probably to twice or thrice the amount of their interest in the fund; and in order to accommodate them, and at the same time to protect the committee, whose services in the whole business are purely gratuitous, a printed form of application for the articles was prepared, authorising the committee, in the event of the applicant leaving the establishment while any part of the articles were unpaid, to uplift whatever money might be due to him either on account of the benefit scheme, the cooperative fund, or for wages, and to apply it in liquidation of any claim against him for articles furnished. A printed form in similar terms is also, in such cases, required to be subscribed by two persons on the establishment as cautioners, so that the committee are, on the whole, tolerably well protected against loss by bad debts.

The clerk for the benefit scheme is also clerk for this branch, and no goods of any description are furnished to any one except on his order.

The benefits arising from these conjoined schemes are probably more numerous and important than may at first sight appear. The first and most obvious are clearly the providing a means of relief when the men are laid off work by sickness, and the payment of a sum on the death of any member of the family, for the purpose of defraying the funeral charges. Next to these in importance is the arrangement for providing medical attendance and medicine to the men and their families. The surgeon being elected by a committee appointed for that purpose by the men themselves, the utmost confidence is placed in his professional skill, while the right to demand his services in any emergency, and the consciousness that these services are paid for, elevates them in their own estimation, and places them in a position in all respects superior to those who are under the necessity of begging medical relief as a charity, and of submitting, as sometimes happens, to be treated by persons in whose skill they have not the confidence usually inspired by previous personal acquaintance. The division of the surplus funds at Martinmas and Whitsunday becomes an important contribution towards the pay ment of the house-rent falling due at these terms; and to those who do not require it for that purpose, it comes opportunely either for the purchase of articles of dress, or as a nucleus to which further savings may be added. Amongst its negative merits, it may be mentioned that its meetings are never held in taverns, and that it is conducted without expense. But benefits of a higher, more ennobling, and more important character than those which pertain to the mere saving of money arise from this scheme, from the feeling of independence which it inspires and fosters, and from the boldness and manliness with which it trusts to its own efforts alone in its discarding of all reliance on extrinsic aid. That feeling, also, which is the very bane of the working-classes-want of confidence in each other-is here practically subdued; their interests inseparably united; and individual wants and afflictions felt as matters in which all are concerned. We had almost added, that their sympathy for each other was promoted; but the writer of this article well knows the generous and kindly hearts of that portion of his brethren whose hands are hardened with daily toil; and if there be any class of his countrymen whose charities towards each other never fail, it is that of the humblest, the hardest worked, and the worst paid among them. He could tell of patient endurance, of self-denial, of exalted generosity, all calmly and unostentatiously exercised, and all unheard of by that mass of persons who call themselves the world, which would make the ears of the coldest tingle, and the proudest hang down their beads.

It is perhaps scarcely necessary to add that any body of men, consisting of a dozen or upwards, may enter into the whole or any part of these schemes. If the benefit scheme only be adopted, and if the number be very small, the benefits might either be longer deferred, or money borrowed to meet such contingencies as require

Fogs, says Mr Main, are more dense about London, and probably all other great cities, than elsewhere, because the vast quantity of fuliginous matter floating over such places mingles with the vapour, and renders the whole so thick, that a noonday darkness is sometimes produced, rendering candles and gas-lights necessary for the transaction of the ordinary business of the shops and public offices. Such circumstances happen frequently during winter; but on some occasions (as about two o'clock P. M. on the 27th December 1831) this darkness is truly awful. This extraordinary appearance is, however, caused by a very ordinary accident, namely, a change of winds, and which may be accounted for as follows:-The west wind carries the smoke of the city to the eastward, in a long train, extending to the distance of twenty or thirty miles, as may be seen in a clear day by any person on an eminence, as, for instance, at Harrow-on-the-Hill. In this case, suppose the wind to change suddenly to the east, the great body of the smoke will be brought back in an accumulated mass, and as this repasses the city, augmented by the clouds of smoke from every fire therein, it causes the murky darkback on its source may be easily conceived; indeed it may ness alluded to. This effect of the smoke being thrown be seen, under favourable circumstances, first reverted, and gradually accumulating, till it is dispersed on the opposite side; but wherever the accumulation is, in its progress backwards there will be an unusual degree of darkness. It is to be observed, that the cause of fogs is also the cause of the smoke floating near the earth; and, of course, where there is so much of the latter, the former is doubly dense. Besides fogs, we have also mist or haze, usually accomthe counties to the westward of the metropolis, this is panying east winds, especially in the spring months. In called London smoke; but as it is seen to the eastward as well as westward of the city, the appellation is improper. The most natural idea we can form of this hazy appearance is, its being caused by the constitutional coldness of the east wind, which, checking the ascent of vapour raised by the sun, carries it horizontally along the lowest stratum of the air; hence its visibility. A lurid gloom is also sometimes produced by clouds of snow, when the water floating in the air becomes frozen into spicula, and congregating into flakes, contrary currents of wind wheel them into irregular masses, which obstruct the light from the sky, so as to wrap every object immediately below in a deep yellow light. This latter circumstance almost always precedes, and is a certain sign of, a fall of snow.-Magazine of Natural History.

