Imatges de pÓgina

tropical heat in his perte, and what is contracted by the cold is again extended here and stretched into new activity. The Laplander seldom or never keeps himself, even in his winter gamme, in such a temperature as nature requires for the developement and advancement of the functions of life in the physical man; and though this may not be felt by his nerves, yet it must be felt by his constitution and his conformation. The Finn, on the other hand, finds a compensation for the unheard-of cold in warm baths of an equally unheard-of heat; and the advantages he derives from thence is demonstrated by experience in Lapland.

In the year 1799 there were five thousand one hundred and thirteen Laplanders in the Swedish division of Lapland; if we reckon an additional three thousand Laplanders for Norway, though it scarcely contains so many, and one thousand for the part belonging to Russia, where, upon the whole, but few Laplanders remain, the total strength of this people, however widely spread, will consist at most of ten thousand souls. But in Finland alone the Finns amount to nearly a million.

Particulars respecting the Invention

of the New Printing Machine. The following letter is written by KOENIG,

the inventor.)

THE first idea relating to this invention occurred to me 11 years ago, and the first experiments were made soon after in Saxony. My original plan was confined to an improved press, in which the operation of laying the ink on the types was performed by an apparatus connected with the motion of the coffin, in such a manner that one hand could be saved. As nothing could be gained in expedition by this plan, the idea soon

suggested itself to move this press by machinery, or to reduce the several operations to one rotatory motion, to which any first mover might be applied. Its execution was not quite completed, when I found myself under the necessity of seeking assistance for the further prosecution of it.There is on the continent no sort of encouragement for an enterprise of this description. The system of patents, as it exists in England, being either unknown or not adopted in the continental states, there is no inducement for individual enterprise, and projectors are commonly obliged to offer their discoveries to some government, and to solicit encouragement. I need hardly add, that scarcely ever is an invention brought to maturity under such circumstances. The wellknown fact, that almost every invention seeks, as it were, refuge in England, and is there brought to perfection, where the government does not afford any other protection to inventors than what is derived from the wisdom of the laws, seems to indicate that the continent has yet to learn from her the best manner of encouraging the mechanical arts. I had my full share in the ordinary disappointments of continental projectors; and, after having lost in Germany and Russia upwards of two years in fruitless applications, I arrived about eight years ago in England, where I was Thomas Bensley, a printer so well introduced to, and soon joined by Mr known to the literary world that the mention of his name is sufficient. In this country of spirited enterprise and speculation, it is difficult to have a plan entirely new. Soon after my arrival, I learnt that many attempts of a similar description had been made before mine, and that they had all failed. Patents had been taken, and thousands of pounds sunk without obtaining the desired result. and Mr Bensley, however, were not discouraged by the failure of our predecessors;


the execution of the plan was begun, and as the experiments became very expensive, two other gentlemen, Mr G. Woodfall, and Mr B. Taylor, eminent printers in London, joined us. After many obstructions and delays, the first printing machine was completed exactly upon the plan which I have described in the specification of my first patent, which is dated March 29, 1810. It was set to work in April 1811. The sheet (H) of the new Annual Register for 1810. 66 Principal Occurrences," 3000 copies, was printed with it, and is, I have no doubt, the first part of a book ever printed with a machine. The actual use of it, however, soon suggested new ideas, and led to the rendering it less implicated and more powerful. Impressions produced by means of cylinders, which had likewise been already attempted by others without the desired effect, were again tried by me upon a new plan, namely, to place the sheet round the cylinders, thereby making it, as it were, part of its periphery. After some promising experiments, the plan for a new machine on this principle was made, and a manufactory established for the purpose. Since this time I have had the benefit of my friend Mr Bauer's assistance, who, by the judgment and precision with which he executed my plans, has greatly contributed to their success. The new machine was completed in December 1812, after great difficulties attending the cylindrical impression. Sheets G. and X. of Clarkson's Life of Penn, vol. 1. are the first printed with an entirely cylindrical press. The papers of the Protestant Union were also printed with it in February and March 1813. Sheet M.of Aiton's Hortus Kewensis, vol. v. will shew the progress of improvement in the use of this machine. All together there are about 160,000 sheets now in the hands of the public, priated with this machine, which, with the aid of two hands, takes off Jan. 1815.

800 in the hour. It is accurately described in the specifications of my two patents, dated October 30, 1812, and July 24, 1813. The machines now printing The Times and Mail are upon the same principle as that just mentioned; but they have been contrived for the particular purpose of a newspaper of extensive circulation, where expedition is the great object.

Anecdotes of COOKE, the Miser.

