice. Had he persisted in guarding the whole course of the Mincio, from the extremity of the Lake of Garda to Mantua, he would have been pierced; by concentrating on Mantua to cover it, he would have had 70,000 men to cope with at the same time-60,000 in front and 10,000 in the rear. He sacrificed Mantua, and concentrated at the point of the Lake of Garda." The consequences were an admirable reward of the genius shown on the occasion. He first met the corps of 20,000 under Quasdanovich, or rather its advanced parties, which he easily drove back. The Austrian general, surprised to find everywhere imposing masses of the French, was awed, and resolved to halt till he should hear of the other corps under his commander Wurmser. Here the Napoleon genius was again shown, for, guessing what was passing in Quasdanovich's mind, he contented himself with having brought him to a pause, and turned to meet the other party. Of this corps a large portion had passed on with Wurmser to Mantua, leaving 25,000 behind under Bayalitsch. This army advanced with wide-spread wings to envelop the French; but Napoleon penetrated its weakened centre; it lost courage, and withdrew. The French pursued, and greatly damaged it. Other actions ensued; and in six days from the commencement of hostilities, the Austrian generals were again in retreat to the Tyrol, having lost 20,000 men and the kingdom of Lombardy.

In private life, this firmness in making judicious sacrifices is often of great importance. It is as necessary to know when to make such sacrifices, and, it may be added, when to undergo great hazards, as it is to know when to embrace favourable opportunities. Many a commercial man has saved the bulk of his fortune by being able to bring his mind, at some nice juncture, to incur a certain loss, or to expose himself to some considerable risk. It requires a certain liberality of nature to act in this way. The race of narrow wits lose all by clinging desperately to some coward maxim which they can only interpret literally. "Never lose certainty for hope," "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," are their favourite adages

stances, but not in all, for it sometimes happens that to make a venture is the best course, not merely for making an advance, but for retaining the present position; and it is abundantly clear that, had those maxims always been adhered to, the world must have stood still almost from the beginning. The liberal-minded, on the other hand, can give a wide enough interpretation to such apothegms, and, if possessed of wisdom, know exactly in any particular case whether they should be rigidly observed or not. To attain to this liberality of mind and this power of judging, and be able to act vigorously and perseveringly in the course adopted, are the grand requisites in this branch of the philosophy of life.

One of the finest examples of this wise decisiveness on record occurs in the earlier part of Napoleon's historical life. He had made his wonderful irruption into Northern Italy, and overthrown great bodies of the Austrian troops. Little seemed wanting to complete the conquest of Lombardy but the taking of Mantua, to which he devoted 10,000 of his troops. At this juncture, he heard of the approach of a new Austrian army, consisting of 60,000 men, while he had in all only 40,000. By marching quickly along the banks of the Lake of Garda, they cut off his re--and very good adages they are in most circumtreat to Milan, which he felt to endanger his position very materially. But the Austrian army came on both sides of the lake, 20,000 on the one and 40,000 on the other. Napoleon determined to take a position at the end of the lake, so as to be between the two parties when they came to join. To pursue the narrative of M. Thiers-" By rapidly forming a main mass, the French might overpower the 20,000 who had turned the lake, and immediately afterwards return to the 40,000 who had defiled between the lake and the Adige. But, to occupy the extremity of the lake, it was necessary to call in all the troops from the Lower Adige and the Lower Mincio; Augereau must be withdrawn from Legnago and Serrurier from Mantua, for so extensive a line was no longer tenable. This involved a great sacrifice, for Mantua had been besieged during two months, a considerable battering train had been transported before it, the fortress was on the point of capitulating, and, by allowing it to be revictualled, the fruit of these vigorous efforts, an almost assured prey, escaped his grasp. Bonaparte, however, did not hesitate; between two important objects, he had the sagacity to seize the most important and sacrifice to it the other-a simple resolution in itself, but one which displays not alone the great captain but the great man. It is not in war merely, it occurs in politics and in all the situations of life, that men en

A hesitating, indecisive, and over-cautious manner serves as ill in the most simple and familiar affairs as in the highest; and its consequences are in proportion as bad. To have two things which we wish to do nearly about the same time, and to try to embrace them both in the same morning's labours, or accomplish them by the same walk, usually leads to their not being either of them done well, or in time. The whole pleasure of a day devoted to that object is often lost by a want of decision as to the mode of procedure, or the things to be attempted or done, while all would have been well if a right and rational plan had been started with and rigidly adhered to.

In short, and in fine, decision is a most important

quality in all affairs, and particularly in affairs of difficulty; but rashness is not decision; uncandour is not decision; headlong, blundering stupidity is not decision-no, it is only to be exemplified by those who, with expanded and sagacious minds to appreciate circumstances and judge of what is best to be done, possess the firmness to go straight forward with an enlightened resolution.

