THE PENNY MAGAZINE

[The Olive Tree.]

There is something peculiarly mild and graceful in the appearance of the olive-tree, even apart from its associations. The leaves bear some resemblance to those of the willow, only they are more soft and delicate. The flowers are as delicate as the leaves; they come in little spikes from buds between the leaf-stalks and the spikes. At first they are of a pale yellow; but when they expand their four petals, the insides of them are white, and only the centre of the flower yellow.

The wild olive is found indigenous in Syria, Greece, and Africa, on the lower slopes of the Atlas. The cultivated one grows spontaneously in many parts of Syria; and is easily reared in all parts of the shores of the Levant that are not apt to be visited by frosty winds. Where olives abound they give much beauty to the landscape. The beautiful plain of Athens, as seen toward the north-west from Mount Hymettus, appears entirely covered with olive-trees. Tuscany, the south of France, and the plains of Spain, are the places of Europe in which the olive was first cultivated. The Tuscans were the first who exported olive-oil largely, and thus it has obtained the name of Florence-oil; but the purest is said to be obtained from about Aix, in France.

The proper time for gathering olives for the press is the eve of maturity. If delayed too long, the next crop is prevented, and the tree is productive only in the alternate years. At Aix, where the olive harvest takes place early in November, it is annual: in Languedoc, Spain, and Italy, where it is delayed till December or January, it is in alternate years. The quality of the oil, also, depends upon the gathering of the fruit in the first stage of its maturity. It should be carefully plucked by the hand; and the whole harvest completed, if possible, in a day. The oil-mill is simple. The fruit is reduced to a pulp, put into sacks of coarse linen, or feather-grass, and subjected to pressure. The growth of olives and the manufacture of the oil afford a considerable employment to many of the inhabitants of France and Italy. The importation of olive-oil into Great Britain amounted, in 1827, to about four thousand five hundred tons, paying a duty of eight guineas per tun.

In ancient times, especially, the olive was a tree held in the greatest veneration; for then the oil was employed in pouring out libations to the gods, while the branches formed the wreaths of the victors at the Olympic Games. The Greeks had a pretty and instructive fable in their mythology, on the origin of the olive. They said that Neptune having a dispute with Minerva, as to the name of the city of Athens, it was decided by the gods that the deity who gave the best present to mankind should have the privilege in dispute. Neptune struck the shore, out of which sprung a horse: but Minerva produced an olive-tree. The goddess had the triumph; for it was adjudged that Peace, of which the olive is the symbol, was infinitely better than War, to which the horse was considered as belonging, and typifying. Even in the sacred history, the olive is invested with more honour than any other tree. The patriarch Noah had sent out a dove from the ark, but she returned without any token of hope. Then “He stayed yet other seven days; and again he sent forth the dove out of the ark; and the dove came to him in the evening; and, lo, in her mouth was an olive-branch plucked off: so Noah knew that the waters were abated from the earth.”

The veneration for the olive, and also the great duration of the tree, appears from the history of one in the Acropolis at Athens. Dr. Clarke has this passage in his Travels, in speaking of the temple of Pandrosus—“Within this building, so late as the second century, was preserved the olive-tree mentioned by Apollodorus, which was said to be as old as the foundation of the citadel. Stuart supposed it to have stood in the portico of the temple of Pandrosus (called by him the Pandroseum) from the circumstance of the air necessary for its support, which could here be admitted between the caryatides; but instances of trees, that have been preserved to a very great age, within the interior of an edifice inclosed by walls, may be adduced.”

[The Olive.]