HERE was greater pest to the medical tribe than old Cooke, the miser, who died a short time since at Pentonville. Many are the anecdotes of the tricks that this avaricious old man used to play, to cheat medical men and save his money: such as putting on ragged clothes, and going as a pauper to Mr Saunders, and other gentlemen, to have gratuitous advice for his eyes-getting a letter for the dispensary, and attending there as a decayed tradesman, for several weeks, until detected. Having a wound in his leg, he employed a Mr Pigeon, who lived nearly opposite to him, in White Lion-street, Pentonville, to cure it. How long do you think it will be before you can cure it?'-'A month.'- And how much must I give you?'-Mr Pigeon, who saw the wound was not of any great importance ans nswered, A Guinea.'Very well,' replied Cooke; but mark this-a Guinea is an immense sum of money, and when I agree upon sums of such magnitude, I go upon the system of no cure no pay; so if I am not cured by the expiration of the month, I pay you nothing."-This was agreed to: after diligent attention for several days the wound was so near being healed, that Cooke expressed himself satisfied, and would not let Pigeon see it any more. However, within two or three days of the month being up, the old fellow got


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some sort of plaster, with cuphorbium to it, from a farrier, and made a new wound on the place where the former had been; and, sending for Pigeon on the last day of the month, shewed him that his leg was not well, and that of course the Guniea he had agreed for was forfeited. This story the old fellow used to tell of himself with great satisfaction, and used to call it plucking a Pigeon.'-When on his death-bed, he sent for several medical men (some would not attend ;) among those who went to see him, Mr Aldridge, of Pentonville, was one. Him he permitted to send some medicines. At o of the interviews, he earnest ly en ated Mr Aldrige to tell him y how long he thought he might live. The answer was, he might probably live six days. Cooke, collecting all his strength, and starting up in his bed, exclaimed, are you not a dishonest man-a rogue and a robber, to serve me so? how?' asked Mr Aldrige, with surprise. Why, Sir, you are no better than a pickpocket, to rob me of my gold, by sending in two draughts a day to a man that all your physic will not keep alive above six days! Get out of my house, and never come near me again.





The Lord of the Isles; a Poem: By WALTER SCOTT, Esq. 4to. £.2..25. Constable & Co.

IT T has always been with no ordinary pleasure that we have hailed the successive appearance of Mr Scott's productions. Not only does he number with the poets who have done the greatest honour to Scotland; but he is, besides, in every respect, a national poet; he has rendered the manners, the traditions, the history of his native country, familiar and interesting to the world in general. It

may justly be expected, therefore, that every Scotsman should view him with some degree of favour, and even partiality.

Every author has his vicissitudes of public favour, above all, when the multiplication of his works makes them be measured, not by intrinsic merit, but by comparison with others which had preceded them. From this law, even the most popular of modern poets has not been exempted. Rokeby did not, we conceive, display any inferiority in point of genius; but the characters were somewhat less interesting; the incidents less carefully digested; and Mr Scott's muse, like a flower transplanted into a foreign soil, lost some portion of its fragrance. The present seems well calculated to regain the ground which had been The characters are dignified, interesting, and associated with the greatest events in Scottish history: the scenes are native, familiar to our fancy, and yet hitherto untrodden. The poetry appears to us equal in force, and somewhat superior in correctness, to any former effusions of the same muse. It may therefore be expected, we think, that, as usually happens in lovers' quarrels, the public, after a temporary coldness, will return with increased relish to the perusal of their favourite bard.


The poem opens on the bridal morning which is to unite Edith, daughter of Lorn, the great chieftain of Argyle, with Ronald, Lord of the Isles. The scene is at Artornish, a castle of Lorn, overhanging the western sea. This union is to be the cement of Ronald's alliance with England, to whose interest Lorn has entirely attached himself. The approach of this auspicious morn is hailed by the bards in the following gay and animated strains:

"Wake, Maid of Lorn! the moments fly,

Which yet that maiden name allow; Wake, Maiden, wake! the hour is nigh, When Love shall claim a plighted vow.


By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest,

By Hope, that soon shall fears remove, We bid thee break the bonds of rest,

And wake thee at the call of Love!

"Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay

Lies many a galley gaily mann'd, We hear the merry pibrochs play,

We see the streamers' silken band. What Chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell, What crest is on these banners wove, The harp, the minstrel, dare not tellThe riddle must be read by Love."

Amid this universal joy, however, excited by and for her, it is soon observed, that Edith alone does not share; that she remains insensible to all the pomp and all the gaiety of which she is the object. This observation, in particular, escapes not the watchful eye of her nurse, who had educated her with maternal care, and viewed her as a daughter. Anxious to know the cause, and considering herself entitled to enquire, she leads Edith

To where a turret's airy head,
Slender and steep, and battled round,
O'erlook'd, dark Mull! thy mighty Sound,
Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar,
Part thy swarth hills from Morvern's shore.

"Daughter," she said, "these seas behold, Round twice an hundred islands roll'd, From Hirt, that hears their northern roar, To the green Ilay's fertile shore; Or mainland turn, where many a tower Owns thy bold father's feudal power, Each on its own dark cape reclined, And listening to its own wild wind, From where Mingarry, sternly placed, D'erawes the woodland and the waste, To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging Of Connal with his rocks engaging. Think'st thou, amid this ample round, A single brow but thine has frown'd, To sadden this auspicious morn, That bids the daughter of high Lorn Impledge her spousal faith to wed The Heir of mighty Somerled; Ronald, from many a hero sprung, The fair, the valiant, and the young, LORD OF THE ISLES, whose lofty name A thousand bards have given to fame, The mate of monarchs, and allied On equal terms with England's pride.-From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot, Who hears the tale, and triumphs not?