LIVES OF THE ANGLO-SAXON WRITERS. THE commencement of a splendid design by the Royal Society of Literature-no less than a complete chronological series of British literary biography-presents us with a volume on the Anglo-Saxon writers, by Mr Thomas Wright,* one of those youthful students of antiquities who at present form a somewhat conspicuous class of our intellectual labourers. Mr Wright has executed his task with a degree of diligence, judgment, and good taste, entirely worthy of the whole design to which he is a contributor. His volume will convey to unlearned readers a surprising notion of the extent to which literature flourished amongst the children of the Heptarchy. They will not be prepared to hear that "in England, during the eighth century, the multiplication of books was very great," that religious, political, and narrative poetry were then written both in Latin and in the native tongue, and that even ladies kept up correspondence in the former language with the principal learned men of the time. Yet the fame of some of the writers of that period may be said to be still very generally diffused. Few have not heard of Bede, of Alfred, and of Dunstan. With hardly any exception but that of Alfred, the literary men of England in the Anglo-Saxon period were churchmen or monks. They were the teachers as well as pastors of their flocks, and both wrote books and undertook the duty-equivalent to that of the printer amongst us—of multiplying them. It is impossible to read a just account of these men, devoting themselves in their little cells, often at a distance from all society, to the business of cultivating and diffusing letters, without acknowledging that in their time they were a most useful and praiseworthy part of the community.

Bede, perhaps, stands at the head of the AngloSaxon writers. He seems to have spent a modest studious life, unchequered by incident of any kind, at the monastery of Wearmouth, where he died in 735. His works, consisting of Scriptural translations and commentaries, religious treatises, biographies, and an ecclesiastical history of the Anglo-Saxons, which is the only one useful in the present age, were forty-four in number; and it is related that he dictated to his amanuensis, and completed a book, on the very day of his death. Alfred, who may be said to have been a century and a half at least posterior to Bede, was also a copious writer, notwithstanding the duties and cares of sovereignty. He translated the historical works of Orosius and Bede, and some religious and moral treatises; also sop's Fables and the Psalms; and there is a collection of proverbs attributed to him. Original writing is mingled with some of his translations. He was also zealous to introduce learned men into his country, and to establish seminaries of learning, though the story of his having commenced the University of Oxford is shown by Mr Wright to be liable to strong suspicion. Mr Wright relates a well-known anecdote of Alfred in a somewhat various way :"During the first eight years of his reign, Alfred was engaged in constant warfare with the Danes, until, in 878, after numerous battles fought with various success, his fortunes were reduced so low that he was compelled to seek a shelter with a small body of his most faithful companions in the wilds and woods of Somersetshire. His chief abode was in the isle of Athelney, where a remarkable monument of his misfortunes has since been found, in a beautiful enamelled jewel bearing his name, and now preserved in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford. This spot was the scene of the interesting legend, so often repeated by modern writers, which appears to have been current in the latter part of the tenth century. The king, according to the oldest document in which this legend is noticed, then went lurking through hedges and ways, through woods and fields, so that he, through God's guidance, arrived save at Athelney, and begged shelter in the house of a certain swain, and even diligently served him and his evil wife. It happened one day that this swain's wife heated her oven, and the king sat thereby, warming himself by the fire, the family not knowing that he was the king. Then was the evil woman suddenly stirred up, and said to the king in angry mood, Turn thou the loaves, that they burn not: for I see daily that thou art a great eater.' He was quickly obedient to the evil woman, because he needs must."" It thus appears that the woman only thought that one who assisted so large in eating her household bread should help to prepare it ; not that she gave him a box in the ear, as the story commonly goes, for neglecting to turn certain loaves with the firing of which he had been intrusted.

Biographia Britannica Literaria, or Biography of Literary Characters of Great Britain and Ireland, arranged in Chronolo gical Order. Anglo-Saxon Period. By Thomas Wright, M.A., 8vo., pp. 554. London: J. W. Parker, 1842,

Dunstan seems to have been a very extraordinary departure. This prediction is perfectly identical person. He was born in 925 near Glastonbury Abbey, with that of John Knox in the French galleys. There and studied in the school at that place. When we is a cheap and easy kind of prophecy by which Dunread the narrative of his life, we can see very easily stan acquired no small part of his fame, consisting in that he was indebted for his great distinction not to a foretelling of events known to be extremely likely or talent alone, but in part to what would now be con- even threatened. When officiating at the coronation sidered as a constitutional tendency to delirium. He of the murdered Ethelred, he foretold that the sword was liable to fall into a peculiar morbid condition, in should not cease its visitations on his house till the which he saw wonderful visions, usually of a religious throne should have passed to a nation of strangers. character. Such things would now be pitied and In the third year thereafter arrived the first flight of lamented; in the tenth century, they created awe the Danish invaders, who in quick time subdued the and admiration. While a young man, he went to kingdom. Can we doubt that the invasion was at this who introduced him at court. His handsome face and likelihood of its success in the distracted and weak Canterbury to visit his uncle Athelm, the archbishop, very time threatened, and that Dunstan foresaw the figure, and many accomplishments, amongst which state of the existing government? was first-rate skill in playing the harp, made him a great favourite with King Athelstan, but gained him the envy of the courtiers, whose machinations drove him from the palace. Placing himself under the care of another uncle, Alfheh, bishop of Winchester, he there became "passionately enamoured of a maiden of great beauty, of a rank in life equal with his own, and endowed with the accomplishments congenial to his own character, and he sought permission to marry her. But his uncle Alfheh was opposed to the union; he probably foresaw in some measure the splendid destiny which awaited his nephew, and he urged him to overcome his passion, and to embrace the strict rule of monastic life, then prevalent in France, but which had not yet been introduced into this island. Dunstan avowed his distaste for monachism, and refused to act according to his uncle's admonitions. The struggle of contending feelings which arose out of these circumstances brought on a new and severe attack of his disease; and while languishing under a burning fever, his uncle came to his bedside, recommenced his exhortations to embrace a monastic life, and told him that he was now suffering under the effects of God's displeasure for having preferred an earthly bride to the Church of Christ. The words of the bishop had a deep effect upon his mind, and he appears to have made a vow that if he recovered he would retire from the world.

