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Grand Duke Paul to the court of Joseph II. again called our automaton to life. It was repaired and put in order in a few weeks; and, from this period, (1785) has been exhibited, at intervals, throughout Germany, at Paris, and in London; first by M. de Kempelin, and latterly by a purchaser of the property from his son; De Kempelin having died in 1803.

Our chess-playing readers will be able to appreciate the bold pretensions of this automaton. The entire number of combinations, which it is possible to form with the pieces of a chess-board, has never, we believe, been ascertained. To push forward a plan of our own steadily, and at the same time to anticipate the designs of an antagonist, requires a constant and acute discrimination, which long experience, and some considerable strength of memory, have been required to make availing, in all other cases. But this cunning infidel (for he assumes the figure of a Turk) drives kings, and castles, and knights before him with more than mortal sagacity, and with his inferior hand: he never, we believe, has been beaten; and, except in a very few instances of drawn games, has beat the most skilful chess-players in Europe. Dr. Hutton, on the supposition of its being altogether a mechanical contrivance, calls it "the greatest master-piece of mechanics that ever appeared in the world." We shall recount his pretensions in the words of an Oxford graduate, who published" Observations on them, during his last visit in London, and subjoin a statement of the best attempts that have been made to account for his apparent skill, in a second article upon this interesting subject.

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ON HUMOUR.

EVERY age has a style of humour peculiar to itself, and is, in general, little able to taste or appreciate that of another. One cause of this may be, that it is more the province of humour to paint the manners than the passions of mankind; and, from the subject not being permanent, the best-wrought piece must fall into disrepute.

This may go some way towards elucidating the fact, which I am endeavouring to explain; but, though perhaps in the right road, we are not yet arrived at the object of our search. For one age is often indifferent to the humour of another, even where that humour has been exercised on subjects, which, if they do not deserve permanent praise, seem at least to merit the applause of one century as much as that of another.

We must, therefore, I believe, search for the main cause in the character of the age itself. I should say that of the present consists (to make a word for the occasion) in a certain matter-of-fact

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ness, a necessity of "touching something real," and the incapability of enjoying fun, by itself fun. Hence it admires no description of pleasantry that has not a pointed moral or sting; and seems to have less sense of humour, which may be termed the raw material, than of wit, which may be likened to the manufactured article; a preference which sorts well with the mechanical temper of the times. I suppose, for instance, that there are few at present who would like the excellent fooling, which rejoiced the marrow of Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek, when the clown spake of the Vapians passing the Equinoctial of Queubus. Hence it follows, that such works as those of Count Antoine Hamilton, which delighted people of the 18th century, appear to those of the 19th (as a friend of mine once observed to me) "such stuff as might be collected from the walls by the white-washer of Bedlam." But this species of humour is not more thrown away on the present generation, than that natural and spontaneous vein, which amuses by a perpetual play of fancy, without forcing the images which it conjures up upon the sight, or shewing the texture, colour, and direction, of every puppet, which it puts in motion. Hence, (to express myself like a Scotch lawyer) the writings of Addison and Steele are gone into desuetude, and the Spectator is almost a dead letter. To this sort of tacit sentence I cannot, for myself, subscribe: I prefer the ancient wits to the modern, and see nothing superior in the latter, except their precision and the emphatic mode in which they inculcate their ideas. Their pleasantry is certainly more pointed and more palpable than that of their predecessors; but why is this so? It is because their beat is narrower, and it is therefore more easy for them to run down their prey. For, observe the manœuvres of a modern wit, and you will find that his art lies in some single trick of pleasantry, upon which he works with as much earnestness as if he were labouring a point of law. His humour lies in the juxtaposition of incongruous images, in whimsical alliteration and association, or, in short, in some one trick which is, in my eyes, worthless as soon as it is discovered. The old school did not reject such means; but their motto was "Wit at several weapons;" and their tricks of fence so various, that it was difficult to parry or detect them. They "gave point" as well as the moderns, but the readers of the present day seem to be too much dazzled by their feints and their flourishes to estimate the sharpness of their thrusts.-To instance what I mean, I should cite Rabelais, who seems to have entirely fallen in public estimation, and is a writer now seldom quoted but for his extravagance; yet what a vein of moral epigram and satire runs under this, while half of those, who gaze upon his rapid and whirling current, are unable to discern the precious stones, which pave the channel. I remember once passing some days, during the time of the Continental blockade, and consequent fall of Colonial produce, in the

house of a West Indian gentleman, as distinguished for the variety of his accomplishments, as the brilliancy of his hospitality, who surprising me with Rabelais in my hand, and quarrell.ng with me for the perverseness of my taste, I defied him not to laugh at a passage which I was then reading, but which he pronounced to be absolute nonsense. This was the assignment made by Pantagruel to Panurge of the rents of the perriwinkles and cockle-shells; upon which he observes, that in a good shell-year this revenue was considerable, but that Panurge was a fellow to live as it perriwinkles were always at par." And this you think humorous ?" said my friend; 66 now to me it appears absolute stuff.” "Nay," replied I, delighted to have him upon the hip, "you are the last man who has a right to say so; for substitute sugar-hogsheads for perriwinkles, and what have you done but play Panurge ever since you came to your estate ?"

THE HUMOROUS MAN.

THERE is, I believe, no cause of offence so disproportionately punished as the trick of singularity. Let the Humorous Man, as he was termed in the old comedy, confine his caprices within the safest limits, he is generally considered dangerous, and is almost always unpopular. Yet, in opposition to this general antipathy, it may be maintained with truth, that no grave vices are necessarily incidental to such a character, that it guarantees the absence of some hateful qualities, and is a security even for some useful virtues.