CULTURE OF RICE IN CHINA.

The Chinese conduct this cultivation with great care, endeavouring in this, as in all the offices of husbandry in which they engage, to draw from the soil the greatest possible produce. The care of the cultivator begins before the seeds are placed in the earth. The grains destined for that purpose are put in baskets, and immersed in water, in them, and tends to hasten their germination. The land which situation they remain for some days; this softens which is to be sown with this crop is previously saturated with water, until the surface is like soft mud. In this state it is stirred up with a plough of very simple construction, to which is yoked a single buffalo. A rude kind of hurdle, drawn also by one buffalo, succeeds the plough, the driver sitting upon the hurdle to increase its weight, by which means the clods are broken down, and the ground made smooth. All stones are carefully removed; and as far as possible, every weed is extirpated. Water is then again let in upon the land, in just sufficient quantity to cover its surface, and a harrow, with several rows of great iron teeth, still further smooths and completes the preparation of the ground. Only those grains which have sprouted in the water are selected for sowing, since, as they have begun to germinate, their goodness is ascertained; all the rest are rejected. The seed is sown thickly and evenly on only

EDINBURGH

JOURNAL

No. 59. NEW SERIES.

THE WILL AND THE WAY. THE old saying, that where there is a will there is a way, might be called an extreme proposition; yet it is so often found true, that proverbial wisdom is amply justified in adopting it. The roads which we incline not to travel are all sadly beset with specimens of the feline tribe; and when a gentleman is asked for money by a companion often in need of it, he is extremely apt to have a large and exhausting payment to make at the end of the week. But when he is really determined to push his way along the road, opposing lions have usually little terror for him, and, if anxious to oblige his friend, he will almost certainly be able to do so without the breach of any of his own engagements. So, also, I observe that my son Tom is very liable at ordinary times to a prejudice as to his power of mastering the lessons set to him by his master; but I seldom hear of any difficulty when a half holiday is made to depend on his being fully accomplished in them. In fact, the most wonderful feats are sometimes performed under the influence of a powerful impulse operating upon the will. When the Texan prisoners of the Santa Fé expedition were told, for instance, by their brutal conductor, that any who should prove unable to walk | would be shot, many who had up to that moment seemed at the last gasp of exhaustion, plucked up and set off at a stout pace, which they kept up all day. Quentin Matsys thought he could not paint, till his master told him his daughter's hand depended on his producing a picture of merit within six months; and then he painted the well-known Misers,' now preserved in Windsor Castle.

Even in scientific matters this proverb is found applicable. An ingenious man, whose mind runs before its age, discovers some unexpected principles, and repeats the experiments by which they were ascertained over and over again to his entire satisfaction. Being inconsistent with some of the many preconceptions which ignorance or slight knowledge has fixed in the public mind, they are received with distrust, and the usual anxiety is shown by all the associates of the discoverer to find him out to be a base impostor, or at the best a pitiable dreamer. Some therefore go over the experiments, or think they do so, and, as they anticipated, can find no such results. And they really do not find the results. It is the common case. And all the world sits quietly down, saying, 'Oh, of course it was a mere delusion.' And then, if the discoverer is a modest timid man, there is an end of the matter perhaps for twenty years, when at length the principle is discovered again, and forced into notice by other persons. Now, what is the explanation of this? Simply, that the second experimenters came to the trial with sceptical distrustful minds, much more willing to see the

PRICE 1d.