Dunstan fulfilled his vow in a manner that was no less extraordinary than the circumstances of his previous life. He built for himself, adjacent to the walls of the church of Winchester, a little cell, the larger portion of which was sunk below the level of the earth, and which was so small that he could scarcely raise himself upright in it. In this narrow receptacle Dunstan made his dwelling, and he only left it when required to perform the necessary acts and duties of his life. The period of his time which was not passed in devotional exercises, was here employed in the prac tice of the arts, and numerous branches of knowledge in which he was proficient. Dunstan was distinguished by his fondness for science and the mechanical arts, and he was probably acquainted with many instruments and modes of proceeding which, though their principle is now well understood, were then believed to be the work of superhuman agency. His biographer has preserved one of the incidents that drew upon Dunstan the charge of magic. It seems that before he left the court of Athelstan, he had invented a harp which played spontaneously. A noble lady, named Ethelwynn, who was acquainted with his skill in drawing and design, begged his assistance in ornamenting a handsome stole. Dunstan, as usual, carried with him his harp, which, when he entered the apartment of the ladies, he hung beside the wall; and in the midst of their work they were astonished by strains of excellent music which issued from the instrument. Dunstan had in his cell a forge, at which he manufactured the articles of metal that were necessary for the use or ornament of the church, while he rendered similar services to the people who visited him. He was skilful also in writing and painting (or illuminating), and frequently practised these arts in his cell; while at times the sound of the hammer gave place to that of his harp.

This pious man was supposed to do many wonderful things by the black art, when, probably, the only witchcraft which he used was a mechanical skill above his age. At one time the prejudices against him rose so high on this account, that some of his neighbours seized him one day and threw him into a pond, probably to judge of his wizardship by his sinking or swimming. Mr Wright adds:-"What was in part the nature of Dunstan's studies while at Glastonbury, we may surmise from the story of a learned and ingenious monk of Malmesbury, named Ailmer, who, not many years afterwards, made wings to fly, an extraordinary advance in the march of mechanical invention, if we reflect that little more than a century before Asser the historian thought the invention of lanterns a thing sufficiently wonderful to confer an honour upon his patron, king Alfred. But Ailmer, in the present instance, allowed his zeal to get the better of his judgment. Instead of cautiously making his first experiment from a low wall, he took flight from the top of the church-steeple, and, after fluttering for a short time helplessly in the air, he fell to the ground and broke his legs. Undismayed by this accident, the crippled monk found comfort and encouragement in the reflection, that his invention would certainly have succeeded had he not forgotten to put a tail behind."

In the school-books used in the Anglo-Saxon period, it is curious to find both the system of question and answer, by which so much is now learned, and also that which has been called the Hamiltonian system, by which a foreign tongue is presumed to be acquired by an interlinear translation. For the sharpening of youth [ad acuendos juvenes], they had arithmetical problems, such as are still to be found in some treatises of the present age; as, for instance, "The swallow once invited the snail to dinner: he lived just one league from the spot, and the snail travelled at the rate of only one inch a day: how long would it be before he dined?" Again: "An old man met a child, 'Good day, my son !' says he; 'may you live as long as you have lived, and as much more, and thrice as much as all this, and if God gives you one year in addition to the others, you will be just a century old :” what was the lad's age?" In one of these school-books a ship is defined rather beautifully as "a wandering house, a hostle where you will, a traveller that leaves no footsteps, a neighbour of the sand." Enigmas were favourite modes of intellectual exercise in those days, and many collections of them were made. For instance-"What is that from which, if you take the head, it becomes higher? Answer-Go to your bed, and there you will find it." Here the joke seems to lie in the ambiguity of the expression; take your head from bed, and it (namely, your head) is of course higher. There was great ignorance, of course, of all the natural sciences, and of none more so than medicine. An ancient manuscript in the British Muscum gives a striking picture of the low state of this branch of knowledge. One large section of the book relates to external injuries-as wounds and bites of venomous reptiles. There are also many receipts against poison; all of them significant matters. What appears singular, there are more provisions against diseases of the eye than against any other ailment. It is not surprising if, in this solitary and uncom-"Although this treatise is not a herbal, still the infortable abode, Dunstan frequently laboured under gredients mentioned are chiefly vegetables, though the monomania, as it has been described, to which he mixed up sometimes with other substances, such as was constitutionally subject. He believed himself ale and honey, of which latter commodity the concontinually persecuted by demons. It is pretended sumption was very great among the Anglo-Saxons, that on one occasion, in the night, when Dunstan was and, less frequently, fat, oil, or wine. The powerful employed as usual at his forge, the devil came to his medicinal effects produced by vegetable mixtures, and hut in the form of a man, and brought him a piece the facility with which they were obtained, will easily of iron which he wished to be beaten into a certain explain the great reputation they enjoyed in an unform. Dunstan willingly undertook the work, but, cultivated age; but the real causes of diseases were led by some circumstances to suspect the trick which little known; the connexion between the complaint was put upon him, he watched an opportunity, and and the remedy was seldom or very imperfectly unsuddenly seizing the fiend by the nose with his red-derstood; and the success of the latter must have been hot tongs, forced him to resume his own proper shape. extremely problematical. The object generally aimed The howling of the tempter was audible for miles at seems to have been to produce a sudden and strong round the cell, and when the terrified inhabitants came impression on the system, the effect of which must next morning to Dunstan to inquire the cause, it is often have proved fatal." said that they heard this story from his own lips." It is remarkable how much resemblance there is between some of the incidents of Dunstan's biography and those in the lives of the reformers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Luther also had his struggles with the evil one, and threw an inkstand at him. Like them, Dunstan had his visions of events yet to come. When obliged, by the persecution of King Edwy, to leave his church of Glastonbury, it rung with unearthly laughter, and the pious abbot, turning again, addressed the invisible demon in the following words: Go on, for thou shalt soon have more cause to lament for my return than to rejoice now at my

