Oh, out then spake the beauteous queen:*

A captive lord I know,

Whose loyal heart hath ever been

Eager to meet the foe;

Were true De Courcy here this day,
Freed from his galling chain,

Never, oh never should scoffers say,
That amid all England's rank and might,
Their king had sought him a loyal knight,
And sought such knight in vain!'

Up started the monarch, and cleared his brow,
And bade them summon De Courcy now.
Swiftly his messengers hasted away,
And sought the cell where the hero lay;
They bade him arise at his master's call,
And follow their steps to the stately hall.

He is brought before the council

There are chains upon his hands; With his silver hair, that aged knight,

Like a rock o'erhung with foam-wreaths white, Proudly and calmly stands.

He gazes on the monarch

With stern and star-like eye;

And the company muse and marvel much,
That the light of the old man's eye is such,
After long captivity.

His fetters hang upon him

Like an unheeded thing;

Or like a robe of purple worn

With graceful and indifferent scorn

By some great-hearted king.

And strange it was to witness

How the false king looked aside;

For he dared not meet his captive's eye!

Thus ever the spirit's royalty

Is greater than pomp and pride!

The false king spake to his squires around,
And his lifted voice had an angry sound:
'Strike ye the chains from each knightly limb!
Who was so bold as to fetter him?
Warrior, believe me, no hest of mine
Bade them fetter a form like thine;
Thy sovereign knoweth thy fame too well.'

He paused, and a cloud on his dark brow fell
For the knight still gazed upon him,

And his eye was like a star;

And the words on the lips of the false king died,
Like the murmuring sounds of an ebbing tide
By the traveller heard afar.

From the warrior's form they loosed the chain;
His face was lighted with calm disdain;
Nor cheek, nor lip, nor eye gave token
E'en that he knew his chains were broken.
He spake no music, loud or clear,

Was in the voice of the gray-haired knight; But a low stern sound, like that ye hear

In the march of a mail-clad host by night.
Brother of Cœur de Lion,' said he,
"These chains have not dishonoured me!'
There was crushing scorn in cach simple word,
Mightier than battle-axe or sword.

Not long did the heart of the false king thrill
To the touch of passing shame,
For it was hard, and mean, and chill;
As breezes sweep o'er a frozen rill,
Leaving it cold and unbroken still,

That feeling went and came;
And now to the knight he made reply,
Pleading his cause right craftily;
Skilled was his tongue in specious use
Of promise fair and of feigned excuse,
Blended with words of strong appeal
To love of fame and to loyal zeal.
At length he ceased; and every eye
Gazed on De Courcy wistfully.

Speak! cried the king in that fearful pause;
Wilt thou not champion thy monarch's cause?'
The old knight struck his foot on the ground,
Like a war-horse hearing the trumpet sound;
And he spake with a voice of thunder,
Solemn and fierce in tone,

Waving his hand to the stately band

Who stood by the monarch's throne,
As a warrior might wave his flashing glaive
When cheering his squadrons on:
"I will fight for the honour of England,
Though not for false King John!'

He turned and strode from the lofty hall,
Nor seemed to hear the sudden cheer

Which burst, as he spake, from the lips of all.

* Isabella of Angoulême, wife to King John, celebrated for her beauty and high spirit.

And when he stood in the air without,

He paused as if in joyful doubt;

To the forests green and the wide blue sky
Stretching his arms embracingly,

With stately tread and uplifted head,

As a good steed tosses back his mane

When they loose his neck from the servile rein; Ye know not, ye who are always free,

How precious a thing is liberty.

'O world!' he cried; sky, river, hill,
Ye wear the garments of beauty still;
How have ye kept your youth so fair,*
While age has whitened this hoary hair?'
But when the squire, who watched his lord,
Gave to his hand his ancient sword,
The hilt he pressed to his eager breast,

Like one who a long-lost friend hath met; And joyously said, as he kissed the blade,

'Methinks there is youth in my spirit yet. For France! for France! o'er the waters blue; False king-dear land-adieu, adieu !'

He hath crossed the booming ocean,
On the shore he plants his lance;
And he sends his daring challenge
Into the heart of France:
'Lo, here I stand for England,
Queen of the silver main!

