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

NUMBER 526.

COWED ONES.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1842.

THE cowed and fearful are an extensive generation. There is some cowed person about almost every house. The figure, character, and mode of existence, are often very obscure. One sees them opening doors when servants are out of the way: sometimes they will peep into the parlour, and, seeing company, instantaneously retire, with a super-beg-pardon air: some dim vista running to the rearward may give a faint presentment of one of the order, in the act of cleaning cups or glasses clandestinely. But in general they are almost as little cognisable inmates of the establishment, as were those household spirits of old which worked by night, and took care never to be in the way when the family was stirring in the morning. As far as they are ever observed, a subdued look and lambent step mark the race. No visiter ever hears their name. An introduction would put them seriously about. There would be too much blaze and style about it for their taste. Like the fish which is only found in waters at the bottom of dark caves, they rejoice and thrive in obscurity; that is, as far as they can be said to rejoice or thrive at all. But their general aspect conveys the idea of their going through a constant penance for the sin of existence. They seem to know that they are superfluous, and their whole soul is directed to the expiation of the offence. Hence they can take no liberty of any kind with any body-no joking-no words implying a sense of equality. They are too glad if they only, by the most submissive and unobtrusive behaviour, be allowed to go through the world undragooned.

Some years ago, Mrs Sampson was a handsome, gaily-dressed lady, the wife of a prosperous man. She took up her full share of room on the principal streets, and bowed and was bowed to, as is only seen of ladies who have the privilege of occasionally sitting at the head of well-spread tables. But mark the sad change which a few years bring about! This good, kindhearted, once cheerful woman, has been for some years a widow upon a small provision, has had to lachrymate sons into counting-rooms free of apprentice fees, and been obliged to petition all sorts of people for all sorts of things. She has now the sobered timid step and look of the cowed one. The glory of good feasts bas departed from her, and she only knows friends to be obliged to them for little services and kindnesses, such as the worthy unfortunate never can want. She goes in half the space she once did. Her face, partly from arrangement of cap, and partly from the averted downward look, is seen but in small sections, like the moon three days from change. Life is full of lessons, and Mrs Sampson is one of them, telling (how often has it been told !) that no supposed good is secure in this sublunary scene.

Cowedness attaches to an immense variety of employed persons in all grades. Nay, some are the cowed of others who are cowed in their turn. There are some offices, where a vast deal of good behaviour is required at a moderate salary, and where there is just enough of promotion to make the organ of hope pay up the deficiency. However green and elastic the feelings with which the youth takes his desk in these vast establishments, he soon acquires the subdued, frightened look of the place. His walk gets tamed down into a stealthy movement. His voice falls, and he acquires a circumspect movement of the eyes. If, by chance, in going along an empty street, he meets a director, his heart beats as he tries to make out a proper bow, and it is an incident in his memory for a month. He comes to think all gay bouncing thoughts absurd, and vigorous procedure of all kinds only fit

for inconsiderate hectoring fellows. The only way to get on is to be excessively negative, unoffending, docile-to follow, in short, the three maxims of the old newspaper editor-Caution, Caution, Caution. It is a great spurt going to a public assembly, and the height of rashness to ride to a race. His only enjoyments are quiet visits to decidedly respectable exhibitions, such as floricultural shows, panoramas, scientific lectures, and elocutionary recitations. He likes to be seen going about at his leisure hours with a sister; it looks innocent. Taking part in political matters is entirely out of the question: the board is understood not to approve of it. He does not qualify to vote, and so does not, or thinks he does not, displease any party. In this subdued tone of mind his life passes away, his exterior getting all the time more and more cowed looking, till, at the time when all men are naturally cowed of their vivacity, he becomes a kind of Impersonated Negation. His pride is then in the paucity of the occasions when he was found fault with. Only six occasions rest in his mind, the worst being the leaving a desk one night unlocked. A terrible day that the collector sent for him to come and speak to him in his room; yet, after all, was not very severe. The thing was hushed up-it made him take care for the future. Now, on his retirement with a small superannuation allowance, the board is full of gratitude for his long and faithful services. He treasures up the certificate to that effect which they gave him; yet half-defyingly will sometimes say that they could not withhold it, for his conduct had been such as to bear the most rigid inspection. Long pent-up humanity thinks itself entitled to this little fling at last. It is a small matter, and the general feeling of the old man's mind is all respect for the establishment. Capital office of its kind-first-rate directors-most civil, gentlemanly man Mr Smith-excellent, prudent man Mr Higgins. Yet Mr Balchild was always his favourite; cause-once met him in the pump-room at a watering-place, when Mr Balchild actually shook him by the hand. He generally retires in the evening of his days to some excessively green-painted small house in the outskirts of the town, with a small garden, out of which he contrives to torture ten times the amount of flowers that it has any right to produce. The young clerks occasionally call upon him in the leisurely Saturday afternoons, and delight him with a chat about the current affairs of the old concern. is an immense delight to him on such occasions to remark how well the stock" keeps up, while so many of the more flashy and adventurous establishments of comparatively recent date are at and under par. It always happens, strangely enough, that his maid has sufficient dinner for two on these occasions, and that the visiter has no engagement, though he had had serious thoughts of going to the theatre in the evening. So the two sit down and dine together at a neat little table drawn near the fire, after which tumblers and the Edinburgh Courant are introduced, and a great deal is said about the likelihood of the Duke of Buccleuch connecting his pier with the Edinburgh and Glasgow Railway. But conversation is seldom long protracted; for it is the custom of our senior to have a post-prandial nap every afternoon. He accordingly takes some opportunity, while the young gentleman is studying the criticisms on the exhibition of the Scottish Academy, to drop into an appearance which, though not really sleep, leaves the other no excuse for interrupting him when he next takes his eye off the paper. The young gentleman knows well what he ought and ought not to do at such a juncture; so he keeps quiet, takes another tumbler, and turns into the next page. Exactly

It

PRICE 1d.

at six, the old gentleman awakes with a start, and declares that he actually believes he has been asleep, though he could not have supposed such a thing of himself otherwise. He then rings for tea, after having asked his friend if he has any inclination for more hot water. If the young man is a really good one, he will stay out the evening, and take a hand at backgammon with his host, trusting that Providence will reward his kindness by sending some equally pleasant young friend to beguile his evenings, when he shall have come to the same stage in his career. In that case, a few caller oysters and another tumbler conclude the meeting, and the old gentleman goes to bed in a state of mind which is perhaps to be experienced from " kind of life more certainly than from one spent, as his has been, in gentle duties steadily performed, and a walk and conversation which, if tame, have at least been eminently inoffensive.