This treatise, Mr Wright remarks, shows how much superstition was mixed with the practice of medicine. The ingredients which the physician used frequently owed their virtues to some accidental circumstance with which, in the minds of the people, they were connected; as in the case of one receipt in which those particular herbs only are declared to be efficient

which grow spontaneously, and are not planted by the hand of man.' Much of their efficiency also depended upon the day on which they were administered, or on which the patient fell ill, and this, again, was regulated by the changes of the moon. The AngloSaxon manuscripts contain many lists of the attri

picked up by George, who had been hitherto an in- | active spectator of the conflict. As soon as Maggy saw that her object was attained, she made no further effort to detain John; but deaf to his intreaties to restore him the money, she, with her son, started off in an opposite direction, declaring, that if he attempted to follow her she would take his life. But John, too much alarmed at his loss to heed her threats, persisted in following her, hoping to meet some one to whom he could appeal for assistance; but Maggy obviated this danger by cutting across the fields, till at length, finding she could not get rid of him, she turned suddenly round, and with a savage blow felled him to the earth. By the time John had risen and wiped the blood from his face, Maggy and her son were far out of his reach, so there was nothing left for him but to pursue his way home, which he did with a heavy heart, greatly fearing that this misfortune would bring him much trouble, and perhaps be the occasion of his losing his situation.

As may be imagined, Gale, when he heard John's story, was extremely frightened, and, consequently, extremely angry, for he knew very well the fault was his own, and that his neglect of duty would now be disclosed to Mr Herriott; and as fear and anger are apt to render people very unjust, he refused to believe John's account of the matter, accusing him, in one breath, of carelessness, and in the next of dishonesty, threatening to turn him off and to have him up to the police; but as he could not do either of his own authority, he began by dragging him to Mr Herriott's office, and presenting him to that gentleman in the guise of a culprit brought up for chastisement. After reproving Gale severely for delegating a commission of such a nature to another, and especially to a boy who had so lately been taken off the streets, Mr Herriott turned to John to hear what he had to say for himself, not doubting that the temptation had been too strong for a lad brought up under circumstances so unfavourable, and that he was really guilty of appropriating the money. "But who has given you that blow on the face?" inquired he, on observing that John's nose had been bleeding, and that his mouth was swollen.

"Maggy Macmahon," said he, " because I ran after her to try to get the money back; and after she had knocked me down, she ran so fast that I could not overtake her; but if you'd be pleased to send to where she lives, perhaps you might catch her and get it yet." This suggestion, whether honestly offered or not, Mr Herriott thought it right to follow; so, having hastily gathered an outline of the case from John, he dispatched him, with three of his most trusty workmen, to look after Maggy, giving the men strict orders not to let John escape, nor even to lose sight of him for a moment. But neither Maggy nor George was to be found at their lodgings, neither did they return there all night; so on the following day, the police having been put upon the alert, the expedition presented themselves before Mr Herriott with John still in their custody, but without any tidings of the money. The disappearance of the mother and son was in some degree a confirmation of the boy's story, and disposed Mr Herriott to listen with a more believing ear to what he said. Still it was possible that there might have been collusion amongst the parties, and that John's share of the booty was somewhere secured for him till he could accept it without danger; and then it occurred to Mr Herriott that very likely it had been given to his mother. The police were therefore desired to investigate the matter, and keep a close eye upon Jane Reid's proceedings; but, on inquiry, it turned out that Jane Reid was in the hospital, dying of a fever, and had been there for some days. So far the circumstances were favourable to John, as was also the discovery that he had brought the money safely on a former occasion; therefore, though still uncertain what to think, Mr Herriott did not turn him away, but merely kept him under strict surveillance, desiring the men he could trust to lose sight of him as little as possible. Thus, John went on as before, doing his duty as well as he could, but he was not so happy, because he felt he was suspected; and he saw little hopes of his justification, for Maggy and George returned no more to their lodging, nor did the police succeed in tracing them.