To guard her fame and to cleanse her name
From slander's darkening stain!

Advance, advance! ye knights of France,
Give answer to my call;

Lo! here I stand for England,

And I defy ye all !'

From the east and the north came champions forth

They came in a knightly crowd;

From the south and the west each generous breast
Throbbed at that summons proud.

But though brave was each lord, and keen each sword,
No warrior could withstand

The strength of the hero-spirit

Which nerved that old man's hand.

He is conqueror in the battle

He hath won the wreath of bay;

To the shining crown of his fair renown
He hath added another ray;

He hath drawn his sword for England;

He hath fought for her spotless name;
And the isle resounds to her farthest bounds
With her gray-haired hero's fame.

In the ears of the craven monarch,
Oft must this burthen ring-

"Though the crown be thine and the royal line,
He is in heart thy king!'

So they gave this graceful honour

To the bold De Courcy's race,

That they ever should dare their helms to wear
Before the king's own face:

And the sons of that line of heroes

To this day their right assume;

For, when every head is unbonneted,+
They walk in cap and plume!

ZINC RINGS FOR RHEUMATISM.

We find the following sensible note in a recent number of the Agricultural Gazette:-Galvanic rings are not of any more ascertained efficacy than metallic tractors, horse-shoe magnets, and the thousand-and-one humbugs that profess to afford relief to suffering humanity. The galvanic rings consist merely of a copper and zinc plate formed into a ring. The galvanic action of these metals, when the circle is completed by means of the moist skin, must be exceedingly small, and certainly not enough to produce an effect upon the diseased tissues of the body. In some cases they may have afforded relief, by diverting the attention of the patient from his disease to the remedy. It is, however, most probable, when persons get well after wearing them, that, like the king's touch for the evil, the cure was rather a coincidence than a consequence. The sellers of them assert that they can do no harm if they do no good. This is not altogether true. A medical friend of ours was called in the other day to a poor man who had worn one of these rings for rheumatism, and found his finger swollen and inflamed; so that in this case much unnecessary painand the loss of a week's wages we presume-was the result of the experiment.

*The reader of German will here recognise an exquisite stanza from Uhland, very inadequately rendered.

The present representative of the house of De Courcy is Lord Kinsale.

TUNNELLING BY THE ROMANS.

The following extraordinary account is set forth in a letter from Marseilles in the Débats :-There has been long known, or believed to exist at Marseilles, a tunnel or submarine passage passing from the ancient abbey of St Victoire, running under the arm of the sea, which is covered with ships, and coming out under a tower of Fort SaintNicolas. Many projects for exploring this passage have been entertained, but hitherto no one has been found sufficiently bold to persevere in it. M. Joyland, of the Ponts-et-Chaussées, and M. Matayras, an architect, have, however, not only undertaken, but accomplished this task. Accompanied by some friends and a number of labourers, they went a few days ago to the abbey, and descended the numerous steps that lead to the entrance of the passage. Here they were the first day stopped by heaps of the ruins of the abbey. Two days afterwards, however, they were able to clear their way to the other end, and came out at Fort SaintNicolas, after working two hours and twenty minutes. The structure, which is considered to be Roman, is in such excellent condition, that in order to put it into complete repair, a cost of no more than 500,000 francs will be required; but a much larger outlay will be wanted to render it serviceable for modern purposes. This tunnel is deemed much finer than that of London, being formed of one single vault of sixty feet span, and one-fourth longer.

A FACT FOR TEMPERANCE ADVOCATES.