The responsibility which is incurred by every mother imperatively calls upon her to seek the best means of making her children good and rational beings. This is not to be done by merely sending them to school for 186instruction. Education must be continued at home, or otherwise its most important results are left to chance, and it mainly depends upon accident or circumstance whether the child becomes vicious or virtuous. All persons may not have the power or the opportunity to direct the infant mind with sufficient steadiness and judgment to produce certain effects. It is much more within the ability of a mother to make her children good-tempered, and to endow them with cheerful, contented dispositions; but even in this, with the best intentions, she may fail from want of understanding the means. It is, however, in the power of all mothers—the learned and the unlearned, the rich and the poor—to have the most decided influence on the moral character of their children, and to make them virtuous members of society. To this end children must be educated by example as well as by precept. Let not parents believe that they are discharging their duty by admonishing their children to do right, while they act at variance with those principles they would inculcate. Children are peculiarly quick-sighted in this respect, and detect the smallest contradiction in act and word with surprising acuteness. That which we wish our children to become, that we should endeavour as much as possible to be ourselves. This is a maxim in parental management which would tend more than any other course to ensure success.

Grammarians have divided words into various classes, called parts of speech, an arrangement that has some advantages, and also some inconveniences. The advantages are the same that we derive from classification in all sciences, where we have a great number of objects which we wish to have some ready means of referring to: the disadvantages are, that the names of the parts of speech have often been an obstacle to our right understanding of the true nature and meaning of the words themselves. For our present purpose it will be enough to speak of nouns, adjectives, and verbs; or, if our readers prefer it, we will use the term noun as including that of adjective.

A noun, as the word imports, is a name for something, whether it be a thing immediately open to the examination of the senses, or an object which we contemplate only by the mind. We propose to distribute some of these nouns into classes, in order that by a comparison their meanings may be better understood.

The meaning of this termination in er is obvious: it expresses the do-er of a thing. These words in er may be considered as formed by adding the termination er to such words as work, kill, carry, &c. In the last instance it will be observed that the y is changed into an i in the new word.

There are some words in er^[1] which do not signify a do-er, such as murder, slaughter, laughter. But we have the word murder-er, and we might have such a word as slaughter-er: the word laugh-er is formed regularly from the word laugh.

This termination er is found in the German language in the same sense; and also in the Latin and Greek, where the termination or, with the same signification, is also of frequent occurrence.

We believe these words in or are all derived from the Latin, while the words in er are genuine Saxon. Visit-or, and other words of the class, are sometimes written visit-er; but it would perhaps be a good rule to confine all the terminations in or to words really derived from Latin; for it may be laid down as a general rule that the nouns in or, as the reader will see them in our common books, are of Latin origin, while those in er are of genuine Saxon growth.

Some nouns in or and er have special terminations to denote the female doer, thus, hunt-ress, murder-ess.

The second example shows that these words are simply made by putting ess to the end of the word in er; and that in hunt-ress the vowel e has been dropped, the word having been originally hunteress. Some words in ess change the termination of the masculine a little, as abbot, abbess. This termination ess is found in the Greek language with the same signification.

We have also feminine nouns in ix, formed from the Latin, such as executrix, prosecutrix: in ine, such as hero, hero-ine.

These words in ship have the final syllable derived from the verb to shape, which is to make, that is, to give a form to a thing. Now the word Lord is an old Saxon word somewhat changed, and means loaf-giving, (hlaf-ord); hence lord-ship would mean originally “the doing that which becomes a lord.” Friend-ship now means the state of being friends; originally, the making of friends. The word worship is used both as a noun and a verb, and it means worth-ship, “doing that which is good.” Hence we say “your wor-ship” when we speak to magistrates, or persons in authority.

The meaning of these words is clear from the use which we daily make of them. They imply a notion of a collection of things belonging to a person: thus, a kingdom originally meant the “possessions of a king,” his “people and lands.” Wis-dom is the “possession of a wise man;” and we do not know of any better.

This termination is very common in the German language, where it is found in the form niss. It expresses in the words just given the qualities of dark, bright, &c.

These words differ somewhat in their meanings.