under Mr Herriott, with a salary of one hundred
pounds a-year. This happened when John was twenty-
five, exactly fifteen years after the time when he had
found George breaking stones, and had asked Mr
Herriott to let him have a hammer and give him a
job.
John Reid was now a very happy young man ; and
he was the more happy from the contrast betwixt the
present and the past, his comfortable and respectable
situation being very unlike the prospect that had
opened itself to him in his early years, when, a beggar
born, he saw no hopes of ever being anything else;
and nothing else would he ever have been, had he not
had the wisdom to seize fortune by the forelock, and
having once got hold of her, taken good care not to
let her go again. In short, though John had never
read Shakspeare, he acted as if he was aware that

"There is a tide in the affairs of men,

he could get a shilling a-day and his food without the inconvenience of labour. But John Reid, who reflected that a beggar can never be anything but a beggar, and who thought it must be pleasant to be respected, and wear good clothes, and be called "Sir, like the gentlefolks," lived to see his honest ambition realised; and after passing his existence in peace, plenty, and contentment-having risen, step by step, till, at Mr Herriott's death, he was appointed to that gentleman's situation-died at a good old age, on a bed surrounded by his children and his grandchildren, to whom he left a comfortable provision, and the blessed inheritance of a good name.

BITS FROM THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION.

RELATION OF FACTORY LABOUR TO DISEASE AND

MORTALITY.

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." The opportunity had offered-John had seized it- THIS subject was treated in a paper read by Mr Noble, George had refused it-and these reflections led him surgeon, Manchester, before the Statistical Section. often to think of George, and to wonder what was be- The author began by adverting to the diversity of come of him; the more especially as he could not but opinion which prevailed among medical authorities in remember that George was, in fact, the humble in- reference to the influence of the factory system on the strument of his own good fortune; for had he not health of the operatives employed in it. Among the seen him breaking the stones, it never would have witnesses examined before the Parliamentary comoccurred to him to make the application for himself. mittee on factory labour, a few years ago, the metroIt happened, on the occasion of some public rejoic-politan members of the medical profession had been ing, that the men were allowed to leave work early, almost unanimous in the opinion, that the factory and some indulgences were given to permit of their system was highly prejudicial to health, and that it spending the evening convivially together; but Mr ought to be considered as the fruitful parent of conHerriott particularly charged John to see that there sumption and scrofula. On that occasion, one witness, was no drunkenness or disorder; and with this view, who, in the early part of his career, had had some John put on his hat and cloak a little before midnight, experience in the centre of manufacturing industry, in order to ascertain that the party had broken up, had made bold to assert that scrofulous diseases were and that the men had retired peaceably to their beds. immeasurably more abundant in Manchester than in It was in the depth of winter, the weather was very London and other parts of the kingdom, and that the cold, and the snow was lying three feet deep upon the proportion in which that disease was developed could ground. Having seen that the place where the men not be less than one in ten. On the other hand, there had supped was empty, and that all was apparently were many medical men who contended, that factory quiet in the cottages where they slept, Reid gladly labour tended to fortify those engaged in it against turned towards his own dwelling, for the cold gusts of scrofula and consumption. Amid such conflicting wind that seemed to blow through him, and the sharp testimony, it was difficult to come to any satisfactory sleet that drove against his face, brought out in bold conclusion; but perhaps the best mode of arriving at relief the comforts of his tidily-furnished room, bright the truth would be by leaving the opinions of men fire, and wholesome bed; but as he passed a tempo- alone, and inquiring into the facts of the case. It was rary building which had been run up to defend some with this view, then, that he proposed to inquire to stores from the weather, he fancied he heard a groan. what extent the positive results obtained by the reHe listened, and it was repeated. "Ah!" thought gistrar-general confirm the idea, that consumption is he, "after all, I am afraid they have not been so steady more frequent in Manchester than in less denselyas I had hoped; this is some drunken fellow, I sup- populated districts. But, before proceeding with the pose, paying the penalty of his excesses;" and he details of his proposed plan, he might just remark, turned into the shed to see who it was. He had a with regard to the national system of registration, lantern in his hand, and by its dim light he perceived that, although defective in some respects, it would be a bundle of rags in one corner, whence the sounds pro- a valuable auxiliary to our other means of investigaceeded, and on touching the object with his foot, a tion, especially on all questions relative to epidemic face was lifted up from the heap-a face on which and contagious diseases, and especially in the prosecudeath was imprinted, and which, with its hollow eyes, tion of such inquiries as the present. The numerical stared upon him with a meaningless stare, that showed statements he was about to submit were taken from that the senses were paralysed by the wretchedness to the third and last published report of the registrarwhich the body was reduced. Seeing that this poor general, and they applied exclusively to the year 1839. creature must die if he remained exposed to the cold According to the census of 1831 (that of 1841 not of the night, John called up one of the workmen, and having been obtained at the period of compiling the with his assistance removed him to a warmer situa- registrar's last reports), there were resident in Mantion; and there, after a little while, the heat of the chester and Salford 49,392 families; and the total stove, and a glass of warm brandy and water which deaths registered in 1839 amounted to 9223, of which they procured from Mr Herriott's house, restored the 1454 are recorded as having been from consumption. sufferer to consciousness. John then offered him This was, in round numbers, in the proportion of about something to eat; but he shook his head, and said, if one death annually from consumption to every 34 it had come earlier it might have done him good, but families; and in the total deaths from all causes, of that now he believed he was past eating. And so he three from consumption in every nineteen. Now, cerwas-and yet he was but a youth; but intemperance tainly, these facts furnished a very decided proof of the when he had money, and want and exposure to the extensive prevalence of the disease in this district; and inclemency of the weather when he had none, had it might also seem to afford a decided confirmation of done the work of years, and he had reached the last the doctrine, that factory employment tends to prostage of his pilgrimage upon earth. In the morning, duce consumption. If we extended our inquiries to Mr Herriott, hearing of the circumstance, came to see other parts of the kingdom, this supposition was still him, and perceiving that death was fast approaching, farther confirmed. In Essex, for example, with a he asked him where he came from, and if he had any population of 62,403 families, the deaths from confriends. The man lifted up his heavy eyelids on hearing sumption during the above year were less by 250 than the interrogation; but when his eyes fell on Mr Her- in Manchester, although the population of Essex, in riott's features, a ray of intelligence and recognition 1831, was 13,000 families above that of Manchester. shot from them. "Ah, sir!" said he, "I know you, If the inquiry were to rest here, the inevitable inferbut you have forgotten me." ence would be, that the statements as to the great prevalence of consumption in Manchester and its neighbourhood were strikingly confirmed by the facts mentioned. But it ought always to be kept in mind, that, independent of employment in factories, there were many influences at work in large towns which necessarily tended to shorten life. So far as the working classes were concerned, the confined atmosphere of their dwellings (many of them residing in cellars), the irregularity of their employment, and the variations in the rate of wages, all tended to increase the rate of mortality. But although the rate of mortality in Essex was greater than that of Manchester, it appeared from the returns that, compared with the number of deaths from all causes, the cases of consumption were actually fewer in this factory district than in agricultural Essex, being in the latter as 4 in every 21, and in the former but as 3 in 19. Again, if a comparison were drawn between Manchester and another agricultural district, the same result would be obtained. Taking a district which embraced Cambridgeshire, Huntingdonshire, and the southern part of Lincolnshire, comprising a population of 67,351 families, the deaths from all causes, in 1839, were 7306, and those from consumption 1308, or 1 death from the latter cause in every 5; showing, as in the case of Essex, a much lower rate of mortality than

