THE PENNY MAGAZINE

One of the earliest monuments of India that attracted the notice of Europeans was the excavation of Elephanta, situated in a beautiful island of the same name, called by the natives Goripura, or Mountain City. This island is in the bay of Bombay, seven miles from Bombay castle; it is about six miles in circumference, and composed of two long hills with a narrow valley between them.

The island has taken its familiar name from a colossal statue of an elephant, cut out of a detached mass of blackish rock unconnected with any stratum below. This figure has had another on its back, which the old travellers call a young elephant, but which, as far as we can judge from the drawing of what remains of it, has much more probably been a tiger. The head and neck of this elephant dropped off about 1814, owing to a large fissure that ran up through its back. The length of this colossal figure, from the forehead to the root of the tail, was 13 feet 2 inches; and the height at the head 7 feet 4 inches. The remains of this colossus stand about 250 yards to the right of the usual landing-place, which is towards the southern part of the island.

After proceeding up the valley till the two mountains unite, we come to a narrow path, after ascending which there is a beautiful prospect of the northern part of the island, and the opposite shores of Salsette. “Advancing forward and keeping to the left along the bend of the hill, we gradually mount to an open space, and come suddenly on the grand entrance of a magnificent temple, whose huge massy columns seem to give support to the whole mountain which rises above it.

“The entrance into this temple, which is entirely hewn out of a stone resembling porphyry, is by a spacious front supported by two massy pillars and two pilasters forming three openings, under a thick and steep rock overhung by brushwood and wild shrubs. The long ranges of columns that appear closing in perspective on every side; the flat roof of solid rock that seems to be prevented from falling only by the massy pillars, whose capitals are pressed down and flattened as if by the superincumbent weight; the darkness that obscures the interior of the temple, which is dimly lighted only by the entrances; and the gloomy appearance of the gigantic stone figures ranged along the wall, and hewn, like the whole temple, out of the living rock,—joined to the strange uncertainty that hangs over the history of this place,—carry the mind back to distant periods, and impress it with that kind of uncertain and religious awe with which the grander works of ages of darkness are generally contemplated.

“The whole excavation consists of three principal parts: the great temple itself, which is in the centre, and two smaller chapels, one on each side of the great temple. These two chapels do not come forward into a straight line with the front of the chief temple, are not perceived on approaching the temple, and are considerably in recess, being approached by two narrow passes in the hill, one on each side of the grand entrance, but at some distance from it. After advancing to some distance up these confined passes, we find each of them conduct to another front of the grand excavation, exactly like the principal front which is first seen; all the three fronts being hollowed out of the solid rock, and each consisting of two huge pillars with two pilasters. The two side fronts are precisely opposite to each other on the east and west, the grand entrance facing the north. The two wings of the temple are at the upper end of these passages, and are close by the grand excavation, but have no covered passage to connect them with it.^[1]”

From the northern entrance to the extremity of this cave is about 130½ feet, and from the eastern to the western side 133. Twenty-six pillars, of which eight are broken, and sixteen pilasters, support the roof. Neither the floor nor the roof is in the same plane, and consequently the height varies, being in some parts 17½, in others 15 feet. Two rows of pillars run parallel to one another from the northern entrance and at right angles to it, to the extremity of the cave; and the pilasters, one of which stands on each side of the two front pillars, are followed by other pilasters and pillars also, forming on each side of the two rows already described, another row, running parallel to them up to the southern extremity of the cave. The pillars on the eastern and western front, which are like those on the northern side, are also 122continued across the temple from east to west. Thus the ranges of pillars form a number of parallel lines intersecting one another at right angles—the pillars of the central parts being considered as common to the two sets of intersecting lines. The pillars vary both in their size and decorations, though the difference is not sufficient to strike the eye at first.

All the walls are covered with reliefs (which are yet very little known for want of complete drawings), but are described as being in good proportion and producing rather a pleasing effect than the contrary. All the sculptures refer to the Indian mythology, and the temple seems to have been the special property of the god Siva, since he appears very frequently with his usual attributes. In one place we see him as half man and half woman, with one breast and four hands, in one of which he holds the snake.