In these instances the word in y denotes a condition, as, “he is in slavery;” or a profession, as, “he lives by robber-y, or villain-y, or treacher-y, or knaver-y;” all of them very bad occupations. The word ‘robbery’ is now often used to express a single act committed, as, “there was a great robbery committed lately.” It may also be observed, that in all the instances above given, except villainy, the syllable er is placed between the first and last part of the word. From such instances as ‘rob,’ ‘rob(b)-er,’ ‘robber-y,’ we might infer that many words in y are formed from nouns in er, which themselves are formed from simple verbs. Thus, from the word ‘slave,’ the word ‘slaver,’ meaning a ship engaged in the slave-trade, has sometimes been used. Many of these words in y denote a place where something is kept, or a place where animals are collected, or a place where something is made, as—

187Some of them signify an art, in which sense they are akin to the first examples that we gave, though of a more respectable class.

This termination y does not appear to belong to the Saxon part of our language. It is found both in Greek and Latin, and very often in the former language in significations the same as it now has in our own tongue. Such words as

are derived from Latin words which end in tas, as pietas, &c.

The interesting animal you alluded to in your Magazine of 30th June, and which made so unfortunate a journey to England, was an old acquaintance of mine. I happened to be at Malta when it arrived in that island from Egypt. The Governor, Sir F. Ponsonby, provided it with a very pleasant and appropriate lodging in the grounds of the villa of Sant’ Antonio, where I saw it several times with its two African keepers, who had attended it so far. The sultry, dry climate of Malta seemed to agree very well with it. There were no trees on that arid rock tall enough to require the length of his neck—the tallest at Sant’ Antonio were not much higher than its legs, and it was exceedingly pretty to see with what grace the creature bent its long, elastic neck, and brought its small, deer-like head, to play with their topmost branches. It only played with them. The Africans fed him regularly with some sort of dry provender, and when they appeared he was accustomed to show considerable animation; but I never saw it so forgetful of its dignity as to run—on the contrary, it walked up to them with very stately steps. Its eye then was particularly bright and beautiful, and the whole appearance of the animal was indeed very different from what I have heard described after its arrival in England.

The day it was embarked it did not look so well as usual. It was put on board a large, new merchant brig only lately built at Malta. When it was in the hold, with its feet almost on the brig’s keel, it could stretch its neck out of the main hatch-way, and command all the deck with its head. It seemed greatly astonished, but remained as tranquil as possible. I never heard it make the least noise. When the sailors went near it, it drew in its head, but seemed to protrude it with pleasure when its old companions and countrymen, the Africans, approached it.

At Constantinople, on one side of the Hippodrome, there is a menagerie, now very ill provided,—dark, filthy, and much neglected. Some years ago a giraffe was sent from Egypt to enrich the collection of beasts then existing there. Its keeper was accustomed to take it to exercise in the large open square of the Hippodrome, where the Turks used to flock daily in great crowds, to cultivate the acquaintance of the extraordinary quadruped. Seeing how perfectly inoffensive it was, and how domesticated it became, the keeper next used to take it with him on his walks through the city, and wherever the general favourite appeared, a number of friendly hands were held out of the gazebos, or projecting latticed windows, to offer it something to eat. The Turkish women were particularly attentive to it. The generality of the streets at Constantinople are so narrow, that, as it walked along the middle, its neck being inflected to the right or to the left, it could almost touch the houses. After some time, when it came to a house where it had been particularly well treated, if no one was at the window, it would gently tap against the wooden lattice, as though to announce its visit. It was extremely docile and easily directed, but if left to itself, it was observed invariably to take the street in which it had the most or the best friends. This pet of the Turkish capital died a long time before my arrival, but an old servant I had, told me the anecdote.

The old traveller, Marco Polo, says he was told of the existence of camelopards, or giraffes, in the island of Madagascar on the coast of Africa, and in Abyssinia. It does not appear that he saw any specimen, but he describes its principal features very accurately.