There is always a little man called James about public offices, who opens doors, goes messages, and attends at the ringing of bell No. 29. He was once a bold soldier in the fifty-second, and served in the Peninsular campaign; but he happened to sink into this employment, and immediately became a cowed one for all the remainder of his days. He and his wife (who puts on the fires) live in some lightless den in the lower floor: no family-or they would not be there. He has a stoop in his gait, from deference, not age, and an arranged stupidity of face to meet all contingencies. He looks upon the clerks as very great men, the manager as high priest of the synagogue, and the directors as unapproachable divinities. As a kind of squire of the office's body, he even regards it as a sort of sacred and reverend thing, by no means to be joked with. On illumination nights, he exerts himself to the utmost to make all look excessively smart, and would take it quite ill if any one were to say the National or Phoenix looked better. One rather funny clerk sometimes condescends to ask a pinch from his box, and he hands it with a full heart. No one has seen him laugh, or commit the slightest indecorum, ever since he came to the office. As for his wife, her existence is only known as an abstract truth, inferred from the evidence of the fires-no one ever having beheld her in the body. Yet James and she have their own moments of comfort, though of a darkling and dubious kind. When the office has shut for the day, they feel quite at home and independent in their vast mansion, of which having the entire charge, they almost feel as if it were all their own property. Just before closing the principal door, about a quarter past four, you may observe James holding a lively conversation with a passing policeman, through about eighteen inches of open space, the greater part of his body being within and out of sight. The last of the directors having gone out, the load of intimidation gets somewhat lightened, and the old man feels himself almost at liberty to use the freedom of indulging in a little mirth, but not at the expense of any of his superiors. Yet he almost trembles while he does so, and, if one of the clerks were to pass at the moment, would feel as if one or two of the muscles of his visage had been off guard. Not that he would expect a reprimand; but it is as well, you know, to be carefuk Instantly, of course, he would close the door, and his friend the policeman would walk on," in maiden meditation, fancy-free."

Many other species of the cowed could be enumerated; but it might become tedious. I can patiently endure to see the peculiarity in all sorts of people, with one exception-that is, in children. Youth is the time of saliency and cheerfulness. Painful indeed it is to see these characteristics superseded by

the intimidated, subdued look, which results from harshness on the part of parents, or from the participation of the pinch of poverty. And this is, because cowedness is there so strikingly contrary to nature. Alas, alas, for those who are cowed in infancy and youth, for life can never after recover from it!

POPULAR INFORMATION ON LITERATURE. ENGLISH VERSIFICATION.

"One would think she might like to retire

length, and of any number between three and twelve. | said. The common effect of it is seen in Shenstone's Two are called a couplet, and fourteen a sonnet; and linesthree and four are sometimes called triplets and quatrains. Drayton's lines, now quoted, present a simple style of cadence or rhythm, a short and long syllable being alternated throughout each six. Very little variation of the measure can take place within so short a range of syllables, but it may be slightly varied, as in the lines,

"Shall we not touch our lyre?

Shall we not sing an ode?"

where the accent obviously falls on the interrogative

"shall."

Some of the most perfect poems in the language are written in seven-syllabled lines. Shakspeare, Milton, Waller, Cowley, Keats, and others, have in this form of verse given expression to many beautiful thoughts. It was in this verse, which, according to its normal arrangement, begins with a long syllable, followed alternately by short and long to the last, that Milton

ENGLISH verse is marked by one principal and uniform characteristic-the syllables of which each line is composed are regular and determinate in number. Rhyme, though a general, is not a universal feature; and the author of our great national epic, Paradise Lost, has shown by his practice that he did not deem it adapted, or at least essential, to the highest class of poetry in the language. With regard to accentuation, again, though the observance, to a certain degree, of fixed general rules is required, to give harmony to al-wished to be most any species of verse, yet extensive variations in respect to the seat of accent are not only allowable, but are indeed necessary adjuncts to poetical beauty. The same law holds good with respect to the pauses, or rests, made in pronouncing lines of poetry. Great variations are in this particular admissible, and even conducive to beauty. At the same time, as has been said, there is so far a fixed law both with regard to the seat of the accent and the pause, that, to carry the variations too far, would render the versification rough and unmelodious.

"Some time walking not unseen

By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale

Under the hawthorn in the dale.”

These lines exhibits several instances of the mode in which Milton, a great master of rhythm, sought to vary the music of his Allegro and Penseroso, and to prevent the "linked sweetness," which is characteristic of this buoyant measure, from palling on the ear, and being condemned as too "long drawn out." We allude to the occasional use of an octosyllabic line, as in the second of the above passage

"By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green."

Only in irregular compositions of the ballad class, however, is any noticeable variation of the number of syllables allowed; and fixture in this point may be held, therefore, as the one settled characteristic of English verse. Fortunately, however, no monotony has been impressed by this cause on our poetical literature. Keats, whose Ode to Fancy approaches nearer to these Our writers have left us examples of successful comgreat pieces than any similar poem, perhaps, in the position in almost every conceivable kind of verse. The lines have varied in length, from Fletcher's tri-language, sometimes shows us a different mode of giving variety to his verse. It is simply by altering syllabicsat times the seat of the accent, as in the second line of the following passage where the poet, telling what fancy can do, says

"Move your feet

To our sound,
Whiles we greet

All this ground;"

to Dean Swift's seven-league-boot lines

"Well! if ever I saw such another man since my mother bound my head;

You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred."

In regard to rhyme, which is the resemblance or identity of the terminating sounds of the words placed at the close of lines, there has been less variety. The higher kinds of poetry admit chiefly of unisyllabic "shade" and "made;" and also, though rhymes, as much more rarely, of rhymes of two syllables, as "yielding" and "wielding." It is more common for dissyllabic rhymes to appear in humorous or light verses, as, for example, in the following from Hudi

bras:

"Though stored with deletery med'cines,
Which whosoever took is dead since."

Only in poems of the same order do we find the trisyllabic rhyme, as in the couplet,

"There was an ancient sage philosopher,

That had read Alexander Ross over."

As for rhymes of greater length, they have only been used in occasional jeux-d'esprit. An additional rhyme always adds an extra syllable to the measure.

With the exception of the doggrels of Skelton, a writer who had the honour of preceding Ben Jonson in the Laureateship, no long compositions have been attempted in verses of four syllables in length. They occur in pieces of irregular construction, however; and the following is an example from Dryden :

"To rule by love,

To shed no blood, May be extoll'd above;

But here below,

Let princes know, 'Tis fatal to be good."

In the same way do lines of five syllables only appear casually in irregular pieces, as in the second lines of a verse from the "Maid's Tragedy:"

"My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth,
Upon my buried body, lie
Lightly, gentle earth."

When we come to six syllables, we do find beautiful pieces, occasionally of some length, composed in such a measure. Drayton has shown that it can be wielded most successfully for the expression of grave poetical thought. Two stanzas of his piece are subjoined ; it is an "Ode written in the Peak."

"This while we are abroad,

Shall we not touch our lyre?
Shall we not sing an ode?
Shall all that holy fire,

In us that strongly glow'd,
In this cold air expire?

In places far or near,

Or famous or obscure,

Where wholesome is the air,

Or where the most impure, All times, and every where, The muse is still in ure."

It may be observed here, that stanzas, as verses arranged like the preceding are generically called, are formed by a succession of lines, of indeterminate

"Sit thou by the ingle, when

The sear faggot blazes bright,
Spirit of a winter's night;

When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the caked snow is shuffled
From the ploughboy's heavy shoon;
When the night doth meet the noon
In a dark conspiracy

To banish even from her sky."