In Mr. Daniell’s Views in India (vol. v. pl. 7) we have a beautiful drawing of the northern front of the Elephanta cave, with its overhanging trees and shrubs. His eighth plate is that which we have above given. “The view is taken near the centre of the temple looking westward. The space between four of the pillars is formed into a small temple, sacred to Mahadiva (Siva), and has an entrance on each side, guarded by colossal figures.” “On the walls are several groups of figures in basso-relievo, evidently relating to the Hindoo mythology; many of them are of colossal dimensions and well executed. To the east and west are small apartments, decorated also in the same manner. This excavation is considerably elevated above the sea; the floor, nevertheless, is generally covered with water during the monsoon season; the rain being then driven in by the wind; a circumstance to which possibly its present state of decay is chiefly owing.”

Larger excavations of this kind are found in the neighbouring island of Salsette. But these are far surpassed by the temples of Ellora, which are in the province of Hyderabad, about twenty miles north-west from Aurungabad, the capital, and 239 east of Bombay. It may be considered as near the centre of India. Here we have a granite mountain, which is of an amphitheatre form, completely chiselled out from top to bottom, and filled with innumerable temples; the god Siva alone having, it is said, about twenty appropriated to himself. To describe the numerous galleries and rows of pillars which support various chambers lying one above another, the steps, porticos, and bridges of rock over canals, also hewn out of the solid rock, would be impossible; and we recommend those who have the opportunity to look at Daniell’s designs, which will serve to give some idea of this wonderful place.

The rock-cut temples of India are generally supposed to be of higher antiquity than pagodas^[2] or temples, built on the surface of the earth.

Ben Jonson, in his play of ‘Every Man out of his Humour,’ has a character of which some examples may still be found, even in our own day. It is that of a credulous man, who relies implicitly on the Weather Prophecies of the almanacs of his time;—and, his barns being full, resolves not to sow his ground, because the almanacs foretel

This species of credulity is probably not very often now carried as far as in the instance of Sordido, the dupe of the play;—but still there are some amongst us who will not cut their grass till they have seen what “Master Moore” says about the weather. In nine cases out of ten these superstitious confiders in an almost worn-out imposture, have in the end to exclaim with the miser of the old dramatist, “Tut, these star-monger knaves, who would trust ’em? One says, dark and rainy, when ’tis as clear as crystal; another says, tempestuous blasts and storms, and ’twas as calm as a milk-bowl. Here be sweet rascals for a man to credit his whole fortunes with^[3]!”

Now, let us see what the almanac oracle of the present time—“Francis Moore, Physician”—says about the weather, for June, 1832. He says, in one of his narrow columns which runs parallel with the calendar of the present month, “Variable, with thunder showers flying about. Some showers at intervals, attended with electrical phenomena, EVEN TO THE END.” Be it remembered that this prophecy is for all parts of the United Kingdom—for England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland;—for the hilly districts and for the plains,—for the coasts and for the inland countries. A correspondent, who writes to us about the weather, very sensibly says, “Does it not often happen that they have many rainy days successively at Manchester, whilst not a drop falls at Leeds? How then can any man’s tables about the moon, or general rules for the weather, or the prophecies of almanacs, answer for both the hilly and level districts? The Cheshire men say that their rugged-topt hills knock out the bottoms of the clouds, and leave them as leaky as a sieve while passing over Manchester.” So much for the universal application of these astrological predictions of the weather.