Two things are required on the part of the working classes to adjust themselves to the state of society as one altering and improving:—skill, or practical knowledge, so that when one branch of productive labour fails from improvement or fluctuation, they may resort to another; and economy, that they may provide against “a rainy day,” and instead of seeking relief in combination and outrage, have the means of support until the arrival of more favourable times. These qualities will appear only where there has been some training of the head and the heart. Let then the mind be taught to think and the judgment be fitted for correct decision, and the difference will be manifest, as it is now in cases occasionally witnessed; the intelligent will not be the dupes of demagogues or incendiaries, and the thrifty will discover a higher tone of feeling than their improvident neighbours.—Wilderspin’s Early Discipline.

The west part of Edinburgh is built along the ridge of a somewhat steep hill, stretching for about a mile from east to west. At the western extremity of the street, which, under various names, extends in a continuous line along this summit, stands the castle, crowning a lofty and precipitous rock; at its opposite end, which lies low, is the palace of Holyrood House, there commonly designated the Abbey. Holyrood House, in fact, was a religious establishment long before it became a royal residence. It was one of the numerous monasteries founded by the Scottish King David I., a monarch who was made a saint for his pious profusion. The name of Holyrood was derived from a celebrated silver rood (or cross) said to have been actually put into the hands of the founder by an angel, as he was hunting one day on the spot where the abbey was afterwards erected. This cross was accordingly regarded with great veneration and pride by the Scots for more than two centuries; but David II. having thought proper to carry it along with him, in 1347, in his foolish invasion of England, it fell a prey to the victors at the disastrous battle of Neville’s Cross, in which the King himself was severely wounded and taken prisoner, and, according to some accounts, twenty thousand of his troops left dead on the field. The Holy Rood was long after this preserved with great care in the cathedral of Durham, and continued to be the object of nearly as reverential a regard among its new as it had been among its original possessors. Holyrood House was most liberally endowed with lands and privileges both by its founder and by several of his successors; so that it eventually became the richest ecclesiastical establishment in Scotland. This abbey was repeatedly both plundered and burned in the course of the wars with the English. In 1544, especially, when Leith and Edinburgh were taken and sacked by the Earl of Hertford (afterwards the Protector Somerset) the whole of the church was burned to the ground, with the exception of the nave, which was subsequently used as a chapel.

[Interior of Holyrood Chapel.]

The earliest notice we have of the existence of a palace at Holyrood is no older than the beginning of the sixteenth century. The more ancient palaces of the Scottish kings were all to the north of the Forth, the country to the south of that river not having properly formed part of their dominions till a comparatively recent era. It is probable, however, that they may have had a residence at Holyrood before the year 1503, when we first find the palace expressly mentioned. After this, in 1528, James V. made great additions to the buildings already existing, or rather indeed rebuilt the whole from the foundation. A great part of this erection was burnt by the English in 1544; but the devastation committed on this occasion was soon after repaired; and a new 189palace built on a much more extensive scale than before. It was probably, indeed, a considerably larger building than the present, inasmuch as it is stated to have consisted of five courts, or quadrangles. Here the unfortunate Mary had her principal residence during the time she enjoyed her regal dignity; and here also her son James VI. held his court, till his accession to the crown of England. A considerable part of this building was afterwards burned down by Cromwell’s soldiers, and it lay in ruins till about the year 1670, when, by direction of Charles II. the present structure was commenced after a design of Sir William Bruce.

[Western Front of Holyrood Palace.]