One vulgar argument in favour of spirituous liquor is, that in winter it keeps out the cold.' That it creates for a short time an excitement productive of heat, there is no doubt; but when its short-lived influence has passed away, a reaction takes place, which causes the drinker to be infinitely colder than he would have been without it. In proof that people can get on without spirits in the most frigid parts of the world, we may instance a case mentioned in the third volume of Lord Monboddo's Ancient Metaphysics: A gentleman named Andrew Graham, set out from Severn River (latitude 56° 10' north), in Hudson's Bay, in the depth of the winter of 1773, and travelled to Churchill River-a distance of 350 miles-without tasting spirits or sleeping under a roof. He was accompanied by three Europeans, six native Americans, and four Newfoundland dogs, who pulled in a sledge their luggage, consisting of beaver and blanket coverings, biscuit, bacon, flour, but no wine, beer, or other spirituous liquors; which Mr Graham did not choose to carry with him, because he knew his attendants would never be quiet till he had drank them all. Their drink was melted snow. They all arrived-after twenty days' exposure to the most severely cold climate in the worldat the end of their journey in perfect health; and Mr Graham says he never enjoyed his food nor ever slept better in his life. This anecdote is fatal to the supposition that alcohol is necessary to cold climates, as many suppose.

A SCOTCH MUSSULMAN.

Osman's history is a curious one. He was a Scotchman born, and when very young, being then a drummer-boy, he landed in Egypt with Mackenzie Fraser's force. He was taken prisoner, and, according to Mohammedan custom, the alternative of death or the Koran was offered to him. He did not choose death, and therefore went through the ceremonies which were necessary for turning him into a good Mohammedan. But what amused me most in his history was this, that, very soon after having embraced Islam, he was obliged in practice to become curious and discriminating in his new faith, to make war upon Mohammedan dissenters, and follow the orthodox standard of the prophet in fierce campaigns against the Wahabees, who are the Unitarians of the Mussulman world. The Wahabees were crushed, and Osman, returning home in triumph from his holy wars, began to flourish in the world: he acquired property, and became effendi, or gentleman. At the time of my visit to Cairo, he seemed to be much respected by his brother Mohammedans, and gave pledge of his sincere alienation from Christianity by keeping a couple of wives. He affected the same sort of reserve in mentioning them as is generally shown by Orientals. He invited me, indeed, to see his harem, but he made both his wives bundle out before I was admitted. He felt, as it seemed to me, that neither of them would bear criticism; and I think that this idea, rather than any motive of sincere jealousy, induced him to keep them out of sight. The rooms of the harem reminded me of an English nursery rather than of a

Mohammedan paradise. One is apt to judge of a woman, before one sees her, by the air of elegance or coarseness with which she surrounds her house. I judged Osman's wives by this test, and condemned them both. But the strangest feature in Osman's character was his inextinguishable nationality. In vain they had brought him over the seas in early boyhood; in vain had he suffered captivity and conversion; in vain they had passed him through fire in their Arabian campaigns; they could not cut away or burn out poor Osman's inborn love of all that was Scotch; in vain men called him effendi ; in vain he swept along in eastern robes; in vain the rival wives adorned his harem. The joy of his heart still plainly lay in this, that he had three shelves of books, and that the books were thorough-bred Scotch-the Edinburgh this, the Edinburgh that; and, above all, I recollect he prided himself upon the Edinburgh Cabinet Library.'-Traces of Travel.

RESULTS OF A LITTLE NEGLECT.

The

I was once, in the country, a witness of the numberless minute losses that negligence in household regulation entails. For want of a trumpery latch, the gate of the poultry yard was for ever open; there being no means of closing it externally, 'twas on the swing every time a person went out, and many of the poultry were lost in consequence. One day a fine young porker made his escape into the wood, and the whole family, gardener, cook, milkmaid, &c. presently turned out in quest of the fugitive. gardener was the first to discover the object of pursuit, and, in leaping a ditch to cut off his further escape, got a sprain that confined him to his bed for the next fortnight; the cook found the linen burnt that she had left hung up before the fire to dry; and the milkmaid having forgotten in her haste to tie up the cattle properly in the cow-house, one of the loose cows had broken the leg of a colt that happened to be kept in the same shed, The linen burnt and the gardener's work lost were worth full twenty crowns, and the colt about as much more; so that here of a latch that might have cost a few halfpence at the was a loss in a few minutes of forty crowns, purely for want utmost; and this in a household where the strictest economy was necessary; to say nothing of the poor man, or the anxiety and other troublesome incidents. The misfortune was, to be sure, not very serious, nor the loss very heavy; yet when it is considered that similar neglect was the occasion of repeated disasters of the same kind, and ultimately the ruin of a worthy family, 'twas deserving of some little attention.-From the French

PERSEVERANCE.