But let us further examine this prophecy of Moore’s Almanac for the present month of June. There are some who impudently defend the publication of such predictions, as well as the predictions of political events which the same almanac contains;—and they say that the weather prophecies are only intended to give the average results of many years of actual observation, which make more impression upon the farmer’s mind in this form than if he were to refer himself to meteorological tables of the barometer, of the thermometer, of the hygrometer, and of the rain-gauge. Now, here is a prediction calculated to frighten the credulous agriculturist into a belief that the whole of June, throughout the country, will be unfavourable to hay-making:—“Showers at intervals, attended with electrical phenomena, EVEN TO THE END.” Electrical phenomena! This is a phrase as terrific as the obscurities of the ancient oracles. A phenomenon, as most of our readers know, is an appearance—anything made manifest to us in any way; and as electricity is doubtless one of the most important agents in producing particular states of the weather, rain and sunshine, wind and calm, heat and cold, may be equally electrical phenomena. But “showers at intervals, attended with electrical phenomena,” is a phrase naturally calculated to frighten the ignorant into a belief that the weather of June, “even unto the end,” will be rainy, attended with heavy storms; the most unfavourable state, because producing the greatest uncertainty and expense in the work of getting in the hay-harvest. This prediction was probably manufactured a year ago: it was printed in October last; and so far from giving a notion of what is the average weather for June—the only matter upon which the prediction monger could possess the slightest information—he prophesies directly in the teeth of the best meteorological records; for it is a well-known fact that in June the average number of days on which rain falls is under twelve—the lowest number of any month in the year. June, therefore, is in general the most favourable month for hay-making, whatever exceptions there may be in particular years; of which “Francis Moore” could know no more beforehand than the most ignorant peasant whom he deludes.

123But let us look a little further at the prophecies of the Weather-Almanac. June being lost to the hay-farmer by the fear of “rain and electrical phenomena,” July is to make him happy “with fair and hot weather.” The hay-harvest therefore will be, if possible, deferred by the dupes onward to July. Now in July a continuance of rainy weather commonly happens about the middle of the month; and this periodical tendency to rain has given rise to the popular tradition of St. Swithin. Of course there are exceptions to this tendency; but in this, as in most cases, the popular error has some little foundation in truth. The chances, therefore, are that the farmer who, for fear of “electrical phenomena,” has let June pass over without cutting his grass, will find a very short interval between the beginning of July and the periodical rains of the middle of that month; and thus a great deal of national property may be destroyed, and the credulous individual’s capital expended in vain, because he has chosen to believe in a musty cheat, of which even the propagators of the deception are ashamed.

We have endeavoured to show in a former Number (and we shall continue the subject in a future paper), that by the careful use of good instruments, some few facts may be established as guides in operations dependent upon the weather. In the place of these the observations of shepherds, fishermen, and others who have attended to the passing and local signs of winds, and clouds, and tints of the sky, and other omens, are not to be despised. These men are practical philosophers, who may fairly claim some accurate knowledge of the weather from day to day. They are much too sensible and honest to pretend to any power of predicting if it will be fair or foul weather, for a year, or a month, or even a week beforehand. Such a man has been described by the poet:—

The late Sir Humphrey Davy, one of the most successful modern explorers of the secrets of nature, was not above attending to, and explaining the, “weather-omens” which are derived from popular observation. In his ‘Salmonia’ he has the following dialogue between Halieus (a fly-fisher), Poietes (a poet), Physicus (a man of science), and Ornither (a sportsman):—

We may not improperly conclude this paper with some lines which have been transmitted to us, as a production of the late Dr. Jenner, the discoverer of vaccination. We, of course, do not recommend an implicit reliance upon such natural prophecies of the weather of the coming day. But, at any rate, whatever connected with this subject tends to open a man’s own eyes,—whatever excites in him the habit of observation and comparison,—is a benefit; whilst a reliance, on the contrary, on the unprincipled quackeries of the more popular almanacs which still disgrace our country, as well as every other prostration of the understanding before the shrine of ignorance, is the most deceptive of all states of the human mind, and the most likely to engender a train of other delusions which shut up the sources of real knowledge, and degrade the whole moral as well as intellectual character.

[The Musk-Ox.]

We shall occasionally turn aside from the monuments of Art in the British Museum to notice some of the specimens in the collection of Natural History. Stuffed skins and skeletons are, of course, much less interesting, both to the scientific student of zoology and to the ordinary observer, than the living animal, retaining his natural habits, as far as they can be preserved, in a menagerie. But, at the same time, a stuffed skin affords a much better notion of the animated creature than the best drawing; and, in some cases, the living specimen cannot be procured, or kept alive, in this country. In such cases we are compelled to resort to such preserved specimens as that of the musk-ox, on the great staircase of the Museum.