The present palace of Holyrood House is a handsome stone edifice, surrounding a court which is nearly square, each side measuring about 230 feet in length. The four different ranges of buildings are flanked by towers at each extremity—and an arcade, supported by pillars, goes round the whole of the interior. The north-west portion of the building is all that remains of the palace erected by James V.; but the apartments which it contains are very interesting. Here are both the state-room and the bed-chamber which were used by Queen Mary, with the old furniture remaining, much of the needlework of which is said to have been done by her own hands. It was in this bed-room that she was sitting at supper, with her half-sister, the Countess of Argyle, when Darnley and his fellow-conspirators rushed in, and dragging forth her minion, Rizzio, slew him at the door of the apartment. The unhappy man received about fifty-five wounds. The trap-door, or opening in the floor of the adjoining passage, by which they ascended from the apartment below, is still shown, as well as certain dark stains on the floor, stated to be the marks made by Rizzio’s blood. The Pretender, Charles Edward, took possession of these apartments when he established himself for a short time in Edinburgh, in 1745, and slept, it is said, in what had been Queen Mary’s bed. The same bed, which still occupies its ancient place, received, a few months afterwards, the victorious Duke of Cumberland, when the slaughter of Culloden had for ever decided the question between the houses of Stuart and Hanover. In later times it has twice served as an asylum to the exiled princes of another house. Charles X. of France, when Count d’Artois, resided here from 1795 till 1799, with his two sons, the Dukes d’Angouleme and de Berri; and the same royal personage, a second time driven from his country, has now a second time found refuge, with his family, within the same walls. A new ‘Fall of Princes,’ such as old Lydgate translated from a French version of Boccaccio’s Latin, or a continuation of the ‘Mirror for Magistrates,’ might be compiled from the history of the successive tenants of Holyrood House since it was first erected by James V.

When his late Majesty visited Scotland in 1822, the state apartments in Holyrood House were fitted up with great magnificence, and their gilded and mirrored walls again reflected the splendour of levees and drawing-rooms. Considerable sums also have since been expended from the crown revenues in restoring the palace; and in consequence many important repairs and alterations have been effected. The largest of the apartments which it contains is a gallery on the north side, 145 feet in length by 25 in breadth, and 18½ in height. This gallery is adorned with 111 imaginary portraits of Scottish kings, all painted by a Flemish artist named De Witt, who was brought over by James VII. to execute the work. They are not worth much more as specimens of art than as illustrations of history. The Duke of Cumberland’s troops, when here in 1746, by way perhaps of evincing their superior connoisseurship, thought proper to stab and slash many of these canvass monarchs with their swords and bayonets; but they have since been repaired, and are now inserted into the panels of the wainscot. It is in this gallery that the elections of the representative peers of Scotland take place.

190Next to Queen Mary’s apartments, however, the old chapel is the most interesting part of Holyrood House. It consists, as we have already intimated, only of the nave of the original abbey-church. This ruin (for it is now nothing more) has received in the course of the recent restorations such repairs as will at least arrest for some time the farther progress of decay.

Holyrood House, as being a royal palace, is still a sanctuary for insolvent debtors; and they enjoy the protection, which extends to their effects as well as to their persons, not only within the immediate precincts of the palace, but over the whole of the adjoining royal park. This park is about three miles in circumference, and comprehends within its bounds the hill called Arthur’s Seat, one of the most striking objects of natural scenery to be found in the neighbourhood of any city.

About three years ago, a gentleman, residing a few miles from the metropolis, was called up to town in the middle of the night, by the intelligence that the premises adjoining his house of business were on fire. The removal of his furniture and papers of course immediately claimed his attention; yet, notwithstanding this and the bustle which is ever incident to a fire, his eye every now and then rested on a dog, whom, during the hottest progress of the devouring element, he could not help noticing running about, and apparently taking a deep interest in what was going on, contriving to keep himself out of every body’s way, and yet always present amidst the thickest of the stir.

When the fire was got under, and the gentleman had leisure to look about him, he again observed the dog, who, with the firemen, appeared to be resting from the fatigues of duty, and was led to make some inquiries respecting him. What passed may perhaps be better told in its original shape of question and answer between the gentleman and a fireman belonging to the Atlas Insurance Office.

Gentleman.—(stooping down to pat the dog, and addressing the fireman).—Is this your dog, my friend?

Firemen.—No, sir, he does not belong to me, or to any one in particular. We call him the firemen’s dog.

Gentleman.—The firemen’s dog! Why so? has he no master?

Fireman.—No, sir, he calls none of us master, though we are all of us willing enough to give him a night’s lodging and a pennyworth of meat; but he won’t stay long with any of us; his delight is to be at all the fires in London, and, far or near, we generally find him on the road as we are going along, and sometimes, if it is out of town, we give him a lift. I don’t think there has been a fire for these two or three years past which he has not been at.