[Then send out fancy, and, though flakes of snow be dropping visibly on the fire,]

"She will bring, in spite of frost,
Beauties that the earth has lost;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delights of summer weather;
All the buds and bells of May,
From dewy sward or thorny spray;
***** thou shalt hear
Distant harvest carols clear;
Rustle of the reaped corn;
Sweet birds antheming the morn.
And at the same moment-hark!
"Tis the early April lark;

Or the rooks, with busy caw, Foraging for sticks and straw." Might the reader not readily believe that he was reading Milton? But we forget that it is mere versification we are treating of, and with small space to do it in. Whoso would know well the measure of verse under consideration, let him turn to the poems mentioned. As a mode of attaining the necessary variety of cadence, the alteration of the seat of the accent is certainly the most legitimate, and not the least effective.

The octosyllabic verse has been the favourite one of the present age, having been that chiefly, indeed almost solely, employed by Scott, Moore, and Byron. There is about it what the latter poet called a "fatal facility," by which he meant that the simplicity of its construction induced a serious risk of doggrelising. Hudibras, for example, as respects verse, is a mere piece of doggrel. In proportion to the length of the line, the varieties of pause and accentuation have scope for increase, but the octosyllabic verse is still too short to have many. A specimen is scarcely necessary of this familiar measure, but we give a few easy lines from King, with a good moral.

"Like to the falling of a star,

Or as the flights of eagles are;
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew;
Or like a wind that chafes the blood,
Or bubbles which on water stood-

E'en such is man, whose borrow'd light Is straight call'd in, and paid to-night." There is little variety of cadence here, long syllables following the short regularly throughout the eight. Marvel writes this measure more variedly and beautifully. Speaking of the Deity, this poet says, in allusion to the Bermudas,

"He gave us this eternal spring,
Which here enamels every thing;
He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night."

The last line, while exemplifying varied cadence, is at once picturesquely beautiful in language, and contains a most exquisite similitude.

Of the verse of nine syllables, a word only need be

To the bower I have labour'd to rear'; Not a shrub that I heard her admire, But I hasted and planted it there." This sort of measure is fitted for such prettyisms of thought, but is unsuitable for graver matters. Every third syllable is long here, or, in other words, is accentuated in pronunciation. By choosing words peculiarly accented, it is to be observed, a verse of nine syllables may be endowed with a very different cadence, as may other numbers also. For example, here are two varieties of the nine-syllabled line:

"Hylas, O Hylas, why sit we mute?"
"Now that each bird saluteth the spring."

But there is a want of ease in these lines. There seems a natural arrangement of accent for each given number, and it is to this we must here chiefly attend.

The line of ten syllables is the heroic line of our language, and has been proved capable of such expression as to merit its pre-eminent place. Horror, majesty, pathos, and humour-all forms, shades, and attributes of passion-it has been found capable of embodying to the mind in fit cadence. When we look at the roll of our poets

"A long procession, calm and beautiful,"

who have used this measure, its capabilities for variety are put beyond all dispute. Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Thomson, Akenside, Goldsmith, Armstrong, Cowper, Wordsworth, and Keats, are but a few of those who have tuned the heroic harp-and how different the strains of each

and all!

The heroic line consists of ten syllables, and is, norevery second syllable. The pause, again, according to mally, or according to the general rule, accented on the same rule, should fall on one or other of these long syllables, and it is most commonly given to the fourth and sixth, that is, the second and third accented syllables, of the line. It is to be observed of the pause, that, though it usually occurs at any division of the sense, marked by a comma, yet it does not always do so; and whether any such division exist or not in a line, the pause must still be made for the convenience of pronunciation, as every reader will find. Pope, the model of formalists in heroic verse, will supply us with an exemplification of these rules. We take a passage at random.

"But where's the man,' who counsel can bestow, Still pleased to teach,' and yet not proud to know? Unbiass'd' or by favour or by spite;

Not dully prepossess'd,' nor blindly right;

Though learn'd, well-bred; and though well-bred, sincere ;
Modestly bold,' and humanly severe :

Who to a friend' his faults can freely show,
And gladly praise' the merits of a foe?
Blest with a taste exact,' yet unconfined;
A knowledge both of books' and human kind;
Generous converse;' a soul exempt from pride;
And love to praise,' with reason on his side?"

ness.

This passage, with the pauses marked, shows to us the source of all Pope's peculiarities. Readers feel that he differs from all other writers of the heroic verse, and that, though it may be carried to satiety, he excels all others to a wonderful degree in smoothYet when they turn to Cowper, Dryden, and others, and make a comparison of their lines with those of Pope, they cannot discover any visible difference in construction. The secret is this. Pope almost always made his pauses on or at the long or accented, and not the short or unaccented, sounds. Another and more palpable peculiarity is, that he has very few variations in the seat of accent; but this is common to him with many writers, though certainly important to smoothness. Variations both in pause and accent form the Miltonic arrangement of the line-the fine, We shall take as an unpalling, true heroic verse. example of this sort of line two passages of poetry, which are in themselves beautiful. The first paints the case of Petrarch, who, with the soul of a reformer, fed on love till he fell into womanishness.

"Ay,' so delicious is the unsating food,

That men,' who might have towered in the van
Of all the congregated world,' to fan
And winnow' from the coming step of time
All chaff of custom,' wipe away all slime
Left by men-slugs' and human serpentry,
Have been content' to let occasion die,
Whilst they did sleep' in love's Elysium."
Here is a description of a well:

"Some moulder'd steps' lead into this cool cell, Far as the slabbed margin' of a well. Whose patient level' peeps its crystal eye Right upward' through the bushes to the sky." These lines, which, it will be seen, vary the pauses from short to long, are from John Keats, who, because there occurred one bad rhyme in his Endymion-indeed, in the whole of his four lengthened poems, containing about seven thousand lines in all-was deprived by malice, backed by ignorance, of the place which he merited, whatever might be his dues in regard to other poetical attributes, as one of the first masters of rhythm and rhyme in the language. Time, just time, is working the cure.

We are exceeding our limits, and would only beg the reader to apply the test as regards variation in pauses and accents, but chiefly pauses, to Shakspeare and others, and he will find the source of their un

cloying music, so unlike the smooth and tedious sameness of Pope. Look at Shakspeare's:

"I know a bank' whereon the wild thyme blows, Where oxlips' and the nodding violet grows; Quite over-canopied' with lush woodbine, With sweet musk-roses' and with eglantine; There sleeps Titania' some time of the night, Lull'd in these flowers' with dances and delight." Here both pauses and accent are varied, and how

exquisite is the music compared with the lines of Pope

or his follower Darwin!

Milton was a great master of rhythm, and from his practice we may gather certain other rules relating to versification. Either from perfection of musical ear, or taught by observation, he well knew the necessity of mixing the cowels freely in his lines. If examined, they will be observed to owe much of their melody to this variety of vowels. For example, look at the majestically harmonious opening of Paradise Lost :

"Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat—
Sing, heavenly Muse."

As any two sounds of one vowel are perfectly equivalent to so many different vowels, it may be said that the same vowel is scarcely ever repeated in any one of these lines. Examine Milton further, and his constant attention to this point will be apparent. Again, the further art of using particular verbal sounds, to express particular sentiments, was thoroughly known to him. The ancients practised the same art; and Pope, it will be remembered, says,

"The sound must seem an echo to the sense: Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar." These lines are intended, of course, as an instance of what they point to ; and, in other passages, Pope tries to exemplify the same thing-as in the line,

"Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone." But the artifice is here too palpable. Milton could produce the effect, and yet conceal the art. How beautifully consonant with the sense, and yet easy and natural, are such lines as

"Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles."
"On the light fantastic toe."