This specimen is very faithfully represented in the above wood-cut. The animal, of which this skin was once a part, was shot by some of the persons accompanying Captain Parry, in one of his expeditions to the Polar Seas; and was presented to the Museum by the Lords of the Admiralty. The appearance of the musk-ox, as the visitor will observe, is strikingly different from that of the common black cattle of Great Britain. Its limbs are singularly short,—its crooked horns are broad and flattened,—long thick hair covers the whole of its trunk, hanging down nearly to the ground,—and its short tail, bending inwards, is entirely hidden by the long hair of the rump and hind quarters. It will be noticed that the hair is particularly thick under the throat, looking something like a horse’s mane inverted. The adaptation of the structure of this animal to the frozen regions which he inhabits, offers one of the most striking illustrations of design which the natural world exhibits. The shortness of the creature’s limbs prevents that exposure of the trunk to the snow-storms and the cold, which would result from a greater elevation; whilst he is more effectually protected from the severity of the seasons by the dense mass of hair with which his whole body is covered, and which, in winter, becomes a thick woolly coat, beneath the long straight hair which forms his outer garment. The Author of the Appendix to Parry’s Second Voyage, in noticing the remarkable projection of the orbits of the eyes in this species, considers that their formation is necessary to carry the eye of the animal clear beyond the large quantity of hair required to preserve the warmth of the head.

Thus protected from the inclemency of winter cold, the musk-ox remains the contented and happy inhabitant of the most barren and desolate parts of the earth. Within the Arctic Circle, in those almost inaccessible regions which lie nearest the North Pole, large herds of these quadrupeds are found, appearing to derive as much enjoyment from existence as the cattle who graze on the most luxuriant pastures, beneath a genial sky. They are not often found at a great distance from woods; but when they feed upon open grounds they prefer the most precipitous situations, climbing amidst rocks with all the agility and precision of the mountain-goat or the chamois. Grass, when they can get it, moss, twigs of willow, and pine shoots, constitute their food. The parts of the polar regions inhabited by the musk-ox are thus described in the Appendix to Parry’s Second Voyage:—

Captain Franklin, in his Journey to the Polar Sea, has given the following account of the habits of this species:—

The bulls of this species killed during Parry’s second voyage weighed, upon an average, about 700 lbs., yielding about 400 lbs. of meat; and they stood about 10½ hands high at the withers.

On the staircase of the Museum are also stuffed specimens of a male and female Giraffe, or Camelopard, which were presented to the Museum by Mr. Burchell, the traveller in Africa. The living giraffe which was presented to George IV. in 1827, by the Pacha of Egypt, died in 1829. The other giraffe sent to the 125government of France, in 1827, is still living in the Jardin des Plantes, at Paris. It is impossible from a studied specimen to form an adequate idea of the grace and beauty of this remarkable animal; nor of the impression produced upon the senses by a creature of such enormous height lifting up its head to gather the tender leaves from branches three times as high as a tall man. Till the living giraffes were brought to England and France there was a general belief that the descriptions of this animal were partly fabulous. It is now established that the account which was given of this animal by Le Vaillant, one of the most amusing of travellers, who saw the animal in its native woods, is perfectly accurate. We copy the following description from his Second Voyage, as translated in ‘The Menageries,’ Vol. I.:—

[The Giraffe.]

[Flaxman.]