The communication was so extraordinary, that the gentleman found it difficult to believe the story, until it was confirmed by the concurrent testimony of several other firemen; none of them, however, were able to give any account of the early habits of the dog, or to offer any explanation of the circumstances which led to this singular propensity. A minute of the facts was made at the time by the inquirer, with a view to their transmission to some of the journals or periodicals, which publish anecdotes of natural history of animals; but other things interfered, and the intention was lost sight of.

In the month of June, last year, the same gentleman was again called up in the night to a fire in the village in which he resided, Camberwell in Surrey, and to his surprise here he again met with “the firemen’s dog,” still alive and well, pursuing with the same apparent interest and satisfaction, the exhibition of that which seldom fails to bring with it disaster and misfortune, oftentimes loss of life and ruin. Still he called no man master, disdained to receive bed or board from the same hand more than a night or two at a time, nor could the firemen trace out his ordinary resting-place.

The foregoing account is strictly true, and the truth may be ascertained by inquiry of any of the regular firemen of the metropolis. But who of those best acquainted with the habits of that most sagacious of our quadrupeds shall offer an explanation of the “hobby” of the firemen’s dog?

One of the most curious and interesting of Chaucer’s Poems is that entitled ‘The House Of Fame.’ It is of considerable length, being divided into three books, comprising 2170 lines. Whether imitated, as some critics have conjectured, from a foreign original (which however, never has been produced), or constructed by the genius of our English bard, with no further assistance than some hints in the Metamorphoses of Ovid, it is at least equally valuable as a picture of the learning and opinions, on many subjects, of Chaucer’s age, the latter part of the fourteenth century. It is chiefly in reference to its value in this respect, that we mean to notice it at present. We omit, therefore, any analysis of the story, which would occupy more space than we can afford, and which may be found accurately enough given in the 14th section of ‘Warton’s History of English Poetry.’ For a similar reason we shall not stop to notice the poetical beauties in which the work abounds, although some of them deserve to be ranked among the finest examples of romantic loftiness of conception and splendour of colouring.

If it were necessary to prove, contrary to some of the accounts of the invention, that gunpowder was known a considerable time before the close of the fourteenth century, a passage in this poem would show that its use in the charging of fire-arms was already familiar. In book iii. l. 553, the sound is represented as rushing from the trump of Æolus

An engine, probably warlike, for projecting stones, is afterwards alluded to at line 843, where a particular noise is compared to

But one of the most curious passages in the poem is that in the second book, in which the author unfolds the leading principles of the natural philosophy then in vogue. It is too long to be quoted entire; but we shall give the most material parts of it, only taking the liberty of modernising the spelling where the pronunciation is not thereby affected. The discourse takes the form of an address to the poet himself, from one of the personages of the poem, and begins with the ancient explanation of the phenomena of gravitation. “Geffrey,” says the speaker, in substance, “thou knowest well that every thing in nature hath a natural station in which it may be best preserved and that hither every thing by its natural inclination striveth to come whenever it is not already there.” He then proceeds:—

He then goes on, as follows, to explain the philosophy of sound, with more correctness than many may perhaps be prepared to expect:—

A few lines after, the following account is given of the spreading of sound, which, so far as it goes, is unexceptionable:—

Pope, it may be recollected, has introduced this illustration (although in a different part of the narrative) into his Temple of Fame. This poem he wrote in his twenty-third year; and he acknowledges the hint to have been taken from this work of Chaucer’s, although he states that the design is in a manner entirely altered, and the descriptions and most of the particular thoughts his own. It will be found, however, that rather more than half of Pope’s poem is borrowed from that of Chaucer. But Chaucer’s work is altogether more than four times as long as Pope’s.

There is a long passage in the second book of Chaucer’s ‘House of Fame,’ (l. 106-152,) which is exceedingly interesting as giving us an account of the domestic habits of the poet himself. On the same subject may be consulted a shorter passage in book iii. 920-930.