All the performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are instances of the resistless force of perseverance: it is by this that the quarry becomes a pyramid, and that distant countries are united by canals. If a man was to compare the effect of a single stroke of a pick-axe, or of one impression of the spade, with the general design and last result, he would be overwhelmed by the incessantly continued, in time surmount the greatest diffisense of their disproportion; yet those petty operations, culties, and mountains are levelled, and oceans bounded, by the slender force of human beings.-Dr Johnson.

HUMANITY.

Truc humanity consists not in a squeamish ear; it consists not in starting or shrinking at tales of misery, but in a disposition of heart to relieve it. True humanity appertains rather to the mind than to the nerves, and prompts men to use real and active measures to execute the actions which it suggests.-Charles James Fox.

RICHES.

If men were content to grow rich somewhat more slowly, they would grow rich much more surely. If they would use their capital within reasonable limits, and transact with it only so much business as it could fairly control, they would be far less liable to lose it. Excessive profits always involve the liability of great risks, as in a lottery, in which, if there are high prizes, there must be a great proportion of blanks.-Wayland.

Printed by William Bradbury, of No. 6, York Place, and Frederick Mallett Evans, of No. 7, Church Row, both of Stoke Newington, in the county of Middlesex, printers, at their office, Lombard Street, in the precinct of Whitefriars, and elty of London and Published (with permission of the Proprietors, W. and R. CHAMBERS,) by WILLIAM SOMERVILLE ORR. Publisher, of 3, Amen Corner, at No. 2, AMEN CORNER, both in the parish of Christ. church, and in the city of London.Saturday, April 26, 1845

EDINBURGH

JOURNA

No. 70. NEW SERIES.

CAPABILITIES.

It has often been a question whether great men are the producers or the produced of great crises. We see a Cromwell live for forty years a quiet country-town life, till at length a national convulsion arising, he, being strongly interested in the views of one of the parties, dashes forward, and, before passing fifty, has all but the crown of England upon his head. Again, we see a French sous-lieutenant of artillery plunging into his country's history at a time of similar confusion, and making himself the most formidable sovereign upon earth before he is thirty-five. If we were to limit our regard to such facts as these, we should be disposed at once to conclude, that a man of powerful character is nothing, unless an opportunity arise for his entering upon a grand career. But, on the other hand, we often see a powerful mind arise in times comparatively tran- | quil, and work great marvels, apparently by its own inherent energies. We see at times what seem to be occasions for the coming forward of great men upon the stage, and yet they do not come. We then begin to think that perhaps a Cromwell or a Bonaparte contributes to some great, though indefinable extent, in producing the events to which his appearance at first seemed subordinate. We suspect that the civil wars of England, and the French Revolution, would not have taken the turn they did, but for the potent and overmastering influence of these individual actors. Thus we are prevented from coming to a decision on the point. And, in fact, this is a question which stands unsettled amongst thinking men until the present hour.

The question, as it appears to me, can never be definitely settled on one side or the other; for neither view is wholly true. But I believe that the truth preponderates in favour of the argument which considers men as requiring circumstances to evoke their mental powers. Strong, active, and original minds will ever tell to some degree upon their circumstances, be these as impassible as they may; but they cannot tell to a great degree, unless at a time when the social elements are in some confusion. And this is simply because, let a single mind be ever so powerful, the fabric of society and its conventionalities is, in ordinary circumstances, stronger still, so that no one can do more than merely modify it in some slight degree, or prepare the way for future operations whereby it may be affected. If the matter be narrowly examined, it will always be found that, where an occasion for the appearance of a great leader passed over without any one coming forward, the necessary stir of the social elements was wanting. The vis inertia of the mass is what all single minds find fatal to them, when they attempt to do great things with their fellowcreatures. Hence a Luther, rising in the twelfth century, when the Romish church was at its highest pitch of

PRICE 1d.