July 4.—On this day, in the year 1715, was born at Haynichen, near Freyberg, in Saxony, the German poet, Christian Furchtegott Gellert. Gellert was not a man of the highest genius; but appearing at a favourable time, being animated by the finest spirit of benevolence and virtuous ambition, and possessing just the talents and character of mind suited to the task which he undertook, that of awakening the general body of his countrymen to a taste for literature, he produced as great and as gratifying an effect by his works as, perhaps, any writer that ever lived. His father was a clergyman, and he was originally intended for the same profession; but his first attempt in the pulpit convinced him that his constitutional timidity would probably prevent him from ever becoming an effective public speaker. He then resolved to devote himself to the instruction of his countrymen through the press. At this time Germany was almost destitute of a national literature. The country had given birth to many great scholars; and both classical learning and the abstruse philosophy of the middle ages were cultivated with zeal and success in its colleges. But scarcely any one had yet arisen to write for the people. This Gellert and a few of his friends resolved to do. Discarding all the repulsive technicalities of the schools, they proceeded to expound and illustrate the great principles of morality, metaphysics, and criticism, 126for the use of society at large, in a natural and popular style, such as was fitted to be intelligible and interesting to all. In this patriotic enterprise Gellert may be said to have spent his life. Every successive work which he produced was received with delight by Germany; but his celebrated ‘Fables’ were read with rapture by all classes of the population. One day a peasant appeared at Gellert’s door in Leipsic, with a waggon loaded with fire-wood. “Is it not here,” asked the man, “that Mr. Gellert lives?” On being told that it was, he desired to see the master of the house; and having been brought to him, “Are not you, sir,” he said, “the author of the ‘Fables?’” “I am,” replied Gellert. “Well then,” said the other, “here is a load of wood, which I have brought you, to thank you for the pleasure which your book has given to myself, my wife, and my children.” By such a heart as Gellert’s this was probably felt to be a more touching tribute to his powers than the plaudits of crowded theatres would have been. Another time he was standing in the workshop of a bookbinder, when a villager came in with a book in his hand. “Here,” said he, “I want this book strongly bound.” “Where did you pick up this book?” asked the binder. “I bought it in our town,” replied the delighted possessor of the treasure; “it has made the steward of the manor and the schoolmaster laugh till they have almost split their sides: I have a little boy, who is now a tolerably good reader; he shall read from this book to me in the evening, while I smoke my pipe, and I will go no more to the ale-house.” Even the war (commonly called the seven years’ war) which ravaged a great part of Germany from 1756 to 1763, did not extinguish the popular enthusiasm for the writings of Gellert. When Leipsic was taken by the Prussians in 1758, a lieutenant of hussars found out the peaceable poet in his house, and not contented with thanking him warmly for the delightful books to which, he said, he owed so many pleasant hours, insisted, by way of more substantially testifying his gratitude, upon making him a present of a pair of pistols, which he had taken from a Cossack. Nay, the common soldiers themselves used to come, almost in regiments, to hear a course of lectures on moral philosophy, which he read in public about this time; and it is related that one man, having obtained leave of absence, turned a considerable way out of his road, on his journey homewards, in order to see, as he expressed it, that honest fellow, Mr. Gellert, whose books had saved him from becoming a profligate. The works of Gellert have been frequently printed in a collected form, and amount, in the fullest edition, to ten volumes duodecimo. He had been afflicted during the greater part of his life by bad health; and died on the night of the 13th of December, 1769, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. Having lingered long in considerable pain, he remarked to the physician, a short time before his death, that he had not believed it would have been so difficult to die, and asked when the termination of his sufferings might be expected. When he was informed that another hour would probably release him, “God be praised,” he said; “still another hour!” and then lay in silent resignation, till the expected deliverance came. Germany lamented, with all the tokens of national grief, the loss of her amiable instructor; and medals and public monuments testified the admiration and gratitude of all ranks of his countrymen.

July 6.—The birth-day of John Flaxman, the late eminent sculptor, whose works have done so much to form the English school of design. Flaxman was born in 1755, in York, from whence he was removed in his infancy to London, where his father, who was a moulder of figures, subsequently kept a shop in the Strand for the sale of plaster casts. The father’s occupation, no doubt, contributed to call forth the genius of the son; but the boy very early began to give evidence of fondness for those arts to which his future life was devoted, and of singular taste and skill in the efforts of his uninstructed pencil. Like many more of the most distinguished cultivators of literature and art, he was prevented by the weakness and delicate health of his early years from mixing in the ruder sports of boys of his own age; and this, of course, gave him more time for solitary study. His father was not able to afford him the advantages of a regular education; but he rapidly acquired a great deal of knowledge by his own unaided efforts. When he was fifteen he was admitted a student in the Royal Academy. Here he was successful in a competition for the inferior honour of the silver medal; but on the contest for the gold one, Sir Joshua Reynolds, the President, awarded the prize to another. This was, perhaps, upon the whole, not an unfortunate incident for Flaxman, though he severely felt what he thought an injustice. His rival, notwithstanding his good fortune on this occasion, never rose to any distinction; but Flaxman, with the heroism of true genius, resolved to obliterate this defeat of his youth by future triumphs, of the glory of which no such decision should be able to rob him. And this resolution he nobly fulfilled. His first employment was given him by the Messrs. Wedgewood, the productions of whose porcelain potteries he embellished with designs that gave at once a new character to this branch of British manufactures. In 1782 he married; and five years afterwards proceeded to visit Italy, where he remained till 1794, studying the celebrated monuments of the fine arts with which that country abounds, and at the same time exerting his own pencil in the production of works which soon spread his fame over Europe. Having then returned to England, he was in 1797 elected an Associate, and in 1800 a Member, of the Royal Academy. After this he executed many great works in marble; and, as a lecturer, afforded some valuable contributions to the literature of his profession. For many years before his death his name ranked with the highest of the living artists of England. But we must refer the reader for an account of his performances to Mr. Allan Cunningham’s interesting life of him, lately published, or to the abstract of that memoir in the second number of the Gallery of Portraits. He died at his house in Buckingham-street, on the 7th of December, 1826, in the seventy-second year of his age.