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"Flown like a thought until the morrow-day;
Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,
As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again."

The addition, simply, of two syllables to the heroic line, without any change in accentuation, makes the preceding one; and sometimes lines of fourteen syllables, similarly constituted, are introduced into heroic verse, as in the triplet of Dryden"While all thy province, nature, I survey, And sing to Memmius an immortal lay

of heaven and earth; and every where thy wondrous power

display."

This line, however, is more often used in irregular and occasional pieces. The same thing may be said of the line of eleven syllables, to which it is scarcely necessary to allude. In its common form, it has the dancing cadence of the other odd-numbered lines, as will be seen by the subjoined couplet from Congreve:

"Apart let me view, then, each heavenly fair,

For two at a time there's no mortal can bear."

We have carried these hints on versification farther than was intended, and must at once conclude. Our remarks may perhaps induce a few of the many who cultivate poetry, to examine the principles upon which the great poetical works of the language are constructed; and should such be the result, we may flatter ourselves with having done the world at large a favour, since it seems hopeless to expect any ebb in the swelling tide of modern verse.

THE COUNTESS D'AURAY.

A TALE.

WHEN Sir Walter Scott first met a lady to whom he was attached, after her elevation by marriage from a comparatively humble to a very lofty rank, he felt extremely anxious to learn whether or not she was happy in her new condition. He knew she had sustained no serious ills, but he had seen by experience, he says, that our happiness is much more often affected by evils which we create for ourselves, in spite of the blessings of fortune, than by real and severe ills. He illustrated the remark by reference to the case of the gentleman, who, in the midst of all manner of com

When he takes up his thunder-trumpet, again, how forts, was rendered utterly miserable by the daily appropriately awful his language!

"Him the Almighty Power

Hurl'd headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down

To bottomless perdition."

sight of a neighbour's turkey. We have found a little story in one of the foreign journals, which so forcibly illustrates the same maxim, that we are tempted to translate it.

When he would make his verse tell of toil, in sound the school of St Cyr at the age of twenty-one, with as well as sense, he speaks thus :

"The fiend

O'er bog, or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies." A fine natural ear teaches the poet to attend to these points, and, without attention to them, versification of the highest order cannot be produced. We shall give some instances in which a late poet seems to us to have succeeded admirably in this respect, and yet to have done so with so much delicacy of taste and touch, that no suspicion of any straining after effect is engendered. The following line is like an oceanshell applied to the ear :

"The surgy murmurs of the lonely sea."

M. de Manleon, a young French gentleman, left an ensign's commission in his possession. His mother had obtained for him leave of absence for three months, and came to Paris to carry him off for that period to Poitou, anxious to enjoy his beloved society while she could. They left the capital together in a post-carriage, and travelled a great part of their journey without any remarkable adventure. At length, a little incident occurred which greatly interested M. de Manleon. The travellers reached a steep hill on their way, and M. de Manleon leapt out to relieve the horses, leaving his mother inside. He had scarcely walked a few paces, when he found himself surrounded by a band of village children, who, as wont in the rural districts of France, offered him bouquets of flowers, expecting some little remuneration in return. But as soon as they noticed the lady, they flew to the

mixed with moderation in the social enjoyments of the great world. One evening, a friend asked him to go to a party, and allow himself to be presented to Madame d'Auray, wife of Count d'Auray, a lady of consummate beauty, and whom all Paris spoke of as the happiest of women. There was (said M. de Manleon's friend) a sort of pleasing mystery about her, too. M. d'Auray had suddenly appeared with her in Paris, and presented her to his relatives and friends, without saying ought of her birth or name to any one. She was nevertheless universally loved and admired. M. de Manleon permitted himself to be persuaded into a visit to the mansion of this happy paragon of female loveliness. When he was presented to her, a confused idea struck him that he had seen her before, but he could not remember when or where. The idea made him thoughtful, and he retired to the recess of a window, where he for a time stood alone.

A soft and sweet voice at his side made him hastily turn round. "Have you been lately in Poitou, sir?" said the Countess d'Auray, for she it was who spoke. "Not lately, madam," answered M. de Manleon; "our property there was sold. Are you acquainted with Poitou, may I ask?" "I am, sir," said the countess, and, as she spoke, she took a bouquet of flowers from the window, and held them up before him with a smile. A light broke in upon M. de Manleon's mind. "What!" cried he, "are you-can you be"-" Poor little Marie, and no other," answered the countess ; "ah! I was happy then!"

The little incident of the wayside formed the basis of an immediate friendship between M. de Manleon and the countess, who remembered him well through the medallion. The last exclamation of the lady had startled him, coming as it did from one whom all deemed happy. Afterwards, when they were better acquainted, he got an explanation from herself. “I remember," said the countess, "that Pierre was by my side at the time when you saw me on the road. That young peasant was my lover, and, though scarcely old enough, you would suppose, to entertain such a feeling sincerely, yet I loved him also. Two years rolled away, and our love continued to exist and increase. I was fifteen. One day Pierre and I quarrelled, and I, thinking he had shown much hastiness and bitterness of temper, would make no concessions to him, though perhaps myself in the wrong. At that very time, a young gentleman saw me by the wayside, as you did, when passing. He seemed struck with my appearance, indeed greatly so. The compliments which he paid me I repeated with triumph to Pierre, and they only made him more angry and jealous. He had reason to be yet more so afterwards. The young gentleman of whom I have spoken returned, and told me that he could not forget me. He asked me to go with him, and he would make me a great lady. You would now say, sir, that I stood a fearful chance of falling into the gulf of ruin and misery. Not so; the young gentleman had a soul too noble, too honourable, to be the cause of misery to any one, and his views for me were in accordance with that spirit. I listened to him with mingled feelings. I was an orphan; no one was near me to caution or to counsel. Pierre was my only tie to my birthplace, and it was on his account that I felt distressed. Í gave him opportunities to renew his addresses; but his anger and jealousy prevented him from doing so. I yielded to the pressing suit of the other, and was whirled off in a carriage from Poitou. Before I had gone far, I repented of my conduct, and entreated with tears to be carried back to Pierre. But my mind became calmer ere long.

The very sound spoken of is heard, too, when the poet coach side, and threw their flowers to her. One child girl of fifteen. But I was in safe guidance. It was

tells us, that

"streamlets fall With mingled bubblings and a gentle rush." In the same way do we enter into the description, when he speaks of one who saw at morn

"the horizontal sun

Heave his broad shoulder o'er the edge of the world." And we forget the crackle of the winter fire when told of the coming musk-rose,

"The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves."

It may be thought that we are showing a prepossession in referring so much to John Keats, whose lines these are; but our object is to illustrate the art of versification, and all our examination has been unable to discover any more perfect and fitting source of examples. Shakspeare is too well known, and Wordsworth, ever sustainedly great in his poetical diction, is rendered by that very equability less fitted to be the source of individual lines for our purpose.