hypothesis disproved than to find it true. All such experiments require to have a number of minutiæ, which are almost inexpressible in writing, carefully attended to; for example, the strength or freshness of a particular ingredient may be of material consequence. Thus, although the experiment may have been to appearance fully and fairly made, some little points, such as a person otherwise disposed would have been sure to attend to, are neglected; and for this reason the results are a failure. Such circumstances are continually taking place in the scientific world. The failure is often the result of no feeling so decided as ill-will, but merely of indifference or carelessness. Microscopic accuracies necessary for the success of the experiment will only be fully attended to by the person who feels a heart interest in that success, and is disposed to take any trouble or make any sacrifice to attain it. Besides the actual discoverer, there is no such person, or, if there be, it is a rare case.

The kind of men called great are usually remarkable for powerful will. Cæsar, Cromwell, Frederick, Napoleon, Wellington-see in them all this efficacious principle towering over almost every other, and rendering opposing circumstances as nothing in their path. They resolve, and the thing is done. The secret of this success is here. Such men first affect their lieutenants, and others immediately around them. These persons, finding all hesitation unacceptable, and no difficulties acknowledged, are inspired to make great efforts. They again affect the mass, and thus the spirit of one man impresses and energises all. The word impossible becomes a lost term in such hosts. Great talents of any kind without this one central principle would not serve. What is required to animate and conquer is WILL; a principle only connected with intellect, but not intellect itself-far from it; a thing essentially selfish, yet a needful aid in the whole procedure of our nature. Men remarkably endowed with will are not always either just, or kind, or judicious. Often, finding it serve them well in some instances, and hearing men whisper flattering remarks upon it, they begin to make it an object of worship. They do not will that they may do; but they act because they take a pleasure in Willing. Obstinate, harsh, pestilent they often are to their fellow-creatures; not unfrequently great martyrs to their own dogged irrational determinations. Yet there is a sublimity in powerful will, which compels all men to venerate. It is the sine-qua-non of all mastership and command. He who lacks it may be amiable, ingenious, upright, wise beyond the wisest, but never will fix decided esteem in the multitude, or come to anything great.

It is extremely puzzling to say how far the common notion, that men might in general act better if they would, is true. We see one man act well, and it is

natural to think that another might do the same, if he chose, particularly as we often see an impulse or motive applied to a man which induces him to exert himself as he never did before. But the perplexing point is, where are we to get, in all cases, the adequate external impulse? The will is a natural endowment as well as the moral faculties themselves. Young persons, and many who continue to be always of mediocre character, have generally little of it. The want of it is often the first, and continues to be the leading feature of insanity. When we see a man acting in a certain way from no want of judgment or good intention, but defect of will to do rightly, can we say that the case is different, either essentially or in its relations, from a case in which there was neither judgment nor good intention? As bad to want will as to want anything. Indeed, most persons who have had occasion to endeavour to operate upon the moral nature of their fellow-creatures, will be prepared to acknowledge that there was no class of cases so apt to appear to them utterly hopeless as those in which there was, while other features of an estimable kind were present, an utter want of will. The passive resistance presented by such natures is felt as a more deadly obstacle than the most perverse actual tendencies. Yet here we should remember our own maxim, where there is a will there is a way, and not be too ready to abandon those who are little ready to reflect upon us the lustre of success. After the many instances which we know of a thorough change of human conduct under the application of right and fitting means, it would surely be unjust to conclude that there is any fellowcreature beyond being set up in moral beauty, if we only could bring the right agency to bear upon the part of his mind which is fitted to yield to it.

It is in regarding it as a star of hope to all under difficulties and disasters, that the maxim is presented to us in its most interesting light. The youth who feels what a hard task he has before him ere he can say that he has attained his proper place in life, knows this golden sentence, and girds his loins up cheerily for that long probation which at once tests his virtue and wins his fortune. The unfortunate on whom the clouds of evil seem closing all round, and who fears that he must be overwhelmed by them, recalls the animating adage, and because he wills, does break through all. In short, hardly any difficulty could be cited to which this philosophy is not applicable; and every one will find, if he tries, that, be it through the brakes of entangling and bewildering passions, be it over the wide and unmarked moor of uncertainty, be it through the slough of despond itself, WHERE THERE IS A WILL THERE WILL BE A WAY.

MORNINGS WITH THOMAS CAMPBELL.