The history of the United States of North America is, in some respects, one of the most instructive that we can turn to; because we are accurately acquainted with the origin of this social community, and are also enabled to trace its history in all its important facts, from the first establishment of the several colonies up to the present condition of the Union. Of all historical records none can be put in comparison with legislative enactments, as showing the condition of the people at any given period, and the degree of mental culture diffused among them. In the American States, even under their former colonial government, there were few men of any importance in the provinces who did not participate in some of the functions of government; and we may therefore consider the laws enacted at that period as indicative of the opinions held by the most influential classes.

We happen to have before us an old collection of Virginia laws, entitled, ‘A complete collection of the Laws of Virginia, at a Grand Assembly held at James City, 23d March, 1662;’ a few extracts from which may not be uninteresting.

There appears to be in this volume only one law about education, which prescribes the founding of a college “for the advance of learning, education of youth, supply of the ministry, and promotion of piety.” The law states how the money is to be raised; but as to its application nothing more is said, except that a piece 127of land is to be got, and, “with as much speed as may be convenient, housing is to be erected thereon for entertainment of students and scholars.” The housing department seems to have been the uppermost thing in the legislature’s thoughts; the providing of good teachers was a secondary consideration.

There are several enactments about “rewards for killing wolves,” which at that time infested even the lower parts of Virginia. At the present day, owing to the increase of population, the wolf and other wild animals, though occasionally heard of, are but rarely seen even in the mountains, and seldom do any damage. The reward “for every wolf destroyed by pit, trap, or otherwise, is 200 pounds of tobacco.”

Tobacco was the most common standard of value in Virginia at that time, as we see from this and numerous other instances, where fines, &c. are estimated at so many pounds of tobacco. Thus it is stated in enactment 35, that “the court shall not take cognizance of any cause under the value of 200 pounds of tobacco, or twenty shillings sterling, which a private justice may and is hereby authorized and empowered to hear and determine.”

The following recipe for good order is contained in an enactment, entitled ‘Pillories to be erected at each Court:’—“In every county the court shall cause to be set up a pillory, a pair of stocks, and a whipping-post near the court-house, and a ducking-stool;—and the court not causing the said pillory, whipping-post, stocks, and ducking-stool to be erected, shall be fined 5000 pounds of tobacco to the use of the public.”

In those days the following provision was made for extending the elective franchise, which appears founded on a rational principle: “Every county that will lay out 100 acres of land, and people it with 100 tytheable (taxable) persons, that place shall enjoy the like privilege” of sending a burgess. The burgesses, together with their attendants, were free from arrest, from the time of election till ten days after dissolution of the assembly; this privilege, however, was somewhat modified by several clauses. Every burgess was allowed during the sitting of the assembly “150 lbs. of tobacco and cask per day, besides the necessary charge of going to the assembly and returning.” This practice of paying legislators, which, in America, originated under the Colonial system, is still continued in the United States. It did not entirely cease in England until the reign of Charles II. Andrew Marvell, one of the burgesses of Hull, was the last member of the House of Commons who appears to have accepted the wages which all were entitled to receive.