The damsel dons her best attire, The shepherd lights his beltane fire, Joy, Joy! each warder's horn hath sung, Joy, Joy! each matin bell hath rung; The holy priest says grateful mass, Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass, No mountain den holds outcast boor, Of heart so dull, of soul so poor, But he hath flung his task aside, And claim'd this morn for holy-tide Yet, empress of this joyful day, Edith is sad while an are gay."


Proud Edith's soul came to her eye,

Resentment check'd the struggling sigh,
Her hurrying hand indignant dried
The burning tears of injured pride-


Morag, forbear! or lend thy praise
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays;
Make to yon maids thy boast of power,
That they may waste a wondering hour,
Telling of banners proudly born
Of pealing bell and bugle-horn,
Or, theme more dear, of robes of price,
Crownlets and gawds of rare device.
But thou, experienced as thou art,

Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart,

That, bound in strong affection's chain,
Looks for return and looks in vain?
No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot
In these brief words-He loves her, not!"

Morag endeavours to dissipate this gloomy impression; and in the course of this conversation, the fleet of Ronald beginning to appear, she points to its splendid appearance as confirming her belief.

Look, where beneath the castle grey His fleet unmoor from Aros-bay! See'st not each galley's topmast bend, As on the yards the sails ascend? Hiding the dark-blue land they rise, Like the white clouds on April skies; The shouting vassals man the oars, Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores, Onward their merry course they keep, Through whistling breeze and foaming deep. And mark the headmost, seaward cast, Stoop to the freshening gale her mast, As if she vail'd its banner'd pride, To greet afar her prince's bride! Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed His galley mates the flying steed, He chides her sloth!

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Borne onward by the willing breeze,
Lord Ronald's fleet swept by,
Streamer'd with silk, and trick'd with gold,
Mann'd with the noble and the bold

Of Island chivalry.

Around their prows the ocean roars,
And chafes beneath their thousand oars,
Yet bears them on their way:
So fumes the war-horse in his might,
That field-ward bears some valiant knight,
Champs till both bitt and boss are white,

But, foaming, must obey.

On each gay deck they might behold
Lances of steel and crests of gold,
And hauberks with their burnish'd fold,
That shimmer'd fair and free;
And each proud galley, as she pass'd,
To the wild cadence of the blast
Gave wilder minstrelsy.

Full many a shrill triumphant note
Saline and Scallastle bade float

Meantime, a different scene was acting without. As Ronald's gay fleet passed by, they had scarcely noticed a single bark, struggling against adverse winds in an opposite direction. Whom this bark contains, the poet skilfully involves in mystery, only intimating, that they are persons of high rank and interest. The tempest now increases, and they in vain attempt to pass the castle of Artornish, which, for reasons unknown, they eagerly desire to do. The peril at length becomes such, that they can hope for safety only by entering that dreaded strand. They then resolve to approach boldly, and claim the

The second canto introduces us to rights of hospitality, which were then the festal hall, where,

so liberally exercised. They are im-
mediately admitted. The party con-
sist of two knights and a young lady
veiled. The seneschal skiltul, by a
glance of the eye, to distinguish the
rank of his guests, at once assigns
them the first place in this illustrious
company. Symptoms of discontent
appear among the guests, and Lorn
views the strangers with an eye of
peculiar suspicion. After some taunt-
ing conversation, he determines to
bring them to the test, by causing the
Minstrels to recite a song, in which
Bruce is mentioned with peculiar con-
tamity. The elder knight at once
replies in a tone of violent retort,
he is Bruce himself, Lotn starts up,
which at once discloses to Lorn that
his vassal chieftains to
assist him in avenging the death of
Comyn, his kinsman, who had fallen
by the hand of Bruce. Ronald, on
the other hand, protests against such
a violation of the rights of hospita-
lity. A violent altercation now en-

and calls


Their misty shores around;
And Morven's echoes answer'd well,
And Duart heard the distant swell
Come down the darksome Sound.

With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay,
With all that olden time deem'd gay,
The Island Chieftain feasted high;
But there was in his troubled eye
A gloomy fire, and on his brow
Now sudden flush'd, and faded now,
Emotions such as draw their birth
From deeper source than festal mirth.
By fits he paused, and harper's strain
And jester's tale went round in vain,
Or fell but on his idle ear

Like distant sounds which dreamers hear.
Then would he rouse him, and employ
Each art to aid the clamorous joy,
And call for pledge and lay,
And, for brief space, of all the crowd,
As he was loudest of the loud,
Seem gayest of the gay.

This laboured gaiety imposes upon all the guests, even those who were mest interested to observe and scrutinize it.

Beneath the intolerable smart
He writhed; then sternly mann'd his

To play his hard but destined part.

But one sad heart, one tearful eye,
Pierced deeper through the mystery,
And watch'd, with agony and fear,
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer.
She watch vet fear'd to meet his glance,
And he shunn'd her's ;-till when by chance
They met, the point of foeman's lance
Had given a milder pang!

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