No long poem of note has been composed in our language in lines of twelve syllables, with the single exception, we believe, of Drayton's Polyolbion. The line is lumbering and awkward, when so used. "Let all the world be judge, what mountain hath a name, Like that from whose proud foot there springs a flood of fame; And in the earth's survey, what seat like that is set, Whose streets some ample stream abundantly doth wet ?"

It is, or rather was, much more common to use the line of twelve syllables to give occasional variety to the heroic verse, and Dryden was peculiarly fond of so employing it. The following is an example of the manner in which he heightened the effect of a sentiment by the introduction of an Alexandrine, as the line is called :

"Now free, from earth thy disencumber'd soul

Mounts up, and leaves behind the clouds and starry pole."

alone remained-a girl of thirteen or so, whose uncommon beauty arrested forcibly the notice of M. de Manleon. She was a brunette of a clear and shining complexion, with an admirable form, and teeth as white as ivory. She stood smiling before the young man, but timidly kept her flowers in her hand, afraid to present them.

"What is your name, my dear?" said the officer. "Marie, sir," answered the girl. M. de Manleon spoke no more, but stood gazing at the child, thinking to himself that all the portraitures of youthful beauty which he had ever seen were outdone by the work of nature before him. Marie's eyes were cast on the ground, and she did not observe the closeness of his gaze, but others did. A young village lad, of fifteen or sixteen, leapt from the wayside, and looked at the officer with eyes full of anger and jealousy. M. de Manleon had little time to notice this addition to the scene, for the voice of his mother was heard calling on him to come and proceed. The young officer hastily took the bouquet of Marie, and having emptied his purse of its whole contents into her hands, he obeyed his mother's call, and soon saw the villagers no more. M. de Manleon, when he had time to reflect on the past incident, repented, not of his generosity, but of the way in which he had exercised it. A small medallion, containing his own likeness and that of another dearly cherished person, had been in the purse, and had gone with the rest of the contents. To reclaim it would have been difficult; and the young officer was forced to submit to the loss in silence.

For ten or twelve years, M. de Manleon continued in the army. He at last left it to enjoy the pleasures of a retired, or at least a private life, to which he had ever been attached. After spending some time with his mother in the country, he came to Paris, and there

My incaution could only be excused in a villageto a school near Paris that I was conveyed by the Count d'Auray, who, as you may imagine, was the person now alluded to. For five years I remained in perfect seclusion, enjoying the best advantages of education. At times the count visited our seminary, and I learnt to love him fondly. How could it be otherwise In my benefactor I saw the tenderest of lovers, and most amiable of men-young, handsome, and accomplished. Pierre was forgotten, and I became the Countess d'Auray.

Ah! M. de Manleon," continued the countess," can you conceive, after this recital, the cause of the secret grief that preys upon me? Pierre is the cause. Old feelings have returned upon me. Madwoman that I am, I regret the hours of flower-gathering by the way-side; I figure to myself the happiness that I have lost as excelling that possessed; I dream of being a peasant's wife, the owner but of a cot, a cow, and a little garden! These thoughts haunt and pursue me. Yes, sir, they make me miserable-me, who so dearly love my husband! What madness!"

As the countess said this, she shed abundance of tears. M. de Manleon pitied her sincerely; but he said, "Madam, this misery is but the result of an excess of happiness. You are absolutely satiated with blessings." "Ah! M. de Manleon," continued the countess, "but think how much poor Pierre Billon regrets me! Perhaps he has died of grief; and it was I, too, who was in the wrong in the quarrel which separated us." M. de Manleon continued for some time to talk and reason with the lady. He tried the force of ridicule, and painted Pierre not as the flowergathering boy of her fancy, but as a coarse uneducated clown, whose society would be intolerable to her cultivated mind, and who lived in a state very unlike the Daphnis or Melibus of her Arcadian dream. He

would probably be married (said M. de Manleon) long ago, and possibly was vicious, and beat his poor wife. All this sort of reasoning only drew a sigh from the lady. She was silenced, but not convinced.

In time, M. de Manleon became an intimate friend and constant visiter of the Count d'Auray and his lady. He saw that the latter indeed loved her hushand most fondly, and in his presence forgot all her distress; but it returned to her in solitude. One day, while M. de Manleon was seated with the countess, conversing upon the usual subject of their tête-a-têtes, the Count d'Auray entered, pale and agitated. The countess sprung up. Her husband embraced her, saying to M. de Manleon, "Behold my consolation when I am vexed!" "What has happened?"" said the countess, anxiously. "Not much, my love," was the reply; "only we must economise. I must sell some part of my property, keep but one carriage, and give dinners but once a-month. I have lost a large sum of money." "Thank Heaven it is nothing worse!" cried the countess. "How did this loss occur, may I inquire?" said M. de Manleon. "Folly on one side, and villany on another," answered the count. "I had for some time entertained the thought of purchasing in the funds, and, meeting at the house of one of my friends a certain broker named M. Dennevers, who was recommended as an active man of business, I intrusted him with the means of making the necessary purchase. This worthy broker took my money with great coolness, and next day went off, no one knows where."

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"Have inquiries been made ?" said M. de Manleon. "Oh, yes!" answered the count; "we have at least had the satisfaction of discovering who he was. history is rather odd. He was first a peasant, became next a village-clerk, and finally settled in Paris as a sort of low agent in the brokerage way. He wormed himself there by degrees into the confidence of so many people, as to get large sums into his hands. You know the rest. By the by," continued the count, addressing his wife, he is a countryman of yours. We learned that he came from Poitou, and that his name was not Dennevers, but Pierre Billon. The rascal has left a wife, too, an excellent woman, whom he abused and neglected, completing his rascality to her by carrying off with him another person, an infamous character. But I must go to consult further with my fellow-sufferers." So speaking, the count departed. M. de Manleon looked at the countess. "What think you now, madam ?-a villain-a wretch!" "Oh! M. de Manleon," cried the countess, with tears in her eyes, "how senselessly ungrateful have I been to Heaven for its mercies! I am cured! I am happy! And you, my friend". “Ah, madam, I passed the wayside in Poitou two years too soon!" cried M. de Manleon, with a smile.

LETTERS FROM A LADY IN LONDON
TO HER NIECE IN THE COUNTRY.
CHRIST'S HOSPITAL, &c.

MY DEAR JANE,-My last letter referred to the wes-
tern part of the metropolis, in which are situated the
palaces of the queen and many edifices of a very
splendid description, equally large with Stafford House,
which I described, and which are occupied chiefly as
the town residences of the nobility or other persons of
wealth and distinction. I now wish you to accom-
pany me in an excursion into the city, which is the
true old London, and the great seat of all kinds of
commerce. The streets in this quarter are generally
narrow, and lined with tall brick houses, rather dingy
in appearance, but, from the little glimpses I have
got, all remarkably neat and clean within doors. Be-
sides being narrow, the thoroughfares are densely
crowded with foot-passengers, omnibuses, waggons,
and, indeed, every species of vehicle, so that it is often
not easy to get comfortably along; still, there is a
wonderful liveliness in the scene, and so many things
for a stranger to look at, that I must say I enjoy the
city as much as I do the west end of the town.