"Did I ever see you before?" said Mr Herriott.
"You once gave me a job, sir, and said you'd be a
friend to me," answered the miserable creature ; " but
I hadn't the sense to see what was for my own good.
There was a boy, called John Reid"

"Ah!" said Mr Herriott, interrupting him, for he
recognised at once who the stranger was, and saw the
importance of seizing the opportunity to clear his
friend John's character from the shadow of an impu-
tation-" I remember you now, and John Reid, too;
but John got into trouble about some money that
he lost betwixt this and the town. Did you ever
hear anything of it?"

However, fortunately, when people intend to do right, the being watched is much to their advantage; and so it proved with John, for the more narrowly his conduct was observed, the more reason Mr Herriott saw to approve it; and as time advanced, and his acquaintance with John increased, he became thoroughly satisfied that the account the boy had given of the notes had been correct, and that he had actually been robbed of them. This conviction was accompanied by a great augmentation of interest for John, who he feit had been injured by the suspicion, and had thus had a supernumerary difficulty thrown in his upward "Did he lose his situation for it?" said the dying path, and one that, in a less well-disposed boy, might man, making an effort to raise himself on his elbow have discouraged him altogether from well-doing; for," that was hard-very hard, for he couldn't help it; besides the mortification of being doubted, John had we took the money from him, I and my mother-but a good many crosses to bear from Gale, who resented it did us no good; it was soon gone, and then she took the loss of the money as the cause of his own exposure, to thieving to get more, and made me thieve too. It's and took many opportunities of making the culprit feel the weight of his displeasure. But Mr Herriott's favour and good opinion were the road to fortune, and John seeing that, bore Gale's ill will with patience; and accordingly, in spite of it, he rose from one thing to another, till he found himself in a situation of trust and authority, being employed as clerk and overseer

too late now; but if I'd staid and broken the stones,
it might have been different with me this day--but Í
was idle, and let the chance slip by me, and I never
got another. God bless you, sir! I have lived a bad
life-but let me have Christian burial, and the prayers
of the church over my coffin." And thus died George
Macmahon, the beggar, who refused to work, because

causes.