Among commercial restrictions we find an enactment prohibiting the planting of tobacco after the 10th of July, which was done for “the improvement of our only commodity tobacco, which can no ways be effected but by lessening the quantity and amending the quality.” That the former effect might possibly be produced by the enactment, without securing the latter, seems pretty certain. Another object that the government had in view was to compel the people to become silk-growers against their will. “Be it therefore enacted,” says the legislature, “that every proprietor of land within the colony of Virginia shall, for every hundred acres of land holden in fee, plant upon the said land ten mulberry-trees at twelve foot distance from each other, and secure them by weeding and a sufficient fence from cattle and horses.” Tobacco fines, as usual, were enacted in case the planting and weeding were not duly performed; and further, “there shall be allowed in the public levy to any one for every pound of wound silk he shall make, fifty pounds of tobacco, to be raised in the public levy, and paid in the county or counties where they dwell that make it.” This act was passed in 1662, and probably continued in force for a long time; but Virginia did not therefore become a silk-growing country, nor has it yet, though many parts are well adapted to raise this commodity. People, we presume, have hitherto found other things more profitable than silk.

The following enactment has a most barbarous character about it, not unmixed with something extremely ludicrous as to the idea of the legislature trying to prevent women from talking: “Whereas many babbling women slander and scandalize their neighbours, for which their poor husbands are often involved in chargeable and vexatious suits, and cast in great damages:—Be it therefore enacted, that in actions of slander, occasioned by the wife, after judgment passed for the damages, the woman shall be punished by ducking; and if the slander be so enormous as to be adjudged at greater damages than 500 pounds of tobacco, then the woman to suffer a ducking for each 500 pounds of tobacco adjudged against the husband, if he refuse to pay the tobacco.”

This old statute book of Virginia is full of enactments such as we have quoted; some exceedingly mischievous, and others very ludicrous. It would, however, be unfair to say that there are not also some good regulations in it. Were a history of our own or any other country to be written, founded on the legislative enactments and illustrated, whenever it was possible, by individual cases on record, we should then begin to have some idea of what history is. Instead of the splendours or the follies of a few who occupy the attention of the historian, we should be able to form a more complete picture of the condition of the whole community, and a more exact estimate of the progress which has been made in social knowledge.

On the 29th of August, 1782, it was found necessary that the Royal George, a line-of-battle ship of 108 guns, which had lately arrived at Spithead from a cruise, should, previously to her going again to sea, undergo the operation which seamen technically call a Parliament heel. In such cases the ship is inclined in a certain degree on one side, while the defects below the watermark on the other side are examined and repaired. This mode of proceeding is, we believe, at the present day, very commonly adopted where the defects to be repaired are not extensive, or where (as was the case with the Royal George) it is desirable to avoid the delay of going into dock. The operation is usually performed in still weather and smooth water, and is attended with so little difficulty and danger, that the officers and crew usually remain on board, and neither the guns nor stores are removed.

The business was commenced on the Royal George early in the morning, a gang of men from the Portsmouth Dock-yard coming on board to assist the ship’s carpenters. It is said that, finding it necessary to strip off more of the sheathing than had been intended, the men in their eagerness to reach the defect in the ship’s bottom, were induced to heel her too much, when a sudden squall of wind threw her wholly on her side; and the gun-ports being open, and the cannon rolling over to the depressed side, the ship was unable to right herself, instantaneously filled with water, and went to the bottom.

The fatal accident happened about ten o’clock in the morning; Admiral Kempenfeldt was writing in his cabin, and the greater part of the people were between decks. The ship, as is usually the case upon coming into port, was crowded with people from the shore, particularly women, of whom it is supposed there were not less than three hundred on board. Amongst the sufferers were many of the wives and children of the petty officers and seamen, who, knowing the ship was shortly to sail on a distant and perilous service, eagerly embraced 128the opportunity of visiting their husbands and fathers.

The Admiral, with many brave officers and most of those who were between decks, perished; the greater number of the guard, and those who happened to be on the upper deck, were saved by the boats of the fleet. About seventy others were likewise saved. The exact number of persons on board at the time could not be ascertained; but it was calculated that from 800 to 1000 were lost. Captain Waghorne, whose gallantry in the North Sea battle, under Admiral Parker, had procured him the command of this ship, was saved, though he was severely bruised and battered; but his son, a lieutenant in the Royal George, perished. Such was the force of the whirlpool, occasioned by the sudden plunge of so vast a body in the water, that a victualler which lay alongside the Royal George was swamped; and several small craft, at a considerable distance, were in imminent danger.