For, first, the humorist is usually free from malignant qualities. He has a safety-valve for his worst passions; and, like Shakspeare's Menenius Agrippa," what he thinks, he utters, and spends his malice in his breath.

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But I am, I confess, more disposed to prove the virtues than the innocence of the humorist. To the point: he is certainly, generally speaking, independent in his opinions, and thus may be, by no far-strained construction, considered as 'a useful subject and natural supporter of civil liberty. A very acute and distinguished French statesman at least proves the converse of the proposition where he observes, that no one is so cut out for a courtier as a man sans honneur et sans humeur;" observing that it is a mistake to translate the last word by ill-humour, the expression meaning, in older French, what is properly explained through synonyms in the Dictionnaire de l'Academie as fantaisie, caprice. If the humorous man then is to be considered as of some utility in society, why is he in such bad odour with those among the serious, who do not come under the definition of solemn asses? Or why (and this seems the most inexplicable difficulty) if he be free from rancorous passions, does he so generally offend, while the interested or malicious man ordinarily makes few enemies in comparison? Why these different characters should produce such different and unde

served effects in society, may be illustrated more shortly than explained. The humorous man may be compared to one, who guards his grain with powder only; he kills none of the fowls who forage in his fields, but he flashes, and blazes, and scares, and irritates all. The worldly man, on the contrary, arms himself with an air-gun, which neither lightens nor thunders, and stings only the enemies whom it strikes. But the abstract unpopularity of the humorous man, who offends even those who need not or cannot fear him, must be found in a deeper source, and may be traced to a cause which seems to pervade all animal nature. Singularity is in itself an offence through all the orders and species into which this is distinguished. Put a paper neckcloth about a sparrow, turn him out, and he will become the victim of his irritated companions. Let but a dog bark in a town more loudly than ordinary, no matter whether in rage or in merriment, and every one makes common cause against the offender. The expediency, indeed, of avoiding this ground of offence has been chronicled by the proverbial wisdom of most nations; as in the Pappa Tace of the Italians, and the Eat your pudding and hold your tongue, of the English. Observe this maxim in all its latitude, and every thing will be permitted to you. A dignitary of the church, who had made hunting the amusement of his youth, asked an old and respected member of his order, whether he might pursue his favourite sport after being elevated to the prelacy? His counsellor auswered in these memorable words, which may indeed serve as a rule of life,-My Lod, you may hunt, but you must not holla. I have been sometimes tempted, like the Eastern Prince in the story, to have this maxim of worldly wisdom engraved on every piece of plate, and burnt into every piece of porcelain in my possession; that at every hour of the day I may have presented to my eyes, the memento of, you may hunt, but you must not holla.”

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MONT BLANC.

To the Editor of the New Monthly Magazine.

MY DEAR SIR.-THE following account of a late attempt to reach the summit of Mont Blanc may, perhaps, be interesting to some of your readers. It is the only original account published in this country, and contains the substance of a narrative drawn up, soon after my return to England, for the satisfaction of my friends.

Oriel College, Oxford.

I remain, &c.

J. D.

ABOUT the middle of last August I arrived at Geneva, accompanied by my friend H- of Brazenose, whom I had fallen in with at Bern, and who was, like myself, devoting a part.of the long vacation to a Continental tour. I had, before leaving England, set my heart upon ascending Mont Blanc, and found no difficulty in prevailing on my companion, who had already made the tour of the greater part of Switzerland, to accompany me. Having called on a gentleman of Geneva, to whom I had an introduction, with a view of making the necessary enquiries, I learnt from him that a small party were then on the point of setting out with the same intention. I lost no time in finding them out, and proposing to share in their undertaking; and the following afternoon, August 16, we set off together, in a hired calêche, for the valley of Chamounix. Our party consisted of four persons. Our new acquaintances were Le Chevalier Hamel, a Russian, then employed by the Emperor in making some philosophical observations in the neighbourhood, and M. Sellique, an optician of Geneva, and native of Paris, a man of considerable attainments in various branches of natural philosophy. His grand object in accompanying us was to make trial of a new barometer, of his own construction, in measuring the height of Mont Blanc, the accuracy of some former observations for the same purpose having been recently called in question. Dr. Hamel had already made, ten days before, an unsuccessful attempt to reach the summit by a different route, being the same which Saussure attempted in 1785 with no better success *.

We reached St. Martin, the place for which we had engaged our calêche, at one o'clock in the morning of the 17th, and having engaged two sharabands for the journey through the valley, we arrived at Chamounix at two o'clock in the afternoon. From a balcony of the house where we slept, we had the first distinct view of Mont Blanc; and Dr. Hamel pointed out to us the formidable Aiguille de Gouté which he had lately succeeded in scaling. H. and myself set off from St. Martin on foot through the valley, being desirous of preparing ourselves a little for the fatigues of the following day. We walked nearly seven miles before we were overtaken by our party with the sharabands, and took the opportunity of visiting a beautiful fall of water, at a short distance on our left, which amply repaid us for the fatigue

* An account of this has already appeared in an article of the Bibliothèque Universelle, a monthly publication edited at Geneva, in which Dr. Hamel has given a minute account of his two attempts, and of the observations which he intended to have made on the summit.

+ Sharaband is the name for a very low narrow car on four wheels, drawn by one or more mules, which is the only kind of vehicle in use in the valley. Indeed the road, if it may be called one, is frequently so rugged as to oblige the traveller to descend, which he may do with a single step, and support his carriage with the hand.

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