SECOND ARTICLE.

IN the course of our ramble we called on the poet's namesake, Mr Thomas Campbell the sculptor. In looking through the studio, I had occasion to notice the excessive admiration with which he regarded beauty of form and expression. A female bust absolutely entranced him. There was no tearing him away from it. The fascination was as complete as in the instance of the Child Sweetheart.' This did not seem to be equally the case with pictures. We were afterwards in the National Gallery, and I did not notice any peculiar susceptibility to the beauties of the few very fine pictures in the collection. The charm of the rounded contour, and the effect of the lucid marble, in works of sculpture, no doubt formed part of the spell. In his Life of Mrs Siddons, Campbell has recorded his impressions on first seeing the Apollo Belvidere in the Louvre; and as the passage is one of the few really worthy of him in that memoir, and illustrates the peculiarity alluded to, I shall extract it:

From the farthest end of the spacious room, the god seemed to look down like a president on the chosen assembly of sculptured forms; and his glowing marble,

unstained by time, appeared to my imagination as if he had stepped freshly from the sun. I had seen casts of the glorious statue with scarcely any admiration; and I must undoubtedly impute that circumstance in part to my inexperience in art, and to my taste having till then lain torpid. But still I prize the recollected impressions of that day too dearly to call them fanciful. They seemed to give my mind a new sense of the harmony of art-a new visual power of enjoying beauty. Nor is it mere fancy that makes the difference between the Apollo himself and his plaster casts. The dead whiteness of the stucco copies is glaringly monotonous, whilst the diaphanous surface of the original seems to soften the light which it reflects. Every particular feeling of that hour is written indelibly on my memory. I remember entering the Louvre with a latent suspicion on my mind that a good deal of the rapture expressed at the sight of superlative sculptures was exaggerated or affected; but as we passed through the passage of the hall, there was a Greek figure, I think that of Pericles, with a chlamys and helmet, which John Kemble desired me to notice; and it instantly struck me with wonder at the gentlemanlike grace which art could give to a human form with so simple a vesture. It was not, however, until we reached the grand saloon that the first sight of the god overawed my incredulity. Every step of approach to his presence added to my sensations, and all recollections of his name in classic poetry swarmed on my mind as spontaneously as the associations that are conjured up by the sweetest music.'

We next went to the British Museum. I had previously seen the Elgin marbles and other works of art, and Mr Campbell proposed that we should just glance at the library. He sent in his card to Sir Henry Ellis, who came and conducted us through the rooms. The poet was warm in his admiration of the large room. Sir Henry said there were about 300,000 volumes in the library. The Louvre contains 700,000 or 800,000; but single pamphlets or thin volumes are counted separately; not bound together, several in a volume, as in our national institution. The Cambridge University library consists of about 150,000 volumes-the Bodleian, I should suppose, considerably more; and the rate of increase is about 5000 a-year. It is scarcely possible for a bookish man, new from the solitude of the country, to survey these princely collections without echoing the sentiment of James I. If it were so that I must be a prisoner, I would have no other prison than such a library, and be chained together with all these goodly authors!'

From the museum we proceeded to the house of Mr Rogers in St James's Place. The venerable author of "The Pleasures of Memory' gave his brother bard a courteous and kind reception. He seemed delighted to see him. Mr Rogers,' said the younger of the poets, 'I have taken the liberty to bring a friend from the country to see your house, as I was anxious he should not leave London without this gratification.' Mr Rogers shook me cordially by the hand, and said every friend of Mr Campbell's was welcome. But, Campbell,' added he, 'I must teach you to speak English properly.' [Here the sensitive poet stared and reined up a little.]You must not abuse that excellent word liberty, as you have done on this occasion.' We now looked over the pictures and works of art a marvellous collection for so small a depository! Mrs Jameson, Miss Sedgwick, and others, have described the classic mansion in St James's Place. The hospitality of Rogers is proverbial-his breakfasts are famous. Indeed the poet has the credit of establishing the breakfast-party as a link in London society. He refined it first, and showed its use.' Mornings in St James's Place are scarcely inferior to the delicious lobster nights' of Pope. With the poet of memory, manners the most bland and courteous are, even to strangers, united to the fullest and freest communication of thought and opinion. His delicacy of feeling and expression, and his refined taste, are indeed remarkable; but, in place of rendering him miserable, as