Among the various establishments to which I was conducted in this part of London, none afforded me so much satisfaction as Christ's Hospital, or, as it is here familiarly called, the Blue-Coat School-one of those large charitable institutions with which the metropolis abounds. A visit to this interesting place would have, perhaps, afforded you more pleasure than any thing I have yet seen; and, if you will give me leave, I shall detail, to the best of my ability, what fell under my own observation. I was conducted over the hospital by one of the governors, and had therefore an opportunity of seeing some of the departments not usually shown to visiters.

The buildings belonging to this institution occupy a spacious area which opens up into Newgate Street, the large court-yard being merely separated from that bustling thoroughfare by iron railings. By an alley near this court-yard, leading past Christ's Church, we entered a square of fine old buildings, with cloisters or

a covered walk running round it; but the courts, and
squares, and buildings in connexion with the hospital
are so numerous, that I may mistake the order in
which they occurred. I daresay you will remember
having read in history of the establishment of this
school by the youthful and pious King Edward VI.,
whose memory appears to be held in grateful remem-
brance, as far as the erection of statues, portraits, &c.,
is supposed to indicate gratitude. The hospital was
opened in 1552, in buildings formerly occupied by a
monastery of Greyfriars; but these have in course
of time disappeared, and been succeeded by several
large structures of stone and brick, of different
ages, care being taken to preserve, as far as con-
venient, the Gothic style, with covered cloisters or
arcades round the different courts. The institution
has likewise been extended considerably in its opera-
tions since its first commencement, by bequests left
by various charitable persons. The annual revenue
now amounts to L.40,000. Charles II. endowed a ma-
thematical school for the instruction of forty boys,
which was subsequently extended by a Mr Travers,
who founded another class for mathematics, compre-
hending thirty-seven boys. There are now educated
within the institution eight hundred and fifty boys;
and at a school in connexion with it, at Hertford, a
few miles' distance from town, there are between three
and four hundred of a somewhat more youthful age,
including, I believe, some girls.

to us to be in excellent order, clean, light, and airy. Each contains several rows of beds, and at the foot of each bed is a small chest containing the clothes of the occupants. Each room or ward is superintended by a matron, whose private apartments are immediately adjoining. Off from each ward there is a small room for the use of the monitor, one of the older boys, who is called, by way of distinction, a Grecian, and takes a charge over the rest. We were told that the preceding week one of these young gentlemen had been sent off to the university, having completed his studies in the most creditable manner. It was now near the dinner hour, and the squares were filled with "playful children just let loose from school." Some were amusing themselves with skipping-ropes, hoops, balls, &c., while a band of the senior lads walked up and down, arm in arm, engaged in conversation. These were distinguished by an epaulette on one shoulder, being designed for the navy. We next proceeded to a building behind, on the upper floor of which I was shown the director's room, a large comfortable apartment, the walls adorned by some quaint old-fashioned looking portraits of patrons of the institution-amongst the rest were two pictures of Edward VI., one taken while he was in bad health, representing him pale and sickly, as if in the last stage of disease. In this room there is a very fine specimen of penmanship executed by one of the boys, being a copy of an address presented by a deputation of the pupils to the Queen on the occasion of her Majesty's visit to the city. In a small anteroom is a curious map of London as it was in 1647, with only one bridge across it will be in 1847! In the lower floor of this edifice the Thames: what a contrast to London as it is, or as is a large office or counting-house, in which the busiThe boys are the funniest-looking little fellows you ness of the establishment is conducted by a secretary ever saw, their dress having undergone little alteration and clerks. By the politeness of one of these gentlefor three hundred years. It consists of a long blue men, I was furnished with some information respectcoat, reaching nearly to the ankle, and bound rounding a branch of the charity which is little known. This is an endowment which furnishes a small anthe waist by a girdle of red leather; the lower gar ments are in the shape of little breeches, fastened at the knee, exhibiting to the utmost advantage stockings of bright yellow. They wear no hat; I believe each has a small round article like a saucer, called by the name of cap, but they seldom appear with it. From the neck depend little bands of white linen. In addition to this, they have each a yellow petticoat in winter, which they wear under their pelisse or coat. It is curious to see a fashion, in itself so quaint, handed down in all its purity for three centuries; but there appears a dread of encroaching on any of the customs, however unimportant in themselves, from a fear that innovations of a more serious kind might follow. In some respects, however, I believe the charity has been liable to abuse, for I was told there had been instances of boys being placed there, for the benefit of education, whose parents were in circumstances far removed above the necessities to meet which the hospital was originally endowed. The principal innovation of recent date was the establishment of a class for French, which was not formerly taught. As yet, the physical sciences are excluded from the ordinary routine of instruction.

The first room to which we were introduced was
that appropriated for writing. This is a long, well-
lighted hall, with long tables from one end to the
other. There were several masters attending, who
take one half of the boys in the forenoon, and the
other half in the afternoon. We were shown several

copies, some of them by very young penmen, and they
certainly did them great credit. The next department
we saw was the grammar school, equally large, con-
taining another large section of the lads. The masters
occupy small rooms at each end of this apartment,
where the lessons are repeated, the masters using the
precaution of having glass doors, through which they

nuity to any person in poor circumstances who is blind, and above (I think) 65 years of age, but who has never received parish relief; the annuity is ten pounds per annum, and refers to persons in any part of the United Kingdom.

containing the dining-room-a very large and elegant Leaving this place, we made our way to the edifice Gothic hall, resembling the Parliament House at Edinburgh, measuring 187 feet in length, 51 feet in breadth, and 47 feet in height, being the structure the most ornamental in exterior aspect, and that which is seen from Newgate Street. The walls of the hall, which is one floor up, are of oak, with a gallery at the farther end. This part of the various structures was erected so lately as 1825. It is lighted by lofty windows, some of which are filled in with brilliant stained glass, bearing the arms and emblazonments of governors and patrons of the institution, many of whom were educated in the hospital, and, having attained to wealth and eminence in their various pursuits, have taken this means of evincing the deep sense they entertained of the valuable privileges they had enjoyed in their youth. We now placed ourselves at the head of this large and splendid apartment, while the youngsters streamed in from the opposite extremity. Four long tables, placed lengthways in the room, and one at top, being covered and laid with wooden trenchers, the boys took their places on each side, one acting as waiter for a certain number, in order to prevent confusion. The legs of mutton were now introduced, in hollow wooden dishes, carried by boys on their shoulders, also thirty-eight wooden pails, beautifully clean, containing potatoes. A Grecian, or elder boy, now mounted the pulpit, which occupied a conspicuous place on one side of the room, and silence being enforced by a presiding master by three strokes of a hammer, he proceeded to read a short chapter from the Bible; when this was concluded, the boys all fell down on their knees, while a blessing was We were next conducted to another and much asked, to which they all responded most heartily. The larger edifice, in the lower part of which was the spectacle of between eight and nine hundred boys kitchen, from which issued a most satisfactory savour dressed in their antique garb, sinking to their knees of the good things of this life, showing that, while the at a given signal, and in this posture uttering thanks mental cultivation of the youthful inmates went vi- to the Almighty for his gracious bounty, was, I can gorously on, the wants of the body were not disre- assure you, strikingly grand, and in no small degree garded. Descending a flight of steps, we found the affecting. The grace being finished, all arose, and kitchen to be a spacious and airy apartment, beauti- dinner commenced. The meat was carved by fifteen fully clean, having on one side a series of ovens, nurses (a motherly-looking set of women, each at a ing to the contents, consisting of thirty-eight legs to those seated at the tables, each boy getting a pretty at which there was a respectable man-cook attend- particular station), and carried by the assistant boys of mutton. One of the boys was cutting the bread large slice, three potatoes, half a small loaf, and to be used at dinner, which another was ready to small beer or water according to his taste. It is imcarry in a basket to the hall. We were now taken to possible to imagine a more delightful scene than this the washing rooms for the boys, which were furnished-eight hundred and fifty fine little fellows, all as with long rows of wooden troughs; and I believe every happy as they could wish to be. And then the counone must wash separately, as they were at one time tenances were in themselves a study-such variety of very subject to ophthalmia, which was augmented by feature and expression! But whatever the habitual careless or promiscuous washing. The infirmary, in a expression might be individually, they seemed united separate building, next claimed our attention; and it in heart and purpose in doing justice to the good was gratifying to find that, out of eight hundred and things before them. I have seen hospital children to fifty boys, there were only eleven in the infirmary, whom it would have been an act of positive cruelty to and some of them only for a day or two. This room have wished an appetite, the means for satisfying it was exceedingly clean, with little open beds ranged not being within their reach; but here there was along each side, the linen as pure as snow. This de- no feeling of that kind; the healthy, cheerful appearpartment is looked after by a kind and careful nurse. ance of the boys showed that their wants were libeceding, are the sleeping-rooms, all of which appeared another day pudding, salt beef another day, roast In an upper floor of a house detached from the pre- rally supplied. One day in the week they have soup, beef, and so on, till roast mutton day comes again; and the governors purchase the best meat that can be obtained. They have bread and milk for breakfast,