that of these districts, but a greater proportion of deaths from pulmonary complaints. But there was another mode of ascertaining whether factory labour tended to foster consumption. Let them compare other large towns, where there were no factories, with Manchester, and see not only what the rate of mortality was, but also whether the number of deaths from consumption were not as great as they were in that chief seat of the factory system. For example, he would take the case of Liverpool and West Derby, a district resembling this in size and extent of population, but in which there was hardly any thing in the shape of manufactures. In 1831, the population of Liverpool and West Derby was 43,026 families, which was 6000 below that of Manchester and Salford at the same period, and yet the number of deaths registered for 1831 was 9181, which was only 42 less than the number of deaths in Manchester; while the deaths from consumption amounted to 1762, or 300 in excess of those in this town. In Birmingham, where there were no factories, the population in 1831 was 23,934 families, and in 1839, the registered deaths were 3639; those from consumption being 668, which was a rather smaller proportion than in Manchester. In London, the rate of mortality was much lower than in Manchester. In 1831, the metropolitan districts contained 373,209 families; the deaths were 45,441; those from consumption 7104, being in the proportion of two deaths annually for every 105 famílies, or in the proportion of three out of every nineteen deaths from all From these numerical statements, which were of unquestionable authenticity, it was evident that Manchester and Salford were much more free from consumption than some other large towns. Thus far, then, they had looked in vain for evidence in favour of the assertion, that the factory system is favourable to the development of pulmonary consumption. But it might still be urged that, although the total number of deaths from consumption in Manchester were less than in the other towns he had named, yet that, of the fatal cases of pulmonary disease which do occur, an undue preponderance would be found among the factory population. With a view to ascertain what grounds there might be for this notion, he had, by permission of the superintendant-registrar of this district, gone over the books for this district, relating to the years 1838, 1839, and 1840. Believing that three years would form a fair average, he had taken the death-books of the township of Manchester for that period, and selected therefrom the age and stated occupation of all persons registered as having died of consumption, pthisis, or decline, between the ages of fifteen and forty. He had selected the township of Manchester, to the exclusion of Ardwicke, Hulme, and Chorltonupon-Medlock, because he thought it contained a fair proportion of the factory population, and might therefore be considered a tolerably just type of the whole. He had limited the inquiry to those persons between fifteen and forty, because he considered it likely that, if occupation of any kind shortened life by inducing consumption, the affection would in most cases be developed, and would terminate fatally, within those limits; and because, in omitting from calculations the cases marked consumption or decline below fifteen and above forty, he was most likely to embrace the largest average of real cases of consumption. He found, then, that in the three years he had named, the township of Manchester, with a population of about 160,000 souls, and with an average of 6000 deaths annually, there were 1141 registered deaths from consumption; and, as nearly as could be ascertained, 174 of these were of persons working in factories, or somewhat less than one-sixth of the whole.

It might still be said, however, that factory labour prematurely exhausted the vital energies, and gave rise to an unusually early mortality from various chronic diseases. But if such were the fact, they surely expect to find such early mortality manifested in the cases registered as consumption. Anxious to see how far this was the case, he had classified the ages of the 1141 deaths from consumption in the township of Manchester, and the result was as fol

lows:

Now, on comparing these numbers with data of a similar nature regarding other towns, he found a most remarkable coincidence. Take, for example, the table which Sir James Clarke had given, in his work on tubercular pthisis, of the proportion, at different ages above 15, of 1000 deaths from pulmonary consumption, and it would be found to approach very closely to that he had given. In a table compiled from the mortality returns of Berlin, Chester, Carlisle, Paris, Edinburgh, Nottingham, and Philadelphia, that writer had shown that the deaths at different ages were in the following proportions :-

to the early invasion of this malady than that of other | branch of physical science which it might have been
places. The general conclusion from all these facts his choice to pursue. But his talents and time were
was, that manufacturing habits do not exert any destined to be absorbed by other studies. His friend
unusual influence in the production or premature
development of pulmonary consumption, seeing that Dufay, Intendant of the Royal Gardens and Cabinet,
the vital statistics of this metropolis of the cotton chanced to be seized with a mortal illness in the midst
manufacture, so far as they have been analysed and of zealous schemes for the furtherance of his peculiar
compared with similar data from other towns, exhibit science, and wrote from his bed to the minister, point-
no preponderance of deaths from that cause, but, on
with the number of deaths from other causes, than place. In consequence, the latter, in the year 1739,
the contrary, a smaller rate of mortality, compared ing out Buffon as the man best qualified to take his
was to be found in the rural districts. In conclusion, when only thirty-two, was installed in the vacated
Mr Noble remarked, that he was far from entertain- office.
ing the opinion which some did, that factory labour
was protective from scrofulous diseases, and conducive
to general good health. On the contrary, he believed
that it was most prejudicial to sound health; but at
the same time he felt satisfied that in this respect it
differed very little, if at all, from most other occupa-
tions at which the great mass of the working popula-
tion in towns were obliged to labour for their liveli-
hood.

BIOGRAPHIC SKETCHES.

THE COUNT DE BUFFON.

GEORGE LOUIS LECLERC BUFFON, the most popular writer upon natural history, perhaps, of any age or country, was born at Montbard, in the department of Cote-D'Or, within the ancient province of Burgundy, on the 7th September 1707. His father was a counsellor of parliament in that district, and possessed a handsome fortune, enabling him to give his son the advantage of a very careful and liberal education. Dijon was the scene of young Buffon's primary studies, which speedily took the direction of science and natural history, although his father was desirous that he should train himself for the legal profession. It is said that an intimacy formed at this early period with a young English nobleman, Lord Kingston, and his tutor, a very accomplished person, had no slight effect in turning the attention of Buffon to scientific pursuits. It was arranged that he should travel with these associates, and accordingly he passed through France and Italy in their company. During this journey, ere he had quite attained his majority, he succeeded, by the death of his mother, to a large fortune, estimated by some biographers at twelve thousand pounds sterling annually. Thus handsomely provided with means, he within a few succeeding years settled down into that continuous course of study, mingled with elegant enjoyment, in which he persisted to the close of his life. His time was chiefly spent at his pleasant retreat at Montbard, and partly, also, amid the accomplished and scientific society of Paris.