power, would have only broken his head against its walls. As an obscure heretic, his name would have been forgotten in a few years. Such minds as his must, in the course of nature, have arisen at various periods among the conventual brotherhoods; but they would never become distinguished for more than a somewhat latitudinarian way of dealing with the authority of the prior, or perhaps an occasional fractiousness at the elections of sacristans. It is like the wind-sown seed, much of which comes to nothing because it lights in stony places, while only what chances to fall on good ground fructifies. And there is another thing to be considered. The most powerful minds are more or less dependent upon things external to them, in order to be roused into due activity. Such a mind droops like the banner by the flag-staff, till the wind of occasion unfurls it. It may pine, and chafe, and wear itself out in vain regrets and ennui, like the prisoned huntsman, or, in the desperation of forced idleness, or unworthy occupation, waste itself upon frivolities idler than idleness itself. But still it will be for the most part a lost mind, unless circumstances shall arise capable of raising it to its full force, and eliciting all its powers. Here a consideration occurs, calling for some collateral remark. We are apt, at a tranquil period, to pity the men who have to fight through civil broils such as those in which Spain has for some years been engaged. In reality, these men are happier than we think them. They have the pleasure of feeling their faculties continually at the full stretch. Victorious or defeated, hunting or hunted, they are thoroughly engrossed in the passing day; not a moment for the torture of excessive ease. Providence is kind to the men who undertake dangerous enterprises. Even when death comes to them-no matter how dreadful his shape-he is met in a paroxysm of mental activity, which entirely disarms him of his terrors. It follows from these considerations, that there must, at all but extraordinary times, be a vast amount of latent capability in society. Gray's musings on the Cromwells and Miltons of the village are a truth, though extremely stated. Men of all conditions do grow and die in obscurity, who, in suitable circumstances, might have attained to the temple which shines afar. The hearts of Roman mothers beat an unnoted lifetime in dim parlours. Souls of fire miss their hour, and languish into ashes. Is not this conformable to what all men feel in their own case? Who is there that has not thought, over and over again, what else he could have done, what else he could have been? Vanity, indeed, may fool us here, and self-tenderness be too ready to look upon the misspending of years as anything but our own fault. Let us look, then, to each other. Does almost any one that we know appear to do or to be all that he might? How far from it! Regard for a moment the manner in which a vast proportion of those who, from

independency of fortune and from education, are able to do most good in the world, spend their time, and say if there be not an immense proportion of the capability of mankind undeveloped. The fact is, the bond of union among men is also the bond of restraint. We are committed not to alarm or distress each other by extraordinary displays of intellect or emotion. There are more hostages to fortune that we shall not do anything great, than those which having children constitutes. Many struggle for a while against the repressive influences, but at length yield to the powerful temptations to nonentity. The social despotism presents the fêtes with which it seeks to solace and beguile its victims; and he who began to put on his armour for the righting of many wrongs, is soon content to smile with those who smile. Thus daily do generations ripe and rot, life unenjoyed, the great mission unperformed. Do angels ever weep? If they do, what a subject for their tears in the multitude of young souls who come in the first faith of nature to grapple at the good, the true, the beautiful, but are instantly thrown back, helpless and mute, into the limbo of Commonplace. Oh Conventionality, quiet may be thy fireside hours, smooth thy pillowed thoughts; but at what a sacrifice of the right and the generous, of the best that breathes and pants in our nature, is thy peace purchased!

Is not one great cause of the dissatisfaction which rests on the close of most lives just this sense of having all the time made no right or full use of the faculties bestowed upon us? The inner and the true man pent up, concealed from every eye, or only giving occasional glimpses of itself in whimsical tastes and oddities-uneasy movements of undeveloped tendency-we walk through a masque called life, acting up to a character which we have adopted, or which has been imposed upon us, doing nothing from the heart, 'goring' our best thoughts to make them lie still. Pitiable parade! The end comes, and finds us despairing over precious years lost beyond recovery, and which, were they recovered, we would again lose. And, if such be a common case, can we wonder at the slow advance of public or national improvement? There must be a design with regard to highly-endowed natures, that they are to bear upon all around them with such intellectual and moral force as they possess, and thus be continually working on for the general good. This we might consider as a sort of pabulum requisite for the public health --something analogous to air or food with respect to the bodily system. But is this moral necessary of life diffused as it ought to be? Let the endless misdirections and repressions of human capability answer the question.