see all that goes on.

*[The breeches, we believe, are an innovation of comparatively

modern date.-ED.]

bread with milk and water for tea, and bread and cheese for supper. Here terminated my visit, and I need scarcely say how much gratified I was with the exhibition of this munificent establishment, which I left more than ever impressed with admiration of the noble and generous spirit with which every thing is conducted in this great and liberal country.

My next visit of curiosity was to the hall of the Goldsmith's Company. You must understand that in the city there are a number of corporations of tradesmen, some of which are very wealthy, and own splendid edifices, in which they hold their stated or occasional meetings. Speaking at random, I should think that in some instances fifty or sixty thousand pounds must have been lavished in building and furnishing these halls, as they are termed. That which I now went to visit, at a short distance from Newgate Street, belonging to the Goldsmith's Company, is, I suppose, reckoned the finest in the city. Unfortunately, this magnificent building, which was finished only in 1835, is placed in a secluded situation behind the new Post-office, and is crowded so much on all sides by houses, that its beautiful exterior is utterly lost. It is two storeys in height, with eleven lofty windows in front, the centre windows being divided by a row of six elegant Corinthian pillars. On entering, we found in the vestibule a large polished stove, with a noble fire, beside which stood a huge luxuriously stuffed chair for the porter. If this personage has not been rendered lazy by such indulgence, he certainly has every inducement to become so, with such a fire and such a seat; but let us see what is beyond this. The entrance to the inner lobby is by glass doors; this fronts the staircase, which has a grand and imposing effect.

Immediately above the first landing-place, from which the stairs lead off to the right and left, is a full-length portrait of William IV., and below this is a marble bust of the same monarch. This hall and staircase are lighted from the roof, which is supported by lofty pillars of greenish marble. By a door on the left gallery we entered the dining-hall, a magnificent room, with five large windows to the back of the house. The pillars in this apartment are of yellow scagliola. One side of the room is ornamented by fulllength portraits of William, Adelaide, and Victoria, in their robes of state. The chandeliers, of which there are five, composed of crystal, are of the most superb description, and, when lighted, must have a dazzling effect. The carpet is also luxuriously rich, giving an idea of warmth and comfort. Long mahogany tables were laid out the whole length of the room, with chairs on each side, as if ready for the company who were expected next day (Lord Mayor's Day), covered with crimson morocco, with the arms of the company carved on the back of each. At the farther end, raised a few steps, is a recess, as if for a throne or chair of state, hung tastefully with draperies of crimson cloth; behind this the plate is kept, and on festive occasions is displayed in this recess. A passage from this end of the room conducts to the council-chamber, the walls of which are hung with green, with green damask window-curtains, lined with lutestring. On a marble table at the upper end is a curious stone, enclosed in a glass shade, which was found under the foundation of the old hall. There is a figure carved in the stone in a Roman costume, but it is very much worn by time, as you may suppose.

Opposite to this, on the other side of the passage, is the drawing-room, an exceedingly elegant apartment. The walls are covered with crimson satin damask, relieved by a border of white paint, united to the satin by a graceful scroll of gilding. The sofas and chairs are of the same material as the walls, as are also the window-hangings, which are lined with lutestring. Elegant little tables of white marble, with gilt pedestals, are placed along the side of the room. The chandelier and ceiling are superbly gilt, and rich gilt candelabra here and there complete the list of attractive objects in this room. We were led from this to the small dining-room, which has been the scene of many capital dinners, I could suppose; but dinner is scarcely the proper term-it should be feast or banquet, when applied to one of the princely companies of London, the metropolis of an essentially feasting nation. Well, then, this minor dining-room possesses all the attributes for comfort in an uncommon degree; it is neither too large nor too small. The walls are oak, and the furniture mahogany: at the extreme end, within a shallow recess, stands a sideboard, surmounted by a large mirror, hung with drapery of crimson velvet; this reflects and multiplies the plate. The windowhangings are of crimson. The mantel-pieces in all the rooms are extremely beautiful, being of carved white marble. Near to this is the tea-room, rather gloomy in its aspect, but somewhat enlivened on one side by the portraits of lord-mayors belonging to the company, grouped in one picture. Some of these worthies lived and enjoyed their civic honours as far back as 1551.

be the last place we saw, as it increased our desire
for our own dinners to such a degree that we speedily
made our way home, in the enjoyment of appetites
that even a lord-mayor might have envied.

STATISTICS OF EDUCATION AND OF EARLY MARRIAGES.

respect to half the women." It also appears, that in the whole of England and Wales, out of 124,329 couples married, there were 41,812 men, and 62,523 women, who, it is presumed, either could not write or wrote very imperfectly.

The Registrar-General observes, that "if the table for the year ending June 30, 1840, had shown results differing widely from those of the preceding year, AMONG the various methods by which the Registrar- it might reasonably have been suspected that such General has endeavoured to turn the records deposited returns were not likely to become valuable and safe in his office to useful account in illustrating the condi- criterions of the comparative state of education; that tion of the people, the practicability seems also to have they are drawn from too small a portion of the whole occurred to him of deducing from the marriage regis- population, and are too much influenced by accident." ters a criterion of the state of education, so far as Such, however, he says, is not the case. A comparison regards the ability to write, among the adult popula- of the table given on this subject in the second report tion throughout England and Wales. Every register with that in the third, shows a remarkably close corof marriages being signed by the parties married-respondence in the results, not only for the whole those who are able writing their names, and those who kingdom, but in the metropolis, and in every considerare unable, or who write very imperfectly, making able group of counties. In the metropolis, indeed, and their marks-it appeared to the Registrar-General in two out of the ten divisions of counties, the mean that an enumeration of the instances in which the proportion is precisely similar; in six others there is parties married have signed by a mark, instead of only a difference of one, in another the difference is writing their names, would serve to indicate the pro- two, and in the remaining one it amounts to three. portion among them who either could not write at all or write very imperfectly. And in his second annual Report, a table is given as the result of such an enumeration, exhibiting the proportion per cent. in the metropolis, in each English county, and in North and South Wales, of persons married in the year ending June 1839, who had used marks.