August 15.—The birthday of Admiral Blake, one of the noblest of England’s heroes and patriots. Robert Blake was born in 1599, at Bridgewater, in Somersetshire, where his father, who had been a Spanish merchant, was settled. After he had spent some years at Wadham College, Oxford, his father died; and he, being the eldest son, returned to Bridgewater, and lived in a retired manner on the estate which he had inherited. Although known for his attachment to puritan principles, he took no part in public affairs till 1640, when he was returned for Bridgewater to the parliament which met for a few weeks in the early part of that year. But he failed in being re-elected for the one by which it was followed—the celebrated Long Parliament, which was destined to act so memorable a part. He was employed, however, in the war between the King and the nation, which soon after broke out, and distinguished himself by his military talent on various occasions. But it was on another element that his fame was to be chiefly gathered. It was in 1649, when he was fifty years of age, that he was first invested with a command at sea. The expedition on which he was sent was directed against Prince Rupert, whom he pursued from Kinsale, in Ireland, to the Tagus, and thence to Malaga, on the southern coast of Spain, where he scattered or destroyed nearly the whole of his fleet. On his return to England, after this victory, which he had achieved in despite of the opposition of both Spain and Portugal, he was appointed to the honourable office of Warden of the Cinque Ports. In the beginning of the year 1652, when the nation was preparing for war with Holland, Blake was the man who was chosen to be invested with the chief command of the fleet. Hostilities soon commenced, and Blake found himself opposed by the most celebrated admiral of the age, Van Tromp, at the head of one of the finest equipments that had ever been sent out by the first naval power in the world. In the beginning of May Van Tromp appeared in the Channel with forty fine men-of-war; and, by way of defiance, took up his station in Dover Roads. The fleet under Blake’s command consisted only of twenty-six sail; but on the 9th he nevertheless boldly advanced against the enemy, who weighed anchor at his approach, and in reply to three successive guns, which he fired without ball, as a signal for them to strike their flag, ranged themselves in order of battle. A desperate fight ensued, which lasted from four in the afternoon till night, and the result of which was that the Dutch, after losing two of their ships, thought proper to retreat. The next great affair with the enemy, in which Blake was engaged, took place on the 29th of November. On that day he was again met in the Channel by Van Tromp, now at the head of a fleet of seventy men-of-war, and six fire-ships. Blake’s force scarcely exceeded half that of his opponent—but scorning to run away, he determined to try once more what the gallantry of English sailors could do under the conduct of a captain who had before led them on to victory through so unequal a strife. And perhaps his courage might have been again crowned with success; but besides being obliged to contend throughout the engagement with an adverse wind, he himself unfortunately received a wound which partially disabled him, and threw a part of his forces into disorder. The consequence was, that after a conflict which lasted from eight in the morning till night, the English found themselves obliged to retreat, and to take refuge partly in the Downs and partly in the Thames. Although the circumstances were such as to remove from it all disgrace, Blake probably felt this defeat severely, especially as it was followed by the most arrogant and insulting conduct on the part of the Dutch admiral, who immediately made his way through the Channel, bearing the ensign of a broom fastened to 192his main-topmast, as if to signify that he had swept those seas of British ships. But in the February following, the English hero, having employed the interval with admirable diligence in repairing his ships, again put to sea with a fleet of sixty sail, and soon after encountered his old adversary at the head of seventy men-of-war, and having three hundred merchantmen under convoy. The battle this time was far more obstinate than any that had yet been fought between them: for three days the two armaments, running up the Channel together, scarcely intermitted their furious fire; when at last, on the fourth morning, the Dutch, having lost eleven of their ships of war and thirty merchantmen, while only one of the English vessels was destroyed, took flight for the coast of Holland. Several other engagements took place between the two admirals in the course of the same year; and the result, upon the whole, was decidedly in favour of the English. Having thus asserted the dominion of his countrymen over their surrounding seas, Blake returned to England, and was received both by the Protector and the people with all respect and honour. Some time before this Cromwell had dismissed the Long Parliament, and openly assumed arbitrary power; but Blake being at sea when this change took place, grieved and indignant as his noble spirit must have felt, restrained himself from giving expression to his sentiments; and calling his officers together, merely remarked to them, that, with the enemy yet unsubdued, they had clearly in the mean time only one duty to perform: “It is not for us,” said he, “to mind state affairs, but to keep the foreigners from fooling us.” In the parliament which assembled in September, 1654, Blake was returned for Bridgewater; and he sat in the House till 1656, when he was despatched with a fleet to the Mediterranean, to chastise Spain for certain insults which that power had offered to the English flag. He acquitted himself in this expedition with his usual ability; but after having done great injury to the marine of the enemy, and taken many rich prizes, he was attacked by an illness which rapidly enfeebled him, and from which indeed he soon felt that he could not recover. He exerted himself, however, as long as his strength would allow, and even engaged in a new enterprise against Santa Cruz, in Teneriffe, which was attended with splendid success, after it had become evident that this would be his last service of gallantry to his country. He then set sail for England; and as life was fast ebbing, the only and constant wish he expressed was that he might but once more rest his eyes, for however short a space, on the coast of his native land before closing them for ever. His wish, and no more, was granted. He expired as the fleet was entering Plymouth Sound, on the 27th of August, 1657. A true model in all things of a British sailor, Blake had been during his life as prodigal of his money among his comrades as of his personal exertions in the service of his country; and notwithstanding the ample opportunities he had had of enriching himself, it was found that he had not increased his paternal fortune by so much as 500l. A magnificent public funeral, and the interment of his body in Henry VII.’s Chapel, in Westminster Abbey, testified the grief of England for the loss of her greatest defender; but among the mean outrages which disgraced the triumph of the Restoration, it was one of the very meanest that Blake’s mouldering remains were removed from the honourable resting-place thus assigned to them, and deposited in the neighbouring church-yard of St. Margaret. They could not, however, remove his glory from the page of the national history, nor bury among common and forgotten things the name and actions of one who, as having first taught our seamen that daring and contempt of danger for which they have ever since been famous, deserves to be regarded as, more than any other, the founder of the naval greatness of England.