HISTORY OF THE FIREPLACE. DURING the last few years, public attention has been laudably directed to the defective means which still exist for warming and ventilating houses. Although we have arrived at a high state of civilisation in some respects, yet the method still in use for producing an artificial climate in modern habitations, is perhaps more primitive and defective than any of our domestic contrivances. We burn coal in a vessel or stove which is no whit better in principle than the ancient fire-basket. Whilst the chimney-wall in each room is often heated like an oven, those opposite and at the sides are but a few degrees above the temperature of the atmosphere. In this respect the ancients evinced much greater ingenuity than we do; and many of the so-called inventions of modern date were, it appears, in general use hundreds and thousands of years ago. By the research of a recent author, many curious and interesting facts concerning warming and ventilation have been brought to light; and as in this country all ideas of comfort

*On the History and Art of Warming and Ventilating Rooms

and Buildings, &c. By Walter Bernan, Civil Engineer. 2 vols. Bell: London.

and sociality are centered around the hearth, we doubt not that a historical sketch of the 'fireplace,' chiefly drawn from the above source, will prove interesting. The history of the fireside may be said to commence in the dark ages; for it reaches back to a time when man was unacquainted with the existence of fire. The early records of nearly all nations refer to a time when that element was unknown. Indeed instances of such ignorance have been met with in comparatively modern times. When Magellan visited the Marian Islands in 1521, the natives believed themselves to be the only people in the world. They were without everything which we regard as necessaries, and in total ignorance of fire. Several of their huts being consumed, they at first considered the flame to be a kind of animal that attached itself to the wood, and fed upon it. Some who approached too near, being scorched, communicated their terror to the rest, who durst only look upon it at a distance. They were afraid, they said, that the terrible animal would bite them, or wound them with its violent breathing. They speedily learned to use fire with as much address as Europeans. Few historical facts, therefore, are less doubtful than that man was once without means of artificial heat. A Phoenician tradition attributed its discovery to a hunter observing a conflagration that had been excited in a forest by the attrition of some trees during a storm. Another tradition varies the account: in the winter season, Vulcan the king, coming to a tree on the mountains that had been fired by a thunderbolt, was cheered by its heat; and adding more wood to preserve it, he invited his companions to share in his pleasure, and thereupon claimed to be the inventor of flame. Fire once discovered, the primeval savages, though at first alarmed, gradually felt its blessed influence; and it is thus that tradition gives us an account of the earliest fireside; for around the embers of the burning trees men first learned to herd; and as the intercourse continued under the bond of the common enjoyment, the incoherent sounds by which they expressed their emotions were by degrees roughly cast into the elements of speech; thus the discovery of fire gave rise to the first social meeting of mankind, to the formation of language, to their ultimate union, and to all the wonders of subsequent civilisation.'* The Chinese historians attribute the earliest power of producing fire at will, by the friction of two pieces of dried wood, to Souigine, one of their first kings. This power once known, the nomadic races in all countries ever availed themselves of it; though a fire made of dried wood or grass in the open air, or in a rude tent, was their sole provision against cold for many

ages.

Increased intelligence induced mankind to seek for greater warmth under substantial cover, and the first houses they took to were ready built, being chiefly caves. In the middle of these they made fires, in spite of the smoke, for which there was no other outlet than the hole by which the inhabitants came in and out. The same rude method was continued even when men learnt to build houses, and to congregate in cities; only they made a hole in the roof to let the smoke out, exactly like the Laplanders and some of the Irish at the present day.

The parents of western civilisation, the Egyptians, although they built themselves excellent houses, and were scrupulously nice in their domestic arrangements, either made their fires (for it is cold enough even in that warm climate to need them occasionally) on a central hearth, or used pans of live charcoal to carry about from one room to another. To them is ascribed the invention of bellows to concentrate the energy of fire. The reader will see in the second volume of Wilkinson's Manners and Customs of the Ancient Egyptians, copies of that instrument taken from paintings on tombs, at least three thousand years old. During the exode and wanderings of the Jews, their fireplaces were precisely like those

* Vitruvius, b. ii. c. 1.