From this table it appeared, that in fifteen of the English counties-namely, Berkshire, Hertfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Huntingdonshire, Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire, Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, Wiltshire, Shropshire, Worcestershire, Staffordshire, Lancashire, and Monmouthshire, and in North and South Wales-more than 40 per cent. of the men were unable to write their names; and that in the WestRiding of Yorkshire, in Wales, and in nineteen of the English counties, more than half the women were similarly deficient in this primary element of education. It also appeared, that in the whole of England and Wales, out of 121,083 marriages there were 40,587 men and 58,959 women who could not write.

It was further observed, that the education of the men, in respect to the ability to write, was superior to that of the women, the proportions per cent. of those who were deficient being for males 33 and for females 49 in the whole kingdom; and a superiority, greater or less, was maintained by the men throughout every county.

This return also indicated a decided superiority with regard to the ability to write in the metropolis, as compared with the rest of England and Wales, and, next to the metropolis, in the north of England, including the counties of Durham, Northumberland, Cumberland, and Westmoreland. On the other hand, the most marked deficiency was in Lancashire, Bedfordshire, Monmouthshire, and Wales; in Lancashire, the proportion who had signed with their marks, was for men 43, and for females 65, per cent. ; in Bedfordshire, for men 55, and for women 66, per cent.; in Monmouthshire, 54 for men, and for women 67, per cent.; and in Wales, for men 464, and for women 70, per cent. But in the metropolis such proportion was only 12 per cent. for men, and 24 for women; and in the northern counties, for men 21, and for women 42, per cent.

The Registrar-General put forward these calculations, in the first instance, with evident and necessary caution, remarking, that it was not to be hastily assumed, upon the evidence afforded by the returns of a single year, that the inhabitants of any particular county or district were less educated than their neighbours, and that it was requisite that this experiment should be oftentimes repeated, and attended with similar results, before any such inference could be drawn with safety. "It must also," he observed, "be remembered, that although a fair average is thus afforded, the portion of the whole population exhibited in the yearly returns of marriages is small;" and such portion, whose signatures appear on the marriageregisters of a single year, is sufficiently small to be easily affected by accidental circumstances. At the same time, it must be observed that this criterion is free from the objection of selection, including every class and condition and every age, except children and very old persons, and it is almost impossible that the same person should have signed twice in the same year.

It may be necessary to state, that this criterion of the comparative state of education, as respects the ability to write, can only be applicable to the pastthat is, to such as existed ten and twenty years agoand can throw no light upon the amount and nature of the education now afforded.

Such are the statistics, deducible from the English marriage-registers, as to the state of education, with regard to the ability to write, among the adult population. Scarcely less interesting is the light which the Registrar-General, in his last and preceding reports, has contrived to throw upon the propensity to marry in early life, as such propensity is manifested, in various degrees, throughout the different portions of England and Wales.

In the tabular abstract of marriages subjoined to the last report, is included the number of persons, distinguishing males from females, married during the year ending June 1840, who were under twenty-one years of age; and in the report itself is embodied a table, exhibiting the proportion per cent. of each sex married under that age to the whole number of marriages, in the metropolis, in each English county, and in North and South Wales.

The general result for the whole of England and Wales appears to be, that out of the total number of marriages solemnised during the year ending June 1840, and which amounted to 124,329, 24,010 of the parties married were under the age of twenty-one years, namely, 6100 males, and 17,909 females; and the proportion per cent. which the minors bear to the whole number married is for men 4:90, and for women 14:40—the mean proportion being 9-65. This proportion is in a slight degree higher than that of the preceding year, when the numbers married under age were 5628 men, and 16,414 women; and the proportions per cent. to the whole number married 464 and 13:55 respectively mean proportion, 9:09.

The counties in which these early marriages appear most highly to have preponderated, are Bedfordshire, Huntingdonshire, Cambridgeshire, Northamptonshire, and Hertfordshire, making five out of the eight counties composing what is called the south-midland group of counties; next in Essex, one of the three eastern counties; afterwards in the West-Riding of Yorkshire; then in Staffordshire, one of the six western counties; next in Wiltshire, one of the five composing the southwestern group; and so on. A similar result, with the exception of Wiltshire, was shown for the preceding year. The results of the preceding year likewise show a remarkable similarity to those of the last year respecting those portions of the kingdom in which early marriages have been most rare.

The disposition towards early marriage appears most rarely to have exhibited itself in the metropolis, as compared with the rest of England and Wales, where the proportion per cent. is only 1.75 for men, and 8:30 for women, which exhibits a striking difference in favour of the metropolis when compared with Bedford, for example, the county in which early marriages are shown to have prevailed in the highest degree, namely, in the proportion of 12:40 per cent. for men, and 25.95 per cent. for women. Next after the metropolis, in point of the inferiority of the mean proportion of early marriages, stand the northern counties, taken as a group, namely, Cumberland, Westmoreland, Durham, and Northumberland; then Monmouthshire, and North and South Wales; then the remaining English counties, taken in groups, in the following order-namely, the south-western counties, five in number; the south-eastern counties, five in number; the north-western, two in number; the western counties, six in number; the north-midland counties, five in number; the three Ridings of Yorkshire; the three eastern counties; and, lastly, the south-midland counties, eight in number. The individual county next to the metropolis, in point of the smallness of the number of early marriages, is Devon

In the last annual Report of the Registrar-General,
just published, a similar calculation is contained, show
ing the proportion per cent. of the persons married in
the year ended June 1840, who signed with their
marks, and the result is strikingly coincident in every
respect with that of the preceding year, and such as
to induce the belief that the evidence contained in the
marriage-registers on this point will furnish a safe and
valuable criterion of the state of education (at least
elementary education) among the adult population,
and serve, in each succeeding year, by comparison
with preceding years, to indicate its progress or retro-shire.

We next descended to the kitchen, where preparations were being made for the feast of the fol-gression. lowing day, under the able superintendence of various cooks, male and female. The fireplace was of enormous width-I daresay ten or twelve feet; the heat rendered more intense by a tin screen of the same gigantic proportions; and here a spit, that would have borne an ox, was revolving gaily with about a dozen fowls. It was well we allowed the kitchen to

It has been calculated in the last Report (which embraces the year ending June 1840), "that in thirteen English counties, in the West-Riding of Yorkshire, and in Wales, more than 40 per cent. of the men married did not write their names; and that in nineteen English counties, in the West-Riding of Yorkshire, and in Wales, the same fact existed with

The number of women married during their minority exceeds that of the men by 11,808, in the whole of England and Wales; and throughout the metropolis, in each of the counties, and in North and South Wales, without a single exception, the women maintain over the men a numerical superiority greater or less in this respect. A similar result in favour of the males over the females, it may be remembered, was

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