Before he became known in the literary world, Buffon had visited England, and it was in some measure with the view of perfecting himself in the language of that country that he undertook those tasks which first brought his name before the public. He translated and published the "Vegetable Statics" of Hale, and also the "Fluxions" of Newton, works which sufficiently indicate the character of his favourite studies. The able prefaces attached to these versions gained for him considerable reputation, and he soon augmented it by original papers read before the Academy of Sciences, of which he was elected a member in 1733. Mathematics, physics, and rural economics, formed the subjects of these various essays; and one of them, at least, attracted general if not universal attention. The object of Buffon, in the case in question, was to determine the possibility of the feat ascribed to Archimedes at the siege of Syracuse. Historians have related of that philosopher, that, by means of powerful reflecting mirrors, he set fire to the hostile and besieging ships "at the distance of a bowshot." After many preparatory experiments, Buffon constructed a mirror, formed of 168 pieces of silvered glass, each six inches square, and by the combined action of ninety-eight of these divisions (which could be used singly or collectively) he set fire to a tarred and sulphured plank at the distance of 126 feet, while the sun's rays were ordinarily powerful. A plank covered with wool was fired at 138 feet with 112 mirrors; chips of sulphured and charcoaled wood were ignited at 250 feet by 154 mirrors in two and ahalf minutes; and 128 mirrors set fire to a tarred plank at 150 feet almost instantaneously. Many similar experiments were performed by Buffon, and they may be fairly held to have determined for ever the perfect possibility of the combustion of the Roman

ships by Archimedes.

These inquiries show that Buffon would unquestionably have attained to a high rank in almost any

at the thought, if, indeed, he ever conceived it, of A man of inferior genius might have been startled reducing to order the immense quantity of materials which had been accumulated from time to time in relation to natural science, and which stood, when they came before the new intendant, in the most chaotic shape-a mass valuable, indeed, in parts, but, as a whole, rude, indigested, without form and void. Buffon, however, did not shrink from the prospect before him. Ere long, he had conceived the plan of a great systematic work, embracing the history of every on its execution. At the same time, he saw the necesbranch of animal nature, and he entered with ardour sity, with an end so vast in view, of obtaining the aid of men who were competent to afford it, and who conscious. The most valuable assistant thus engaged might supply deficiencies of which he himself was by him was Daubenton, to whose indefatigable industry he owed all, or nearly all, the minute anatomical researches, drawings, and preparations, upon which his own toils were based. The comprehensive and habits, the brilliant descriptions, the comparisons and ingenious theories, the attractive pictures of animal classifications which permanently illuminated and popularised this most interesting branch of human knowledge-all these things flowed from the genius quently to 1739, ere he and his colleague were preof Buffon himself. Ten years passed away, subsepared to enter on their view of natural history, which began with quadrupeds, though this was preceded by a "Theory of the Earth" from the pen of Buffon. The latter composition is ingenious and eloquent, but coveries in geology. Betwixt 1749 and 1769 fifteen its hypotheses have been overthrown by later dislarge volumes appeared, amply working out the great schemes of the master-writer, and embracing accounts of the entire animal creation. Supplements, several in number, followed in succession, each adding new facts to some department or other of the previous

whole.

Buffon had high and peculiar merit in devoting his lifetime, as he did, to science. He possessed a noble and commanding person, and a handsome fortuneready inlets to all the gaieties of luxurious society. naturally fond of finery and display, and of an indoIn addition to these seductive advantages, he was lent temperament. Vanity was also shown to be one of his foibles, by his liking for reading his compositions to all around him. Yet during the greater proportion of his mature years, with all these weaknesses, he spent not less than fourteen hours a-day in study. He himself, when asked in his advanced years how he had contrived to do so much, replied, "Have I not passed fifty years at my desk?" Nor were these habits of application easily acquired. It is related that, distrustful of himself in his early days, he was compelled from bed at a certain hour, in spite of all orders and to order, and even to bribe, his servant to force him intreaties which might be weakly given at the time to the contrary-a proceeding which reminds one of the story of Ulysses, when he tied himself to the mast to listen to the Sirens, and commanded his men to disregard all his calls on them to stop. When he had settled into studious habits, he regulated his time in the following manner:-"After he was dressed, he dictated letters, and overlooked his domestic affairs; and at six o'clock he commenced his studies at the pavilion called the Tower of St Louis. This pavilion was situated at the extremity of the garden, about a furlong from the house; and the only furniture which it contained was a large wooden secretary and an arm-chair. No pictures relieved the naked appearance of the apartment, or distracted the by green folding-doors; the walls were painted green, thoughts of the learned possessor. The entrance was and the interior had the appearance of a chapel, on account of the elevation of the roof. Within this was another cabinet, where Buffon resided the greater part of the year, on account of the coldness of the number of his works. It was a small square building, other apartment, and where he composed the greater situated on the side of a terrace, and was ornamented with drawings of birds and beasts. Prince Henry of Prussia called it the cradle of natural history; and Rousseau, before he entered it, used to fall on his knees and kiss the threshold. At nine o'clock, Buffon usually took an hour's rest; and his breakfast, which consisted of a piece of bread and two glasses of wine, was brought to the pavilion. When he had written two hours after breakfast, he returned to the house. At dinner he spent a considerable portion of time, and indulged in all the gaieties and trifles which occurred at table. After dinner he slept an hour in his room, took a solitary walk, and during the rest of the evening he either conversed with his family or