to enliven the days of man's pilgrimage, and to charm his pained steps over the burning marle.'-Sydney Smith.

37. FIELD SPORTS AND AGRICULTURE OF THE MIDDLE AGES.

The favourite diversions of the Middle Ages in the intervals of war were those of hunting and hawking. The former must in all countries be a source of pleasure; but it seems to have been enjoyed in moderation by the Greeks and Romans. With the northern invaders, however, it was rather a predominant appetite than an amusement; it was their pride and their ornament, the theme of their songs, the object of their laws, and the business of their lives. Falconry, unknown as a diversion to the ancients, became from the fourth century an equally delightful occupation. From the Salic and other barbarous codes of the fifth century to the close of the period under our review, every age would furnish testimony to the ruling passion for these two species of chase, or, as they were sometimes called, the mysteries of woods and rivers. A knight seldom stirred from his house without a falcon on his wrist, or a greyhound that followed him. Thus are Harold and his attendants represented in the famous tapestry of Bayeux. And in the monuments of those who died anywhere but on the field of battle it is usual to find the greyhound lying at their feet, or the bird upon their wrist. Nor are the tombs of ladies without their falcon; for this diversion, being of less danger and fatigue than the chase, was shared by the delicate sex.

It was impossible to repress the eagerness with which the clergy, especially after the barbarians had been tempted by rich bishoprics to take upon them the sacred functions, rushed into these secular amusements. Prohibitions of councils, however frequently repeated, produced little effect. An archbishop of York, in 1321, seems to have carried a train of two hundred persons, who were maintained at the expense of the abbeys on his visitations, and to have hunted with a pack of hounds from parish to parish. The third Council of Lateran, in 1180, had prohibited this amusement on such journeys, and restricted bishops to a train of forty or fifty horses.

Though hunting had ceased to be a necessary means of procuring food, it was a very convenient resource on which the

E

wholesomeness and comfort, as well as the luxury, of the table depended. Before the natural pastures were improved, and new kinds of fodder for cattle discovered, it was impossible to maintain the summer stock during the cold season. Hence a portion of it was regularly slaughtered and salted for winter provision. We may suppose that when no alternative was offered but these salted meats, even the leanest venison was devoured with relish. There was somewhat more excuse, therefore, for the severity with which the lords of forests and manors preserved the beasts of the chase, than if they had been considered as merely objects of sport. The laws relating to preservation of game were in every country uncommonly rigorous. They formed in England that odious system of forest laws which distinguished the tyranny of our Norman kings. Capital punishment for killing a stag or wild boar was frequent, and perhaps warranted by law until the charter of John. The French code was less severe; but even Henry IV. enacted the pain of death against the repeated offence of chasing deer in the royal forests. The privilege of hunting was reserved to the nobility till the reign of Louis IX., who extended it in some degree to persons of lower birth.

This excessive passion for the sports of the field produced those evils which are apt to result from it—a strenuous idleness, which disdained all useful occupations, and an oppressive spirit towards the peasantry. The devastation committed under the pretence of destroying wild animals, which had been already protected in their depredations, is noticed in serious authors, and has also been the topic of popular ballads. What effect this must have had on agriculture it is easy to conjecture. The levelling of forests, the draining of morasses, and the extirpation of mischievous animals which inhabit them, are the first objects of man's labour in reclaiming the earth to his use; and these were forbidden by a landed aristocracy, whose control over the progress of agricultural improvement was unlimited, and who had not yet learned to sacrifice their pleasures to their avarice.

These habits of the rich, and the miserable servitude of those who cultivated the land, rendered its fertility unavailing. Predial servitude, indeed, in some of its modifications, has always been the great bar to improvement. In the agricultural economy of

Rome, the labouring husbandman, the menial slave of some wealthy senator, had not even that qualified interest in the soil which the tenure of villanage afforded to the peasant of feudal ages. Italy, therefore, a country presenting many natural impediments, was but imperfectly reduced into cultivation before the irruption of the barbarians. That revolution destroyed agriculture with every other art, and succeeding calamities during five or six centuries left the finest regions of Europe unfruitful and desolate. There are but two possible modes in which the produce of the earth can be increased-one by rendering fresh land serviceable, the other by improving the fertility of that which is already cultivated. The last is only attainable by the application of capital and of skill to agriculture, neither of which could be expected in the ruder ages of society. The former is, to a certain extent, always practicable whilst waste lands remain ; but it was checked by laws hostile to improvement, such as the manorial and commonable rights in England, and by the general tone of manners.-Hallam.