Admiral Kempenfeldt, who was nearly 70 years of age, was peculiarly and universally lamented. In point of general science and judgment, he was one of the first naval officers of his time; and, particularly in the art of manœuvring a fleet, he was considered by the commanders of that day as unrivalled. His excellent qualities, as a man, are said to have equalled his professional merits.

This melancholy occurrence has been recorded by the poet, Cowper, in the following beautiful lines:—

Strange Mode of curing a vicious Horse.—I have seen vicious horses in Egypt cured of the habit of biting, by presenting to them, while in the act of doing so, a leg of mutton just taken from the fire: the pain which a horse feels in biting through the hot meat, causes it, after a few lessons, to abandon the vicious habit.—Burckhardt.

The Bedouins never allow a horse, at the moment of his birth, to fall upon the ground; they receive it in their arms, and so cherish it for several hours, occupied in washing and stretching its tender limbs, and caressing it as they would a baby. After this they place it on the ground, and watch its feeble steps with particular attention, prognosticating from that time the excellences or defects of their future companion.—Burckhardt.

Tremendous Earthquakes.—Earthquakes have caused many melancholy changes in Calabria; and every thing bears testimony to the cruel ravages occasioned by that of 1783. This frightful catastrophe, which has altered the aspect of these countries in an inconceivable manner, was preceded by the most appalling indications. Close, compact, and immoveable mists seemed to hang heavily over the earth: in some places the atmosphere appeared red hot, so that people expected it would every moment burst out into flames: the water of the rivers assumed an ashy and turbid colour, while a suffocating stench of sulphur diffused itself around. The violent shocks which were repeated at several intervals from the 5th of February to the 28th of May, destroyed the greater part of the buildings of Calabria Ultra. The number of inhabitants who were crushed under the ruins of their houses, or who perished on the strands of Scylla, was estimated at about 50,000. Rivers arrested in their course by the fall of mountains, became so many infected lakes, corrupting the air in all directions. Houses, trees, and large fields were hurried down together to the bottom of the deep glens without being separated by the shock: in short, all the extraordinary calamities and changes which can be effected by earthquakes were beheld at this deplorable period, under the various forms which characterize them.—Calabria, during a Military Residence.

Age of Sheep.—The age of a sheep may be known by examining the front teeth. They are eight in number, and appear during the first year, all of a small size. In the second year, the two middle ones fall out, and their place is supplied by two new teeth, which are easily distinguished by being of a larger size. In the third year two other small teeth, one from each side, drop out and are replaced by two large ones; so that there are now four large teeth in the middle, and two pointed ones on each side. In the fourth year the large teeth are six in number, and only two small ones remain, one at each end of the range. In the fifth year the remaining small teeth are lost, and the whole front teeth are large. In the sixth year the whole begin to be worn, and in the seventh, sometimes sooner, some fall out or are broken.

Anecdote of the late Honourable Henry Cavendish.— One Sunday evening he was standing at Sir Joseph Banks’s, in a crowded room, conversing with Mr. Hatchett, when Dr. Ingenhousz, who had a good deal of pomposity of manner, came up with an Austrian gentleman in his hand, and introduced him formally to Mr. Cavendish. He mentioned the titles and qualifications of his friend at great length, and said that he had been peculiarly anxious to be introduced to a philosopher so profound and so universally known and celebrated as Mr. Cavendish. As soon as Dr. Ingenhousz had finished, the Austrian gentleman began, and assured Mr. Cavendish, that his principal reason for coming to London was to see and converse with one of the greatest ornaments of the age, and one of the most illustrious philosophers that ever existed. To all these high-flown speeches Mr. Cavendish answered not a word; but stood with his eyes cast down, quite abashed and confounded. At last, seeing an opening in the crowd, he darted through it, with all the speed he was master of; nor did he stop till he reached his carriage, which drove him directly home.