[Admiral Blake.]

General Education.—A strange idea is entertained by many that education unfits persons for labour, and renders them dissatisfied with their condition in life. But what would be said were any of the powers of the body to be in a certain case disused? Suppose a man were to place a bandage over his right eye—to tie up one of his hands—or to attach a ponderous weight to his legs—and, when asked the cause were, to reply, that the glance of that eye might make him covetous—that his hand might pick his neighbour’s pocket—or that his feet might carry him into evil company,—might it not be fairly replied, that his members were given to use and not to abuse, that their abuse is no argument against their use, and that this suspension of their action was just as contrary to the wise and benevolent purpose of their Creator as their wrong and guilty application? And does this reasoning fail when applied to the mind? Is not the unemployed mental faculty as opposed to the advantage of the individual as the unused physical power? Can the difference between mind and matter overturn the ordinary principles of reasoning and of morals? Besides, how is man to be prepared for the duties he has to discharge?—By mere attention to his body? Impossible. The mind must be enlightened and disciplined; and if this be neglected, the man rises but little in character above the beasts that perish, and is wholly unprepared for that state to which he ought to have aspired.—Wilderspin’s Early Discipline.

Trade in Bristles.—In 1828, 1,748,921 lbs. of bristles were imported into England from Russia and Prussia, each of which cannot have weighed less than two grains. From this we may fairly conjecture that 13,431,713,280 bristles were imported in that year. As these are only taken from the top of the hog’s back, each hog cannot be supposed to have supplied more than 7680 bristles, which, reckoning each bristle to weigh two grains, will be one pound. Thus in Russia and Prussia, in 1828, 1,748,921 hogs and boars were killed, to furnish the supply of England with bristles.