38. THE ORDER of the KEY.

The childish vanity of Sir Sidney Smith, the hero of Acre, had at that time passed into a proverb, and some of Wellington's aides-de-camp determined to play upon it. A letter was accordingly written in hieroglyphics with a French translation annexed, and addressed to the admiral as if from the Sublime Porte, informing him that His Imperial Highness had been pleased to confer upon him the order of the Key; and the key of a door having been carefully wrapped up, with an appropriate ribbon attached, it was enclosed in a box and sent to Sir Sidney's lodgings. The key happened to be a very rusty one, and the circumstance was accounted for in the letter, which stated that the box had unfortunately got wet with sea-water in its passage from Constantinople. The gallant admiral received the present, as it was anticipated that he would; and being desirous of obtaining some other authority than his own for wearing the order, he proceeded to the Duke's house and asked his advice. The Duke saw at once into the whole matter; and a sore trial it was, to a man endowed with a keen sense of the ridiculous, to keep his gravity. But he put a restraint

upon his feelings, and pretending to be exceedingly angry, advised Sir Sidney not to wear the key. He was convulsed with laughter when he met the culprits at dinner, and often told the story afterwards with admirable humour.—Gleig.

39. WEALTH.

Wealth usually ministers to the baser passions of our nature -it engenders selfishness, feeds arrogance, and inspires selfsecurity, and deadens and stultifies the nobler feelings and holier aspirations of the heart. Wealth is a source of endless discontent; it creates more wants than it supplies, and keeps its incumbent constantly craving, crafty, and covetous. Lord Bacon says, 'I cannot call riches by a better name than the "baggage" of virtue : the Roman word is better—“impediment.” For as baggage is to an army, so are riches to virtue. It cannot be spared or left behind, and yet it hindereth the march.' 'Misery assails riches, as lightning does the highest towers or as a tree that is heavy laden with fruit, breaks its own boughs, so do riches destroy the virtue of their possessor.'

Goldsmith, referring to the depreciating influence of poverty, says—a poor man resembles a fiddler, whose music, though liked, is not much praised, because he lives by it: while a gentleman performer, though the most wretched scraper alive, throws the audience into raptures.

40. FACTS AND FIGURES OF FAIRYLAND.

I.

In all human beings there exists, more or less intensely developed, a craving to know; a profitless and idle curiosity, it may be ; a desire to drag into light whatever is hidden, simply because it is hidden; a wish to go behind the scenes of life and count the strings of the puppets. This appetite for 'information 'is so universal that it cannot but be accounted natural; and being natural, it must needs be healthy. We shall offer no other apology, then, for taking stock and measurement of the magical scenes which dazzle the eyes of children, great and small, who go to the pantomime; or for entering into such calculations as the number of yards of muslin required for the dresses of an elfin corps, the

quantity of pasteboard necessary to the full development of those capacious heads from which the decasyllabic verse of the comic dramatist issues as from a tomb, the square feet of canvas in a fairy dell, the sheets of tinfoil, the books of gold-leaf or Dutch metal, and the pounds of paint and spangles used in the service of Fun and Fancy. In plain fact, we are about to offer some statistics of that enchantment which, seemingly swayed by the beneficent and glittering staff of the good fairy, or by the supple wand of Harlequin, is in reality dependent on the pulleys and cords of the machinist, the skilfully disposed daubs of the scenepainter's brush, the quaint conceits of the property-man, and the well-drilled efficiency of the posture-master.

II. Harlequin's Dress. The Spangles.

Nobody who has not been told how a spangle is made would ever be able to guess at the process, from a sight of the little flat, circular, shining piece of metal, with a hole in the centre, and a scarcely perceptible slit on one side. Within the memory of living costumiers spangles used to cost thirty-six shillings a pound; they may now be bought for four shillings. Like most goods of a special use, they have a narrow market; and indeed the trade in this country may almost be said to be in one pair of hands. They are made from plated copper wire, which comes from Germany. It is drawn out to the requisite size, and is then twisted, by English workmen, round a steel mandrel till it has the same close spiral form as an old-fashioned spring, before the days of vulcanised indiarubber. From the long twist of metal thus shaped rings are chopped by a machine; and every ring closes by the elasticity of the metal. These rings, placed on a smooth steel anvil, are struck one by one with a smooth steel hammer, and, being flattened at a blow, are spangles. Their polish is the combined effect of plating and of the smart, dexterous manner in which they are struck. Machinery is now used for the purpose, and a curious fact is thus exemplified—namely, that any piece of metal, plated however thinly with gold or silver, retains the same surface when beaten out. A gilt shilling, for instance, may be hammered to the circumference of a watch-dial, and it will still have the look of being made of gold. We have stated—and we have this fact as well